Tangled Tapestry. Anne Mather
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smoked her cigarette in silence, content to gaze out of the window. The journey to San José was accomplished swiftly. Once on to Route 101, Dominic McGill opened up the powerful engine, and the Ferrari responded effortlessly. Debra glanced once at the speedometer and read its dial disbelievingly. Then she glanced at her companion, seeing the intense concentration on his face, and decided to say nothing. It was obvious he had complete control of the automobile, and the outside world had temporarily ceased to exist for him.
They ate at a motel restaurant on the outskirts of the city. It was an enormous place, cabanas set around a swimming pool providing the individual accommodation. The restaurant had a glass floor through which a gigantic aquarium was visible below them. Debra gazed about her in astonishment, following Dominic McGill and a white-coated attendant across to a table in one comer. Potted plants in huge bases clung tenaciously over the trellises which divided the tables, while a four-piece group of Mexican entertainers played unobtrusively on a small dais near the bar. Their table was set by a wide glass-paned wall that overlooked the swimming pool, and the highway beyond.
Dominic McGill ordered martinis, his own laced with gin, and then they studied the enormous menus, Debra unable to decide from so many exciting dishes which to choose. McGill looked at her over the top of his menu and grinned lazily. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘Have you decided?’
Debra shook her head, liking the crinkly, humorous lines around his eyes. ‘Would you—I mean—you decide?’
He studied her momentarily, and then returned to the menu. ‘Okay, we’ll have avocado cocktail, steaks, and lemon soufflé, does that sound all right?’
Debra put her menu aside. ‘It sounds wonderful!’ She accepted another cigarette, and after it was lit, she said: ‘This is a marvellous place, isn’t it?’
It’s okay.’ He looked sardonic. ‘You’re easily satisfied.’
Debra flushed, and he bit his lip. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said shortly. ‘I guess that was unkind.’
Debra did not reply, but her cheeks continued to burn. He must think her an awfully old-fashioned creature. Probably the women he was used to associating with could verbally spar with him much more successfully than she could. All she seemed to do was act like a teenager who had never been taken out for a meal before.
Dominic McGill studied her expression. She had a very revealing countenance, although she was unaware of it. She was also unaware of the attractive picture she made in her orange suit, her sleek swathe of dark hair falling like a curtain of silk across her cheeks.
The meal was delicious, but Debra purposely refrained from enthusing over it. Instead, she concentrated on enjoying it, and the white and red wine which he had ordered to go with the food. Unused to alcohol, she was vaguely aware that she was drinking rather too much, but she did not want to appear gauche, so she drank her martini, and three glasses of wine, and even had several sips of the brandy which accompanied their coffee.
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