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Dante’s expression did not change. But it took a degree of effort not to let it do so.Por Dio, he was definitely insane. He could not possibly be thinking of going through with what he’d intended.
All his angry, frustrated cogitation during the previous sleepless night had brought him to this point—but now, dear God, it was impossible...just impossible.
With an effort, he steeled himself. He was here now—no point bolting.
He nodded at the figure standing there in the doorway, staring at him open-mouthed. ‘I hope you will excuse this intrusion,’ he began, making his voice smooth, however rough he felt inside, ‘but there is something I would like to discuss with you...if you will permit?’
For a moment her expression did not change either. It looked totally blank. Then, with a little shake, she spoke.
‘What on earth is it?’
There was complete bewilderment in her voice—and something more than that, Dante detected, wondering at it.
Disbelief.
Yes, well,he thought savagely,you and me both.
‘That, I will explain,’ he answered her now. ‘But not,’ he added pointedly, ‘on the doorstep.’
She stood back, as if yielding to his will without realising she was doing so. Maybe, he thought morosely, that was a good sign.
‘Er...yes,’ she said, and he saw her swallow. ‘You had better come in.’
She stood aside and he walked into the tiny entrance hall, his height dominating it. A narrow staircase led upstairs, and to the right he could see a front sitting room, and to the left a kitchen. Past the stairs a corridor led to a door that stood ajar, open to the rear garden beyond. He cast a querying look at her, to indicate she should show him the way.
She did—into the kitchen.
‘I just have to make a cup of tea for my grandmother. She’s sitting in the garden.’
She turned away, busying herself at the kettle and with the tea caddy.
Dante took the opportunity to let his eyes rest on her. Protest rose in him. Yes, he was insane. Completely insane. Of course he could not do what he’d thought he could. He should leave—immediately.
He steeled himself again. No, he’d tough this out. He had to.
He watched as she made a mug of tea, putting in milk and a heaped teaspoon of sugar, then she cast him an apologetic glance and muttered, ‘I’ll just take this out to Gran.’
She walked off down the corridor to the garden door. Dante followed her. He wanted to see her grandmother. After all, this entire mad scheme rested on the elderly woman and what he’d been told last night.
As he stepped through the door he found himself on a small paved patio beyond which was a lawn, neatly mowed, bordered by flowerbeds and terminating in an area which, he could see, was a dedicated vegetable garden. A few ornamental trees marched down the edges, under one of which an ironwork bench was positioned. Like the front of the cottage, it was all ridiculously pretty.
Again, the thought came to his mind—no wonder she does not wish to leave here.
Then his eyes went to the occupant of a comfortable-looking wicker garden chair, old-fashioned, padded with cushions.
‘Good morning,’ he said pleasantly.
Blue eyes were turned slowly upon him, and in them he saw—and recognised—a vacancy that betokened the nature of her affliction. Her granddaughter was setting down the cup of tea on a table beside her, from the centre of which a parasol cast shade over the old lady’s face.
‘We’ve got a visitor, Gran. Isn’t that nice?’
The voice was bright and pleasant, and designed to be cheering and reassuring.
The elderly lady said nothing, only turned her head, carefully picking up the mug of tea and taking a sip. Her gaze went back out over the garden and she seemed to relax a little. She looked calm, and peaceful too—contented, even. For a moment Dante just looked at her, a veiled expression on his face.
‘You had better come inside.’
The woman he had come to see had spoken and was gesturing back into the cottage. Dante strode through the door, back to the entrance hall.
