‘I’ll tell Sarah,’ the landlord promised. ‘She’ll be pleased.’
For a little while they sipped their coffee without speaking, and, a quick glance at her silent companion confirming that he was once again in a brown study, she seized the opportunity to watch him.
His dark hair was thick and glossy, still trying to curl a little in spite of its short cut, and, though he lacked either charm or charisma, his face was interesting, lean and strong-boned, with a straight nose and a cleft chin.
It was the kind of face that wouldn’t change or grow soft and flabby with age. At sixty or seventy he would look pretty much as he looked now.
His eyes were handsome, she conceded, long and heavy-lidded, tilted up a little at the outer edge, with thick curly lashes. His teeth too were excellent, gleaming white and healthy, while his mouth had a masculine beauty that made her feel strange inside.
Dragging her gaze away with something of an effort, she studied his ears, which were smallish and set neatly against his well-shaped head. A far cry from the large, sticky-out ears Laura had predicted.
Jenny was smiling at the remembered picture when he glanced up unexpectedly.
As he watched the hot colour rise in her cheeks, pointing to her guilt, she saw his eyes narrow.
He obviously thought she had been laughing at him, and, knowing how fragile a man’s ego could be, she braced herself for an angry outburst.
But, his face showing only mild interest, he suggested blandly, ‘Perhaps you’d allow me to share the joke?’
Seeing nothing else for it, she drew a deep breath and admitted, ‘I was smiling at the mental picture my flatmate had painted of what you, as a successful author, ought to look like.’
‘Oh? So what should a successful author look like?’
She repeated as near as she could remember word for word what had been said that morning.
His face straight, but his green eyes alight with amusement, he said quizzically, ‘Hmm… Large, pointed, sticky-out ears… So how do I compare? Favourably, I hope?’
She smiled, and, relieved that he’d taken it so well, dared to joke. ‘Not altogether. After seeing some old reruns of Star Trek, I’ve developed a passion for Mr Spock.’
Her lovely, luminous smile, the hint of mischief, beguiling and fascinating, hit him right over the heart, and for a moment that vital organ seemed to miss a beat.
Striving to hide the effect her teasing had had on him, he pulled himself together, and complained, ‘Being compared to Mr Spock and found wanting could seriously damage my ego.’
‘Sorry,’ she said, with mock contrition. ‘I wouldn’t want to do that.’
‘So you weren’t suggesting that my ears aren’t as exciting as a Vulcan’s?’
‘I wouldn’t dare.’
‘I should hope not.’
His sudden white smile took her breath away and totally overturned her earlier assessment that he lacked either charm or charisma. Obviously he had lashings of both, hidden beneath that cool veneer.
All at once, for no reason at all, her heart lifted, and she found herself looking forward to the days and weeks ahead.
CHAPTER THREE
WATCHING her big brown eyes sparkle, Michael thought afresh how lovely she was.
He had been in Jenny’s company now for several hours, and ought to be getting used to her beauty, almost taking it for granted.
But he wasn’t.
In fact, just the opposite.
The fascination the first sight of her had aroused was still there, and growing stronger.
Which was bad news.
The last thing he wanted or needed was to be attracted to his new PA. That would be the ultimate irony, as Paul would be quick to point out.
That morning, when Paul had phoned to find out the result of the interview and Michael had admitted that Jennifer Mansell was on a month’s trial, Paul had been quietly jubilant.
‘I’m sure that in spite of all your doubts she’ll prove to be just what you need.’
‘We’ll see,’ Michael said cautiously. ‘It depends on what kind of woman she turns out to be, and how I get on working with someone else.’
Paul grunted. ‘Well, of course I can’t answer for the latter, but, so far as Miss Mansell’s concerned, I’ve heard nothing but good about her.
‘Though I’ll keep my ear to the ground, just in case, and if I do hear anything further I’ll let you know. In the meantime stop being such a misogynist and give the poor girl a chance.
‘She’s known to be good at her job, and, as I said before, I don’t think she’s the kind to throw herself at you. If by any chance she does, for heaven’s sake take her to bed. It might be just what you need to turn you back into a human being.’
‘Thanks for the advice,’ Michael said dryly, ‘but I’ve had my fill of women.’
Now he found himself wondering how he would react if Jenny Mansell did throw herself at him.
So far she’d given not the slightest sign of wanting to do any such thing. Rather, she had trodden warily, as though negotiating a minefield, looking anything but comfortable whenever the conversation showed signs of straying into the more personal…
Becoming aware that time was passing, he swallowed the remains of his coffee and remarked, ‘If you’re ready, we really ought to be on our way.’
Jenny, who had been sitting quietly watching his face, wondering what he was thinking, said, ‘Yes, I’m quite ready.’
‘There would be no hurry if we didn’t need to be over the causeway before the tide turns.’
His words reminded her of her earlier doubts about the advisability of being so isolated, and perhaps some of that uncertainty showed on her face because, frowning, he queried, ‘Is there something wrong?’
She hesitated. If she did still have doubts, common sense told her she should voice them now, before it was too late…
He was watching her face, concerned that for some reason she was going to back out at the last minute, and his voice was tense as he demanded, ‘Well, is there?’
She lifted her chin, and, knowing that she was going anyway, regardless of doubts, answered, ‘No, there’s nothing wrong.’
‘Then perhaps you’d like to freshen up while I pay the bill? I’ll see you back at the car.’
As Jenny washed her hands and tucked a stray hair or two into the silky coil she rationalized her decision by telling herself that, having come this far, had she confessed to doubts he would have had every right to be angry.
She had a feeling that, in spite of his offer of a month’s trial period, he hadn’t been particularly keen to engage her in the first place, so he might have been glad of the opportunity to send her packing back to London.
Then not only would she have missed her chance to stay on Mirren, but it would have meant losing a job she’d really wanted without even starting it, and never seeing Michael Denver again.
The latter shouldn’t really matter.
But somehow it did.
Though she was too aware of him to be altogether at ease in his company, she wanted the chance to get to know him better, to find out for herself just what kind of man he was, what made him tick.
When she made her way outside, he was