‘In Dorset, close to the girls. They’re both married now, with families. Ian is working in Canada… What about you?’ he asked, deftly removing the eggs from the pan he had put down on the table.
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you. Do you have a large family… brothers—sisters?’
‘No.’ Her voice sounded oddly harsh and she took a deep, steadying breath, and said less forcefully, ‘No, I was an only one. My parents died some time ago.’
‘An only one. You must have been very lonely.’
She wanted to deny it, but the words clogged her throat.
‘Come on,’ he added, smiling at her. ‘Here beginneth your first lesson in the correct use of a Rayburn cooker.’
Bemused, Campion allowed him to lead her back to the stove. Silently, she watched his easy movements, and listened as he instructed her.
‘Ma brought us all up to be self-sufficient. We had to be. My father was insured, but that only paid for the house.’
This time, the eggs were cooked perfectly, but Campion couldn’t eat hers.
In the space of a few minutes, her whole world had turned upside-down. How could she have dared to love Guy? How could she have been so stupid?
Guy made the coffee, and watched her as she sat, motionless, staring into space.
‘Something’s wrong,’ he said quietly. ‘Want to talk about it?’
To talk about it? What on earth could she say? I’ve just discovered that I love you?
‘It’s nothing. I was just thinking about the book.’
She saw the shadow cross his face, and for a moment he almost looked rebuffed, as though she had somehow hurt him.
Wishful thinking, she told herself as she got up awkwardly. ‘I’d better go and make a start.’
He didn’t follow her, and she should have felt easier without his presence, but the words just wouldn’t flow. She sat and stared at the typewriter, without seeing anything.
‘Mental block?’
She hadn’t heard him come in.
‘I…’
He picked up the manuscript.
‘She’s a lot like you, isn’t she? Remote… alone…’
‘Like me?’ Campion shook, as she said bitterly, ‘No, she’s nothing like me. For one thing, she’s beautiful, while I…’
‘While you do everything you can to deny that you’re a woman,’ Guy interrupted calmly. ‘But you are a woman, Campion.’
What was he trying to do to her? Didn’t he realise how frighteningly vulnerable she was? Why was he looking at her like that, as though—as though—?
‘Oh, I know you do everything you can to deny your feminity. Scrape back your hair, disguise your body…’
‘What am I suppose to do?’ she demanded, suddenly losing control of her feelings. ‘Deck myself out in make-up and alluring clothes, in the hope that a man might come along who’s deceived into thinking that I’m actually desirable? Don’t you think I have more pride than to…’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Guy interrupted flatly. ‘You are desirable.’
What was he trying to do to her?