‘I know.’ The amused grey eyes were regarding her with frank appreciation. ‘But I guess I was responsible. I did attract your attention.’
‘It was you …’
‘… who spoke to you? Yes, it was.’ He smiled, his lips parting to reveal even white teeth. ‘You looked—lost. I wanted to help you.’
‘Not bring me to my knees?’ countered Antonia wryly, the humour of the situation restoring her composure. ‘Well—thank you, anyway. I’m all right.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it.’ But he did not move away as she had expected. Instead, he collected two long-stemmed glasses of a beige, bubbling liquid, from a tray being held by a passing waiter, and handed one to her. ‘Be my guest!’
Antonia took the glass reluctantly, but a surreptitious glance about her assured her that their exchange was not attracting any unnecessary attention. On the contrary, the music and the buzz of conversation was going on as before, and it was only in her mind that she and this man who had rescued her from instant ignominy had isolated themselves from the rest.
Licking an errant drop of champagne—for that was what it was, she realised—from her lips, she cast covert eyes in his direction. Disconcertingly, he was watching her, but that didn’t prevent her hastily averted gaze from noticing how attractive he was. Straight dark hair, rather longer than was fashionable; a lean, narrow-boned face; skin that still bore the tan of a winter holiday; even without the fact that he could look down at her from the advantage of at least three inches, notwithstanding her high heels, he was a disturbing man. But it was his eyes that really disrupted her carefully composed indifference; grey, as she already knew, they were fringed by thick straight lashes, that gave a wholly sensual appeal to an otherwise ascetically handsome face.
‘Do you like it?’ he enquired lazily, and Antonia controlled her colour with difficulty.
‘Like what?’ she asked, rather too sharply for politeness.
‘Why—the champagne, of course,’ he replied smoothly, and Antonia concentrated on the wine in her glass to avoid his knowing gaze.
‘It’s—very nice,’ she answered, determinedly taking another sip. It was infuriating, but he was making her feel as gauche as a schoolgirl, and she had to remind herself that she was a divorcee with a six-year-old daughter.
‘You’re different from what I expected,’ he remarked suddenly, surprising her into looking at him again. ‘Cee said you were shy and rather ordinary. But you’re not. Though I suppose another female might not realise it.’
Antonia caught her breath. ‘Has she been discussing me with her friends? Is that why she invited me here? To satisfy their curiosity?’
Her voice had risen slightly as she spoke, and the man beside her expelled his breath a little impatiently. ‘I didn’t say that,’ he told her evenly. ‘And if you knew Cee, you wouldn’t accuse her of it. She’s not like that.’
‘She told you, didn’t she?’ asked Antonia hotly, her eyes sparkling with resentment. His words seemed to confirm all her worst imaginings, and she thought how right she had been to have doubts about coming here. ‘If you’ll excuse me …’
‘Where are you going?’
His hand circling her wrist was the final humiliation, and she was on the point of threatening to throw the remainder of her champagne in his face if he didn’t release her, when another hand touched her shoulder.
‘Darling,’ exclaimed Celia, as Antonia was abruptly released. ‘You’ve met my downstairs neighbour already. Antonia,’ the other girl circled them to slide a possessive arm over the man’s sleeve, ‘what do you think of this Irish rogue who’s asked me to be his wife?”
ANTONIA’S office adjoined that of Martin Fenwick’s. It wasn’t much of an office really, just a desk and a chair and a filing cabinet, in a room large enough to accommodate them and her, but at least it offered her some privacy. And her work was interesting.
Seven years ago, when she had had to give up all thoughts of a career to have Susie, she had been in the second year of a sociology degree at Durham university. Working with people and for the community had always interested her, and her intention had been to try and get a job in some branch of the social services. But Simon’s advent into her life had interrupted her plans, and afterwards, when she had found it necessary to look for work, her qualifications were sadly limited. Of course, had she had the money, she could have returned to university as a mature student and taken up her studies again, but that was out of the question with Susie to support. Instead, she had applied for any job that had offered the chance of working in a similar field, and in spite of its disadvantages in terms of distance, she had been delighted to accept her present position.
The institute, where she worked as Assistant to the Director, was an independently operated youth training establishment, offering skills in various manual trades, as well as academic qualifications. Courses in book-keeping and accountancy, shorthand and typewriting, competed with mechanical engineering and carpentry, and the students were encouraged to try more than one course before deciding on the one that suited them best.
Antonia considered herself very fortunate to have been offered the post, and she felt she owed a debt to her past tutor at Durham for giving her his backing and support. Without the reference he had been able to supply, she felt sure she would not have been so lucky, and the doubts she had had about leaving the north of England had been stifled by the faith he had had in her.
To her relief Mr Fenwick, who had been absent the previous week due to an apparently seasonal attack of lumbago, was back at work on Monday morning, and Antonia was able to return to her own duties. Her experience at the job had not yet equipped her to handle all the hundred and one little problems that could occur in the course of a working week, and there were several outstanding difficulties she was going to have to discuss with him when he had the time.
But to begin with, the institute’s director had enough to do handling the enormous backlog of mail, which had required his personal attention, and Antonia spent most of Monday morning trying to catch up on her own duties.
Even so, she did not find it easy to apply herself to practical matters. It wasn’t that her work was difficult or anything. It was simply that her mind kept drifting away from what she was doing, and several times she found herself staring into space, totally detached from her surroundings.
It was the remembrance of Saturday night that was troubling her, of course. The party, which she had not wanted to attend, and which was now lodged painfully in her memory. Just thinking of that scene in Celia’s living room caused Antonia’s face to flood with colour, and it still amazed her that she had stayed so long when all she had really wanted to do was escape.
She should have made her apologies as soon as a decent interval had elapsed, she thought, and hurried back to her own apartment. Certainly, Celia’s flatmate, the Honourable Elizabeth, Liz, Ashford, had thought so. It had soon become apparent that the other occupant of the first floor apartment did not share her friend’s enthusiasm to mix with their neighbours, and her greeting had been distant, to say the least. The other female guests seemed to take their lead from her, and regarded Antonia with something less than cordiality, and it was left to Celia and the male contingent to try and put
