table.
Time to reach for her wine and shut her mouth and hope that someone else’s manners would prevail when clearly hers had not.
‘Geneva’s a pleasant city,’ said Damon as a waiter appeared from nowhere to top up everyone’s wineglasses. ‘I was there this time last week, on my way through from a job in Brussels. Catching up with an old employer.’
Damon didn’t look at her as he delivered his words. He didn’t look at anyone, just locked his gaze on the entreé another waiter placed in front of him and kept it there. ‘He took me on a backdoor tour through the Palace of Nations. I recommend it.’
Ruby wasn’t the only one who stared at him in astonishment. Both Lena and Poppy were gaping at him too.
Where to begin? What to pick up on? What to leave the hell alone?
‘Huh,’ said Lena, amazement running deeply through that one incautious sound.
Ruby couldn’t even manage that.
‘You didn’t tell me you were in Brussels?’ said Poppy, and her voice held disappointment and sorrow rather than amazement. ‘We could have met up somewhere. Oxford’s not
that
far away.’
‘Sorry, Poppy.’ Damon shot Poppy a guarded glance. ‘You know I don’t do family when I’m working.’
What the hell did Damon West
do
for a living that he had to eschew his family while he was doing it?
But Damon didn’t say and Ruby sure as hell didn’t ask. She just looked at him and Damon looked back, his bleak gaze meeting hers, and there was no smile in them, no invitation, just a man who knew he’d said too much already and had to shut it down before he came unstuck completely.
‘Pretty place, Brussels,’ she said, in a weak attempt to halt the growing silence. ‘It’s probably my favourite city centre of all the European cities. Not too big or overwhelming.’ Unlike, say, Damon’s attempt at openness and transparency. ‘And then there’s the chocolate.’
‘And the waffles,’ said Lena, joining the rescue party. ‘And the beer.’
‘Cherry beer,’ said Ruby.
‘Trappist beer,’ said Lena, and with a gamine grin, ‘Warm beer. Something for everyone.’
‘Indeed.’ Ruby could come to like Lena. A lot. ‘Damon, what did you like best about Brussels?’ Keeping it casual, forcing a direction, and to hell with letting the conversation find its own ebb and flow. Ruby had the helm now, and she was keeping it.
‘The history,’ he said, and talk turned to the fields of Flanders and the hallmarks of war.
Wine flowed and the food was indeed superb. Conversation flowed too, and turned to future endeavours. To Lena hoping to build her strength and get back to work, and Poppy, who couldn’t decide whether to learn Korean or study Mayan script, and to Russell, who wanted to expand his banking services into Shanghai. No one asked Damon what lay on his horizon and he didn’t say.
Washington, DC, perhaps? Maybe some other old employer would whiz him through the White House in their spare time?
Dessert was worth waiting for, and thenit was time for Ruby to thank Russell for the marvellous meal, wish them all a Merry Christmas and see herself home.
She thought she’d executed a clean getaway as Damon rose to pull out her chair.
Until Russell insisted on everyone heading to the hotel foyer together, presumably so they could see her into a taxi, only by the time they got there Russell had rearranged events to his liking, in that everyone could fit in the limo, and his chauffeur would drive everyone home.
Ruby knew when to cut her losses and go with a superior plan, only by the time they arrived at Russell’s high rise the plan had changed again.
Ruby didn’t even see it coming until Russell alighted and helped Lena and Poppy from the car, and then leaned back down and asked Damon to see Ruby home, and by then the limo door was closing, and the limo—with her and Damon in it—was pulling smoothly away from the kerb.
‘Old fox. He planned that,’ she murmured, and Damon responded with a smile.
Time to reach for her wine and shut her mouth and hope that someone else’s manners would prevail when clearly hers had not.
‘Geneva’s a pleasant city,’ said Damon as a waiter appeared from nowhere to top up everyone’s wineglasses. ‘I was there this time last week, on my way through from a job in Brussels. Catching up with an old employer.’
Damon didn’t look at her as he delivered his words. He didn’t look at anyone, just locked his gaze on the entreé another waiter placed in front of him and kept it there. ‘He took me on a backdoor tour through the Palace of Nations. I recommend it.’
Ruby wasn’t the only one who stared at him in astonishment. Both Lena and Poppy were gaping at him too.
Where to begin? What to pick up on? What to leave the hell alone?
‘Huh,’ said Lena, amazement running deeply through that one incautious sound.
Ruby couldn’t even manage that.
‘You didn’t tell me you were in Brussels?’ said Poppy, and her voice held disappointment and sorrow rather than amazement. ‘We could have met up somewhere. Oxford’s not
that
far away.’
‘Sorry, Poppy.’ Damon shot Poppy a guarded glance. ‘You know I don’t do family when I’m working.’
What the hell did Damon West
do
for a living that he had to eschew his family while he was doing it?
But Damon didn’t say and Ruby sure as hell didn’t ask. She just looked at him and Damon looked back, his bleak gaze meeting hers, and there was no smile in them, no invitation, just a man who knew he’d said too much already and had to shut it down before he came unstuck completely.
‘Pretty place, Brussels,’ she said, in a weak attempt to halt the growing silence. ‘It’s probably my favourite city centre of all the European cities. Not too big or overwhelming.’ Unlike, say, Damon’s attempt at openness and transparency. ‘And then there’s the chocolate.’
‘And the waffles,’ said Lena, joining the rescue party. ‘And the beer.’
‘Cherry beer,’ said Ruby.
‘Trappist beer,’ said Lena, and with a gamine grin, ‘Warm beer. Something for everyone.’
‘Indeed.’ Ruby could come to like Lena. A lot. ‘Damon, what did you like best about Brussels?’ Keeping it casual, forcing a direction, and to hell with letting the conversation find its own ebb and flow. Ruby had the helm now, and she was keeping it.
‘The history,’ he said, and talk turned to the fields of Flanders and the hallmarks of war.
Wine flowed and the food was indeed superb. Conversation flowed too, and turned to future endeavours. To Lena hoping to build her strength and get back to work, and Poppy, who couldn’t decide whether to learn Korean or study Mayan script, and to Russell, who wanted to expand his banking services into Shanghai. No one asked Damon what lay on his horizon and he didn’t say.
Washington, DC, perhaps? Maybe some other old employer would whiz him through the White House in their spare time?
Dessert was worth waiting for, and thenit was time for Ruby to thank Russell for the marvellous meal, wish them all a Merry Christmas and see herself home.
She thought she’d executed a clean getaway as Damon rose to pull out her chair.
Until Russell insisted on everyone heading to the hotel foyer together, presumably so they could see her into a taxi, only by the time they got there Russell had rearranged events to his liking, in that everyone could fit in the limo, and his chauffeur would drive everyone home.
Ruby knew when to cut her losses and go with a superior plan, only by the time they arrived at Russell’s high rise the plan had changed again.
Ruby didn’t even see it coming until Russell alighted and helped Lena and Poppy from the car, and then leaned back down and asked Damon to see Ruby home, and by then the limo door was closing, and the limo—with her and Damon in it—was pulling smoothly away from the kerb.
‘Old fox. He planned that,’ she murmured, and Damon responded with a smile.
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