He glanced around the poky room with an expression of distaste. He had nothing against bedsits, per se, but it was evident that, whoever the landlord was, he specialised in the art of ripping off the young and inexperienced. The walls showed promising signs of damp and the single radiator looked like something rescued from the ark. The large, old-fashioned sash window overlooking the busy pavements was reasonably attractive but the wood was peeling, and he knew that if he stood too close to it he would be in danger of frostbite from the cold air blowing through the gaps in the frame. He wondered whether he should get more details about the guy. It would take next to no effort to put the fear of God into him.
He was restlessly pacing the room, stopping to scowl with displeasure at the hundred and one little deficiencies in her living accommodation to which Agatha had grown accustomed over the months, when she emerged from her bedroom.
‘I got ready as quickly as I could. You didn’t have to wait here for me. I could easily have got the tube back into London.’
Luc spun round at the sound of her voice behind him, and for a few seconds he stood very still, his stunning eyes unreadable—which was a disappointment. Although she hated the situation she was in, and hated the fact that he now considered her a burden with which he had to deal, he did still happen to be in her bedsit and she was quite dressed up. For her.
‘How do you think I look? ‘ she asked nervously, stretching out her arms and trying in to suck in her stomach.
An only child adored by her parents who had given up on ever having children until she’d come along, Agatha was still keenly aware that her figure didn’t fit the trend, despite all the reassurances she had had growing up. She wasn’t tall enough or skinny enough or flat-chested enough ever to look fashionable. Nor was her blond hair poker-straight.
But, having been insulted about her clothes, she had made a special attempt to look as smart as she could for her date—and incidentally to prove to Luc that she wasn’t the complete fashion disaster that he seemed to think she was.
‘You’ve done something to your hair,’ he commented neutrally. She had a figure. Hell, how had he managed to miss that? It was weirdly shocking to see her in figure-hugging clothes that made the most of what he now registered, with a stunned attention to detail, as a tiny waist and the sort of lush breasts that made teenage boys and grown men stop in their tracks. When had she grown up? When had she stopped being a gauche, awkward teenager who hovered in the background and become…? He had to look away because his body had been galvanised into a response that stunned him.
‘Well, I left it loose. It’s so curly and unmanageable that I tie it up for work.’
‘And it’s heart warming to see that you possess something other than a flowing skirt and baggy jumper. It bodes well for your new approach to dressing for the office, although you might want to have a serious re-think about the length of the skirt.’ Slender legs encased in sheer, black tights staged an all-out battle with his self-control. He was in the grip of utter, stupefied surprise—unfamiliar territory for him.
‘What’s wrong with it?’ She bent slightly to inspect the hem of her dress with a frown. ‘It’s no shorter than some of the skirts the other girls wear.’ She sighed, knowing what he meant without him having to spell it out. Short and tight was only acceptable on stick insects. ‘Anyway,’ she added defensively, ‘I wouldn’t dream of wearing anything like this to work. In fact, it’s the only dress I have. Well, the only—’
He was reaching for her coat, clamping down on a reaction that he deemed inappropriate, inexplicable and ridiculous, and she winced at her propensity for rambling. Her mother had always called her a chatterbox and they had all been convinced at the garden centre that her success with the difficult plants lay in her ability to talk to them about anything and everything. But Luc wasn’t interested in anything she had to say. She shut her mouth abruptly, and stiffly allowed herself to be helped into her coat.
‘The only what?’
‘It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t very interesting, anyway. I was just going to say that I don’t have an awful lot of dresses. There was never much need to wear them when I worked at the garden centre.’
‘I do recall some green overalls,’ he drawled.
‘I’ve never seen you at the garden centre.’ Embarrassed colour was spreading to her hairline, and she was really relieved that he was following her so that he couldn’t see her face.
‘You would have remembered seeing me? That garden centre was pretty big.’
‘Of course I would have remembered seeing you—because…because you would have been so out of place there. I guess you might have been with Danielle. You might have a fleet of gardeners at the big house, but she always gets involved choosing the flowers, and the herbs, of course, for that little herb garden at the back of the kitchen.’
‘No idea what you’re talking about. I noticed you walking back to your house one evening in some green overalls and workman boots.’
Agatha flushed and had a vivid picture of how she must have looked to him, hurrying home still in her overalls, her boots dirty, her hair a tangled mess. And then in his office—no longer in overalls or dungarees but still dressed down in her comfortable, baggy clothes, while every other woman wafted around in high-heeled pumps and dapper little black or grey suits with their hair neatly combed back, obeying orders not to wriggle out of their pins and clips by mid-morning.
‘I don’t suppose you know a lot of women who would wear overalls and boots,’ she said weakly, stepping into his car and slamming the door behind her.
‘Not one.’ He turned to her as he switched on the engine and the low, powerful car roared into life. ‘In fact, the women I know wouldn’t be seen dead in anything like that.’
‘I know.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, I’ve seen the kind of women you’ve gone out with over the years. Not that I’ve taken any real interest, you understand, but when Danielle lived with us you often came to visit with one of your girlfriends; they all looked the same,so I’m guessing you like them with lots of make-up and designer clothes.’
‘Is there a sting in the tail with that remark?’ Luc looked at her wonderingly before easing his car out of its parking space to head back towards the centre.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘No,’ he said shortly, still unnerved by the underhand trick his body had played on him back there. ‘I don’t suppose you do.’
‘What do you mean, then? ‘
‘I mean that honesty is all well and good, but in London it might pay to be a bit more streetwise.’ No wonder Edith worried about her. ‘For one thing, you’re being ripped off by your landlord. How much are you paying for that dump? ‘
‘It’s not a dump!’ But she told him, and her heart sank when he gave a bark of cynical laughter.
‘The man must have seen you coming a mile off. Green round the ears, no clue as to what sort of questions to ask, waving a stash of money. So what does he do? Overcharge for a disgusting hole with erratic heating and not enough space to swing a cat. Fifteen minutes in that place and I could spot enough signs of damp and rot to get the whole house condemned.’
‘It’s more comfortable when the weather’s warm.’
‘I bet it is.’ Luc’s lips curled with derision. ‘You don’t have to spend your nights praying that the place will be warm when you wake up in the morning! It’s a disgrace.’
‘I suppose,’ Agatha admitted on a sigh. ‘But when I looked around, Mr Travis promised that he would put right loads of things. I keep asking him, but his mother’s been taken into hospital and