Exorcism. PENNY JORDAN
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voice checked her.
‘I was just wondering what we’d get for lunch,’ she returned blandly, meeting his eyes.
‘Never.’ She could see a hint of laughter in them, and something else; a sharp alertness that warned her that he suspected her of deception and would enjoy accusing her of it, simply for the challenge. ‘Your eyes never glow such a deep amethyst for anything as mundane as food.’
He was too astute; saw and knew too much. She must not forget that he was a writer, his mind attuned to the emotional nuances of others.
‘Perhaps not at eighteen,’ she agreed lightly.
‘You’re very anxious to persuade me how much you’ve changed.’
Christy held her breath for a few seconds. This was getting dangerous. ‘Am I?’ She made a pretence of studying his jibe and then said judiciously, ‘I don’t think so. You’re the one who keeps making comparisons.’
He said nothing but his smile made prickles of alarm race across her skin, and she was glad when he changed the subject, talking about India and asking her for her impressions of it.
For the next hour they talked amicably. Simon was a skilled conversationalist, neither hogging the conversation nor letting it drag. Christy had absorbed a good deal during her weeks in India. Working alongside Miles and helping with his research had been something of a challenge initially, but she had loved every minute of it. History had always been one of her favourite subjects, and at one time she had considered taking her degree in it, but the fields open to students with history degrees were very limited and she had concentrated instead on her art.
Listening to him she had to suppress the temptation to sketch Simon. His features were so strong; his bone structure so positive that drawing him was always a visual pleasure. She had sketched him in the past, of course—but all those sketches, drawn with adoration and love, had been destroyed after he had left her. Now her trained eye detected the small differences in him she had noticed on their first meeting, and she studied him covertly.
He seemed to have lost a little of the restlessness which had once been such an integral part of him. She remembered that that summer there had not been a day when he had not taken her somewhere; wanted to do something. He had rarely been content to simply sit and watch. Unlike her he had always been a keen participator in life, never an onlooker. His face had hardened slightly, too; the cynicism in his eyes more noticeable. He was a man it would always be easy for her sex to love, Christy thought perceptively, and yet very hard to know. She knew very little about his background. Six years ago she had been content simply to adore … she asked for nothing … questioned nothing.
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