Comparative Strangers

The square of cardboard over the broken window was like some grim exclamation mark, she thought, as she trod with care to the wardrobe and extracted jeans and a sweater. She washed and dressed swiftly, and ran downstairs.

Malory was seated at the kitchen table. The smile he sent her was polite, but guarded. ‘I was just coming to wake you,’ he said. ‘Your breakfast is keeping warm.’

Blushing a little, she brought her plate to the table and sat down opposite him. ‘You shouldn’t wait on me.’ She added self-consciously, ‘I—I went out like a light, last night.’

‘So I noticed.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I really should be going. Is there someone in the village who can fix that window for you?’

‘Mr Ambrose does all the jobs like that. I’ll phone him presently.’ She smiled awkwardly. ‘You seem to have got rid of the broken glass.’

‘I used the vacuum first thing, while you were still giving your Sleeping Beauty performance.’

‘Oh.’ Amanda swallowed. ‘You did that? Well, it makes me feel worse than ever—about everything.’

‘Entirely unnecessary,’ he said calmly. ‘Last night, you needed a friend. Well, you’ve got one.’ He held out a hand to her. ‘Agreed?’

She allowed his fingers to close round hers. ‘Agreed.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a fool.’

‘You’re probably entitled to be.’ He gave her a searching look. ‘Will you be all right alone today, or is there someone who could stay with you?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said brightly. ‘And my mother will be returning later.’

‘Excellent.’ He got to his feet. ‘Goodbye, then.’

And this time, Amanda discovered, he really had left. When she checked, trying to be casual about it, a little while later, his car had vanished. And so, apparently, had he—on a permanent basis.

She wandered back into the cottage and shut the door. In spite of his remark about being her friend, she never expected to see Malory again. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to.

He must think she was a complete nutcase, she told herself, and, what was worse, something of a tease as well.

Stay with me—please, she mimicked herself savagely. God, what must he have thought? She was lucky he hadn’t even made a token pass. And it wasn’t very flattering to his masculinity that she hadn’t really considered such an eventuality when she’d made her plea. She’d only been thinking in terms of companionship and comfort.

Perhaps, in spite of his rather edged remark, he didn’t have a very high sex-drive, she thought, shrugging. It occurred to her with an ache of her heart that Nigel would have made more than the most of such an opportunity.

No, Malory was a mystery all right, and she had enough confusion in her life already, without embarking on the pointless exercise of trying to figure out what made him tick.

Ships that pass in the night, she told herself resolutely as she headed to the phone to call Mr Ambrose. And better that she and Malory Templeton remain that way. Far better.

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