Wife By Approval

At length he rose and, having put some fresh logs on the fire, remarked, ‘We’d better get something to eat before you starve to death.’

As they walked to the door, he told her, ‘The dining-room is at the other end of the hall.’ Adding, as she favoured her injured ankle, ‘Can you manage?’

A little flustered, she said, ‘Oh, yes, thank you.’

‘Sure? I can see your left ankle’s swollen and I’ve noticed you limping from time to time.’

‘I’m sure I can manage, thank you.’

The gold and ivory dining-room was elegant, the table laid with cut glass and porcelain, while a bottle of wine encased in a silver cool-jacket waited to be poured.

Dinner, though simple, proved to be most enjoyable. Richard played the part of host with panache, filling Tina’s plate and helping her to some of the excellent white wine.

Somewhat to her relief, he chose impersonal topics of conversation and as they ate they discussed books, music, art and the theatre. It didn’t take long to discover that their tastes matched in most things and they both much preferred reading to watching television.

‘I sometimes think television is the bane of modern living,’ he observed, ‘especially when the set takes over the room and becomes the focus of it.’

She agreed entirely and said so.

By the time the leisurely meal came to an end and Tina had finished her second glass of wine, starting to feel distinctly light-headed, she elected to take her coffee black and refused a liqueur.

It was getting late by the time their cups were empty but, knowing it made sense not to rush this part, he led the way back to the study.

Having stirred the glowing fire into life and settled her in front of it, he suggested, ‘Let’s have a small nightcap before we turn in.’

As, hazily happy just to be here with him, she was gazing into the flames, he handed her a balloon glass containing a swirl of golden cognac. Then, taking a seat opposite, he raised his own glass in a kind of toast and took a sip.

When she followed suit, he asked conversationally, ‘How did you hurt your ankle?’

‘I slipped when I was getting out of the shower.’

‘Hardly a good start to Friday the thirteenth,’ he commented dryly, ‘and I gather things didn’t improve very much?’

‘Not a lot,’ she said and, when he waited expectantly, went on to tell him about having a flat tyre and being late for work.

‘Then at lunch time I discovered I’d forgotten to pack any sandwiches…’

He shook his head sympathetically. ‘And, after losing your lunch, you end the day with a badly damaged car and no job.’

Though having no job still had to be a major worry, it didn’t seem half so bad now she was sitting opposite Richard, sleepily watching the flickering firelight turn his face into a changing mask of highlights and shadows.

Hoping she hadn’t sounded sorry for herself, she said hardily, ‘But it could be worse. Mr DeVere has promised me a good reference, so it shouldn’t take too long to find another position.’

‘I presume you know a lot about wine?’

‘Quite a lot,’ she said simply. ‘Otherwise I couldn’t have done my job.’

Studying her reflectively, he queried, ‘Any idea where tonight’s wine came from?’

‘France,’ she answered without hesitation. ‘I’d say the Loire Valley.’

‘Can you put a name to it?’

Recognising that she was a bit squiffy, she said cautiously, ‘Yes, I believe so.’

When he waited, one eyebrow slightly raised, she correctly named both the wine and the year.

Looking surprised, he remarked, ‘Surely you weren’t able to learn how to identify the area and the vintage merely from tutorials and course work?’

Sensing faint disparagement, she said, ‘No, of course not.’ Then, realising that she was starting to slur her words, she made an effort to enunciate more clearly. ‘That has to come from the hands-on side, the bouquet and tasting…’

She stopped speaking, feeling dazed, overcome by tiredness. All she wanted to do at that moment was lie down and go to sleep.

Watching her trying to keep her eyes open, he said, ‘You look more than ready for bed.’

He rose and in one lithe movement put the fireguard in place.

‘I’m sorry…’ she began.

‘There’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s been a long, eventful day…’

He was right about that, she thought as she struggled to her feet.

‘Need any help?’ he queried.

‘No, no…I’m fine,’ she lied as, limping, she wove her way somewhat unsteadily to the door. Oh, why had she accepted that cognac? She should have had more sense.

Having bided his time until she reached the hall, he said firmly, ‘I think I’d better carry you.’

Not at all sure that she’d heard him aright, she echoed, ‘Carry me?’

‘Carry you,’ he repeated firmly.

Going hot all over at the thought of being held in his arms and cradled against that broad chest, she stammered, ‘R-really there’s no need. I can manage quite well.’

Her normally low, slightly husky voice sounded agitated and squeaky.

Ignoring the assurance, he stooped and effortlessly lifted her high in his arms.

With a little gasp, she begged, ‘Please put me down.’ Adding distractedly, ‘What on earth will your housekeeper think if she sees us?’

Looking unperturbed, he said, ‘No one will see us.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Because Jervis, the chauffeur and handyman, lives at the rear above the garages, and Gwen, who used to be a nurse, is staying at the centre overnight. Old Tom, one of her “regulars”, is just recovering from a bad bout of flu, so she’s remaining on hand in case he needs her.’

‘Oh,’ Tina said in a small voice.