Vows to Save His Crown

Another good question. In his mind’s eye Mateo pictured Vanessa’s narrowed gaze of avaricious speculation, the pouty pursing of her lips that he’d instinctively disliked. She’d been sleek and beautiful and so very cold.

‘Of course we’ll have a prenup,’ she’d said.

He’d stiffened at that, even though he’d supposed it made sense.

‘I believe marriage is for life.’

‘Oh, no—you’re not old-fashioned, are you?’

Mateo had never considered himself so before. In fact, he had always thought of himself as progressive, enlightened, at least by most standards. But when it came to marriage? To vows made between a man and a woman? Then, yes, apparently he was old-fashioned.

‘Hold on,’ Rachel said. ‘I’m soaking wet and I think we could both use a cup of tea.’ She shrugged off her sopping jacket, revealing a crumpled white blouse underneath that was becoming see-through from the damp, making Mateo uncomfortably aware of how generously endowed his former colleague was. He looked away, only to have his gaze fasten on some rather greying bras draped over the radiator.

Rachel tracked his gaze and then quickly swept them from the radiator, bundling them into a ball as she hurried into the kitchen. A few seconds later Mateo heard t

he distinctive clink of the kettle being filled and then switched on.

He shrugged off his cashmere overcoat and draped it over a chair at the small table taking up half of the cosy sitting room. The other half was taken up with a sofa covered in a colourful throw. He glanced around the flat, noting that, despite its smallness, it was a warm and welcoming place, with botanical prints on the walls and a tangle of house plants on the wide windowsill.

He scanned the titles in the bookcase, and then the pile of post on a marble-topped table by the front door. These little hints into Rachel’s life, a life lived away from the chemistry lab, made him realise afresh that he didn’t know anything about his former research partner.

Yes, you do. She worked hard and well for ten years. She can take a joke, but she knows what to take seriously. You’ve had fun with her, and, more importantly, you trust her.

Yes, he decided as he lowered himself onto the sofa, he knew enough.

The kettle switched off and a few minutes later Rachel came back into the sitting room with two cups of tea. She’d taken the opportunity to tidy herself up, putting her damp hair back in a ponytail, although curly tendrils had escaped to frame her face. She’d also changed her wet trouser suit for a heather-grey jumper that clung to her generous curves, and a pair of skinny jeans that showcased her just as curvy legs.

Mateo had never once looked at Rachel Lewis with anything remotely resembling sexual interest, yet now he supposed he ought to. At least, he ought to decide if he could.

‘Here you are.’ She handed him a cup of tea, black as he preferred, and then took her own, milky and sweet, and went to perch on the edge of an armchair that had a tottering pile of folded washing on it. ‘Sorry for the mess,’ she said with a wry grimace. ‘If I’d known you were coming, I certainly wouldn’t have left my bras out.’

‘Or this?’ He picked up the romance novel splayed out on the table, his lips quirking at the sight of the heaving bosom on the cover. ‘“Lady Arabella Fordham-Smythe is fascinated by the dark stranger who comes to her father’s castle late one night...”’

‘A girl’s got to dream.’ Humour glinted in her eyes again, reminding Mateo of how much fun she could be, although her cheeks had reddened a little in embarrassment. ‘So why are you here, Mateo? Not that I’m not delighted to see you, of course.’ Another rueful grimace, the glint in her eyes turning into a positive sparkle. ‘Despite the lack of warning.’

‘And the underwear.’ Why were they talking about her underwear? Why was he imagining, not the worn-out bras she’d bundled away, but a slip in taupe silk, edged with ivory lace, one strap sliding from her shoulder...

The image jolted Mateo to the core, forcing him to straighten where he sat, and meet Rachel’s laughing gaze once more.

Her eyes were quite lovely, he acknowledged. A deep, soft chocolate brown, with thick lashes fringing them, making her look like a gentle doe. A doe with a good sense of humour and a terrific work ethic.

‘Have you heard who has taken over as chair?’ she asked, her grimace without any humour this time, and Mateo frowned.

‘No. Who?’

‘Supercilious Simon.’ She made a face. ‘I know I shouldn’t call him that, but he is so irritating.’

Mateo’s lip curled. ‘That was the best they could do?’ He was insulted that Simon Thayer, a mediocre researcher at best and a pompous ass to boot, had been selected to take his place.

‘I know, I know.’ Rachel shook her head as she blew on her tea. ‘But he’s always played the game. Cosied up to anyone important.’ The sparkle in her eye had dimmed, and Mateo didn’t like it. ‘Working with him is going to be hell, frankly. I’ve even thought about going somewhere else, not that I could.’ For a second she looked so desolate Mateo had a bizarre and discomfiting urge to comfort her. How? ‘Anyway, never mind about that.’ She shook her head, cheer resolutely restored. ‘How are you? How is the family emergency?’

‘Still in a state of emergency, but a bit better, I suppose.’

‘Really?’ Her eyes softened, if that were possible. Could eyes soften? Mateo felt uncomfortable just thinking about it. It was not the way he normally thought about eyes, or anyone. ‘So why are you here, Mateo? Because you haven’t actually said yet.’

‘I know.’ He took a sip of tea, mainly to stall for time, something he wasn’t used to doing. When it came to chemistry, he was decisive. He knew what to do, no matter what the scientific conundrum. He saw a problem and he broke down the solution into steps, taking them one at a time, each one making sense.

So that was what he would have to do here. Take her through his reasoning, step by careful, analytical step. Rachel raised her eyebrows, a little smile playing about her generous mouth. Her lips, Mateo noticed irrelevantly, were rosy and lush.