“I thought about the indoor gym,” Millie went on. “But it has huge windows to the main hall, and the house is full of people all the time. If it’s not Mrs B, it’s the agent or the boy who brings the newspapers.” She adjusted the shawl, which had started to slip over her shoulder. “I’ve used the indoor gym myself, and the very next day, the post-office lady asked me how I liked the step machine.” Millie met his gaze, her eyes sparkling with hidden laughter. “You know, for an island with no transport, news travels surprisingly fast here.”
He almost laughed, almost. But it wasn’t funny. And this young woman had an uncanny ability for touching old, bitter memories. “Go on.”
“Liam and I talked about finding an out-of-the-way spot where he wouldn’t be visible from the house.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “So one day, when it was sunny, I suggested we read in the garden. And when Liam came over, I excused myself. I thought your father might refuse to talk to him. I waited just inside the house for Liam to come back disappointed like always. I waited for three quarters of an hour. Eventually Liam returned and told me Mr Du Montfort could do with a rest and something hotto drink.”
Sothatwas why they went to the white-rose garden. George looked away from her, trying to picture this. He’d imagined all manner of illicit activities in the secluded rose garden. Yet, it turned out to be nothing more than Liam and hisdumbbells.
The Jazz trio in the far corner of the restaurant had started playing a gentle foxtrot. His fingers tapped along with the rhythm on the side of his wine glass for a while. “So away from prying eyes, my father allows Liam to help him? And you watch to make sure—”
“No.” She shook her head, making her hair dance around her neck. “I never watch. I never even mention it. Mr Du Montfort and I have an unspoken understanding. We never speak about his health. So, I leave them alone.”
“So you could both pretend that he is not paralysed?”
“Unfair.” A hint of disapproval touched her face before she schooled her features. When George said nothing, she went on, trying to convince him. “Have you noticed how he holds his back straight all the time whenever someone comes intohis room?”
George nodded.
“Nurse Ann told me he has a lot of back pain because half his body has to carry the other half. It’s a common problem with stroke patients. Yet he never, ever allows anyone to see him slumped. He hasn’t complained to me of pain,not once.”
George wasn’t normally lost for words, but Millie’s gentle argument silenced him.
Fortunately, Hitten arrived with their starter. He topped up their wine glasses and withdrew discreetly.
Millie looked at the parcel of browned crispy filo pastry and backat George.
She was probably wondering if it was filled with frogs’ innards.His earlier trick of ordering in French—calculated to unsettle her—now looked meanspirited.
“It’s baked camembert with apricot jam,” he said. “The cheese is very good. It comes from a local farm, and the fruit is from ourorchards.”
They ate in silence. The Jazz sax and bass played in the background to the soft chatter of other diners.
How could he have been so wrong about his father’s challenges, about his pain, about everything? Yet this young woman had seen it within a month, perhaps less.
Wasn’t that what he wanted from an assistant for his father? Someone to solve problems? Someone to notice, to understand, to care?
The remarkable thing was, Millie had been all of those things quietly, without bragging about it, without showing off. And all he, George, had been worried about was why she looked pretty.
He’d not only underestimated her; he’d been hugely unfair.
She adjusted her shawl for possibly the twentieth time tonight. Not a woman comfortable with her body. A faint memory tugged at the edge of hisawareness.
She looked up and caught him staring at her, and she coloured slightly. Her bright eyes were the most amazing hazel, halfway between green and brown. He looked away, searching for something to say. Anything to say.
Main Course
Millie wished he’d stop staring at her like she was a suspect package at an airport. She wanted to relax and enjoy her first dinner at a swanky restaurant. And Pascale’s was as swanky asthey came.
No clatter of cutlery and plates from the kitchen here. Every sound was softly muted, civilized. There were indigo roses in a little crystal bowl between her and George. The colour coordinated with the furnishings. Everything was white, indigo and silver. A small circle at the centre of the restaurant was left empty of tables; instead, a huge light installation hung from the ceiling down to the floor. Or was it rising from the floor? A haphazard vertical burst of white-and-blue glass spirals and loops, it looked to Millie like wild curly hair gone crazy.
George cleared his throat, and she turned back to him. “I’ve employed nearly ten different physiotherapists since my father’s stroke,” he said. “None of them managed so much as a hand massage. Now he’s doing Pilates. I should thank you.”
Was this recognition? At last?Father and son were so alike, getting them to admit they were wrong was like pulling teeth. Joanie was right about one thing, though; George did have the most amazing grey eyes. She could look into them for hours. If only he didn’t fix them on her sointensely.
She put her fork and knife down. The starter had been delicious, and she’d allowed herself to relax. But the interrogation wasn’t over.
Thank God for the waiter. He turned up, cleared their plates and brought the main course. He placed the plate in front of her and turned it so the small printed logo was at the top in the twelve o’clock position. Even the logo was blue. She blinked as she recognized it for the island’s coat of arms.
“Ballotine of wood pigeon with wild mushrooms and rainbow chard.” The waiter refilled their wine glasses and placed the nearly empty bottle back in the cooler. “Would you like another bottle?”
