A Real Engagement

‘Now who’s being idiotic?’ the man said. ‘You can’t sleep here.’

‘Of course I can. I can feel my way into one of the beds upstairs. Or perhaps you could lend me a torch?’

He picked up her bag. ‘No,’ she squealed, hastily pushing the silver-framed photograph into it and slipping the bracelet of the watch on to her wrist.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Come along.’ He put a hand on her back to urge her to the door. ‘Good Lord, you’re soaking wet, girl.’

Josie hadn’t had time to find a sweater before she rushed for help. Now she realised that the top of her thin nightie must have taken most of the first drips of water before she escaped. She also realised that his hand was still spread out on her back. She tried to twist away, but he was pushing her relentlessly to the door.

‘I’ll be OK,’ she muttered.

He ignored that. ‘Everything can wait until morning,’ he said, and now he sounded very tired. ‘I want the rest of my sleep even if you don’t. No, don’t argue. I’ve no intention of pouncing on you; you needn’t worry about that.’

She shrugged and gave in. He was much too strong to fight with.

In the next house he led her upstairs and into one of the bedrooms. Switching on the light, he said, ‘There you are,’ and yawned. ‘Now, find something dry to put on and get into bed. I’ll bring you a cup of tea. You look as if you need it.’

His eyes passed dismissively over her as she stood, shivering, in the middle of the room, her hair lank and the thin nightie clinging revealingly to the top part of her body. She must look a sight, but it wasn’t kind of him to remind her of it. ‘Don’t make tea specially for me,’ she said, biting her lip to stop her teeth chattering.

‘Of course not,’ he said, and went out of the room.

Josie pulled off the jeans and the damp nightie and found another nightie in her bag, one that wasn’t at all revealing. Slipping it over her head, she went along to the bathroom next door. She looked longingly at the modern shower, but that would have to wait until the morning. So she washed her face and hands and towelled her hair. Then she returned to the bedroom.

She was too tired to take in any details of the room, but the rugs were soft and the double bed was blissfully comfortable as she crawled into it and propped herself up against the pillows. She was looking forward to the cup of tea, however ungraciously it had been offered.

A few minutes later there was a tap at the door and the man appeared, bearing a mug, which he put down on the bedside table.

‘Thank you,’Josie said, ‘And thank you for taking charge of things. You’ve been kind.’

His lips turned down. ‘Enlightened self-interest, it’s called,’ he said enigmatically. He switched on the bedside lamp. ‘Don’t you want your photograph beside you? I saw you pushing it away lovingly into your bag.’

She almost laughed. He must imagine that the photograph was of some boyfriend—or even a husband. She shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. And let him make what he could of that.

He looked rather hard at her, but didn’t press the point. ‘There’s a lock on the door,’ he said, ‘and by the way, what’s your name?’

‘Josie,’ she said. ‘What’s yours?’

For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to reply. Then he said, ‘Leon.’ He walked across the room, switched off the light and opened the door. Then without another word he went out of the room and closed the door firmly behind him.

A charming host! Josie thought with a grin, but at least he had brought her some tea.

She sat up in bed and sipped it, relishing the feeling of the hot liquid slipping down her throat and spreading heat through her whole body. She hadn’t known she was so cold.

She finished the tea, put the mug on the table, switched off the bedside lamp and snuggled down into the soft bed.

After the hard lumpiness of the divan it felt heavenly. This time she was sure she would sleep undisturbed, and she didn’t bother to get up to lock the door. She pulled the light duvet up to her chin, yawned luxuriously and was asleep almost immediately.

Josie had her uninterrupted sleep at last. She woke to see sunlight making bright thin lines along the shutters. When she consulted her watch she saw that it was half-past seven. Getting out of bed, she crossed the room and opened the door a crack. The next door was wide open, and from below came the sounds of a man in the kitchen—various thumps and clatters. Her gown had suffered the fate of the divan, but the bathroom was only next door so she grabbed a pair of shorts and a white top and sprinted along the passage. She decided against a shower, just had a quick wash, and had just got into her clothes when there was an enormous crash from below followed by loud expletives. She smiled to herself, and had started to dry her hair when there was a loud banging on the door and Leon’s voice saying, ‘May I come in? I need a bottle of antiseptic from the cupboard.’

Josie heard the urgency in his voice and, pushing back her damp curls, opened the door. Leon was wearing jeans cut off at the knee. The rest of him was bare and his left hand was covered m blood. He grunted his thanks and began to rummage awkwardly in the wall cupboard with his right hand.

Josie had taken a course in first aid when she was looking after her mother, and she took charge immediately. ‘Put your hand under the cold tap,’ she instructed in her best ward-sister’s tone. ‘I’ll find the antiseptic.’

He did as he was told with surprising meekness, holding on to the side of the bowl with his other hand. ‘Bread knife,’ he explained weakly. He looked very pale.

