LITMIR.BIZ

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studied the starched white tablecloth, fiddled with a polished silver fork, and lifted a hand nervously to brush a strand of hair from her cheek.

      ‘Tell me about yourself,’ he invited.

      ‘What, everything?’ She looked up. She wasn’t shy or nervous, normally. He was only a man, and she’d had dealings with equally sophisticated men before, just as handsome, just as sure of themselves. Well, almost.

      ‘Where did you go to school?’ he asked. ‘Diocesan?’

      Briar grimaced. ‘How did you guess?’

      He laughed. ‘It isn’t hard, is it?’

      Given what he knew or had guessed of her background, Briar had to admit it wasn’t. Xavier had always gone for the best. The most socially acceptable.

      ‘And after that—what?’ he asked, and answered for her, ‘University, right?’

      ‘Right,’ Briar conceded.

      ‘And a Bachelor of Arts degree, which you got easily.’

      ‘Am I that predictable?’

      ‘And then...you did your Overseas Experience. Along with a couple of girlfriends. Or a boyfriend.’

      ‘I went with a group of both sexes.’

      ‘Anyone special, for you?’

      ‘We made a pact before we left. No pairings. We had a great time, without hassles or emotional tangles.’

      ‘Where did you go?’

      This was safe ground. She talked about her travels until their food arrived, and then asked if he’d done much travelling himself.

      ‘Closer to home, mostly. I crewed on a schooner round the Pacific Islands when I was younger.’

      That was interesting, and she plied him with questions while they finished their dinner. And discovered that he did have an ability to laugh at himself—at least at his younger self, fighting seasickness in a mid-ocean squall, being the butt of a practical joke involving a fake shark fin in a lagoon in the Cook Islands, falling from a coconut palm when he tried to emulate the Fijians who climbed to the top with deceptive ease.

      ‘Were you hurt?’ she asked him.

      ‘Fortunately the sand was soft. I bruised my ego, that’s all. And took some teasing about it afterwards.’ He pushed his plate aside. ‘You don’t eat sweets, do you?’

      ‘Sometimes. I’d prefer cheese tonight, but don’t let me stop you.’

      He shook his head. ‘I’ll join you. A cheese board,’ he said to the waiter who had appeared to take their plates. ‘And then coffee?’ He looked at Briar enquiringly.

      ‘Yes, thank you.’

      Cutting herself a wedge of pale, delicately flavoured havarti, she asked, ‘So how do you become an investor? My father said you’d inherited a manufacturing company.’

      He was placing a slice of gruyre on a cracker. When he looked up she thought he seemed wary. ‘My father’s firm made parts for ship-building. When he took over it already had a healthy profile. He expanded the base, used the profits to buy up various companies in related fields. His business judgement was impeccable.’ A bitter expression crossed his face, so fleetingly that Briar decided she’d imagined it.

      ‘And the firm survived when others went bust.’

      ‘He’d never over-extended on the basis of cash that he didn’t have. Since I took over I’ve tried to invest as wisely. And I’ve had a certain amount of luck.’

      ‘Luck?’

      ‘There’s an element of risk involved,’ he said. ‘What I like to do is step in when a firm is shaky but basically viable, save a good business from going down the drain, taking investors and staff with it. One of my purchases turned out to be a dud but the others covered the loss. Our shares haven’t made huge overnight gains. On the other hand, they’re steady climbers. They’re worth more than twice what they were a few years back.’

      ‘You’re a bit of a gambler?’

      He picked up the cheese knife, then put it down again. ‘Is this leading somewhere?’

      ‘What do you mean?’ As his brows went up in scepticism, she felt a flush rise to her cheeks. ‘You asked me to tell you about myself. I was simply returning the compliment.’ She was angry, and didn’t care if he knew it.

      After a moment he said, ‘OK.’ And he reached over and touched her hand, just a light touch on her skin. Oddly, she felt a tiny fluttering in her stomach, almost as though he’d threatened her in some way.

      The coffee came, and she was glad of the diversion. She spooned cream into hers and stirred it broodingly.

      ‘So what do you do all day?’ he asked her.

      ‘I help out in a boutique in Newmarket owned by a friend. Fashion accessories.’

      He didn’t seem madly impressed. She supposed it was small beer compared with his business empire. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘How long have you been doing that?’

      ‘About a year. Before that I worked for a market research firm, but they laid off some staff and it was last in, first out. And I’ve been a kennelmaid, receptionist, theatre assistant—before the theatre company went bust. Of course, overseas I picked up odd jobs—fruitpicking, waitressing—once I worked as a nanny for a little while.’

      ‘A pretty varied working life,’ Kynan commented.

      ‘I like variety. I was never blessed—or cursed—with a burning ambition for a particular career.’ She was happy to have work of any sort that provided her with some independence.

      ‘And you still live at home?’

      ‘Since I came back from overseas.’ His tone was non-committal, but she found herself reacting defensively. ‘It’s convenient and Laura likes having me there.’ When she had first returned she’d intended to go flatting. But Laura had seemed so relieved to have her home, and her father had taken it for granted that she’d stay. Somehow she had never made the move.

      ‘There’s no man in your life?’

      ‘If there was,’ she said, ‘I wouldn’t be here with you.’

      ‘You’re the faithful type?’ he mocked, as though he didn’t believe that such a type existed.

      ‘If I loved a man,’ she said, ‘I’d be faithful to him.’

      ‘And have you?’

      ‘Have I...?’

      ‘Ever loved a man?’

      ‘I’m not sure I...know what you mean.’

      His mouth quirked. ‘It’s a simple question, but you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.’

      It wasn’t a simple question at all. Of course she’d been in love, briefly and blindingly—and falsely, as it turned out. Because that couldn’t be real love, that died so easily and so fast. Real love, lasting love, was a different thing altogether. It hadn’t happened to her yet, and maybe never would. She only hoped that when it did she would recognise it. But what he’d been asking—what she’d thought he was asking—was if she’d had a lover in the physical sense.

      ‘It’s a very personal question,’ she said.

      ‘I’ll withdraw it if you like,’ he offered easily, as though it didn’t matter, after all. ‘Maybe...one day I’ll find out the answer.’

      His smile glinted. Briar drew in a breath, ready to slay him with words, but of course that was what he was waiting for, her rising to the bait. And then he’d go all innocent and deny that he’d meant what she thought. She knew

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