Fit and lean and hard, and she felt her mouth dry as he got his case out of the boot, plipped the remote control and headed back towards the door, showing her the firm definition of those muscles and ribs in the harsh security lighting. He’d been working out, she thought. Or running. Or both. He often did, usually when things were tricky and he needed to think.
Or to stop himself thinking.
Was that her fault? Possibly. Probably. Oh hell, it was such a mess, and just to make things worse he’d scalded himself when Ava had lunged at him. He must be freezing, she thought, with that wet gel over his burn. It wasn’t bad really, but he’d looked so stricken when he’d seen the pink mark across his skin, as if he’d been thinking that it could have been Ava, and she felt dreadful for shouting at him.
She’d just been so tense, and it had been the last straw.
‘Is there a pub or somewhere I can stay?’ he asked, coming back into the kitchen and crouching down to open his case, pulling out a soft sweater and dragging it over his head in place of the shirt.
She opened her mouth to say yes, but some demon in his pay had control of it, because all that came out was, ‘Don’t be silly, you can stay here. There are plenty of rooms.’
‘Really?’ he asked, studying her with concern, and something else that might have been mockery in his eyes. ‘Aren’t you worried that I’ll compromise your position in the village?’
She laughed at that. ‘It’s a bit late to worry about compromising me, Max,’ she said softly. ‘You did that when you got me pregnant. And frankly the village can take a running jump.’
He frowned, and turned his attention back to his case, zipping it shut and standing it in the corner. ‘What about Blake?’ he asked, his mouth taut.
‘What about him? I’m caretaking. I’m allowed visitors, it’s in my agreement.’
‘You have an agreement?’
‘Well, of course I have an agreement!’ she said. ‘What did you think, I was just shacked up with some random man? He’s a friend of Jane and Peter’s, and he was looking for someone to house-sit. Don’t worry, it’s all above board.’
‘The woman in the post office seemed to think otherwise.’
‘The woman in the post office needs to get a life,’ she said briskly. ‘Anyway, as I’ve already told you, he’s gay. Are you hungry?’
He frowned. ‘Hungry?’
‘Max, you need to eat,’ she said, feeling another stab of guilt over who if anyone fed him these days, who told him when he’d worked late enough and that it was too early to get up, who stopped him burning the candle at both ends and in the middle.
Nobody, she realised in dismay, looking at him really closely. Nobody at all, and least of all himself. He was exhausted, dark hollows round his eyes, his mouth drawn, that lovely ready smile gone without trace.
She felt tears filling her eyes, and turned away.
‘There’s some chicken in the fridge, or I’ve got all sorts of things in the freezer.’
‘Can’t we go out?’
‘Where, with the twins?’
His face was a picture, and she shook her head and stifled a laugh. ‘I can’t just go out, Max. It’s a military operation, and I don’t have instant access to a babysitter.’
‘Does the pub do food?’
‘Yes. It’s good, too. You could go over there.’
‘Would they deliver?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘I could offer them an incentive.’
‘I’m sure you could,’ she said drily. ‘Why don’t you go down there and sweet-talk them? It’s only just the other side of the river. It’ll take you two minutes to walk it. Or you could just eat there if you’re worried I’ll poison you.’
He ignored that. ‘Do they have a menu?’
‘They do. They’re very good. It’s a sort of gastro-pub. You could choose something and have a drink while they cook it. It’ll take about twenty minutes, probably.’
And she could have a shower and change into something that didn’t smell of baby sick and nappy cream, and brush her hair and put on some make-up— No, no make-up, she didn’t want to look too desperate, but she could call Jane.
‘It’s a bit early. I could go later.’
‘Except the babies may wake later, and it’s easier to eat when they’re asleep. Besides, they only serve until nine, and anyway I’m starving. I forgot about lunch.’
Still he hesitated, but then he gave a curt nod, shrugged on his jacket and headed for the door. ‘What do you fancy?’
‘Anything. You know what I like.’
He sipped his beer morosely and stared at the menu.
Did he know what she liked? He used to think so. Skinny sugar-free vanilla lattes, bacon rolls, almond croissants, really bitter dark chocolate, steamed vegetables, pan-fried sea bass, a well-chilled Chablis, sticky-toffee pudding with thick double cream—and waking up on Sunday morning at home in their apartment and making love until lunchtime.
He’d known how to wring every last sigh and whimper out of her, how to make her beg and plead for more, for that one last touch, the final stroke that would drive her screaming over the edge.
‘Are you ready to order, sir?’
He closed his eyes briefly and then looked up at the pretty young waitress with what he hoped was something resembling a normal smile. ‘Um—yes. I’ll have the rib-eye steak, please—rare—and the—’ He hesitated. The pan-fried salmon, or the chicken breast stuffed with brie and pesto?
Then he remembered her saying she had chicken in the fridge. ‘I’ll have the salmon, please. And I’d like to take them away, if you can do that for me? I know you don’t usually, but we don’t have a babysitter and, well, it’s the closest we can get to going out for dinner. I’ll drop the plates back tomorrow.’ This time the smile was better, less jerky and awkward, and she coloured slightly and smiled back.
‘I’m sure we can do that for you, sir,’ she said a little breathlessly, and he hated himself for the little kick of pride that he could still make the girls go silly with a simple smile.
‘Oh, and could I have a look at the wine list? I’d like to take a couple of bottles home, if I may?’
‘Of course, sir. I’ll take this to the kitchen and bring the wine list back to you.’
She was back with it in moments, and he chose a red and a white, paid the bill and settled back to wait.
Funny. This time yesterday he would have been too busy to wait for his food. He would have had it delivered. Even if they didn’t deliver, he would have had it delivered, because everything had a price. You just had to pay enough.
But tonight, after he’d made a couple of phone calls and checked his email on his BlackBerry® Smartphone, he was glad just to sit there in the busy pub, which was more of a restaurant than a watering hole, and take time out from what had been probably the most momentous day of his life. Unless…
But he didn’t want to think about that other day, so he buried the thought and tapped his fingers and waited…
‘That was lovely. Thank you, Max. It was a really nice idea.’
‘Was it all right? My steak was good, but I knew you wouldn’t want that, and I thought the fish was safe, but I didn’t know if you’d want a pudding.’