Dark Fever

‘You’ll want to have children and I don’t think I want to go through all that again.’

‘If I wanted to marry someone just to have children I could have done it any time these past few years. I’m not obsessed with having a child; if you don’t want to have any, that’s fine by me. I’m not even asking you to marry me, Bianca. I’m only saying I want to get to know you better.’

She met his eyes. ‘You want to sleep with me—isn’t that what you’re saying?’

‘You know I do,’ he said huskily. ‘I won’t lie about that—I want you, I’ve said so, but not until you’re ready.’

‘And if I never am?’

He grimaced. ‘I’ll have to live with that, won’t I?’

‘Yes,’ she said, her gaze defiant.

‘All I ask is to see you every day while I’m here in England,’ he said softly, watching her mouth with a hunger that made her tremble.

She heard Tom coming and moved away from Gil in a hurry, sat down on the deeply upholstered couch just as the door opened and Tom walked in, concentrating on carrying a heavy tray which held cups and saucers, a coffee-pot, cream jug, sugar bowl, even a plate of biscuits.

He avoided looking at them, and laid the tray down on the coffee-table in front of the long couch.

‘Shall I pour it?’

‘No, I’ll do it,’ Bianca said, picking up the coffee-pot. ‘You only brought two cups, Tom.’

‘I don’t want any.’

He hovered, watching her fill a cup, add sugar but no cream to the strong black coffee which she offered Gil, who took it and sat down next to her.

‘This smells good,’ Gil said, and as he spoke there was the sound of a key turning in the front-door lock.

‘There’s Vicky,’ Tom said. ‘What about supper, Mum? I’ll start getting it ready if you tell me what we’re having.’

‘I was thinking of—’ she began, but Gil cut in.

‘Why don’t you choose for yourself tonight, Tom? I expect there’s lots of food in the fridge. I am taking your mother out to dinner.’

‘I can’t—’ began Bianca, but he interrupted.

‘Of course you can!’

‘I have to make supper for Tom and Vicky.’

‘Tom and Vicky are quite old enough to make supper for themselves,’ he said coolly, and smiled at Tom. ‘Aren’t you?’

Tom did not smile back; he glowered.

Unconcerned, Gil said to Bianca, ‘After all, they managed perfectly well while you were in Spain; why shouldn’t they do so tonight?’

Before she could answer him, Vicky came into the room and stopped dead, staring at Gil, her hazel eyes rounding into saucers.

‘You must be Vicky,’ Gil said, holding out his hand and smiling in a way that made her look even more startled. ‘Hello. I’ve heard a lot about you from your mother—I’m Gil Marquez; your mother and I met in Marbella while she was staying there.’

Vicky shook hands, stammered something, then looked at Bianca as if her mother had suddenly grown two heads. She was only too obviously putting two and two together, and not far out with her guesswork.

‘I’m taking your mother out for dinner tonight; you two can manage without her for the evening, can’t you?’ Gil said with a cool authority which brought a murmur of agreement from her two children.

‘Yes, of course,’ said Vicky.

‘Mmm...’ Tom said a little sulkily, shrugging.