A No Risk Affair. Carole Mortimer
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admitted. ‘But it has its compensations.’
He nodded. ‘I'm sure it does. I'm sorry about earlier,’ he added gently. ‘I didn't mean to pry.’
‘You didn't,’ she shrugged, carrying the tray through to the lounge. ‘It was just natural curiosity.’
‘Hm,’ he grimaced acknowledgment. ‘And I seem to have rather a lot of that.’
'Surely that's only natural in your profession?’ She sat across the room from him.
‘Some people don't like it.’ He leant back in his chair, totally relaxed, having eaten the casserole with relish, and having had two helpings of apple pie, much to the twins’ delight. ‘It's a bit like being a doctor or a psychiatrist, people don't altogether trust your motives for talking to them, think you're analysing them, in my case for a character in one of my books,’ he revealed dryly.
She smiled. ‘And don't you?’
He grinned, the devilish twinkle back in his deep blue eyes. ‘I suppose I do, sometimes. But it isn't done consciously,’ he defended.
‘I'm sure most people consider it a compliment to recognise themselves in one of your books.’
‘That's the problem,’ his humour deepened. ‘Most people don't see themselves in the character I create for them, see themselves entirely different to the way I do. Several of them have threatened to sue in the past.’
‘Oh dear,’ she laughed. ‘Then let's hope the Colonel isn't one of them!’
‘You know my reason for being here?’ he seemed surprised.
‘I'm the Colonel's secretary,’ she explained.
‘You're RDW,’ he realised in amazement, referring to her initials that always appeared at the top of the letters he had received from the Colonel during their negotiations for him to come here and interview the older man.
‘It's a small place,’ she shrugged.
‘I know,’ he nodded. ‘I took a look around this afternoon, talked to a few of the locals. The Colonel seems to be a well-liked man.’
‘I'm sure he is,’ she replied noncommittally, unwilling to discuss anything concerning her employer.
‘What happened to your husband?’ Sin suddenly asked in the silence of the room.
Robyn blinked her surprise. ‘Are you always this—forthright?’
‘My reporter's instincts,’ he apologised.
‘Of course,’ she realised dryly. ‘For a moment I forgot …’ She sighed. ‘Nothing “happened” to my husband.’
‘You mean he just died?’
‘Died?’ she repeated incredulously.
‘Well he obviously isn't here now, and the Colonel told me you live here alone with your children …’
‘I see,’ she frowned. ‘He isn't dead either. Brad is still very much alive.’
‘Brad?’ Sin repeated slowly. ‘Are you saying Brad Warner is your husband?’
She flushed at his incredulity, knowing herself now what an unlikely combination they must seem. ‘Ex-husband,’ she confirmed abruptly. ‘We're divorced.’
‘I didn't even know he was married,’ Sin seemed stunned by the revelation. ‘Let alone that he had two children too.’
Her mouth twisted. ‘It isn't something he likes to broadcast,’ she drawled.
Sin looked disconcerted by what she had just told him. ‘You must have been very young when you and he got married.’
She shrugged. ‘Age can be used as an excuse for many mistakes. And no, the twins were not conceived until after the wedding,’ she added dryly, knowing that was the next question that would occur to most people.
'But surely——’
‘I don't like to talk about my marriage—Sin,’ she at last managed to say his name, wondering if other women felt as she did when they said it, a thrill of wicked delight shivering down her spine. ‘It was all in the past, and life has to go on.’
‘Even that seems too cynical coming from such a young and beautiful woman,’ he frowned.
He wasn't flirting with her, she could tell that, he genuinely found it disconcerting that she should have found such cynicism in her life at such a young age. ‘Do I seem bitter to you?’ she cajoled.
‘No,’ he acknowledged.
‘And you find that surprising,’ she realised.
‘A little,’ he nodded. ‘I've known Brad on a casual basis for over ten years, and he never spoke of a wife and children. We've never been bosom buddies or anything, there isn't time for that in reporting, but even so most men talk about their wife and families at some time.’
‘Brad is totally dedicated to his job,’ she dismissed without emotion.
‘So was I once, but——’
‘What made you make the change from reporting to writing novels?’ she cut in interestedly.
He looked at her for several minutes, her own gaze unflinching. ‘You want to change the subject?’ he grimaced ruefully.
‘I think it might be a good idea,’ she said without rancour. She knew his interest in her marriage was mainly caused by the fact that he was surprised at who her husband had been more than a real need to pry. It hadn't occurred to her that Sin and Brad would know each other, although she had always known that the world of the press was a pretty closed one, so much so that even the spouses lost out to it.
‘It's a small world, isn't it?’ Sin obviously echoed some of her thoughts.
‘Sometimes it would seem to be,’ she agreed softly.
‘Do you ever see him now?’
She didn't pretend to misunderstand. ‘He comes down to see the twins.’
Sin shook his head. ‘I'm prying again,’ he apologised. ‘And I've also forgotten what you asked me.’
She smiled her sympathy with his confusion. ‘Why you became a writer instead of a reporter.’
‘It seemed a natural progression from what I was doing,’ he shrugged. ‘The type of reporting I was involved in is for the young; I would have been given a permanent desk job eventually, anyway.’
‘You make it sound as if you're ancient,’ she teased.
‘Thirty-seven,’ he supplied. ‘I made the decison to get out of the rat-race five years ago.’
And it had obviously been a wise decision. She would have put him at much younger than his years, younger than Brad when he was actually three years the other man's senior. ‘It's obviously been a successful decision,’ she said noncommittally.
‘Luckily,’ he nodded. ‘I could quite easily have disappeared into obscurity along with a million other would-be-writers. I never forget to be grateful I'm one of the lucky few who made it.’
‘Surely your success is due to a lot more than just luck,’ she chided.
'Maybe you're right, if I couldn't write the public wouldn't still be buying my books. But at the same time a lot of it depends on whether your style of book is in fashion when you start out; tastes change all the time.’
‘I suppose so,’ she agreed. ‘And never having read one myself I have no idea whether you're talented or just lucky,’ she teased. But she did know, knew that he would be extremely talented, that this man, with his quiet air of confidence, would be good at whatever he chose to do.
‘Shame on you,’ he grinned, the mood of seriousness forgotten.