'Have something to eat instead, and
you'll start to feel better. I can recommend the Dover sole.'
'It would choke me.'
'I wouldn't blame it,' he said drily. He put his menu down. 'Go hungry,
then, if you feel you're making some valid moral point. I intend to
have clear soup, and the fillet steak, fare. I'm sure you can make some
capital out of that.'
When Gregory came for their order,- Joanna said curtly that she
would have melon and Dover sole. She didn't look at Cal, but the
expected sarcastic comment did not come.
She watched in hostile silence as the champagne was opened.
When the wine waiter departed, she said coldly, 'Is there supposed to
be something to celebrate?'
'That might be pushing it, I agree,' he said, his mouth twisting.
'Although we could always drink to the final burying of the hatchet
between us.' He gave her inimical expression a quizzical glance. 'No?
Then let's regard this more in the nature of a launch, a beginning.' He
lifted his glass in a toast. 'To our better understanding, Joanna. We'll
leave it at that.'
She hesitated, then took a reluctant sip.
'Bravo,' he said silkily. 'I know what that must have cost you.'
The meal when it came was excellent. Cal chatted easily on purely
non-personal topics while they ate, or while Joanna pushed her food
round the plate in a pretence of eating, and returned monosyllabic
responses when required. How could he behave so normally, she
wondered, seething, as if this were just any social occasion?
'Would you like some dessert?' he asked as the table was cleared.
She shook her head. 'Just coffee, please.'
'Then we'll have that upstairs,' he said. 'I make very good coffee.'
It was too late to do an about-face and demand the sweet trolley.
Joanna crumpled her napkin and got slowly to her feet.
There was a lift, marked 'Private'. He ushered her into it, and pressed
the button. She leaned against the metal wall, feeling her heart
fluttering against her rib- cage, as the lift rose all too swiftly. The
palms of her hands felt clammy, but he might notice if she tried to
wipe them on her skirt.
The lift stopped and the doors slid open. She emerged and walked
across a carpeted passage to an imposing pair of double doors. He
unlocked them and stood aside to allow her to precede him into the
room.
It was huge, with tall Georgian windows looking towards the western
evening sky. The heavy cream brocade curtains were undrawn, to
admit the last vestiges of daylight, but the lamps had been lit and
glowed softly on tables and in alcoves. The furnishings, she saw,
were comfortable without being ostentatious, and traditional in
concept rather than trendy. It was neither vulgar nor nouveau riche, as
she'd half expected, and she didn't know whether to be glad or sorry.
'Sit down.' Cal gestured towards one of the deeply cushioned sofas.
'And I'll see to the coffee.' He pointed to a door. 'That's the kitchen.'
He paused. 'And the bedroom and bathroom are over there.'
Joanna deliberately avoided looking in the direction indicated.
'Everything opens out of this room?' she asked stiltedly.
He nodded. 'I had the whole of the first floor of this wing remodelled,
and simplified. When I'm at home and relaxing, I don't want to have
to walk down a lot of unnecessary passages to reach what I need.'
Joanna had too often bewailed the Victorian inconveniences of
Chalfont House to argue with that.
She sat rigidly on the edge of the sofa, listening to him moving
around the kitchen, the chink of crockery, the sound of a percolator.
The aroma of coffee drifted persuasively into the room.
In the deepening velvet sky beyond the windows, stars were
beginning to appear, and she could hear music, slow and dreamy,
emanating from some other part of the building.
She was surrounded by all the elements of a romantic idyll, she
thought helplessly, yet in reality she was being subjected to the
crudest form of blackmail. He couldn't really mean it, she
you'll start to feel better. I can recommend the Dover sole.'
'It would choke me.'
'I wouldn't blame it,' he said drily. He put his menu down. 'Go hungry,
then, if you feel you're making some valid moral point. I intend to
have clear soup, and the fillet steak, fare. I'm sure you can make some
capital out of that.'
When Gregory came for their order,- Joanna said curtly that she
would have melon and Dover sole. She didn't look at Cal, but the
expected sarcastic comment did not come.
She watched in hostile silence as the champagne was opened.
When the wine waiter departed, she said coldly, 'Is there supposed to
be something to celebrate?'
'That might be pushing it, I agree,' he said, his mouth twisting.
'Although we could always drink to the final burying of the hatchet
between us.' He gave her inimical expression a quizzical glance. 'No?
Then let's regard this more in the nature of a launch, a beginning.' He
lifted his glass in a toast. 'To our better understanding, Joanna. We'll
leave it at that.'
She hesitated, then took a reluctant sip.
'Bravo,' he said silkily. 'I know what that must have cost you.'
The meal when it came was excellent. Cal chatted easily on purely
non-personal topics while they ate, or while Joanna pushed her food
round the plate in a pretence of eating, and returned monosyllabic
responses when required. How could he behave so normally, she
wondered, seething, as if this were just any social occasion?
'Would you like some dessert?' he asked as the table was cleared.
She shook her head. 'Just coffee, please.'
'Then we'll have that upstairs,' he said. 'I make very good coffee.'
It was too late to do an about-face and demand the sweet trolley.
Joanna crumpled her napkin and got slowly to her feet.
There was a lift, marked 'Private'. He ushered her into it, and pressed
the button. She leaned against the metal wall, feeling her heart
fluttering against her rib- cage, as the lift rose all too swiftly. The
palms of her hands felt clammy, but he might notice if she tried to
wipe them on her skirt.
The lift stopped and the doors slid open. She emerged and walked
across a carpeted passage to an imposing pair of double doors. He
unlocked them and stood aside to allow her to precede him into the
room.
It was huge, with tall Georgian windows looking towards the western
evening sky. The heavy cream brocade curtains were undrawn, to
admit the last vestiges of daylight, but the lamps had been lit and
glowed softly on tables and in alcoves. The furnishings, she saw,
were comfortable without being ostentatious, and traditional in
concept rather than trendy. It was neither vulgar nor nouveau riche, as
she'd half expected, and she didn't know whether to be glad or sorry.
'Sit down.' Cal gestured towards one of the deeply cushioned sofas.
'And I'll see to the coffee.' He pointed to a door. 'That's the kitchen.'
He paused. 'And the bedroom and bathroom are over there.'
Joanna deliberately avoided looking in the direction indicated.
'Everything opens out of this room?' she asked stiltedly.
He nodded. 'I had the whole of the first floor of this wing remodelled,
and simplified. When I'm at home and relaxing, I don't want to have
to walk down a lot of unnecessary passages to reach what I need.'
Joanna had too often bewailed the Victorian inconveniences of
Chalfont House to argue with that.
She sat rigidly on the edge of the sofa, listening to him moving
around the kitchen, the chink of crockery, the sound of a percolator.
The aroma of coffee drifted persuasively into the room.
In the deepening velvet sky beyond the windows, stars were
beginning to appear, and she could hear music, slow and dreamy,
emanating from some other part of the building.
She was surrounded by all the elements of a romantic idyll, she
thought helplessly, yet in reality she was being subjected to the
crudest form of blackmail. He couldn't really mean it, she
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