while this morning’s still clear in my mind. Thanks for lunch. And the site tour.” He paused, his eyes searching her face. “You’re sure you’re all right?”
“I only have a few steps to go.” Deliberately misunderstanding him.
He nodded, a twist of his mouth acknowledging that. “I’ll be in touch.” Unexpectedly he bent his head and brushed his lips across her cheek before turning towards where he’d parked his car.
Ten minutes later, sitting at her desk staring into space, she could still feel the touch of his mouth.
Her secretary entered, and stopped before she reached the desk. “Are you all right?” she asked. Just as Jase had.
Samantha snapped herself out of a confused reverie. “Yes. What is it, Judy?”
For the rest of the day she firmly kept Jase and his unsettling remarks at the very back of her mind.
When she reached home that night after working late, she was tired but restless. Following a quick meal of tinned soup and a couple of pieces of toast, she poured herself a glass of wine and switched on the TV but found nothing she wanted to watch. Then she flicked through the daily paper before flinging it aside and picking up a book that also failed to hold her attention.
She put it down on the elegant metal-and-misted-glass coffee table, smoothed the cushion she’d been resting against,deciding she needed softer ones, and began aimlessly wandering about the spacious apartment.
She’d bought it after selling the last house her father had built for his family, less than a year before her mother’s death. It had seemed full of life when her mother was alive—she was always hostessing parties or business dinners, celebrating birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, having guests to stay. Following her death it had seemed empty, too large for Samantha and her father, and it was certainly far too big for Samantha alone, even if she’d kept their housekeeper on.
Here she had a cleaner who came three times a week and left everything spick and span. There was nothing for her to do.
Maybe she should get a cat. Or a dog. Only the regulations in her building didn’t allow either. Some of the residents kept birds, but she’d always had a feeling of angry empathy with caged birds, even knowing that those bred to it wouldn’t survive in the outside world.
Her thoughts kept circling around Jase and the extraordinary so-called fantasy he’d regaled her with.
She shivered. No one knew how she’d felt as a little girl. He’d been guessing.
Every only child must have felt lonely at times. And didn’t all children long for something—a puppy, a bicycle, a special doll, a baby brother…or their parents’ attention?
Jase hadn’t said anything specific and unique to her.
Had he deliberately played with her mind, like a phoney stage clairvoyant speaking in generalisations and knowing gullible members of the audience would refer it to themselves and unwittingly give clues to further the illusion? A stirring of anger grew into a cold rage. Stupid of her to have fallen for that cheap trick. And what had he thought to gain from it?
At least, she hoped, she hadn’t allowed him to see how much it had affected her. She wasn’t a child any more, but a grown woman who had learned how to hide her feelings, to appear impregnable, in absolute control of herself and her surroundings. Of her emotions. Proving to her father that when it came her turn to run the firm he’d worked so hard and long to build, that he’d poured his whole life into, she wouldn’t let him down. That his little girl, as he’d used to call her, was as tough and strong and indomitable as himself.
A second glass of wine, breaking her usual limit when home alone, didn’t help her inner turmoil, only made her inexplicably want to cry. Of course she didn’t give in to the maudlin impulse. She hadn’t cried since her mother’s death and she wasn’t going to start now.
Working with Jase wasn’t as difficult as she’d
“I only have a few steps to go.” Deliberately misunderstanding him.
He nodded, a twist of his mouth acknowledging that. “I’ll be in touch.” Unexpectedly he bent his head and brushed his lips across her cheek before turning towards where he’d parked his car.
Ten minutes later, sitting at her desk staring into space, she could still feel the touch of his mouth.
Her secretary entered, and stopped before she reached the desk. “Are you all right?” she asked. Just as Jase had.
Samantha snapped herself out of a confused reverie. “Yes. What is it, Judy?”
For the rest of the day she firmly kept Jase and his unsettling remarks at the very back of her mind.
When she reached home that night after working late, she was tired but restless. Following a quick meal of tinned soup and a couple of pieces of toast, she poured herself a glass of wine and switched on the TV but found nothing she wanted to watch. Then she flicked through the daily paper before flinging it aside and picking up a book that also failed to hold her attention.
She put it down on the elegant metal-and-misted-glass coffee table, smoothed the cushion she’d been resting against,deciding she needed softer ones, and began aimlessly wandering about the spacious apartment.
She’d bought it after selling the last house her father had built for his family, less than a year before her mother’s death. It had seemed full of life when her mother was alive—she was always hostessing parties or business dinners, celebrating birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, having guests to stay. Following her death it had seemed empty, too large for Samantha and her father, and it was certainly far too big for Samantha alone, even if she’d kept their housekeeper on.
Here she had a cleaner who came three times a week and left everything spick and span. There was nothing for her to do.
Maybe she should get a cat. Or a dog. Only the regulations in her building didn’t allow either. Some of the residents kept birds, but she’d always had a feeling of angry empathy with caged birds, even knowing that those bred to it wouldn’t survive in the outside world.
Her thoughts kept circling around Jase and the extraordinary so-called fantasy he’d regaled her with.
She shivered. No one knew how she’d felt as a little girl. He’d been guessing.
Every only child must have felt lonely at times. And didn’t all children long for something—a puppy, a bicycle, a special doll, a baby brother…or their parents’ attention?
Jase hadn’t said anything specific and unique to her.
Had he deliberately played with her mind, like a phoney stage clairvoyant speaking in generalisations and knowing gullible members of the audience would refer it to themselves and unwittingly give clues to further the illusion? A stirring of anger grew into a cold rage. Stupid of her to have fallen for that cheap trick. And what had he thought to gain from it?
At least, she hoped, she hadn’t allowed him to see how much it had affected her. She wasn’t a child any more, but a grown woman who had learned how to hide her feelings, to appear impregnable, in absolute control of herself and her surroundings. Of her emotions. Proving to her father that when it came her turn to run the firm he’d worked so hard and long to build, that he’d poured his whole life into, she wouldn’t let him down. That his little girl, as he’d used to call her, was as tough and strong and indomitable as himself.
A second glass of wine, breaking her usual limit when home alone, didn’t help her inner turmoil, only made her inexplicably want to cry. Of course she didn’t give in to the maudlin impulse. She hadn’t cried since her mother’s death and she wasn’t going to start now.
Working with Jase wasn’t as difficult as she’d
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