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‘Yes, well—that’s actually part of the problem, don’t you see?’ he said awkwardly. ‘If I casually sweep this under the carpet people might think that it’s because of our personal relationship. In the circumstances it’s very important that I’m seen to be acting impartially.’ He looked at her from under furrowed brows. ‘You do understand?’
She was afraid she did. ‘Does that mean you won’t be picking me up for dinner tonight after all?’ she asked drily. All their other dates had been casual, but this time Mark had booked them to dine at the gourmet restaurant of the country hotel on the other side
of the Ranges.
He thrust his bunched hands into his hip pockets, looking uncomfortable. ‘If you don’t mind…I think it’s best not to, just at this point in time—don’t you think?’
She kept her thoughts to herself, her polite smile pinned firmly into place as she nodded. ‘It might look as though we were colluding.’
He looked relieved at her easy agreement. Perhaps after her outburst he had expected her to throw a tantrum.
‘Ridiculous, of course, but you know how paranoiac some people are.’ He looked down at the half-finished coffee on the table and Anya could see him already mentally edging towards the door. ‘I’ll keep you posted but, as I said, I think this will all fizzle out, especially if we divert attention to finding and making an example of this hacker, whoever he or she is…’
At her front step he turned to deliver a last piece of gratuitous advice. ‘By the way, it might help if you tried to get on with Scott Tyler instead of being at loggerheads with him all the time. If people know you’re feuding with him they might be tempted to wonder if you went to that party intending to stir up some trouble for him. I know he gave you a rough ride at your interview but don’t be too sensitive about it, that’s just his way—I’m sure it was nothing personal. In our own best interests, we need to present a united front on this one.’
Of course, it had to be her injured sensitivity and not Scott Tyler’s prejudice that was at fault, simmered Anya as she let the door swing closed behind him, tempted to give it a swift kick.
She swept the neglected coffees off the table, dumping the cold liquid down the sink before walking into her cosy living room, her arms wrapped around her waist. So her wonderful new life in the country had hit another hiccup, more serious than some of the others—so what? She would survive, as she had always survived the rough spots in her life.
She looked around at the sunlit room she had sweated to scrape down, paint and paper before she moved in, the second-hand furniture she had stripped, polished and otherwise refurbished to create the warm, natural, lived-in look that she associated with a real home. Nothing to remind her of the soulless modernity of a hotel, or the makeshift clutter of a student flat, or the regimentation of a school boarding house. Everything here was hers and no one else’s…except the big chunk of house that was mortgaged to the bank, she amended, and time would correct that unavoidable hitch.
Provided, of course, she could keep up the payments, which were geared high in order to see off the mortgage more quickly. A teacher’s salary was nothing spectacular but it was a regular income from doing a job she loved. If her reputation was so damaged that she could no longer find work in her chosen profession she might find herself in much lower-paid work and struggling to make the mortgage payments.
She wasn’t going to let that happen!
Spinning around with her fists clenched in determination, Anya looked out through the French doors and saw that Mark hadn’t yet left. He was leaning out of the window of his car talking to two people who had walked up the drive as he backed out…Scott Tyler and his daughter, the distinctive silver Jag parked in the street behind them.
She hurried outside, trying not to look self-conscious as both men turned their heads to watch her approach. Had Scott let the cat out of the bag about her visit?
‘I was just telling Mark that I thought it was a good idea for you and I to bury the hatchet,’ he said before she could open her mouth. ‘I wanted to apologise in person for getting you innocently embroiled in my nephew’s problems, and my daughter was fascinated to know you were the cousin of a world-renowned classical pianist. Petra takes piano lessons.’ He nudged his daughter forward with a large hand.
‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ said Mark, giving Anya a smug look, as if he had personally conjured up this fortuitous happenstance, along with a subtle jerk of his eyes towards Scott that she supposed was both a warning and encouragement to mend her fences.
Anya was still off balance at the unexpected reference to Kate, and barely noticed Mark drive off.
‘What are you really doing here?’ she asked suspiciously, shading the sun from her eyes with her hand as she looked up at Scott, the neat circular coil of hair on the top of her head glowing like a halo in the bright light.
He seemed to have no problem with the glare, his perceptive eyes studying her tense expression. ‘How are you? Have you found any more injuries?’
‘No. Is that why you came back—to check I hadn’t developed whiplash and decided to sue?’
He sighed. ‘It seems to be in danger of developing into a boring habit of mine, producing relatives to deliver their apologies. Go ahead, Petra.’ He turned and walked back to his car, where he opened the boot and began to fish inside.
Anya transferred her gaze to his daughter, who shrugged, and gave her a cocky grin. ‘Sorry. He found out. I guess I knew he would, but it was worth a try.’
‘You confessed or he found out?’ She could see Scott coming back up the drive towards them out of the corner of her eye.
‘A bit of both, really…’
‘I went back to look at the path in case there was a real safety hazard that needed to be tidied up, and noticed all the fallen leaves, and damage to the creeper all the way up to her window,’ supplied her father as he rejoined them. ‘Since you’re an unlikely candidate for a cat-burglar, it didn’t take a genius to work out that Petra had decided that a simple closed door was the modern equivalent of Colditz—’
‘What’s Colditz?’
‘A World War II POW prison for chronic escapees, you appallingly ignorant child,’ was the drawling reply. ‘Haven’t you ever studied the World Wars at school?’
‘Yeah, but I usually listen to my Discman in the boring classes…you know, run the earphone wire from my bag up under my sleeve and sit with my head propped on my hand—’ she flattened her hand over the side of her face and ear.
Anya recognised the characteristic pose and hid a grin while Scott growled, ‘Have you made your apology yet?’
