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The sweeping extent of his answer to so casual a question startled Harriet, as did the thinly veiled contempt for his father. She jerked her head up to look at him and the heel of one of her sandals caught in the sweeping point of her hem, sending her tumbling forward against his outstretched arm.
‘I’m sorry!’ she gasped, feeling her fingers dig into the straining muscle of his forearm as he took her full weight.
‘Don’t be. It was a long time ago,’ he murmured as she quickly steadied herself and moved away.
‘I meant—for grabbing at you like that.’
‘Accepting a little help from time to time isn’t a crime, Harriet. You don’t have to do everything yourself.’
Little did he know, she thought bitterly.
‘I—well, thank you for bringing me home.’ She edged away towards the gate in the neat white picket fence that edged the footpath, and to her consternation he calmly followed, glancing up at the dark windows of the slightly shabby wooden house.
‘I always see a lady to her door. There’s no light on and you seem none too steady on your feet. You might hurt yourself in the dark.’ He opened the gate for her. ‘After you.’
She fumed as she went up the uneven pathway, her bare back prickling as she imagined that she could feel his warm breath puffing against her skin. Why did he have to walk so close? And why hadn’t she left the porch light on? she wondered as she climbed the wooden steps, fumbling blindly in her bag for her keys. Because she had been too eager to leave, she remembered. She hadn’t wanted Michael in the house, hadn’t wanted to associate him in any way with her past.
‘Oh, damn!’ Now she had dropped them. Marcus stooped, the tips of his fingers brushing against her bare toes as he retrieved the dainty keyring and handed it back. She sorted through the keys by feel and then was chagrined to find that her hand was shaking so much that she couldn’t get the right one in the blasted lock.
‘Why in the hell won’t the damned thing go in?’ she said shrilly.
‘Swearing at it won’t help.’
‘No, but it makes me feel better!’ She swore again, to ensure that he knew she didn’t care about his pious disapproval. She felt gratifyingly wicked. Another taboo broken!
‘Well, if you’re going to use bad language, at least be creative about it,’ he drawled, and used a phrase to describe the recalcitrant lock and key that made Harriet blush hotly in the dark. The words seemed far more indecent coming from the polite mouth of Marcus Fox than they would have being uttered by a construction worker or docker.
To compound his offence he said with silky perception, ‘I feel quite a glow coming from your direction. I haven’t embarrassed you by any chance, have I, Harriet?’
‘Of course not!’ she said in her most worldly tone.
He hesitated, and then said quietly, ‘Well, I still apologise for my indelicacy. It was an insult to both of us. I shouldn’t have let you provoke me into sinking to your level.’
It seemed that even when he was being most gentlemanly he was being most insulting! ‘You—’
‘Careful; you’re going to break it off, wrenching it like that. Here, give it to me.’
To her frustration the lock and key co-operated sweetly at his merest touch. Marcus stepped across the threshold and found the switch for the light without even fumbling.
‘We won’t wake anyone, will we?’ he asked quietly, glancing down the softly illuminated hall. ‘I know elderly people tend to be very light sleepers.’
‘Elderly people?’
‘Your parents.’ He looked back in time to catch her still painfully off guard. ‘This is your family home, isn’t it? Your personnel file listed your parents as next of kin, living at the same address.’
To hide the shock that she was afraid he would see in her eyes, Harriet turned abruptly into the nearest room.
‘Well, they don’t now. I told you, your information is all out of date.’ She turned on the light and dimly registered that they were in the cosy lounge where she had spent so much time playing, studying and reading over the years while her father sat in his chair and did his crosswords and her mother placidly knitted and worried about what Tim was up to with his high-spirited friends.
‘Did your—?’
The question remained stillborn as he moved up behind her and saw the cartons and boxes and possessions strewn haphazardly around the room. It looked, Harriet knew, as if a bomb had exploded in their midst, and in a way it had…a human time bomb…
‘What’s happening here? Have you been robbed?’ he demanded, moving protectively in front of her, righting a fallen lamp on the floor and straightening the broken shade.
‘No, of course not. I’m packing everything up…I’ve sold the house.’
‘Sold it?’
