Before she could question that somewhat cryptic statement, he glanced at his watch. ‘It’s almost four o’clock. I’d best be getting on.’
Rising to his feet, a tall, spare figure with slightly rounded shoulders, he suggested with the solicitude he always displayed for her, ‘You’re looking a bit peaky, why don’t you go home?’
Thoroughly unsettled, her head throbbing dully, and never having felt less like work, she said gratefully, ‘I’ve got a bit of a headache, so I think I will, if you really don’t mind?’
Smiling, he shook his head. ‘As it’s Monday, I’m quite sure Helen and I can deal with anything that may crop up in the next hour or so.’
At the door, he paused to say, ‘Oh, by the way, I won’t be coming home at the usual time. I’ve agreed to have dinner with the client I saw earlier this afternoon…’
Her heart sank. Somehow, after what had happened, she needed his comforting, undemanding presence.
‘And as it’s my turn to cook—’ when Virginia had first moved into his spare room, they had reached an amicable arrangement whereby they cooked on alternate evenings ‘—I suggest you get a takeaway, on me…’
Well aware that his sensitive antennae had picked up her unspoken need, she asked with determined lightness, ‘Will you run to a Chinese?’
He grinned. ‘I might, if you promise to save me some prawn crackers.’
‘Done!’
‘I don’t expect to be late but, if by any chance I am, don’t wait up for me. You look as if you could do with an early night. Oh, and if you’re not feeling up to scratch, take a taxi home.’
Charles was so genuinely kind, so caring, Virginia thought as the door closed behind him. He would make a wonderful husband for the right woman.
He was an excellent companion, easy to talk to and good-tempered, with that rarest of gifts, the ability to see another person’s point of view.
Added to that, he was a good-looking man with a quiet charm and undeniable sex appeal. Helen, she was almost certain, was in love with him, and had been for the past year.
It was a great pity that she couldn’t love him in the way he wanted her to.
A few weeks before, as they’d washed the dishes together after their evening meal, he had broached the question of marriage, diffidently, feeling his way, afraid of scaring her off.
Until then she had thought of him as a confirmed bachelor, set in his ways. It had never occurred to her that he might propose, and he’d been skirting round the subject for several minutes before she’d had the faintest inkling of what had been in his mind.
‘I hadn’t realised how much I lacked companionship until you came along… Since you’ve been living here…well, it’s made a great difference to my life… And you seem happy with the arrangement…?’
‘Yes, I am.’ She smiled at him warmly.
Bolstered by that smile, his blue eyes serious, he finally came to the point. ‘Virginia…there’s something I want to ask you… But if the answer’s no, promise me it won’t make any difference to our friendship…’
‘I promise.’
‘You must know I love you…’
She had suspected he was getting fond of her, but had regarded it as the kind of affection he might have felt for any close friend.
‘Don’t you think it might be something to do with propinquity?’ she suggested gently.
Shaking his head, he said, ‘I’ve loved you ever since I set eyes on you…’ Then formally, he said, ‘It would make me very happy if you would agree to marry me.’
Just for an instant she was tempted. It would be lovely to have a husband, a home that was really hers and, sooner or later, children.
Though she liked her chosen career and had worked hard to gain the knowledge and the eye that had put her on the road to success, it had always taken second place to her dream of being part of a close and happy family.
But it wouldn’t be fair to Charles to marry him. He deserved a wife who would love him passionately, rather than a woman who felt merely affection for him.
In no doubt of her answer now, she took a deep, steadying breath. ‘I’m sorry…more sorry than I can say…but I can’t.’
‘Is it the age difference?’
‘No,’ she answered truthfully. If she’d loved him enough age wouldn’t have mattered.
He hung the tea towel up carefully, and pushed back the lock of fair hair that fell over his forehead. ‘I had hoped, in view of how well we get along, that you might at least consider it. But perhaps you don’t like me sufficiently?’
‘I both like and respect you, in fact I’m very fond of you, but—’
‘Surely that would be enough to make it work?’ he broke in, his blue eyes eager.
She half shook her head. ‘Fondness isn’t enough.’
‘I’m prepared to give it a try. A lot of marriages must be based on less.’
‘No, it wouldn’t be fair to you…’
Seeing the discomfort on her face, he patted her hand and said firmly, ‘Don’t worry. I promise I won’t bring it up again.
‘But don’t forget I love you. I’d do anything for you… And if you should ever change your mind, the offer’s still open.’
He was a wonderful man. A man in a million. She wanted to love him. But love was something that could neither be ordered nor controlled.
She knew that to her cost.
Seeing the dangers, she had tried not to love Ryan… Without success.
But she wouldn’t think about Ryan.
As though amused by her decision, Ryan’s dark face with those blue-violet eyes smiled back at her mockingly.
Her only coherent thought on first meeting him had been that never before had she seen eyes of such a fascinating colour on any other person…
Damn! there she was doing it.
Gritting her teeth, she closed and locked the window, then gathering up her shoulder bag, made her way down the uncarpeted rear stairs and out of the green-painted staff door onto the cobbled street.
Kenelm Mews, with the backs of buildings on one side and the iron railings of Kenelm Park on the other, was filled with slanting sunlight and the summer-in-the-city smell of dust and petrol fumes and melting tarmac.
Instead of turning the corner into the main road and either looking for a taxi or heading for the bus stop, as she usually did when Charles didn’t drive her home, she hesitated.
With its sun-dappled flower beds and shady trees Kenelm looked green and pleasant. If she walked home across the park, it might help to clear her head and relax some of the remaining tension.
Suddenly impatient with her glasses, she stuffed them into her bag and set off through wrought-iron gates that stood open invitingly.
Passing the Victorian bandstand, and the velvety smooth bowling greens where sedate cream-clad figures were standing in little groups, Virginia took a path that skirted the small boating lake.
She walked briskly as though trying to outpace her thoughts. But try as she might, they kept returning to Ryan and his reason for coming into the gallery. Why did he want Wednesday’s Child?
So he had an image of her? Something to metaphorically stick pins into?
The thought of so much