to realise that not all women were of medium height and build. Shauna, being tall and very slim, had always found it notoriously difficult to find clothes to fit her.
Their steps led them to the back of the building, where he unlocked a cunningly concealed car-port to reveal the low, sleek lines of a Mercedes. He was a good driver—confident, but not over-confident. He drove the powerful machine well within the limits of the city’s speed restrictions. She thought it rather a waste to have such a powerful car if he lived in town. They headed north.
‘So tell me,’ he said, ‘how on earth you managed to survive two years working in a foreign country on your own.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she declared indignantly.
He shrugged, the glimmer of a smile playing on his lips. ‘If you thought I was running a massage parlour and escort agency, then your imagination must have been working overtime when you were abroad.’
She flushed. Her daydreaming had got her into trouble on more than one occasion. ‘I’m surprised you gave me the job.’
A brown hand expertly and swiftly changed down into second gear as a taxi shot out of a side-street and into their path. ‘I had a strong gut feeling about you, and I tend to rely on my instincts—where business is concerned, at any rate,’ he finished.
She began to wonder how he might respond where his emotions were concerned. If indeed he had any! She remembered his conceited remark about women displaying the ‘ripe-plum syndrome’—meaning, presumably, that they all fell eagerly into his arms, she thought acidly. But he’d been nothing but disparaging about her fellow job applicants, so he obviously wasn’t desperate for scalps to notch up. She sneaked a surreptitious side-glance at him in the darkness of the car. How old would he be? Early thirties? Involved? Someone as eligible as Max Ryder would be bound to be involved. Except that she couldn’t recall seeing any photographs in that vast office of his. Come to think of it, it had been one of the most impersonal rooms that she had ever been in. Stark and dramatic. Even the bonsai tree on the plain black desk had given nothing away. Stunning, but impersonal. A bit like him, really.
‘So you managed to spend two years on the Continent without getting yourself into any scrapes?’ he probed.
The way he said it made her feel about ten years old. ‘I’d been used to working in Portugal,’ she defended. ‘After two years I knew the job inside out and back to front. I got back to England and suddenly I felt like a stranger in my own country. When I walked into your building I felt totally out of place—it was so outside my experience that I imagined the worst possible scenario.’ She tucked one of the errant curls behind her ear and looked at him slightly nervously. ‘Do you understand what I mean?’
Unexpectedly he said, ‘I believe I do.’
The curl sprang back. ‘Can we forget it, and put it down to travel fatigue? By the way—it’s left here.’
The car swung up the tree-lined road. The trees were beginning to lose their leaves now. It seemed such a long time since she had lived here—a lifetime ago, really. Nick and Harry had been great flat-mates to have—kind and protective, just like the brothers she’d never had.
‘Nice area,’ he commented.
‘Yes, it is. Could you pull up here? It’s the second house, behind the van.’
The powerful car pulled smoothly to a halt. He turned to face her in the semi-darkness. ‘I’ll wait here,’ he said. ‘Let me know if you need a hand with anything.’
‘Thanks.’ She climbed out of the low car, walked to the front door and pressed the bell.
She had to wait several minutes, and was contemplating leaving a note, when the door was opened and a tall, tousled-haired young man stood stock-still, and then a grin split his face in two.
‘Shauna!’ he said in surprise, and then, ‘Shauna!’ again in a tone of delight. ‘You dark horse, you! Why didn’t you say?’
‘Because I didn’t know until recently,’ she laughed. ‘And you know the advert you sent me? I got the job!’
‘You got the job!’ he echoed in delight, and before she could stop him he had caught her up in his arms and whirled her round and round.
‘Put me down, Harry,’ she giggled. ‘You’ll give yourself a hernia!’ But as he carefully lowered her back on to the step she saw over his shoulder that Max Ryder was no longer sitting in his car, but lounging against the bonnet—his expression in the darkness unreadable, but, even in that outwardly relaxed stance, there was no mistaking the coiled tension in the long limbs. Obviously, he must have seen Harry embrace her, and she wondered why she should mind that he had.
Harry looked at her closely. ‘You look fabulous, Shauna,’ he said quietly. ‘But pensive. Come in. Have a drink?’
She shook her head regretfully, eyeing the familiarly shabby hall with affection. ‘I can’t. I’ve got someone waiting. He’s offered me a job and accommodation. I’m here to collect my stuff.’
‘So? Invite him in, too.’
Shauna took in the overflowing books, the half-empty wine bottle, last Sunday’s—and the Sunday’s before that!—newspapers littering the floor. She could just imagine the minimalist, bonsai-loving Max Ryder fitting in here!
‘I don’t think so, Harry,’ she smiled at him fondly. ‘He hasn’t even shown me the flat, yet—and he’s expecting a phone call from Paris. But I’ll come round another night—you can cook me one of your famous Bolognese sauces, and we’ll catch up on all the gossip.’
Harry frowned. ‘If only we hadn’t let your old room out.’
‘I would hardly have expected you to hold on to it for two years!’ exclaimed Shauna. ‘That would be stretching friendship a little too far!’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘It was good of you to keep my stuff for me.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Listen, I’d better not keep—’
‘No, of course not. I’ll get your stuff.’ He retreated into the larger bedroom. ‘Nick will be sorry to have missed you,’ he called out. ‘Did you know he’s in love?’
‘He wrote and told me! What’s she like?’
He reappeared, carrying two large suitcases. ‘Great—when she’s not sitting gazing at him like a lovesick puppy!’
‘You next, then,’ teased Shauna.
‘Is that an offer?’ he smiled.
They heard a loud toot from outside before she had a chance to reply. Shauna knew immediately who it would be.
‘That’ll be my new boss,’ she explained. ‘I’d better go.’
Harry pushed the curtain open a crack. ‘Flash car,’ he observed. ‘What’s he like?’
Shauna peeped out—he was still standing there. ‘The kind of man your mother told you never to go out with—well, most mothers,’ amended Shauna.
‘Lucky devil,’ said Harry gloomily. ‘I have the opposite trouble—instant parental approval—very boring!’
There was a momentary pause. ‘Thanks for my free holiday,’ he smiled. ‘I had a great time.’
He’d travelled out to Portugal in the summer, and her boss had put him up for the fortnight.
She grinned her agreement. ‘Me too. And thanks again for finding me the ad.’
They stood for a moment, hands clasped like the old friends they were—their brief and youthful romance long forgotten. ‘I’ll carry your cases to the car for you,’ he said.
A dark figure loomed up out of the shadows. ‘There’s no need for that,’ contradicted a deep voice, and Shauna