Her eyebrows rose a little; did he expect to help her dress? But Lucie found that she could have used some help; though it was easy enough to undress, putting on a clean bra by herself was impossible. She had to give up and just pull on a loose tracksuit, easing the material over her cast. She went back into the sitting-room, where Seton was waiting. His eyes went over her, lingered for a fraction of a second too long, and she knew he’d noticed she was without a bra.
‘Here’s your coffee.’
‘Thanks.’
Going across to the window, she sat on the deep, padded sill, unaware that the sunlight shining through lit her head like a brilliant halo. Her hair was loose now and hung thick and straight to her neck, the sun turning it into a cascade of molten gold. Glancing up, she saw that Seton had his eyes fixed on her, rapt, arrested. Lucie gave him a questioning look and he blinked, and said after a moment in a slightly unsteady voice, ‘Do you work here, in Hayford?’
‘Yes, in an office.’
‘As a secretary? You won’t be able to type with that wrist, surely?’
Lucie gave a small grimace. ‘Nothing as grand as that. I just check invoices against goods, that kind of thing. I expect they’ll find something for me to do.’
‘But you must take some time off, give your wrist a chance to mend.’ And he frowned in concern.
‘I’ll phone them tomorrow, tell them what’s happened.’
‘You promise?’
She nodded, her eyes smiling. ‘I promise.’ She hesitated for a moment, then, fear from past experience pricking her, felt compelled to add, ‘But you really mustn’t worry about me; I can take care of myself, you know.’
‘You shouldn’t have to,’ he said brusquely. ‘Look, I’ve taken a week off work so I’ll be around. Use me. If you need to shop, go to your doctor, or back to the hospital. Anything. Just tell me and I’ll be here.’ He saw the surprised uncertainty in Lucie’s eyes and, holding up a hand, said quickly, ‘I’m insisting on this. And if you say no I shall just sit in the car outside your flat and won’t go away until you agree.’
Lucie laughed. ‘Are you always this autocratic?’
His eyes, more blue now than grey, crinkled into an attractive grin. ‘Only with people I come close to killing.’ He stood up and went to the phone, tore a sheet off the scrap pad and wrote on it. ‘Here’s my parents’ number. Call me if you find you need anything. At any time. Promise?’
‘All these promises you’re demanding I make,’ Lucie said on a flippant note. ‘I’m not used to being made such a fuss of.’
Coming over, Seton leaned a hand against the wall and smiled down at her. ‘Well, I think you’d better start getting used to it.’ She didn’t speak and he walked to the door, then turned. ‘You won’t want to cook tonight; how about sharing a Chinese take away?’
Lucie hesitated, knew that she ought to refuse, but found herself saying, ‘I’d like that.’
He let himself out and Lucie watched from the window as he left, lifting a hand to wave to her before he got in the car. She watched him go with mixed feelings. He was a very attractive man, not the kind she came across very often. A man it would be easy to fall for. There was something about him that had got to her, and from the way he’d looked at her once or twice she thought that he might feel the same about her.
The thought excited Lucie but made her nervous, too. She hadn’t much experience of men, and what she had was all bad. But probably she was wrong; Seton was most likely just being kind, and once his week’s holiday was over and her wrist improved she would never see him again.
It didn’t work out like that. Her heart gave a jolt the minute she opened the door to him that evening and saw his smile again. Immediately she felt happy, excited, as if something wonderful was about to happen.
They sat long over their meal, talking in a relaxed, comfortable way, not as virtual strangers but as if they’d known each other for ages. It was Seton’s ease of manner, his ability to start and hold so many topics, and the way he subtly drew her out to talk about herself that made it so comfortable.
Lucie responded with more enjoyment and animation than she’d known for years, perhaps had ever known. She told him a great deal about herself, of the Open University course she was taking and her hopes for the future. But she didn’t tell him everything, glossing over her past and quickly bringing the subject back to him. In turn Seton told her of his love of sport and travel, then totally disconcerted her by saying that he was a practising barrister.
Thankfully, Seton was refilling their glasses and didn’t notice the effect that piece of information had on her. Lucie was struck by how strange it was that she should be here with him. A barrister, of all things! And he was so much more polished than anyone she’d met before, so socially confident and assured. She couldn’t imagine him ever being unable to handle a situation. And it wasn’t an acquired confidence but something that had been bred into him, a kind of arrogance, if a profound belief in the principles and values handed down to one could be called arrogance. He was, to put it bluntly, in a class light years from her own.
That knowledge, and the fact that he was a barrister, ought to have put her off, or at least have acted as a warning, but his attraction was too great for her to heed it. Lucie liked the way he continued to look after her, and she liked the way the candlelight cast shadows on his face, accentuating the leanness of his high cheekbones, the fan of his eyelashes and the laughter lines around his mouth when he smiled. He had a good voice, deep, well modulated, educated but not over the top, and he knew how to tell an anecdote to get the best out of it, to make her laugh richly.
When the evening was over, when Seton could find no excuse to linger any longer, he moved reluctantly towards the door and said, ‘You’re quite sure there’s nothing else I can do?’
‘Quite sure. You’ve already been kind beyond the call of conscience.’
She was standing near the front door, waiting for him, her fair hair a silken sheen in the light of the lamps she’d lit. Coming close, Seton said softly, ‘If you think that’s the only reason I came, you couldn’t be more wrong.’
Lucie was aware of his closeness, of his masculinity, and for a moment became nervous again. Holding out her right hand, she said with formal politeness, ‘Goodnight, Seton. Thank you for the meal.’
He looked at her, then disconcerted her again by taking her hand and raising it fleetingly to his lips. ‘Goodnight, Lucie.’
Closing the door behind him, Lucie leaned against the wall, feeling enchanted by that unexpected gesture and yet strangely low now that he had gone. For a while she had felt feminine and pretty and—cherished: a sensation that had never come her way before. But she had liked it, oh, how she had liked it. And how she had liked him.
She went to move away, but there was a sharp double knock on the door panel, just near her head. Slowly Lucie reached out and turned the knob, let the door swing open. Seton was standing there., one arm up against the doorframe. He said, ‘I forgot to ask. Do you believe in kissing on a first date?’
‘No, definitely not.’
‘Nor do I.’ Coming inside, he shouldered the door closed. ‘In that case, we’d better call this our second date.’ And, taking her in his arms, he drew her to him and kissed her.
When Seton raised his head at last, Lucie kept her eyes tight closed, afraid of breaking the spell. Because it couldn’t be true, it couldn’t be real. No kiss, no simple coming together of a man’s and a woman’s mouth, could possibly be that wonderful. She lived it again: the sensual warmth of his lips, the dizzying effect on her senses, the discovery deep inside her of awakened need—a need that could so easily have flamed into fierce passion and desire.
‘Hey,’ he said softly against her mouth. ‘Have you gone to sleep?’
Still