‘I do.’
‘Isn’t that rather rude?’
Helen flushed at his rebuke. ‘It may be, but it can’t be helped.’
‘You could have telephoned and saved me the trouble of coming all the way over here.’
‘I’m sorry. I—It never occurred to me.’
‘You mean you didn’t chicken out until a little while ago,’ Leon taunted. ‘It didn’t occur to you that I might have arranged for a meal to be prepared for us?’
She looked at him sharply. ‘And have you?’
‘Yes. Does that bother you?’
‘Well, of course it does,’ she answered impatiently.
’But it doesn’t change your decision pot to come with me,’ he drawled. ‘It’s going to make me very unpopular with Max.’
‘Max?’ she frowned.
‘My man of all trades. He’s a marvellous cook.’
‘Oh.’
‘Changed your mind?’ he coaxed.
‘I’m really not very hungry.’
‘Well, I am. Don’t you think you’re being a little selfish denying me my meal?’
‘I’m not doing that. You can leave any time.’
‘Oh no,’ he relaxed back on the sofa. ‘At least we’re talking here. If I have to starve at least it will have been for a good cause. Can I use your telephone to tell Max we won’t be coming back after all?’
‘Are you trying to make me feel guilty?’
Leon raised his eyebrows. ‘Is it working?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted reluctantly.
‘And why shouldn’t you feel guilty? I’m the one that will have to suffer for it, I’ll be getting over or undercooked eggs for breakfast for weeks to come.’
Helen felt her mood lighten. ‘Is he really that despotic?’
‘Frightening,’ Leon confirmed. ‘But he’s such a good cook I daren’t sack him.’
Helen looked down pointedly at his slim waistline, not an ounce of superfluous flesh anywhere on his body. ‘You don’t look as if food bothers you that much.’
‘It doesn’t. But once a week I allow Max to go mad in the kitchen. Tonight was this week’s ration.’
‘Now you’re making me feel worse.’
‘That was my intention,’ he didn’t attempt to prevaricate. ‘Come with me, Helen, and save me from a fate worse than death.’
‘Fate worse than death?’ she queried.
‘Max’s disapproval.’