That he give up his comfortable London house to move out into the country?
He looked at Eleanor again.
There were a dozen or more reasons why this house was unsuitable, not least of them the fact that she was expecting it to perform impossible miracles. He did not particularly like the country and he certainly did not relish the travelling that would be involved in such a move, but as he looked at Eleanor’s sleeping face he knew that he didn’t want to be the one to have to disillusion her and point out the truth.
Even so, surely she must have sensed his lack of enthusiasm? She was normally an acutely sensitive person.
He frowned, irritated with himself for his attitude, for the awareness it gave him of a certain male streak of resentment and almost selfishness that she should not be aware of his feelings. And not just aware of them, but intent on putting them first?
His attitude was both illogical and unfair, he told himself.
Eleanor was so caught up in her own excitement about the house, it was only natural that she had missed spotting that his enthusiasm did not match her own. She was not, after all, a mind-reader, and could not be expected to know what he was feeling if he did not tell her. What did he want—for her to make it easy for him by recognising what he was feeling? And if she didn’t he would have to tell her how he felt, he admitted.
She would be disappointed, but, being Eleanor, she would strive to understand. She would certainly not, as Julia would have done, attempt to force his hand with emotional blackmail, tears and scenes.
He could understand her desire to promote peace and harmony—after all, he shared it too—but this implausible idealistic idea she had that somehow… He shook his head. They would have to sit down and talk. He knew they needed to move; the Chelsea house was obviously too small for them, especially now that Eleanor was going to have to work from home.
Knowing they needed to talk was one thing, he admitted; finding the time to do so was another. His workload at the moment was such that finding time for anything else was virtually a luxury.
Take today; by rights he should have been working on the Alexander case. He had several cases coming to trial over the next few months, none of them simple and straightforward. International law never was, which was what had attracted him to it in the first place.
His frown deepened. From his point of view, all this upheaval with Eleanor’s partnership and Julia’s prolonged visit to America could not have come at a worse time.
He enjoyed his work, thrived on the challenges it gave him, and, if he was honest with himself, a part of him actively needed the tension-induced highs it gave him.
Sondra Cabot had said much the same thing when she had called round at his chambers yesterday to collect some papers.
He had seen the American girl on several occasions since his initial meeting with her at the Lassiters’.
In many ways she reminded him a little of Eleanor, or rather Eleanor as she had been when he first met her, a younger Eleanor, of course, and not quite as softly feminine as Eleanor; a little more forceful and spoiled. Used to having her own way, but not less attractive because of it. He smiled to himself.
She was quite obviously a young woman who was not only used to male admiration and appreciation, but who expected it as well.
She wore her sexuality with all the confidence of the very young, a bright, enticing banner that proclaimed her innocence of life rather than her experience of sex, even though she herself did not know it; there was an appeal about that kind of youthfulness, that kind of freshness, that kind of enthusiasm and optimism that was dangerously engaging.
She had lingered in his chambers for a while, hotly debating with him the contentious issue of ‘date rape’. Her vehemence had amused him… and excited him?
His frown returned, deepening slightly as Eleanor stirred in her sleep and turned towards him.
CHAPTER NINE
‘DID you manage to get the time off?’ Zoe asked anxiously as Ben came in.
He nodded his head, grimacing a little as he did so.
‘Aldo didn’t like it, of course, but he owes me some time from last year, so…’
Zoe shook her head. ‘He takes advantage of you, Ben. You are that restaurant—without you…’
‘I’m the chef, that’s all. Or at least, that’s the way he sees it,’ Ben reminded her. ‘Chefs are ten a penny these days.’
‘Not ones like you,’ Zoe argued loyally. ‘Do you think he’s guessed that… ?’
‘No,’ Ben told her. ‘If he had, he’d have sacked me.’
He knew that he sounded curt and he could see some of the excitement and pleasure fading from Zoe’s face as she listened to him. He knew that she thought he was being over-pessimistic in cautioning her to wait before getting too excited abo
ut the new restaurant.