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'You bastard! You said I was too young. . .' With a vitriolic look in Beth's direction, the woman changed from English into a language that Beth recognised as Italian but which she did not understand—and that was maybe just as well, as she doubted the woman's words were complimentary.
Eyes like saucers, open-mouthed, Beth stared at Paul. Mint sauce was trickling down his forehead, a lamb noisette sat on his head, another on his shoulder, the rest of his food—small new potatoes and assorted vegetables—lay all over the table and in his lap. Stunned, she looked down at the glass still in her hand and eyed the single petit pois floating in it. Replacing the glass on the table, she carefully picked the tiny pea out of her champagne.
She had read books where the hero got spaghetti tipped over him by some irate woman, but somehow lamb and potatoes did not have the same effect, Beth thought inconsequentially, glancing back at Paul. He had risen to his feet and was saying something low and hard to the woman that obviously did not please her, if the fury in her dark eyes was anything to go by.
Suddenly a man appeared and encircled the lady's waist with a strong arm. He was tall, about six-two, and built like a barn door—or a double door, Beth amended in her mind. She couldn't see the man's face, only his very broad back, black hair and long, long legs, but it was enough to send a shiver of fear down her spine. She didn't fancy Paul's chances with this burly hunk, obviously bristling with male aggression.
But she need not have worried. In a matter of seconds the stranger was ushering the woman straight on, and out of the restaurant.
Her face reflecting her astonishment, Beth glanced up at Paul, and he, with the sophistication of the true gentleman, first asked Beth if she was all right and apologised for the interruption, then calmly instructed the maître d' to have the table reset and their order replaced.
Beth grabbed Paul's sleeve. 'Surely you don't want to stay here now?' she whispered urgently, suddenly aware of the amused looks of the rest of the diners, and blushing scarlet with embarrassment.
'Beth, darling,' he soothed, removing her hand from his sleeve and nonchalantly brushing himself down with his napkin before resuming his seat, 'remember the stiff upper lip and all that. The mark of a true Englishman is to remain cool, whatever the circumstances. Besides which, I'm hungry, and I have no intention of forgoing my meal for some over-excitable Latin female.'
'But who was she? And why did she—?'
Paul held up a hand. 'Forget her, Beth. I already have.'
'But she was furious. . .'
'I know—her type always are. I think it's one of nature's little tricks on the male of the species. While one prefers a fiery, passionate woman in bed, one avoids them like the plague out of it. Which is probably why I have never married,'
'You're incredible.' Beth grinned, with a rueful shake of her long auburn hair, the humour of the situation finally getting through to her. 'And you have sauce on your brow and cheek.'
Paul allowed the slightest trace of a smile to lighten his face before saying, 'Then will you excuse me a moment while I slip to the restroom?'
Of course Beth did, and when he returned, and their dinner was once again set before them, Beth said admiringly, 'You really are amazing, Paul. So suave. Most men would have died of embarrassment and rushed out of the restaurant after such an outrageous scene.'
'Put it down to years at prep school and Eton, and forget about it, Beth, darling. Enjoy your food before it gets cold.' Amazingly she did. . .
By the time Paul stopped his sleek black car outside the entrance to her apartment they were both in fits of laughter over the whole unfortunate episode. But later, curled up in bed, for an instant Beth wondered just exactly what kind of relationship Paul had with the unfortunate woman, and for a second felt a fleeting compassion for the lady.
Although Paul was like a father figure to her, she was woman enough to realise that he was a very attractive man. Tall, elegant and wealthy, he had inherited an estate in Devon and a vineyard in southern Italy from his parents, plus he didn't look his fifty-three years. In fact he was a very eligible bachelor, dividing his time between his two estates throughout the year, with frequent visits to his penthouse in London, behaving as a typical man about town. Perhaps he had been playing around with the woman. . . But, then again, she thought, just before sleep claimed her, the woman hadn't been alone at the restaurant. Beth had only seen the rear of her companion, but he had been quite a man. . .
At six o'clock the next afternoon, as Beth walked out of the elevator on the ground floor of the office block that housed Canary Characters, she looked up to see Paul walking in the door. They looked at each other and grinned.
'I won't mention last night if you don't,' Beth offered.
'That's what I love about you, Bethany Lawrence,' said Paul, giving her her full name. 'You have your mother's looks, but you definitely have your father's nature. Such a sensible girl. Now, how about coming out for an early dinner with me tonight? This time I can assure you it will be a totally uneventful evening.'
Of course she agreed, and after a quiet meal in a small bistro, Paul again drove her home.
Standing on the doorstep at the entrance to her apartment block, Beth turned to Paul. 'Would you like to come up for a coffee, or do you have a more pressing date?' she teased; it was only ten in the evening, and she knew his passion for the casinos when he was in town.
'For a young girl you are far too cynical and know me far too well.' Reaching out his hand, he stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles. 'You're right, the tables await, and, as I intend spending the next few months stuck in the middle of the Italian countryside, I'd better be off. Look after yourself, and be good. You know how to get in touch if you need me.'
'Yes, and thank you again for everything, Paul.' Flinging her arms around Mm, she gave him a hug and pressed a soft kiss to his smooth cheek. 'And you be good as well.' Stepping back, she grinned. 'If you can, you old reprobate.' And with a last flashing smile she hurried inside.
Striding across the lobby with a spring in her step, Beth wondered when she would see Paul again. Sometimes there were months between their meetings, and, although she knew he was always there for her on the end of the telephone, she missed his company. But then he had his own life to lead, and she had hers. Her new job was going well; she had made friends with Mary, a new trainee like herself, and they often went for a meal or to the cinema, or simply gossiped over a drink. Life looked good. . . What more could a girl want?
Now Beth knew, and the knowledge caused her unimaginable pain. She had wanted Dex to love her, to marry her, but it had all been a game to him. Dex had taken her out to make sure she stayed away from Paul. That Dex actually thought she was the type of young girl who would date a man in his fifties simply because he was wealthy said it all. Dex had no respect for Beth as a person; he probably had no respect for any woman except his sister.
Thinking of Paul, and his comment about a stiff upper lip, she refused to cry, and swiftly brushed the tears from her eyes. Her full lips twisted in a bitter smile; coinci- dentally it was exactly three weeks tonight since her eventful dinner with Paul, and exactly thirteen days since she had fist met Dex. Unlucky thirteen was certainly true in her case. . .
'Hey, miss. Do you know where you're going?' The conduc
tor's question broke into her bitter reverie.
