Page 6 of A Bewitching Compulsion

'Really? You surprise me. I thought I made my opinion quite clear on the subject last night.'

'Opinions can change.'

'Not mine.'

'Are you so inflexible, then? That must make the task of bringing up a young child on your own doubly difficult.'

He had her there. Parenting was nothing if not the knack of constantly adjusting oneself to new crises. Children were adept at finding loopholes in hard and fast rules, particularly bright children like Tim. Clare smiled unwillingly at one particularly vivid memory, then hurriedly smoothed it out as she saw David Deverenko staring at her left cheek. Her hand automatically went up to brush away the dimple that gave her smile its funny lopsidedness. As a child her Shirley Temple cuteness had many times enabled her to escape the consequences of mischief, but who took an adult with a baby-dimple seriously?

'Mr Deverenko,' she said severely, to counteract the dimple's effect, 'I—'

'David—please call me David. We can't have a proper argument unless we're on insultingly easy terms.'

'Mr Deverenko—'

'I stand corrected,' he murmured ruefully, and at her frigid look put a finger to his lips. His hands were the only thing about him that looked refined—strong, yet with a delicate flexibility that indicated their sensitivity, their skill.

'I don't intend to argue with you. Tim is too young for the kind of intensive musical training that you have in mind for him…'

'Since you wouldn't listen to me, you don't have any idea what I have in mind for him.'

'Virginia—'

'With respect, nor does your mother-in-law. Mrs Malcolm, I am not an evil Fagin come to steal your child away from your loving arms and turn him into a freak. I'm here to ask.. .to find out what your plans for the boy are, and to offer you my advice.'

'Your unbiased advice?'

He hid his satisfaction at this indication that she might consider it. 'Yes.'

'Your opinion?'

'Yes.'

'An opinion which, of course, is open to my influence.'

He hesitated, conscious of the trap his arrogance had led him into. He was capable of colouring the truth with emotion and enthusiasm, but the cold lie was beyond him.

'Because if it wasn't… if you had come here with one fixed idea—to persuade me that my opinion is without worth—why, then, you'd be guilty of inflexibility, wouldn't you, Mr Deverenko? Which, according to you, is a crime.'

He was no longer lounging. He sat forward, muscular thighs splayed, his elbows resting on his knees, fingers interlocking as his fierce jaw tightened. Clare felt a sense of achievement at the banishment of his former supreme self-confidence.

'I am not without honour in my field—' he began slowly.

'Come now, maestro, let's not be absurdly modest. Please feel free to intimidate me with your undoubted greatness.'

'Dammit, woman!' The bearish growl burst out before he could control himself. He got to his feet, took two stiff strides away, then whirled around, eyes narrowing on her bland expression. 'You're enjoying this, aren't you?' he accused.

'Did you expect me not to? Did you think I'd bow and scrape and accept your sacred word as gospel? Didn't. Virginia warn you, Mr Deverenko?'

'Yes, but I didn't believe that anyone could be that blind or that stupid!' He made an expressive sound in a rush of air and looked away from her, uttering what had to be a curse in a language other than English. 'I apologise, Mrs Malcolm,' he said with such stiff revulsion that she knew he was unaccustomed to begging for anything. 'I suppose I've completely blown any. chance of getting you to listen to me now. But believe me, I came here out of the best of motives. Arrogant and opinionated as you might think I am, I came here for Timothy's sake, not to exercise my ego.'

He looked at her then, and Claire felt the full impact of the black eyes at close quarters. She became aware of the power inside him, the controlled vitality, the musician's unique ability to communicate without words. Tim had that ability. Clare didn't. She had no musical ability whatsoever.

'Do you play an instrument?' he asked suddenly, and she had the unsettling feeling that he had read her mind.

'No,' she said proudly, refusing to apologise for it.

'But you've studied ballet.'

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