wouldn’t be caught out à la Bridget Jones, but she thought it unlikely that he was going to suddenly pounce on her. Not like Terry. With him, they had not even made it as far as the bedroom that first time.
There was no rush this time round and it made the anticipation all the greater. It was a long time since she had done the dreaming about him stuff and in a perverse way she did not want the anticipation to end on the off-chance it disappointed. Her mum’s words came thudding back, something about being worried if he didn’t try something soon. Her mum was right. The last thing she wanted was a lukewarm lover.
But, despite her doubts, she liked this gentler approach and she felt she needed to get to know Simon better before allowing him to take her to bed. It would be her decision, she realized. It was heading that way, bound to be, for they were neither of them kids and she had caught him looking at her in that way several times tonight. She didn’t know anything about his history, his love life, but he did know about Terry, courtesy of Marina, although mercifully he had not asked too many questions.
‘Stay there,’ he said after he had provided them with coffee and mints. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’
This open-plan living was all very well, she thought, as she took a closer look round once he was gone, but it wouldn’t be her choice. Still, she had a long way to go before she could start dictating what she wanted but moving in here – if it happened – would be a dream come true. She could do things with this place if she got her hands on it. For a kick off, she’d get some lovely big vases and fill them with flowers and, whilst she liked the smooth beauty of the wooden floors, she would get some large rugs to add softness and colour.
‘Now …’ Simon interrupted her reverie, hurrying back, carrying some files. ‘I want to show you these, Rebecca. Come over here,’ he said, switching on lamps from a central switch to provide a soft glow in the other part of the room.
The dining area was on a low raised platform and the table was lacquered black with high-backed dark grey leather chairs. He flung the files down on the table and pulled out a chair for her. Damn. If he wanted her to look at papers then she would have to own up to wearing glasses for reading. She was stupidly sensitive about the glasses, had managed the menu all right tonight, but she saw she would have no chance with the neat columns of writing and figures.
He made no comment as she reached into her bag and put on her reading glasses, an inoffensive design from the cheap end of the frames range.
‘I want to be up front with you, Rebecca,’ he told her. ‘I want you to know something about the business I run. Did Marina tell you what I did?’
‘No. She said you were in business but she didn’t say what.’
‘Oh, that was remiss of her. I thought she’d have given you all the details by now,’ he said with a small smile. ‘Aren’t you curious?’
‘Yes but I knew you’d get round to telling me sooner or later,’ she said.
‘I’m a director of Bell’s Laundry,’ he said with a slight flourish as if she would be impressed by that.
‘Really?’
‘The blue and white vans,’ he added. ‘You must have seen them around?’
She nodded, familiar with them. If she was right, Bell’s Laundry was housed in a warehouse-type building on the edge of town, had been there for donkey’s years and she had indeed seen their distinctive blue and white vans travelling about. The revelation was, to be honest, a bit of a disappointment. Laundry! She had not thought to ask Marina, more concerned with the man himself than his occupation, but she might have hoped he did something a bit more glamorous. A sudden memory of passing one of the hotels in town and seeing a van driver loading sacks of dirty linen into the back of the van flew into her head. The van was in an alley round the side of the hotel, of course, for it
There was no rush this time round and it made the anticipation all the greater. It was a long time since she had done the dreaming about him stuff and in a perverse way she did not want the anticipation to end on the off-chance it disappointed. Her mum’s words came thudding back, something about being worried if he didn’t try something soon. Her mum was right. The last thing she wanted was a lukewarm lover.
But, despite her doubts, she liked this gentler approach and she felt she needed to get to know Simon better before allowing him to take her to bed. It would be her decision, she realized. It was heading that way, bound to be, for they were neither of them kids and she had caught him looking at her in that way several times tonight. She didn’t know anything about his history, his love life, but he did know about Terry, courtesy of Marina, although mercifully he had not asked too many questions.
‘Stay there,’ he said after he had provided them with coffee and mints. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’
This open-plan living was all very well, she thought, as she took a closer look round once he was gone, but it wouldn’t be her choice. Still, she had a long way to go before she could start dictating what she wanted but moving in here – if it happened – would be a dream come true. She could do things with this place if she got her hands on it. For a kick off, she’d get some lovely big vases and fill them with flowers and, whilst she liked the smooth beauty of the wooden floors, she would get some large rugs to add softness and colour.
‘Now …’ Simon interrupted her reverie, hurrying back, carrying some files. ‘I want to show you these, Rebecca. Come over here,’ he said, switching on lamps from a central switch to provide a soft glow in the other part of the room.
The dining area was on a low raised platform and the table was lacquered black with high-backed dark grey leather chairs. He flung the files down on the table and pulled out a chair for her. Damn. If he wanted her to look at papers then she would have to own up to wearing glasses for reading. She was stupidly sensitive about the glasses, had managed the menu all right tonight, but she saw she would have no chance with the neat columns of writing and figures.
He made no comment as she reached into her bag and put on her reading glasses, an inoffensive design from the cheap end of the frames range.
‘I want to be up front with you, Rebecca,’ he told her. ‘I want you to know something about the business I run. Did Marina tell you what I did?’
‘No. She said you were in business but she didn’t say what.’
‘Oh, that was remiss of her. I thought she’d have given you all the details by now,’ he said with a small smile. ‘Aren’t you curious?’
‘Yes but I knew you’d get round to telling me sooner or later,’ she said.
‘I’m a director of Bell’s Laundry,’ he said with a slight flourish as if she would be impressed by that.
‘Really?’
‘The blue and white vans,’ he added. ‘You must have seen them around?’
She nodded, familiar with them. If she was right, Bell’s Laundry was housed in a warehouse-type building on the edge of town, had been there for donkey’s years and she had indeed seen their distinctive blue and white vans travelling about. The revelation was, to be honest, a bit of a disappointment. Laundry! She had not thought to ask Marina, more concerned with the man himself than his occupation, but she might have hoped he did something a bit more glamorous. A sudden memory of passing one of the hotels in town and seeing a van driver loading sacks of dirty linen into the back of the van flew into her head. The van was in an alley round the side of the hotel, of course, for it
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