No More Lonely Nights

'Soothes the savage breast, does it?'

Her mockery made him laugh. 'Something like that.'

'It may be doing you a power of good, but it makes me feel sick,' Sian said frankly, and he grimaced.

'Sorry about that. I was miles away.'

Sian could guess where, but carefully said nothin

g. He took his foot off the accelerator, and the speed began to fall. Sian gave a faint sigh of relief and he grinned wryly at her.

'That's better, is it?'

'Sixty-five is bearable,' she said, leaning back in her seat and relaxing.

'We're only half an hour from London,' he told her a moment later. 'In time for lunch—will you let me give you lunch? I owe you a lunch at least, wouldn't you say?'

'That's OK,' she said, meaning that he didn't owe her anything and there was no need to buy her lunch, but he misunderstood, either deliberately or because he really didn't get what she meant.

'Fine, why don't we eat at a pretty little riverside pub I know? It's a lovely day and the landlord is a friend of mine. The place will be packed out, but he keeps a couple of tables in his garden for friends on fine days. It's quite an experience—Danny was a jazz musician—he can play anything you care to name—and while he was travelling up and down the country doing gigs he taught himself to cook like an angel. You won't get better food in London.'

'What's the pub called?' she asked, wondering how he had met a jazz musician who cooked like an angel. Of course, there was no point in being curious about him or his life because after today they weren't going to be meeting.

He talked about the pub for several minutes, then asked her, 'How long have you been in journalism?'

Sian realised he was only making polite conversation, but she answered him because anything was better than sitting next to him, brooding over the weird effect he had on her, or sensing him brooding over Annette. At least he wasn't doing that while he chatted about jazz and Fleet Street.

'Ever since I left school and joined the local newspaper,' she told him.

'You've done well to get this far!' he commented, eyeing her speculatively. 'You must be good or you wouldn't be working in Fleet Street at your age. You can't be much more than twenty-three or four.'

She laughed. 'How flattering! Try twenty-five.' Almost twenty-six, actually, she thought, but why be utterly frank with him? Somehow twenty-five didn't sound as old as twenty-six, although she couldn't quite say why.

He shrugged. 'That's still pretty young.' He grinned suddenly at her. 'I speak from experience. I can give you ten years.'

She had guessed his age, but he looked younger at times. He was very fit, very lean; his body had the suppleness of a much younger man. She secretly assessed him, her eyes flicking down over him, then up again. As her gaze reached his face, she found him watching her, his mouth crooked with amusement. Sian went red and looked away, burning with embarrassment.

'Well?' he murmured teasingly.

'Well what?' She was furious because, for all her efforts to sound cool, she knew her voice was husky.

'Do I pass?'

She hesitated, torn between rage and laughter, then gave in and laughed. 'Oh, you'd do, on a dark night,' she said, and he laughed too, his head thrown back and his laughter open and full of enjoyment.

Sian was still very hot, and stared out of the window at the grey mass of London's huddled streets as they drove towards the centre, off the motorway. Then Cass turned towards the river to follow it along its curving path, through sprawling suburbs, until they reached the riverside pub, a whitewashed Georgian building set in a garden of lawns and flowerbeds, with willows edging the riverbank just below it.

Cass was right; it was packed with people that Sunday lunch time, and there were cars parked like sardines in the large car park adjoining it, but the landlord welcomed Cass with a wide grin and friendly eyes which held an unspoken sympathy. He must have read about the wedding fiasco, but he didn't breathe a word about it.

'A table in the garden? Of course, I'll get Nell to lay it right away. There isn't anyone else out there, today; you'll have the garden to yourself. But come and have a drink with me in my office first. It's ages since we saw you here.'

'I've been busy, I'm afraid,' Cass said, following him into a tiny room, just big enough for a desk covered with papers and a couple of filing-cabinets. Cass sat down on the window-seat which was piled with red velvet cushions, and patted the place next to him, gesturing for Sian to sit there.

The landlord asked what they would drink and poured them glasses, handing them over with a smile as he saw Sian staring at the four walls which were crowded with sketches in pen and pencil: some quite lovely landscapes, others funny and often savage cartoons.

'Didn't Cass tell you I drew?'

'You did them all?'