Page 8 of Hot Surrender

'No, thank heavens. I was with an international ex—Europeans, a couple of dozen of us, all specialists: photographers, a couple of doctors, scientists, geologists, biologists. But we were all climbers; that was essential. In those mountains you need to know what you're doing and you need other people you can rely on. Lives could be lost otherwise.' He yawned, got up, went to the washing machine and bent to look at the contents. 'I'll click this through the cycle now and get it on rinse, then we can pop the clothes into the dryer.'

'You're not married, are you?' Zoe thoughtfully said, watching him deftly adjust the machine.

He turned, gave her a cynical look from those deep, dark eyes, shaking his head. 'No. Don't tell me you have scruples about getting involved with married men? Hal didn't tell me that.'

'Hal doesn't know me as well as he thinks he does!' she broke out angrily. 'He doesn't really know me at all. We've never been what you could call friends!'

'What does that mean? Translate for me. By "friends" do you actually mean lovers?'

'No! I mean what most people mean by the word "friends". Hal and I have worked together…'

'And he never made a pass?' Connel sounded disbelieving, and she could imagine why, knowing Hal Thaxford, who made a pass at any attractive woman he met.

'He made them, yes,' she said coldly.

'And got slapped down?'

'Hard.

I told him I wasn't interested, but he wouldn't take no for an answer until I slapped his face too. He isn't very bright, you know, or a very good actor. Too wooden. And typically he thinks he's God's gift. He has no idea he's second-rate. When he finally took on board that I would not get involved with him he started sulking.'

'Hmm.' Connel Hillier was eying her dryly. 'Hal's version of this story is somewhat different In fact, he says it was the other way round—he wasn't interested in you and you resented it.'

Zoe shrugged, unsurprised. 'Well, you can make your own mind up which of us you believe! And, by the way, I've no intention of getting involved with you, either, Mr Hillier. I asked if you were married because it's obvious you're used to looking after yourself—you know how a washing machine works, and you can do your own cooking. If you were married, your wife would probably do all that.'

'These days most men can take care of themselves, married or not.'

'Some men can! Some men don't see why they should bother, once they're married!'

'A few, maybe. But my brother, for instance, is as capable of cooking a three-course meal as his wife, because Cherry is a high-powered executive who often doesn't get home until midnight, so Declan has to take care of himself when she's busy.'

'They don't have children, presumably?'

He shook his head. 'Cherry's on the fast track at work; she doesn't plan on having kids for years yet. But she's only twenty-six; she has plenty of time.'

'And your brother's happy with that?'

'He wants children one day, but he's in no hurry. He and Cherry only got married a few months ago; they lead a pretty hectic social life: dinner parties, first nights, clubbing. They're rarely at home in the evening unless they're giving a party.'

Zoe was listening intently, but her eyelids were drooping wearily and she couldn't stop yawning, hiding it behind her hand.

The washing machine was going into a spin now. Connel Hillier took the plastic washing basket down from the top of the machine, his back to her while he waited for the washing to come to a halt, but he went on talking about his brother, his voice low and soft. 'De-clan isn't ready for the responsibility of kids yet, anyway. He's far too keen on his social life. I sometimes wonder why he and Cherry got married at all. They're both so independent and busy, so involved with their own lives, they don't seem like a pair, more like flatmates. But then who knows what goes on inside a relationship? I often think…'

The quiet murmur of his voice was soothing. It blurred into the background, became soporific; Zoe yawned, listening to it, couldn't keep her eyes open any longer; she let them close, her head so heavy on her neck that she slowly bowed it on to her arms on the table in front of her.

She never knew when exactly she fell asleep.

The next she knew was when light flickered across her eyelids. Yawning, she stretched her arms above her head—then realised the light was sunlight. What time was it?

Usually when she woke up it was still dark, even in summer. Film-making began with first light and only ended when the light went. She should have been up hours ago. Sharply turning her head to look at her alarm clock, she saw it was eight o'clock.

Eight o'clock?

Horrified, she sat up—why hadn't the alarm gone off? Surely she couldn't have slept through it?

At the same instant her memory rushed in with images of what had happened last night, and she stiffened, her eyes flashing round the bedroom. How had she got here? For a second or two her head swam with bewilderment.

The last thing she remembered was sitting with her head on her arms, while behind her Connel Hillier talked about his brother.

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