Suddenly the air all around her was tinder-dry. Lips parted, she stared at him, but then, before either of them could speak, the door burst open, rupturing the intense, dangerous silence.
'Hi, darling. I'm here.'
Simon came in, but was then brought up abruptly at the sight of the two of them, standing together. She couldn't look at him—Jared, his eyes a pale opal-grey, was holding her gaze, willing her not to break the thread between them. But somehow she wrenched herself free.
'H—hello, Simon.'
'Sorry. I didn't know you had a Vi sitor.'
He was frowning slightly, and to her overstretched nerves it seemed as if the temperature in the kitchen had dropped several degrees.
'Yes. Isn't it amazing?' She gave a strained laugh. 'Do you recognise—?'
'I can see who it is, thanks,' he replied abruptly. 'How are you, Jared? It's been a long time.'
'Hello, Simon.' Jared stretched out a hand, but as Simon took it he said, 'What are you doing back here?'
No 'Great to see you after all this lime', thought Petra involuntarily. But then, why should there be? Simon and Jared had never got on, even as boys growing up together in the village.
'Oh, you know . . . ' there was that deliberately lazy drawl in Jared's voice that she hated ' . . . looking up old friends.'
'Are you staying long?'
Jared shrugged. 'No idea. My plans are rather—flexible.'
Petra, realising that her fingers were nervously picking at the hem of her sweater, smoothed it down. For reasons she'd rather not guess at, he seemed intent on behaving at his infuriating worst. Over Simon's shoulder she shot him a look, half anger, half entreaty; he returned it blandly, then turned back to Simon.
'I've rented the cottage next door, you see.' And, as Simon stared at him, he added casually,
'On a three-month let.'
'Oh, have you?' He made not the slightest effort to sound pleased. But at least, with Simon living several miles away at his school, there wasn't much chance of his finding out just where Jared had slept last night. Who's been sleeping in my bed? asked Baby Bear. She bit her lip on the inane giggle, then looked up as she realised that Jared was repeating,
'Haven't I, Petra?'
'What? Oh, yes, that's right. Three months.'
Both men were watching her. They were much of a height, both tall and well built—both good-looking in their very different ways. But any resemblance ended there. Jared was wild, unpredictable—dangerous; Simon was strong, solid—dependable. Her heart swelling, she went over to him, put her arms round him, and, almost—but not quite—ignoring a sardonic pair of grey-blue eyes on her, kissed his cheek.
Then, taking hold of his hand, she said, 'Simon's just landed a really plum job, you know.'
Ignoring his half-hearted protests, she went on, looking the other man straight in the eye, 'Head of a boys' boarding-school in Shropshire—he'll be one of the youngest heads in the country.'
'When do you start?'
'Next term—January.'
'Shropshire—January,' Jared said, almost to himself, then, 'That's really great. Congratulations.' He gave Simon a warm smile, and mercifully only Petra seemed to pick up the subtle undercurrent beneath his words.
'And what about you, Jared? What are you doing with yourself these days?'
'Oh, this and that. I'm trying my hand at writing at the moment.'
'A book, you mean?'
'Well, not exactly.'
Petra glowered at him. Why the hell did he have to be so—so devious about it?