Page 20 of A Bewitching Compulsion

'It was boring, Mum. It was all stuff we've done already.'

'That's the idea of tests, Tim—to find out what you've learned. If Miss Tyson, or Mr Deverenko,' she added for good measure, 'didn't ask you to play the practice piece you've learned, how would you feel?'

'That's different. That's never boring.'

'Not even scales?'

Tim's mouth firmed stubbornly.

'I take it you didn't do too well in the test.'

'I didn't finish it. I got to thinking…' He tailed off as he watched his mother's face cloud over with hurt. He swallowed hard. 'I'm sorry, Mum, but I knew it all, really. It was baby stuff, long division and tables and things.'

'You should have done the test first, then done your 'thinking',' said Clare firmly, with an inward sigh. She had already warned Tim's schoolteacher that he found the normal maths syllabus no challenge at all. Although Tim was a class ahead of his age group, he still found the work too easy, when he was sufficiently stimulated to tackle it!

'Never mind.' She leaned forward to kiss his smooth forehead, sprinkled with the freckles that adorned her own. 'I'll have a word with Mrs Campbell.'

'About book week, too? Why do all my reports have to be on those silly fiction books?'

'Because it'll do you good to read something imaginative rather than practical for a change.' This was something she had made progress with. 'Fiction is rather like music, Tim…one person's special vision of the world to be shared with others. They're all very well-written stories on the young adult level. I think you might find that you enjoy them.' And learn from them. One was about a gifted young pianist who had to face the fact he might not be able to play again after a car accident. She wanted Tim to realise that there were sometimes other obstacles than lack of talent or application that could get in the way of a burning desire to dedicate one's life to something. She feared for that fierce determination in one so young; it could so easily turn against him.

'OK, Mum.' Tim gave her the sweet smile that was his special gift. 'I love you, Mum.'

This was ritual, too. 'I love you, too, Tim. Sweet dreams.' She clicked off his bedside-lamp and went to the door.

'Mum?'

'Mmm?'

'Why can't we remember dreams?'

Clare smiled to herself in the darkness. Typical of Tim to end the day with a question.

'Our subconscious protecting itself, perhaps. Why don't you look it up in the library tomorrow?'

'OK.' Another yawn, but a real one this time.

Clare was still smiling as she closed his door and went to switch on her automatic kettle while she fetched her book from the bedroom. It was a thrilling spy novel, and Clare was looking forward to a little, vicarious excitement. She switched off the main light in the lounge and put on the table-lamp next to the big, soft velvet sofa. She could hear the kettle beginning to steam, so she tucked the book under her arm and was getting out a cup for herself in the tiny kitchenette when there was a soft rap on the door. Clare sighed.

David Deverenko's eyebrows shot up when he saw her night attire. He was still wearing the white cashmere sweater and dark trousers he had worn at dinner. 'Going to bed already? Or are you expecting someone else?'

'Miles is still away.' The impact of him, leaning casually against the doorway, made her snappy defence instantaneous. 'Who else would I be expecting?'

'While sugar daddy's away… That photographer seems to hang around your office rather a lot.'

Her surprise was answer enough. 'Doug?' She was undecided whether to be annoyed or amused. Doug was gay. It was far more likely to be David he was interested in than Clare! 'You seem to have it fixed in your mind that I'm some kind of femme fatale,' she said in exasperation. 'I don't know where you get your ideas from, but you're way off beam.' What did he see when he looked at her, for goodness' sake? She was a twenty-seven-year-old mother, not particularly pretty or sexy, living a rather ordinary and unexciting life. 'And Miles is not my sugar daddy,' she was unable to resist adding.

'Do you sleep with him?'

'David!'

'Just want to make sure I'm not stepping on anyone's toes,' he said mildly, accepting her spluttering outrage as his answer.

'You might get your own crushed,' she warned him grimly.

'Only might?'

'Will, then,' she corrected herself, furious at letting him fluster her yet again. She should expect the unexpected from him by now. 'David, I'm tired. What do you want?'

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