‘Good afternoon, sir.’ The man’s eyes slipped over Miranda, taking in her boots and skirt and the loose tumble of black curls hanging down her back. ‘May I help you with something?’
‘Yes. We’d like a table, please.’
‘Did you have a reservation, sir?’
She felt Daniel’s hand tighten on her arm. ‘No,’ he said pleasantly. His gaze skimmed the half-empty restaurant, then returned to the head waiter. ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t.’
‘Ah.’ The man shrugged his shoulders. ‘In that case—’
‘But I’m quite sure you can seat us,’ Daniel said softly. ‘Isn’t that right?’
Miranda looked up at him. His tone was pleasant and even, but there was a dangerous edge to it. She could see his eyes glinting like shards of ice in his tanned face.
Suddenly the air seemed charged with electricity.
‘Mr Thorpe.’ Miranda cleared her throat. ‘Mr Thorpe,’ she said softly, ‘I know a very nice little coffee shop…’
The pressure of his hand increased. ‘Isn’t that right?’ he said again.
The head waiter swallowed convulsively. ‘Of course, sir. I only meant—I only meant that we could have given you a window table if we’d had some advance knowledge.’ He smiled. ‘But we have a very nice table in the corner—’
Daniel’s arm slipped around Miranda’s waist. She tensed, but his hand settled heavily on her hip, moulding her to his side.
‘But you do have a table near the window,’ he said in that same quiet tone. ‘You must have forgotten.’
The head waiter glanced from the table to Daniel’s tautly composed face.
‘I did indeed, sir,’ he said quickly. ‘If you’d just follow me?’
Conversation ceased as they made their way through the dining-room. Miranda’s embroidered skirt swirled around her leather-clad ankles. Women in the latest Chanels and Adolfos stared with unabashed interest at her as she swept past. Men watched her, too, but with a different kind of interest, as if her exotic clothing and tousled mane of dark hair marked her as fair game.
Miranda kept her head high, but she felt herself shrivelling inside. Her pace quickened, and instantly Daniel’s head bent so that his lips were close to her ear.
‘Easy does it,’ he said softly.
She felt a swift rush of gratitude and she looked up at him. He was walking beside her nonchalantly, as if he made this kind of entrance all the time, and he met each stare with an even gaze of his own so that gradually the curious faces turned away and the sound level in the room returned to its normal, muted buzz.
Daniel wasn’t doing this for her, she understood that. It was for himself: he wasn’t a man who’d let anyone mock him. Still, it was hard not to be grateful, and she gave him a quick smile as the head waiter, all but bowing now, drew out her chair, seated her, and handed them menus.
Miranda let out her breath. Daniel leaned towards her across the table. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked quietly.
She nodded. ‘I’m fine. I just…’ She touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘For what?’
‘You know what I mean. Those people—well, you knew they were making things difficult for me—’
His expression hardened instantly. ‘You’ve made things difficult for yourself,’ he said coldly, and he lifted his menu and opened it so that she couldn’t see his face.
Miranda stared at him, and then she sighed and opened her menu, too. The best thing to do was order quickly, eat just as quickly, and leave. An act of charity, he had called this, and that was exactly what it was. Not that she’d expected anything else. It was just that—that…
‘What would you like?’
She looked over the menu at Daniel. The look of distaste had gone from his face, replaced by a courteous neutrality. Yes, she was right. He was waiting for her to choose something so that he could get on with the task he’d set himself and finish it as quickly as possible.
For no discernible reason the thought depressed her.
‘Miss Stuart?’ He smiled politely. ‘Have you decided what to order?’
She looked at the menu again. It was four pages long, a dazzling blend of French and Dutch, and for the life of her she couldn’t make one line of it stand out from another.
‘It doesn’t matter. Anything. Soup, or ham and frites is fine. Or a hamburger. Or eggs and bacon.’ She smiled slightly as she closed the menu and put it down. ‘Whatever you’re having is OK.’
Daniel nodded and signalled the waiter. ‘I’d like a cup of coffee,’ he said. ‘As for the lady—she’ll have a bowl of pea soup to start, and then she’d like ham and frites.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘She’d like a hamburger, too.’
The man’s brows rose. ‘Yes. Of course.’
‘And she’d like an order of bacon and eggs.’ He met the head waiter’s eyes as he handed over his menu. ‘We’ll choose dessert after we’ve eaten.’
Miranda leaned across the table when they were alone again. ‘Are you trying to make fun of me?’ she demanded quietly. ‘Ordering all that food…’
‘We’ll have the kitchen pack what you don’t finish,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders. ‘You can have it later this evening, for supper.’
‘Good,’ she said primly. ‘Because I could never eat even half that much.’
But, of course, she did. The first mouthful of food seemed to set off a chain reaction; once she’d started eating, she couldn’t stop. She ate the soup, the ham, the French fried potatoes, the hamburger, and almost all the bacon and eggs. She was ravenously hungry, and not even the muffled laughter from a nearby table was enough to curb her appetite, although the laughter stopped after one harsh glance from Daniel.
When she was finished she pushed the last plate aside, patted her lips with her linen napkin, and sighed.
‘That was wonderful.’ She hesitated, and then her eyes met Daniel’s. ‘Thank you,’ she said simply.
He frowned. ‘You weren’t exaggerating,’ he said, watching her. ‘You were damned near starving.’
Miranda laughed uncomfortably. ‘Well, not starving, but—’
‘You’re American, aren’t you?’
She nodded. ‘You are, too.’ She smiled hesitantly. ‘I knew we had that in common.’
His frown deepened. ‘How long have you been in Holland?’
‘A little over four months.’ She hesitated. The man had been kind to her, she had to admit that. It was time to tell him the truth about herself. ‘I came to Amsterdam because it’s known worldwide for—’
‘Yes,’ he said coldly, ‘I’m fully aware of what it’s known for, Miss Stuart. A free and easy lifestyle that someone like you can’t handle.’
Miranda laughed. ‘No. No, you’re wrong, Mr Thorpe. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You see, the reason I came here is—’
He leaned forward. ‘How can you live this way?’ he demanded. ‘It’s one thing to be a free spirit, and another to be a damned fool.’
She flushed.