By Marriage Divided. Lindsay Armstrong
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across the candle. ‘Did you really have your washing and ironing on your mind when you knocked me back the first time?’
Domenica had ordered mineral water and closed her hands around the frosted glass. ‘To be honest, no. I…’ She hesitated then shrugged. ‘There are times when you make me nervous.’
‘And what do you think I should do about that?’
‘Don’t rush me, Mr Keir,’ she advised, then bit her lip. ‘Look, all I’m trying to do is make amends for my mother.’
‘Domenica—’ a little glint of amusement lit his eyes ‘—believe me, I’m not that thin-skinned. It really doesn’t bother me to be thought of as “self-made” or new money.’
She frowned. ‘I think it would bother me. And whether you like to admit it or not, I think there was an instinctive reaction.’
His lips twisted. ‘You think right,’ he confessed, ‘but it was very fleeting.’
‘I also,’ she ploughed on, ‘well, some of the things you’ve said to me plus my sister’s assurance that I can be a lot like my mother, or at least unwittingly look and sound like her, have made me feel uncomfortable and as if I was bunging on “side”. I really didn’t mean to.’
He sat back. ‘Thank you for all this—’ he looked at her gravely ‘—but if you’re picturing me as having an enormous chip on my shoulder about old money and new money, rightly or wrongly, I don’t. I’m thirty-six,’ he added wryly. ‘I’ve come a long way from the back of Tibooburra—so, yes, sometimes the odd little pinprick touches a nerve, but for the rest I couldn’t give a damn. Take me or leave me in other words, but you don’t have to go on apologizing.’
Their entrée was served at this point.
Domenica had chosen calamari and it was delicious. She ate most of it while she thought out a response. ‘What if I still decide—’ she wiped her fingers, ‘to—er—leave you, as you put it?’ she queried.
‘Do you mean what would I think of you?’
‘Mmm.’ She touched her napkin to her lips.
‘I think I’d put it down to a truer kind of elitism than your mother is capable of,’ he said.
Her eyes widened. ‘What do you mean?’
‘That you must think you’re too good for me, Domenica, to want to completely ignore the kind of simultaneous attraction we felt from the moment we laid eyes on each other.’
Instead of firing up—perhaps the food and the soothing perfection of the restaurant were having a beneficial effect, she theorized to herself—she sat back and looked around until the next course arrived.
Nor did he attempt to enlarge on his statement or elicit a response but he was completely at ease, she could see, as he lounged back against the leather, watching her.
She’d ordered a fillet steak but she only stared at it for a long moment after it arrived. Then she raised her eyes to Angus Keir. ‘How do you know there isn’t a man in my life? Wouldn’t that be reason enough to ignore you?’
‘Certainly,’ he conceded. ‘Although it would be a bit of a worry to feel like that about someone else if you had a serious man in your life, don’t you think?’
She looked at him darkly.
It didn’t make any impression because he continued smoothly, ‘But there is no man in your life, Domenica.’
‘How do you know that—for heaven’s sake? Don’t tell me your homework extended to spying on my personal life!’ she protested.
‘Your mother was happy to fill me in without me even asking, as it happens. We had quite a long conversation. I know that Christy is bookish and a lot like her father. I know there have been other men in your life but none too serious. Your mother attributes it to the fact that you have a mind of your own over and above what might be good for a girl.’
Domenica attacked her steak rather savagely.
‘You don’t agree with that assessment?’ he asked.
‘From someone who has a mind of her own over and above what might be good for anyone, no!’
‘I take it you and your mother clash at times?’
‘Yes. Don’t tell me you and your mother didn’t have the odd disagreement—’ She stopped abruptly and closed her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, I just wasn’t thinking.’
‘It appears you’ve been doing some homework, Domenica,’ he said with a faint undercurrent of sarcasm.
She coloured faintly. ‘I didn’t set out to do it. Christy is a research assistant to a writer who’s doing a book on “new money”. You’re to be in it.’
‘Ah. What else did she dig up about me?’
Domenica shrugged. ‘That you were extremely bright. Have you…’ she paused ‘…never found your mother?’
‘Yes, but only after her death.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said with genuine compassion.
‘She did abandon me.’
Domenica scanned his expression but he displayed no emotion. ‘All the same, she may have had her reasons.’
‘I’m sure she did. My father was a hard man although a lot harder after she left. But, anyway, let’s concentrate on your mother. Would you like a glass of this excellent wine, by the way?’
Domenica studied the bottle of red that had come with their main course, and chuckled softly. ‘Do I look as if I need it? On account of my mother? Perhaps I do, thank you.’
He poured the wine and they ate in silence for a while.
Then Domenica said slowly, ‘There are times when she drives me mad. She knows as well as I do that she’s not out of the woods financially yet, but I’d hate to think what today cost her. A new dress, French champagne, et cetera. But if you could see her working with disabled children—she’s very musical and she arranges concerts for them—if you could have seen her devotion to my father and if you knew how she worries about Christy and me—more me,’ she said ruefully, ‘you would have to admire and love her. I—’
‘It’s OK. I get the picture,’ he said, not quite smiling. ‘You two would go to the ends of the earth for each other but in close confines things can get a little hair-raising.’
Domenica picked up her glass, sat back and felt herself relaxing. ‘Yes.’
‘Well,’ he murmured, ‘now we’ve sorted that out perhaps we could talk about us?’
She eyed him over the rim of her glass. ‘What would you like to say?’
‘Would you come dancing with me after dinner?’
She opened her mouth but he broke in humorously, ‘No, don’t say the first thing that springs to mind, Miss Harris, which no doubt would be a refusal. At least give it a little thought.’
This was an accurate enough assessment of what she’d been about to do to cause her to curse herself inwardly for being so transparent but, not only that, to wonder whether she was being stuck-up again. But dancing with a man was not the same thing as having dinner with him, and surely you were entitled to refuse without being considered a snob?
‘I…’ She stopped awkwardly. ‘Where?’
‘Here. They open a disco at eleven o’clock.’
She looked at her watch and was amazed to discover it was nearly eleven now. ‘All right,’ she said abruptly. ‘It’s good exercise if nothing else. And I’ll have…’ She broke off frustratedly.
‘Completely atoned for your mother?’ he suggested.
She