Summer Seduction. Daphne Clair
you made some?’
‘I’m afraid these are out of a packet.’ She shook out a circle of ginger biscuits onto a plate.
He watched while she prepared the two coffees and added sugar into his, a splash of milk to her own. She had the feeling he was keeping his mind off something.
‘The sun’s come out!’ she said, turning to the sliding glass doors. ‘We could sit on the deck.’
Jas followed her gaze, then looked back at her. ‘So it has.’
‘Can you put a couple of folding chairs out for us? They’re hidden behind the curtain.’
Jas set up the canvas chairs and took his cup from her, and she placed the biscuits on the low wooden table, still damp from the rain.
The sea was deep blue, stippled with white; a few clouds hung raggedly above it. The wet leaves of the nearby trees were glossily shining in the sun.
Blythe breathed in the metallic after-rain smell, stole a look at Jas’s hard profile, then sipped at her coffee, cradling the cup in both hands. ‘I’m investigating other uses for sunflowers and lavender. Did you know you can make paper from sunflower stalks and dyes from the petals?’
‘Are you planning on making paper?’
‘Maybe. What do you think of handmade swing tags with my name on, attached to every pot or notion?’
‘Sounds good. What do you call yourself?’
‘Just B. Summerfield.’
‘Shouldn’t you use a catchy trade name like…Blythe Blooms or…Summers Fields?’
‘You could be right,’ Blythe said. ‘It didn’t seem to matter when my main business was selling dried flowers to florists. But since the notions took off, and now the potted sunflowers…Blythe Blooms.’ She gave him a delighted look. ‘I like it. I wonder if I should advertise for mail orders and sell direct to the public?’
‘Why not?’
‘I’ll have fun trying it out, anyway.’
‘I’ve no doubt you will.’
Blythe bit her lip. She’d been sounding as if life were a game.
‘What’s the matter?’ Jas asked.
‘You think I’m a lightweight person, don’t you? With no…depth.’
Jas’s brows lifted. ‘I think you’re a lucky person,’ he said slowly, ‘who’s been loved and cherished all her life. Also a hardworking one, and probably too kind-hearted for your own good.’
It wasn’t an unflattering assessment, but it didn’t contradict her original assertion, either. ‘Weren’t you ever loved and cherished?’
Jas didn’t react for a moment. ‘You’re getting into deep waters. I wouldn’t advise you to go any further.’
Blythe flushed. ‘I had no right to say that. But you started it…’
‘You asked.’
So she had. ‘I’m sorry.’
He seemed to be thinking, staring at the limitless view before them. ‘I appreciate your concern, Blythe,’ he said at last. ‘Only I can’t…satisfy your need to nurture. Keep that for your plants.’
HE WAS letting her down lightly. But at the same time leaving her in no doubt that he didn’t want her prying into his life.
With a small flash of temper, she said, ‘You needn’t patronise me!’
‘I wasn’t. Not intentionally.’ He glanced at the cup in his hand. ‘Have I outstayed my welcome?’
‘No, of course not. Finish your coffee.’ She pushed the plate of gingernuts towards him.
He inclined his head, and reached for a biscuit.
Blythe too picked up a biscuit and nibbled it in silence. A breeze dipped over the hill and ruffled the tops of the trees. The clouds were drifting away, leaving more blue sky in their wake. The silvery, moving mass of the sea, breaking into long, uneven rollers near the shore, seemed to absorb all of Jas’s attention.
‘You have a wider view than I do,’ he commented at last. ‘But you must be pretty exposed.’
‘It depends on which way the wind is blowing. If it’s coming straight off the sea it can get pretty fierce. But I enjoy storms.’
He looked at her again. ‘They can be destructive.’
‘Well, you can’t stop a storm from coming.’
‘So you might as well get some pleasure from it?’
‘Is there anything wrong with that?’
‘Nothing at all.’ For a few seconds longer he studied her, his gaze a little amused, a little speculative. Then abruptly he turned away. ‘Don’t you worry about your plants?’
‘Of course. I give them good supports and protect them as best I can.’
Jas nodded, as though he was thinking of something else. He finished his coffee and refused another cup. ‘I’ve kept you from your work long enough.’ He stood up.
‘And you have work to do too,’ she guessed, thinking of the computer and the room set up as a study with books, folders and papers. She rose too, looking at him curiously as they moved inside. ‘But you’re not teaching at the moment, are you?’
‘My students study by correspondence.’
She hadn’t thought of that. ‘Music?’ Could people study music by mail?
‘Not music.’ He seemed to be debating whether to expand on that, but as she continued to gaze at him enquiringly he finally said, ‘Mathematics.’
Blythe grimaced. ‘Maths!’
‘Pure mathematics,’ he expanded, and added dryly, ‘It tends to be a conversation-stopper.’
Yes, it would be. Was that why he hadn’t volunteered the information before? ‘Maths was my worst subject at school,’ she confessed.
‘You’re not alone, but you probably mean arithmetic. Pure mathematics deals with puzzles and patterns and universal forms. It’s full of mystery and magic.’
Blythe blinked disbelievingly. ‘Magic?’
‘Throughout the ages numbers have been recognised as mystical. Pythagoras founded a secret society dedicated to their study and worship.’
‘They worshipped numbers?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Do you?’ She slanted him a questioning smile.
‘They fascinate me.’ His eyes were alight and very green. He glanced at the nets above them, laden with colour. ‘You might appreciate a comparison made by a mathematician called Barry Mazur, who says that number theory effortlessly produces innumerable problems which have a sweet, innocent air about them—like tempting flowers.’
‘Flowers?’
‘Mm-hmm.’ The smile in Jas’s eyes deepened, and she felt her heart give an odd little skip. ‘He also says that it swarms with bugs waiting to bite the flowerlovers who, once bitten, are inspired to excesses of effort.’
‘Flowers,’ Blythe repeated. ‘I suppose,’ she said doubtfully, ‘bugs do inspire extra effort in getting rid of them to preserve the flowers.’
‘And now you know what a party-pooper