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had been watching the display with undisguised curiosity, she was sure they
all blamed her for what had happened.
Stan Macdonald, Clive's barman, caught her arm as she brushed past him to
collect her belongings. 'Hey what's going on?' he asked, but although his
tone was not accusatory Helen could only shake her head. Her eyes were
burning with the effort of holding back her tears, and, grabbing her black
jacket from the office, she hurried out the door.
In the alleyway that ran between the gallery and the wine bar, she stopped to
blow her nose and recover her composure. She couldn't go home in this
state, and while she was tempted to go and tell Clive what had happened she
was very much afraid he would have little sympathy for her. And when
Bryan was through complaining about her, she didn't think she'd have a job
at the wine bar either. Clive wouldn't want to risk losing his licence, and the
few pounds a week she had earned to supplement the family income would
be forfeited.
She sighed, hunching her shoulders against that eventuality. It was so unfair,
she thought, pushing the damp tissue she had been using back into her
pocket. She had not been to blame. Not entirely, anyway. And, as
humiliation gave way to indignation, she thought how unjust Bryan had
been. He hadn't seen what happened. He couldn't really judge the situation.
It was just that Lady Benchley spent a lot of money in the gallery, and he
was afraid of losing her favour.
The only bright spot of the evening had been meeting Reed Wyatt, and she
had been too shaken up to really appreciate it. And he had been nice, she
remembered wistfully. Much nicer than she had expected, actually. Even
though she had considered he was an attractive man earlier in the evening,
she had consoled herself with the thought that he couldn't possibly be as
distracting as he looked. But he was. He had proved to be the only one who
had cared about her feelings, and she shivered a little when she remembered
how she had felt when he touched her.
Of course, he had only been polite, she told herself glumly. She shouldn't
attribute anything personal to what had, after all, simply been an act of
kindness. He had probably felt sorry for her, she thought gloomily. She had
made an absolute fool of herself.
Sniffing, she glanced quickly about her, to make sure no one had observed
her bout of self-pity, before starting off towards the main road. It was still
fairly light, the warm summer evening only reluctantly giving way to night.
It was early, too. Barely nine o'clock. She hadtold her parents not to expect
her before eleven o'clock at the earliest. Bryan had promised to get her a
minicab, as Clive usually took her home.
Realising she would have to make her own arrangements this evening,
Helen decided not to call a cab. If she was to lose her job, she couldn't afford
to spend money on cabs when it wasn't absolutely necessary. The gallery
was just off Kensington High Street, not far from Kensington Gardens. She
could walk to the nearby Underground station, and take the Tube home to
Chiswick.
Pushing her hands into her pockets, she started to walk, ignoring the
occasional whistles and cat-calls that came her way. Her father wouldn't be
especially pleased about her travelling on the Tube on her own at this time
of the evening, but it couldn't be helped. She was sixteen and a half, after all.
And, as Clive had always maintained, she looked eighteen at least.
She had gone about a hundred and fifty yards when she realised a car was
slowing its pace to match hers, and she automatically moved away from the
kerb. There were plenty of people about, and she wasn't exactly scared, but
she had always been taught to be cautious, and kidnapping did go on.
However, the car a low green Mercedes stopped, and a man got out.
'Can I give you a lift?' he .asked, his voice unmistakable, and Helen gazed
disbelievingly at Reed Wyatt.
'A lift?' she echoed, swallowing her astonishment. 'Wh-where?'
'Wherever you like,' replied Reed humorously, a smile playing about his
lips. 'Home. To a restaurant. You choose.'
Helen stared at him. 'A restaurant?' she repeated, her mind latching on to
that almost incredible suggestion.
'I thought you might be hungry,' he said. 'I guess you didn't get a lot of time
to eat back there.' He nodded back over his shoulder. 'Humble pie wasn't on
the menu.'
'Wasn't it?' Helen couldn't prevent the corners of her mouth from tilting
upwards. Then, in an effort to normalise the situation, she added,
'Well thank you for your support anyway. But there was really no need for
you to feel sorry for me. You shouldn't have left the party. I can make my
own way home.'
Reed, who had been resting his arm on the car door, now slammed it shut
and came towards her. 'I'm not doing this because I feel sorry for you,' he
said, and although he wasn't touching her Helen felt as if the air between
them were vibrating with energy. 'I'd like to take you for supper. Will you let
me?'
Helen took a shaky breath. 'You're parked on double yellow lines,' she said,
not answering him. 'You're not supposed to park on double yellow lines.'
'I know.' But he didn't sound interested. 'Well? Will you have supper with
me?'
Helen moistened her lips. 'Where?'
'Anywhere. Wherever you like.'
Helen hesitated. 'I I've got splashes of champagne on my trousers.'
'So?'
'So, are you sure you want to do this?'
'Yes, I'm sure.'
He was looking down at her with eyes that were so much darker and more
intent than she had imagined them to be. And he was asking her to have
supper with him, she thought incredulously. It was like a dream come true.
Only it wasn't a dream, and she wasn't altogether sure she could handle it.
After all, her experience with men was so limited, and it was obvious he
thought she was older then she really was. She wondered what he would say
if she told him she was only sixteen. She thought she knew the answer.
'Is it such a difficult decision?' he asked now, touching her cheek with the
knuckles of one hand. 'I thought we were friends.'
Friends! Helen breathed a little unsteadily. What did he mean by that? And
she had thought she had exaggerated that encounter over the broken glass!
'You can trust me, you know,' he added softly. 'I'm not a rapist, or a sadist, or
someone who takes advantage of innocent young women, and you did give
me the impression that you liked me.'
'I did?' Helen gulped.
'Yes.' Reed pushed his hands into his pockets, as if by leaving them free he
might be tempted to touch her again. 'You've been watching me all evening.
Or was that just my imagination?'
Helen caught her breath. 'How do you know that?'
'How do you think?' he countered. 'I've been watching you, too.'
Helen shook her head. 'I don't believe you.'
'Why not? Compared to most of those old tabbies in there, you were like a
breath of spring.' He smiled. 'That hair it's like a flame.'
Helen put up a nervous hand to touch her hair, and then withdrew it again. 'I
don't know what to say.'
'Say yes,' he urged her huskily. 'Before I get a parking ticket.' [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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