Guilty. Anne Mather
to blame Jake.
However, he seemed to sense her ambivalence, for as she set a cup of the strong beverage in front of him he said quietly, ‘What’s wrong?’ and the anxieties of the last fifteen minutes coalesced.
‘I—beg your pardon?’
‘You don’t have to be so formal, you know,’ he told her, making no attempt to touch his tea. ‘I asked what was wrong. Do you resent my getting up so early? Would you rather I had stayed in bed?’
Yes. Yes! The simple answer sang in Laura’s ears, but she couldn’t say it. Not out loud. Besides, she wasn’t even sure she meant it. It might be reassuring to pretend she would rather avoid talking to him, and quite another to consider the reality of doing so. The truth fell somewhere in between, and she was too conscientious to deny it.
‘I—I—don’t mind,’ she said at last, not altogether truthfully. ‘Um—would you like some sugar? I—know men usually do.’
‘And how would you know that?’ enquired Jake, still holding her gaze, and she knew a sudden spurt of indignation.
‘Why shouldn’t I? Just because I’m not married, doesn’t mean I haven’t had any experience where men are concerned,’ she retorted, resenting his implication, and then could have bitten out her tongue at the recklessness of her words. She had no idea whether Julie had told him of the circumstances of her birth. And if she hadn’t…
But Jake was speaking again. ‘I know about that,’ he countered mildly. ‘You had Julie while you were still in high school. And I didn’t imagine that was an immaculate conception.’
Laura flushed then, his cool, faintly mocking tone reminding her of how inexperienced she was when it came to his kind of verbal sparring. But she refused to let him think he had disconcerted her, and, squaring her shoulders, she added crisply, ‘I am almost forty, you know. Why do young people always think sex wasn’t invented until they came along?’
‘Is that what they think?’ Jake arched one dark brow, and, wishing she had never started this, Laura nodded.
‘You tell me,’ she responded tautly. ‘It’s your generation I’m talking about.’
‘My generation?’ Jake pressed his left hand against his chest, his expression mirroring his amusement. ‘Dio, how old you think I am?’
‘It doesn’t matter how old you are,’ declared Laura, trying to steady the cup of tea in her hand. ‘All I’m saying is, you shouldn’t jump to what you think are obvious conclusions.’
‘Did I do that?’
‘Yes.’ Laura drew a trembling breath. ‘And I wish you’d stop answering everything I say with a question of your own. We—we hardly know one another, and I—I don’t want to fall out with you.’
‘Fall out with me?’ Jake adopted a puzzled expression. ‘What is that?’
‘Argue with you—quarrel with you—oh, I’m sure you know exactly what it means,’ declared Laura crossly. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to do it.’
‘Do what?’
‘Have an argument with you,’ repeated Laura shortly. ‘And there you go again. Making fun of me.’
‘Was I doing that?’ Jake grimaced. ‘Oh, damn, that’s another question.’
He was teasing her. Laura knew it. And, although she knew she ought to be able to take it all in good part, she couldn’t. He disturbed her too much. She returned her attention to her tea, hoping he would do the same, but she didn’t sit down with him. At least when she was standing, she felt she had some chance of parity, albeit in a physical sense only. And perhaps, after he had drunk his tea, he would go for a walk, she speculated. He surely didn’t intend to hang about the house until Julie chose to put in an appearance.
‘So,’ he remarked, after a few silent moments, ‘you live here alone, is that right?’
‘Well, I don’t have a live-in lover,’ replied Laura tersely, and then, catching the humour in his eyes, she struggled to compose herself. ‘I—yes, I live alone,’ she conceded, putting her empty cup down on the drainer. ‘But I don’t mind, if that’s what you’re getting at. After dealing with noisy teenagers all day, it’s quite a relief to come back here.’
‘I can believe it.’ Jake wasn’t teasing now. He had folded his arms along the back of the chair, and was regarding her with a steady appraisal. ‘And it’s very peaceful around here, isn’t it?’
‘Mmm.’ Laura endeavoured to relax. ‘That’s what I love about it. The peace and quiet. I’d hate to live in the city again.’
Jake frowned. ‘You lived in London?’
‘No. Newcastle.’ Somehow, she didn’t mind his questions now. ‘I moved here just after—Julie went to London.’
‘Ah.’ Jake nodded.
‘I work in the city, of course,’ Laura added. ‘It’s only about fifteen miles away.’
‘Newcastle.’
‘Yes.’
Jake absorbed this. Then, quite obliquely, he said, ‘You’d like Valle di Lupo. It’s very peaceful there, too. If slightly less civilised.’
Laura hesitated. She was loath to appear too curious after the accusation she had made towards him, but she had to ask, ‘What is—Valle di Lupo?’
Jake smiled, and she felt her breath catch in her throat as his lean features assumed a disturbing sensuality. ‘My home,’ he said simply. ‘Or rather—my family’s. It’s in the wilds of Toscana—Tuscany. A few miles north of Firenze.’
‘Florence,’ ventured Laura softly, and Jake inclined his head.
‘As you say—Florence,’ he agreed. ‘Have you been to Italy?’
‘Oh, no.’ Laura shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. Apart from a school skiing trip to Austria, I haven’t travelled much at all. Not outside England, anyway.’
‘A pity.’ Jake pulled a wry face. ‘I think you would like it.’
‘Oh—I’m sure I would.’ Laura hoped she didn’t sound too eager. ‘Um—is that—is that where your—daughter lives?’ She moistened her lips. ‘At Valle di Lupo?’
‘Sometimes.’ Jake was thoughtful. ‘When she’s not at school. And when I’m not able to take care of her.’
Laura was interested in spite of herself. ‘You—don’t live at Valle di Lupo?’
Jake smiled again. ‘Who’s asking questions now?’
Laura’s face flamed. ‘I’m sorry—–’
‘Don’t be. I don’t mind.’ Jake shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’ve got nothing to hide!’
Laura pressed her lips together, and glanced awkwardly about her. ‘I—er—I think I’d better go and get dressed,’ she murmured, and then caught her breath again, when Jake propelled himself up from the chair, and swung it round, so that it fitted back under the table.
‘I thought you wanted to know where I lived?’ he protested. ‘Or were you just being polite?’
Laura caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘I—just wondered, that’s all,’ she improvised, smoothing her damp palms down the skirt of her dressing-gown. ‘It’s really none of my business—–’
‘I have an apartment in Rome, and another on the coast near Viareggio,’ he told her softly. ‘But my real home is at Valle di Lupo. That is where I was born.’
‘Oh.’
It all sounded very extravagant to Laura. Two apartments, and a family home. It was