which he had not heard before. ‘I never thought for a minute that I would,’ he told her.
Jessica hurried from the room. It was instinctive, this feeling she had that he knew she was living a lie but had no intention of calling her on it, now or ever. That in itself made her aware of how unusual a man Luke was, and how very interested he was in her. But did his feelings go deep enough never to pry into her past? Only time would tell.
Luke poured himself two fingers of Scotch and walked around the room. He was astounded at what he was seeing. Like everyone else in town he knew about Rose Cottage but he had not had the least idea of the treasures inside it. The room was warm and welcoming with an air of perfect elegance. Clearly it had been lovingly put together by someone well used to the finest things in life and how to live with them, a cultured person who was not over-awed by priceless objects, in the same way that Jessica had not been over-awed or embarrassed by his gift to her.
Luke had not a doubt in his mind that Jessica was responsible for the interior of the drawing room, indeed for the whole of Rose Cottage. It added to the mystery of Jessica Johnson. As he stood there in that room with a glowing fire in the hearth, his drink in a Lalique tumbler etched with the entwined figures of a man and woman, he understood how complex was the life of the woman he had so rashly fallen in love with. And he knew instinctively he must accept herwith grace and never try to dominate or change her if he was to win her to his side for ever.
He picked up several of the books lying on tables around the room and thumbed through them, went through a stack of CDs on the table and chose the opera
Manon Lescaut
. He figured out the sophisticated sound system, and Puccini’s music filled the room. Luke turned the volume down and the voices like seductive whispers spoke to him as he wandered through the room picking up the occasional artefact: an ivory figure, yellowed with the centuries, of a reclining woman, her silken robes falling open to reveal a single breast of exquisite beauty; a circle of jade intricately carved in geometric patterns; an ebony box inlaid with mother-of-pearl and rose-cut diamonds. He scooped up a handful of potpourri from the most perfect Han period celadon bowl and let the petals run through his fingers.
To live like this in such refined splendour and wait on tables at Wiggin’s Tavern as he had seen her doing one evening, to hear of how she was stacking shelves for a few pennies at the supermarket – it was ludicrous. Was she doing penance for something? Was it some sort of therapy? Getting back to basics, humbling herself, in order to seek a level from which to rise? Was this her version of a Betty Ford Clinic retreat? He knew she had to work to earn money, until the cash in her handbag was checked out. Yet he could not but help feel that this was secondary. What came first was to heal herself from he knew not what, and not to find herself. In his heart he was certain she knew exactly who and what she was, where she had been and where she was going. And that, for Luke Greenfield, was seductive, qualities to build a love affair on.
He refilled his glass and sat not in the wing chair but on the eighteenth-century settee where he had another view of the room and where he would see Jessica the moment she appeared. The town was rife with gossip about her and that was what he was thinking about while he waited for her todress. She had made many acquaintances but no friends, with the exception of Cissie and Bridget Copley. She had declined all invitations and when not working or shopping for food or cycling round the town, she remained locked away in Rose Cottage, inviting no one and quite obviously happy with her own company.
Jessica heard the music from the upstairs landing as she was about to come down the stairs. She was amused, cautious in her delight, that Luke had made himself so comfortable in her
Jessica hurried from the room. It was instinctive, this feeling she had that he knew she was living a lie but had no intention of calling her on it, now or ever. That in itself made her aware of how unusual a man Luke was, and how very interested he was in her. But did his feelings go deep enough never to pry into her past? Only time would tell.
Luke poured himself two fingers of Scotch and walked around the room. He was astounded at what he was seeing. Like everyone else in town he knew about Rose Cottage but he had not had the least idea of the treasures inside it. The room was warm and welcoming with an air of perfect elegance. Clearly it had been lovingly put together by someone well used to the finest things in life and how to live with them, a cultured person who was not over-awed by priceless objects, in the same way that Jessica had not been over-awed or embarrassed by his gift to her.
Luke had not a doubt in his mind that Jessica was responsible for the interior of the drawing room, indeed for the whole of Rose Cottage. It added to the mystery of Jessica Johnson. As he stood there in that room with a glowing fire in the hearth, his drink in a Lalique tumbler etched with the entwined figures of a man and woman, he understood how complex was the life of the woman he had so rashly fallen in love with. And he knew instinctively he must accept herwith grace and never try to dominate or change her if he was to win her to his side for ever.
He picked up several of the books lying on tables around the room and thumbed through them, went through a stack of CDs on the table and chose the opera
Manon Lescaut
. He figured out the sophisticated sound system, and Puccini’s music filled the room. Luke turned the volume down and the voices like seductive whispers spoke to him as he wandered through the room picking up the occasional artefact: an ivory figure, yellowed with the centuries, of a reclining woman, her silken robes falling open to reveal a single breast of exquisite beauty; a circle of jade intricately carved in geometric patterns; an ebony box inlaid with mother-of-pearl and rose-cut diamonds. He scooped up a handful of potpourri from the most perfect Han period celadon bowl and let the petals run through his fingers.
To live like this in such refined splendour and wait on tables at Wiggin’s Tavern as he had seen her doing one evening, to hear of how she was stacking shelves for a few pennies at the supermarket – it was ludicrous. Was she doing penance for something? Was it some sort of therapy? Getting back to basics, humbling herself, in order to seek a level from which to rise? Was this her version of a Betty Ford Clinic retreat? He knew she had to work to earn money, until the cash in her handbag was checked out. Yet he could not but help feel that this was secondary. What came first was to heal herself from he knew not what, and not to find herself. In his heart he was certain she knew exactly who and what she was, where she had been and where she was going. And that, for Luke Greenfield, was seductive, qualities to build a love affair on.
He refilled his glass and sat not in the wing chair but on the eighteenth-century settee where he had another view of the room and where he would see Jessica the moment she appeared. The town was rife with gossip about her and that was what he was thinking about while he waited for her todress. She had made many acquaintances but no friends, with the exception of Cissie and Bridget Copley. She had declined all invitations and when not working or shopping for food or cycling round the town, she remained locked away in Rose Cottage, inviting no one and quite obviously happy with her own company.
Jessica heard the music from the upstairs landing as she was about to come down the stairs. She was amused, cautious in her delight, that Luke had made himself so comfortable in her
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