Josie found a bottle of iodine and a new roll of bandages in the cupboard, and, lifting his forearm by the elbow, saw that a deep gash down the side of his hand was bleeding freely. She cut off a length of bandage with the scissors provided and made it into a thick pad, which she pressed firmly over the wound, glancing again at his face. She saw that he was paler still.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said weakly. ‘I’m OK.’ He swayed on his feet as he spoke.

Josie pulled the bathroom stool behind him, still holding on to the pad. ‘Sit down and get your head between your knees. Lower than that.’ She pushed his head down further. How thick and crisp his dark hair was under her fingers, she thought, letting her hand remain on his neck. His skin was bronzed, except for a paler line where his hair had been clipped at the nape. She had a mad urge to lean down and put her lips against it. She stood up quickly, trembling inside. The sheer physical magnetism of the man was dangerous. She must be very careful or she might make a fool of herself. She cringed as she remembered his look of cynical contempt when he’d thought she was trying to seduce him. That had been a misunderstanding, but it had shown, only too plainly, what he thought of an unwanted advance from her sex.

After a few minutes he sat up, and she was pleased to see the colour coming back into his face. Very carefully she lifted a corner of the pad. ‘Oh, good,’ she said cheerfully. ‘The bleeding has almost stopped. ‘I’ll put some iodine on, so hold your breath.’

He didn’t even wince when she applied the antiseptic, although it must have stung horribly. She found lint to cover the wound and then bandaged the hand firmly. ‘There you are,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘You mustn’t use your left hand much or you’ll become a hospital case if the bleeding starts again.’

He looked up at her as she cleaned the wash-basin and tidied the cupboard. ‘You’re very professional,’ he said. ‘Are you a nurse?’

She shook her head, putting the scissors back in their case. ‘No, but I looked after my mother, who was a semi-invalid and always having accidents of one sort or another. She died some months ago.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘But I appreciate your expertise. I make a fool of myself where my own blood is concerned, but I don’t seem to react to other people’s blood. There’s a question for a psychiatrist.’

Josie smiled. ‘We’d better not go into that. Now, come down when you feel like it and I’ll see what I can do with the bread knife.’

In her bedroom, Josie put on sandals and ran a comb through her curls. She was smiling as she ran downstairs. She seemed to have formed some sort of understanding with the man, and that would make things much more pleasant if they were to be neighbours.

The kitchen was large and modern, nothing like her poor affair next door. She was suddenly aware that she hadn’t given a thought to the chaos in Mon Abri since last night, but that would have to wait.

Leon had evidently been trying to cut a stale baguette into slices for toast, using a plate instead of a wooden board. Naturally, the bread had slipped on the plate, which was now lying in fragments on the floor. ‘Men!’ she muttered.

She found a brush in the cupboard and brushed up the pieces of broken plate, then carefully washed the bread knife. Then she cut more slices of baguette, which she put in the wide-mouthed toaster. She made one cup of instant coffee and set the small round table with one plate and knife, butter from the fridge and three different kinds of jam.

As she was taking out the toast Leon appeared in the doorway. In spite of his injured hand he had managed to dress neatly in jeans and a cream silk shirt. His springy dark hair was brushed tidily. He really was very good-looking, Josie thought. She said, ‘I’ve made some toast. Was that what you were trying to do?’

He nodded and sat down at the table. ‘Are you going to join me?’

‘Yes, if I’m invited,’ Josie said.

‘The least I can do,’ he said. ‘Please sit down and join me for breakfast.’

She put an extra knife and plate on the table, made a mug of coffee, and sat down opposite him. She found that she was extremely hungry, and munched toast and apricot jam ravenously. She glanced apologetically at Leon, who was having some difficulty because of his tightly bandaged hand. She knew better than to offer to cut up the toast for him. He wasn’t the kind of man who would tolerate nannying. ‘Sorry I’m being a pig,’ she said. ‘I can’t remember when I had a proper meal.’

‘Carry on,’he said, sitting back in his chair and eyeing her thoughtfully. ‘Where did you come from yesterday?’ he said.

‘From London,’ Josie said. ‘I bought some basic food in Menton, before I took a taxi up here, but by the time I’d found my house I was too hot and tired to eat, so I just flopped down on the nearest flat surface.’ She pulled a face and added, ‘Until you disturbed me so ungallantly.’ She laughed lightly. If they could share a joke that would put the embarrassing incident in its true perspective.

But there was no laughter, not even a smile in the strange grey eyes as he regarded her narrowly. ‘What gives you the idea that Mon Abri belongs to you?’ he enquired.

Josie choked on a piece of toast. She had begun to like this man, to think that he liked her, that they would be able to talk together rationally. But his tone and the way he had framed his question made it an insult.