‘One of the plasterers dropped me off. He lives at Tapu and was going home for lunch.’
‘You took a lot for granted, didn’t you?’
‘I didn’t think you’d be callous enough to drive off and leave your employer stranded.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Is that a threat?’
‘Your paranoia is showing. For goodness’ sake, Vanessa, what do you think I can do to you on a public beach?’
He picked up the hamper and began walking towards a huge, twisted pohutukawa tree whose gnarled branches overhung a steep grassy bank below the curve of the road. After a moment she reluctantly followed.
By the time she reached him, deliberately dawdling, Benedict had shaken out a blanket over the long, springy grass.
‘I hope you’re not going to loom over me the whole time I eat. Sit down. Learn to relax, Vanessa,’ he mocked as he sat down on the blanket and shrugged out of his jacket before beginning to rustle about in the hamper.
She sat, and was instantly aware of a strange sense of isolation. With their combined weight the blanket was compressed startlingly deep into the surrounding grasses so that only the sea down the slope directly in front of them remained open to their view. They were totally private from the rest of the beach and the road above. It was also surprisingly warm out of the direct bite of the wind, so warm that Vanessa unzipped her parka and peeled it off, straightening her fleecy grey angora cardigan as she did so.
‘Just like a cosy little nest in here, isn’t it?’ Benedict murmured, echoing her thoughts with unnerving accuracy. ‘And look at you. Downy as a young chick. Would you like coffee or champagne?’
She looked at the cut-crystal glass and Royal Doulton cup he was offering, and then at the silver cutlery and starched white linen napkins he had laid on the undulating surface of the blanket. Nothing but the best for Benedict Savage. Always.
‘Coffee, please,’ she said primly.
‘That’s right, must keep a clear head,’ he said blandly, producing a stainless-steel Thermos flask and pouring a steaming stream of coffee into the cup. ‘Milk and sugar, m’lady?’
‘No, thank you.’
He handed her a cup and poured one for himself before unwrapping some of the food, which was far more practical than the luxury accoutrements, thought Vanessa in amusement. Kate knew what made a good picnic, no matter how wealthy you were: bacon-and-egg pie; marinated cold chicken; creamy, golden New Zealand cheddar; thick, crusty home-made bread and pickles that Vanessa remembered helping to bottle.
‘It’s rather disconcerting to realise that while I have to ask you the simplest things about your likes and dislikes you know everything about mine,’ murmured Benedict, watching her sip her coffee.
‘Hardly everything,’ Vanessa contested automatically.
‘Still, I feel at a disadvantage.’
As a victory it was a vitally unimportant one but the knowledge that he might feel in any way insecure was a pleasing one. She couldn’t help a slightly smug smile as she said lightly, ‘Well, now you know how I take my coffee.’
He regarded the infinitesimal lowering of her guard blandly. ‘Mmm... You may as well have something to eat, too, even though I know you’re not hungry.’
Since she had been practically drooling over the array of food he had spread before her she didn’t bother to protest as he cut the bacon-and-egg pie with a chased-silver knife and transferred wedges on to two plates. With a little flourish he snapped out a napkin and leaned over to drape it across her thighs before handing her the plate. ‘Do you think I’d make a good butler?’ he asked, tongue-in-cheek.
She was startled into uttering the truth. ‘God, no!’
‘That was very emphatic.’ He stretched out on his side, propped up on one arm, munching at his portion of pie. ‘Why?’
‘Because you’re not...you’re too—’ She stopped, wondering how much her opinion of his character was going to be given away.
‘Not what? Too what?’
‘Too old.’
He stopped chewing.
‘The hell I am!’
Not liking the gleam in his eye that accompanied the growl, Vanessa hastened to clarify. ‘Too old to change, I mean. You’re used to having everything your own way. I can’t see you taking orders without arguing—’
‘Are we talking about you or me here?’ he interrupted sarcastically. ‘I’m an architect; I take orders from my clients every day—’