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BOOK 4
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Being Yours BOOK 4
Suddenly she realized he was asking her a question. So he hadn't lost interest after all. He was asking where they went from here, which showed he thought they were going somewhere. I've got to get this right, she told herself desperately, and did her best to brush away the cobwebs of fatigue.'I . . . suppose I was sort of wondering that myself.''I could just take you to Stribble . . .''To Stribble?''It's where you live,' he reminded her with gentle sarcasm.'Yes.'Her new hope collapsed like a burst balloon. She had been wrong. He didn't want to talk about their future together, just about the simple, practical matter of where he should drive next. He wanted to know where he should take her before he put her down and left her, presumably forever.'That's right, please take me to Stribble,' she said, trying and failing to keep the leaden flatness from her voice. 'Thanks to you, I don't think I've anything more to fear from the Dawlishes.''Not from them, no.' He made no move to st
Being Yours BOOK 4
'Wha . . .' She lifted her heavy head above the exercise books and blinked, glad to be awake again. Gradually she managed to focus on the mug of dark amber liquid Paul had set before her on one of her green and gold placemats. He must have taken the mat from the table drawer right under her ear, that would explain the thunder noise.'Where's the milk?' she asked.'It helps better with shock if you have it without.'She turned to him with blurry indignation, the last of her nightmare fled. 'I'm not shocked.''Drink up,' he urged, quiet and steady as ever.'I never have tea without milk . . .' She stopped because she sounded so childishly crotchety, yet this was a serious objection. 'Without milk it'll be too hot. I won't be able to drink it for ages.''I cooled it.''How did you do that?''Added cold water.''You put cold water in my tea?There she went again, that childish whine. To cover her embarrassment she sipped the tea. Finding it surprisingly palatable and exactly the right tem
Being Yours BOOK 4
But then, she hadn't so much stayed as simply spent two nights in Paul's austere little spare room. She had left at eight each morning and returned at ten each night too tired to do more than drag herself to bed; so tired that tiredness seemed a way of life; so tired that events and ideas and imaginings ran together in her brain and would not be separated into their individual parts.If she worked at it she could dredge up a vague memory of her first arrival here. Paul had helped herout of his van and guided her across the narrow street, and the outside air must have brought her round a bit. She could remember the wet pavement, and the shuttered shopfront, and the question she had asked about the name on the fascia.'Why Gemini? Is it your birth sign?'She was fairly sure he'd said no, he just liked the sound of it, but after that it all went vague again. They must have gone through the side door and up the walled-in stairs to the little landing, but she couldn't remember. He must ha
Being Yours BOOK 4
'Thanks,' she repeated with more enthusiasm, and half-rose. 'The keys are in my school bag . . .''Don't move.' As usual he was on his feet long before her. 'I'll fetch it.'But her house keys weren't in her bag. Not in their own special front pocket, not loose in the main part of the bag, not in any of its other sections. After five minutes of ever more frantic searching, she had to admit that she must have lost them.It was the last straw. Tears of self-pity welled up, and she wanted nothing but to put her face in her hands and sob and choke and hiccup like a two-year-old. Jim must have sensed her distress; he emerged from under the table with a clatter of claws, laid his head on her lap, and looked up at her. She took a hasty gulp of her coffee, and stroked him.Then suddenly Paul was there too, kneeling at her other side, his arms round her and her chair together. 'Want to cry it out?'It felt so good to have him close again, so warm and safe, that she was almost tempted to accept
Being Yours BOOK 4
She didn't feel strong enough to ask the question direct, but she could try a roundabout route. 'What does your mother think of you running an antique shop?''It worries her, of course,' he admitted readily. 'She doesn't say so, but she fears I may take after my father.''And do you?''No.' The single word came out serene and unassertive, a simple statement of fact. 'I take after the Clarks, but not my father.''It must be a bit uncertain though?' she offered cautiously. 'As a way of earning a living?''I don't need to earn a living.' He smiled, with a certain edge of irony. 'My father left me three million dollars.''What?' Amy put down her cup, suddenly weak. 'Real money? In the bank?'Paul nodded. 'He financed movies. It seems that after a while, he got a reputation as somebody who could pick winners.''So in the end, his gambling paid off.' Amy sat back, taking it in. 'That means you're rich.''It certainly means I've got enough.' He regarded her over the gleaming tea things. 'Do
Being Yours BOOK 4
'You're surely not going to sit on that?' Amy asked. 'It can't be comfortable.''It is very comfortable.' Aminata spoke matter-of-factly, as if used to having to explain this preference. 'It is exactly what I like. Paul, 'e bring it from the shop specially for me.'So Paul kept an item of furniture here just for his beautiful assistant, friend, and. . . mistress? Amy had to crush down a wave of the purest, most painful jealousy.Aminata had returned to the unwanted armchair to drop her cloak over it. The complex garment beneath turned out to be three garments, a kaftan-like robe whose sea-green silk was shadow-striped with indigo and gold, a long skirt of the same material, and a scarlet silk shirt. The copious sleeves of the kaftan dropped in supple folds over the long scarlet sleeves of the shirt, and the whole effect was so brilliantly exotic that Amy found herself staring again.'You like?' Aminata stroked the kaftan complacently, making its shadow-striping ripple like water. 'Mam
Being Yours BOOK 4
'I see.' Amy nodded, spreading pate. 'So modern carvers try to make their work seem old.''After they've carved them out of bits of packing crates,' he confirmed, 'they stain them and drill worm-holes.''And they succeed? I mean, the things end up seeming old?'Paul nodded, his mouth full. 'Tourists and dealers buy them as antiques,' he explained when he had swallowed, 'take them back to Europe or America, and sell them for a huge profit.''Having bought them for peanuts?''Just about. And for those peanuts, all that marvellous talent -' he nodded down at the figure by Amy's plate - 'gets pinned down copying the past, instead of finding its own way.'Amy stared at him in admiration. What a wonderful way he had found to spend his father's money. Not only was he providing employment in a poor country - she was sure Mali must be poor - he was also helping craftsmen. No, she corrected herself, he was helping artists find the best way of using their talents.'So in Les Gemaux,' she began,
Being Yours BOOK 4
'You don't look old enough to be anybody's mother,' she blurted out before she could stop herself.'Nice of you to say so.' Betty, who had bent to greet Jim, straightened to accept the compliment. 'I sometimes feel a hundred. . .do come in out of the cold.' She stepped back through a glass inner door, adding over her shoulder as they followed, 'Marie's expecting you.'So she's called Marie then, Amy thought, and wondered why the name seemed vaguely familiar. Surely she had heard it before, quite recently?The outer lobby led into a big square hall, itself windowless but with doors leading off it to rooms bright-lit by the late-afternoon sun. A wide, handsome staircase rose to one side, and at the end of a short corridor another glass door showed through its frosted pane the outline of kitchen cupboards. Scents of coffee and baking drifted through the warm air.Paul commanded Jim to sit and the dog obeyed, though with a beseeching, walk-hungry stare. While Betty took their coats and hu
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