Dragons Lair

Within an hour she had bathed, dressed and packed and was in a taxi on the way to Gethyn’s flat. It had already occurred to her that he might not be there, but the landlord lived on the premises and would have a pass-key.

But there was no need for this. As she approached the flat door, she could hear the sound of Gethyn’s typewriter. She banged her case down and beat a tattoo on the door. After the briefest of pauses, the door opened, and Gethyn stood looking down on her. He did not offer any kind of greeting or explanation, but his brows lifted almost cynically at the sight of her.

‘Come in,’ he said at last. ‘There’s some coffee if you want some.’

Davina gasped as she dumped her case down on the sofa. ‘Is that all you have to say?’

He shrugged, his thin dark face inscrutable. ‘What do you expect me to say?’ he countered.

She held on to her temper with difficulty. ‘Well, some kind of apology might do to start with. Didn’t it occur to you as you walked out this morning that I would be worried sick?’

‘Frankly, no, it didn’t. How very wifely of you,’ he said smoothly, and she could have struck him. ‘But it can’t have been too traumatic for you as you knew exactly where to come to find me.’

‘That’s hardly the point.’ Her voice rose almost to a shout. ‘You walked out on me!’

‘You didn’t really expect me to hang around that gold-plated film set playing the doting groom to your adoring bride for the benefit of a pack of hotel staff—or did you?’ He gave her a long hard look. ‘I gave in to you yesterday only because it seemed to be what you wanted. Now I’m no longer sure what it is you do want. Except that it isn’t me,’ he added almost as a casual afterthought.