Husband For Real

He ruffled her hair, smiling. Like petting a puppy, she thought, resigned.

‘I’ve got a better idea. Stay and have some more tea. It’s still hissing down out there.’

Rose glanced at the window. ‘You’re right. OK. Then I really must get back.’

‘Rose, it’s only half-eight, and it’s Sunday. What’s the rush?’

‘I must be keeping you from your work.’

‘I’ve got the rest of the day for that.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Or is there someone waiting for you?’

He didn’t like the idea!

‘A playmate of my own age, you mean?’ she said, smiling.

‘Hell, Rose, you’re not that much younger than me,’ he said irritably, and raised an eyebrow. ‘Is there someone?’

Afraid he might wash his hands of her if she even hinted there might be, Rose shook her head. ‘No. Only my flatmates. And I doubt if they’re even awake yet.’

‘Right.’ He picked up the kettle. ‘You sit there for a minute, and I’ll go and fill this again.’

‘Can’t I wash the plates, or something?’

‘I’ll let you off as it’s your first visit. Next time you can do the catering.’

Next time! Rose sat deep in thought after he’d gone. It seemed Con might be right. It actually was possible to deliberately rouse a man’s interest. Though it was impossible to imagine James Sinclair as any woman’s slave. Nor falling madly in love with Rose Dryden, either, however faithfully she followed the plan of campaign. But he was definitely taken with her a little bit. Enough to invite her back here, and coach her on the track. Which was way beyond anything she’d expected.

When Sinclair came back he gave her a searching look as he plugged in the kettle. ‘Where were you last night, Rose?’

‘Working.’

He frowned. ‘A part-time job? Where?’

‘No job. I was writing an essay. I went to the Cameo in the afternoon, then caught up with some work afterwards. Why?’

‘I noticed you weren’t in the pub. I wondered if you were ill.’ He made two more beakers of tea, and handed her one.

She shook her head, full of secret jubilation. ‘Since I’ve taken up running again I’m fighting fit.’

‘I said you would be. So what film did you see?’

‘They were showing a re-run of Manon des Sources. It’s one of my favourites,’ she added, crossing mental fingers.

His eyes lit up with enthusiasm. ‘Mine too. I never managed to catch the prequel—what was it called?’

‘Jean de Florette. That’s on this week for three days—then it’s Belle du Jour,’ Rose added hastily, afraid she’d been too obvious. She sighed. ‘Catherine Deneuve is so beautiful.’

Sinclair shrugged. ‘Not my type. I prefer my women dark.’

‘Sounds as though you own a harem,’ said Rose flippantly, and drained her mug to avoid looking at him.

‘Your face is very expressive, Rose,’ he teased. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘I just wondered if you had someone—a girl, I mean—back home. Which is absolutely none of my business, of course,’ she added in a rush, wishing she’d held her tongue.

‘I don’t have a woman back home, or anywhere else for that matter. The grapevine is absolutely accurate,’ he said mockingly. ‘I’ve got no time for girls.’

‘Which is a cue for this one to leave, if ever I heard one,’ she said promptly, and jumped to her feet. ‘Rain or no rain, it’s time I was off.’

He ran down the stairs ahead of her to fetch her shoes and slicker. ‘Shall I call a cab?’

‘No. The exercise will do me good.’

‘Hands up.’ He put the slicker over her head, then drew the hood over her hair. ‘See you on the track in the morning, then.’

Rose smiled non-committally as she stamped her feet into her damp track shoes. ‘Thanks again for my breakfast,’ she said, when he opened the front door. ‘Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye, James,’ he corrected.

‘Everyone else calls you Sinclair,’ she pointed out, careful to pronounce it as he did.

‘Exactly.’

Rose smiled uncertainly. ‘Goodbye, then—James.’

‘See you in the morning. Don’t hang about on the way back, and straight in the shower when you get there.’

She saluted smartly, gave him a cheeky grin, then took her bag from him and went off down the path at speed, turning to wave at him as he stood at the open door.

When she arrived at the flat, sodden, out of breath, and utterly triumphant, she dumped the dripping slicker in the bathroom, then went to join Con and Fabia.

‘Where on earth have you been until now?’ demanded Con.

Fabia eyed Rose’s glowing face with suspicion. ‘You can’t have been racing round that track all this time!’

‘No, I haven’t.’ Rose began stuffing her shoes with kitchen paper to dry them out. ‘There was so much surface water James said it was unsafe to run so he took me back to his digs for breakfast.’ She looked up, laughing at the identical look on both faces.

‘At his digs?’ said Con faintly. ‘Like in his room?’

Rose nodded gleefully. ‘His landlady was away for the weekend, and he’s the only lodger. We had the house to ourselves.’

Fabia blew out her cheeks and sat down abruptly. ‘You’ve cracked it, then!’

‘Hold on. I haven’t achieved that much,’ warned Rose. ‘James isn’t in love with me—’

‘Not yet,’ put in Con, eyes gleaming, ‘but he’s interested enough to ask you back to his place for breakfast.’

‘For which I was truly thankful,’ said Rose piously. ‘I think my efforts on the track entitled me to a couple of bacon sandwiches at the very least.’