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Clare led the way. The dining-room was a long, narrow room along the front of the lodge. Every table had a window-seat, overlooking the lake, and french doors at regular intervals along the room opened out to a veranda where, weather permitting, the guests could have their meals. Early-morning mist wreathed the lake, making alfresco dining an unappealing prospect, and Clare showed Deverenko to a table at the far end of the room where the weak morning sunlight added to the warmth of the room. The thick beige carpet and natural wood panelling on the walls and exposed-beam ceilings were the same throughout the lodge, creating the kind of spartan luxury that Moonlight was famous for.
'Aren't you going to join me? Grace told me that it's accepted practice for staff and guests to dine together,' he said smoothly, as Clare retrieved her coffee and began to turn away.
'I… thought that you and your daughter might prefer to eat alone,' ventured Clare hopefully.
'Tamara has ordered breakfast in bed.'
Still hovering, trying to think of a good reason to refuse his invitation, she offered him a meaningless smile. 'I suppose she's at the age to discover that just because you wake up, it doesn't mean you have to get up.'
'I rather think it's more of a case of wanting the opposite of what her father wants,' he said wryly. 'Her way of making sure I don't take her for granted.' Clare still hovered, and his dark eyes fell to the small menu consideringly as he added casually, 'Also to punish me for spending so long with your son this morning. He came to visit and welcome us to the lodge.'
Clare sat down with a thump, her coolness compromised by annoyed embarrassment. 'Did he wake you? I'm terribly sorry. I did tell him he wasn't to annoy you…'
'He didn't annoy me in the least, and I was already awake when he knocked—'
'Still, he knows he isn't supposed to disturb guest? '
'Relax, Clare, I told you, I didn't mind. I enjoyed talking with him again.' Deverenko picked up another menu and put it in her hands. 'And, after all, I'm not the normal type of guest. I came down here to see you and Tim. He at least was pleased to see me. In fact, come to think of it, it was Tim who suggested I come to Moonlight, so I guess he feels a proprietorial interest in looking after me.'
Clare pretended to be studying the menu she knew off by heart, having typed it herself, while she resolutely fought a blush. She was definitely going to have a talk with Tim! When she felt confident that she had defeated the advance of blood to her cheeks, she looked up again. Deverenko was studying her expression with vague disappointment. Clare's- confidence rose. He had deliberately tried to embarrass her for his own entertainment.
'I can recommend the fish with melon.'
'I'll have that, then,' he said, tossing aside his menu, giving up his own pretence of interest. 'Would you object, Clare, if while I'm here I give Tim a few lessons?'
'I suppose you've already mentioned the possibility to him, so the question is rather redundant,' said Clare tightly.
'No, I haven't. I wouldn't be so underhand.'
'Really?' Clare's scepticism made his muscles along his jaw tighten aggressively.
'Really. It's up to you. But I should say this: Tim will probably ask me to hear him, and I won't lie about my interest for your sake.'
'As I said, the question is rather redundant, then. Just don't go making any more statements about him to the Press.'
'You never let me explain about that.'
Clare was about to make a curt reply when they were interrupted by Grace asking whether they'd made up their minds about their choice. Normally Grace's niece, Trina, did the waitressing, but Miles had given her her annual holidays while the lodge was semi-closed for the alterations. Grace wouldn't let Deverenko get away with a single course, and bullied him into starting with a terrine of fresh fruit and finishing with her 'special' coffee, the recipe for which was a closely guarded secret.
'If I stay here too long, I'll run to fat,' said Deverenko with the carelessness of one who knew it wasn't true.
'Just think of the advantages. If you grow a double chin, you won't need a chin-rest on your violin, you can just tuck it into the rolls of fat. You're fairly solid now.' Clare allowed her eyes to run over him critically.
He stiffened. 'I have an artist's discipline. I would never allow myself to be overweight. It's my Russian heritage—strong bones and solid flesh. To be a violinist requires endurance and fitness; this is muscle, not fat.' He flexed an arm to show her.
Clare could believe it. Her long lashes hid her satisfaction at his annoyance. He had a very healthy ego, but he was obviously as much a perfectionist personally as he was professionally, and thus sensitive to any hint of serious criticism.
'If you say so,' she said meekly, and there was a brief silence in which she thought she might have gone too far. But, if he guessed she had been leading him on, he did not say so. Instead he returned to the conversation they had been having before the interruption.
'To set the record straight, Clare, I didn't make any statement as such to that reporter; I merely agreed with his assessment that Tim showed extraordinary capability for his age. I refused to make any further comment. I was something of a prodigy myself, as you may know, and I realise the damage that intrusive publicity can do, the unfair expectations it can create.'
'I see,' Clare murmured, unable to bring herself to apologise for her misconception. She badly needed the barriers that her resentment had created. At close quarters his personality was oppressively warm. Relaxed and male, he looked very much at home in his surroundings, as if he belonged there, across the table, her breakfast companion.
'So, I have your permission for the lessons?'
'Of course. As long as they don't interfere with his schoolwork or regular lessons.'
'I should like to meet his teacher.'
