continued
walking and, as he expected, after a moment’s hesitation, she
followed him. He poured a whisky for himself, a sherry for her.
He handed it
to her.
“Drink,” was
all he said.
She took the
glass but did not drink. He lifted his whisky to his lips and
sipped from it, watching her over the rim of his glass.
She was
staring at him as if it was he that had lost his mind, her lovely
green eyes managing to look both rounded and narrowed at the same
time.
“Douglas
–”
“Julia, calm
yourself. Sit down, drink,” he commanded and expected her, as he
would anyone, to obey.
“Douglas! I
heard… a woman… scream!”
He sighed.
He’d lived at Sommersgate his whole life, he had, of course, heard
this story before.
“You heard
nothing. You have jetlag. You were probably asleep and
dreaming.”
“Jetlag
doesn’t make you start hearing things. I know what I heard. And I
wasn’t asleep,” she retorted sharply.
Douglas
watched her. Her breathing had slowed but she still kept looking
out the door as if she was going to see something there.
She hadn’t
sat, she hadn’t drunk, she hadn’t done anything he told her to
do.
He couldn’t
remember the last time anyone had spoken to him in that tone. In
fact, outside of his father, there might never have been a time
when anyone had spoken to him in that tone.
He also
couldn’t remember a time when he’d issued an order that hadn’t been
carried out immediately.
This was a new
sensation for him and it was intriguing.
“Do you hear
anything now?” he asked, feigning concern.
“No.”
“What were you
doing when you heard this… scream?”
“I was making
lists. I was doing a budget. I was wide awake and…” She stopped
herself and looked back out the door. She tipped her head to the
side and seemed to be listening for something or thinking about
something.
Then she took
a deep breath and her teeth bit into her generous bottom lip. When
her eyes came back to his, she seemed to have come to some
conclusion.
“Yes, yes,
you’re right. It was just… I’m exhausted. I’m sorry. I can’t sleep.
Haven’t slept well in a long time. I’m sorry.”
When she
stopped speaking, he raised an eyebrow then motioned to the couch
with a nod of his head. This time she obeyed his unspoken command
and sat down. She took a drink and then opened her mouth wide and
breathed out like something burned her tongue. Her expression was
so preposterous, it almost made Douglas smile.
“ What is that?” she
asked, lifting the glass to indicate the source of her
question.
“Sherry,” he
replied, walking to the desk and leaning a thigh against it. Then
he took another sip of the whisky while he watched her.
“I’m sorry but
it’s awful,” she told him, setting the glass down on the table in
front of her.
“That’s a
sweet sherry, would you like something dry?”
She raised
comically horrified eyes to him at the thought of anything sherry
and said, “No. No, thank you, no. No sherry, sweet or dry. Sherry,
blech. Are you drinking sherry?”
As he
regarded her sitting on his couch in her tight, fetching outfit,
Douglas thought that this was a very bizarre conversation and would
have preferred not to be having it. He also didn’t have time (nor
would he allow himself) to consider the many things he would have
preferred to be doing, most specifically with her or, to be
precise, to her, as his
call would be coming through shortly.
“Whisky,” he
replied, seeking patience.
“May I have
some whisky?”
Obliging her,
he walked to the drinks cabinet, thinking to give her some spirit
to soothe her mental state and get her to go to bed. There were a
number of things to do and she was distracting.
“Do you like
whisky?” he asked.
“I hate it,”
she answered and when he turned on that strange comment, he saw she
was again looking out the door. She had lifted her hand to pull her
hair off her face and then she looked back at him, dropping her
arm. He
walking and, as he expected, after a moment’s hesitation, she
followed him. He poured a whisky for himself, a sherry for her.
He handed it
to her.
“Drink,” was
all he said.
She took the
glass but did not drink. He lifted his whisky to his lips and
sipped from it, watching her over the rim of his glass.
She was
staring at him as if it was he that had lost his mind, her lovely
green eyes managing to look both rounded and narrowed at the same
time.
“Douglas
–”
“Julia, calm
yourself. Sit down, drink,” he commanded and expected her, as he
would anyone, to obey.
“Douglas! I
heard… a woman… scream!”
He sighed.
He’d lived at Sommersgate his whole life, he had, of course, heard
this story before.
“You heard
nothing. You have jetlag. You were probably asleep and
dreaming.”
“Jetlag
doesn’t make you start hearing things. I know what I heard. And I
wasn’t asleep,” she retorted sharply.
Douglas
watched her. Her breathing had slowed but she still kept looking
out the door as if she was going to see something there.
She hadn’t
sat, she hadn’t drunk, she hadn’t done anything he told her to
do.
He couldn’t
remember the last time anyone had spoken to him in that tone. In
fact, outside of his father, there might never have been a time
when anyone had spoken to him in that tone.
He also
couldn’t remember a time when he’d issued an order that hadn’t been
carried out immediately.
This was a new
sensation for him and it was intriguing.
“Do you hear
anything now?” he asked, feigning concern.
“No.”
“What were you
doing when you heard this… scream?”
“I was making
lists. I was doing a budget. I was wide awake and…” She stopped
herself and looked back out the door. She tipped her head to the
side and seemed to be listening for something or thinking about
something.
Then she took
a deep breath and her teeth bit into her generous bottom lip. When
her eyes came back to his, she seemed to have come to some
conclusion.
“Yes, yes,
you’re right. It was just… I’m exhausted. I’m sorry. I can’t sleep.
Haven’t slept well in a long time. I’m sorry.”
When she
stopped speaking, he raised an eyebrow then motioned to the couch
with a nod of his head. This time she obeyed his unspoken command
and sat down. She took a drink and then opened her mouth wide and
breathed out like something burned her tongue. Her expression was
so preposterous, it almost made Douglas smile.
“ What is that?” she
asked, lifting the glass to indicate the source of her
question.
“Sherry,” he
replied, walking to the desk and leaning a thigh against it. Then
he took another sip of the whisky while he watched her.
“I’m sorry but
it’s awful,” she told him, setting the glass down on the table in
front of her.
“That’s a
sweet sherry, would you like something dry?”
She raised
comically horrified eyes to him at the thought of anything sherry
and said, “No. No, thank you, no. No sherry, sweet or dry. Sherry,
blech. Are you drinking sherry?”
As he
regarded her sitting on his couch in her tight, fetching outfit,
Douglas thought that this was a very bizarre conversation and would
have preferred not to be having it. He also didn’t have time (nor
would he allow himself) to consider the many things he would have
preferred to be doing, most specifically with her or, to be
precise, to her, as his
call would be coming through shortly.
“Whisky,” he
replied, seeking patience.
“May I have
some whisky?”
Obliging her,
he walked to the drinks cabinet, thinking to give her some spirit
to soothe her mental state and get her to go to bed. There were a
number of things to do and she was distracting.
“Do you like
whisky?” he asked.
“I hate it,”
she answered and when he turned on that strange comment, he saw she
was again looking out the door. She had lifted her hand to pull her
hair off her face and then she looked back at him, dropping her
arm. He
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