‘But that’s not true, is it?’ she said, after a meaningful pause.
Her question took him unawares. ‘I assure you it is,’ he replied.
She took a long sip of her drink, her gaze on his. ‘It’s not true of anyone,’ she said at length. ‘We all play a role we wish to convey, or believe others want of us. Seldom do we lower our guard and be our real selves.’
‘Is that true of you also?’
‘What? You think I’m exempt from normal behaviour?’
‘I think most people regard themselves as the exception to the rule.’
‘Is that what you do?’
‘You betcha. I’m so shallow I’ve barely advanced from the amoeba stage.’
‘And that’s precisely the role you like to portray of yourself, isn’t it? Which couldn’t be further from the truth.’
He smiled. ‘If you say so.’
For the next few minutes he busied himself with keeping an eye on the steaks. When he was satisfied they were ready, he arranged everything on their plates and sat down with her. He watched her take her first bite of her steak. ‘Is it okay?’ he asked.
‘It’s more than okay; it’s delicious. You said you were a dab hand and you weren’t exaggerating.’
‘Oh, shucks, now you’re embarrassing me.’
‘As if!’
‘You can never take anything I say at face value, can you?’
‘When you say something I can take at face value, I’ll let you know.’
Like he said, she could see right through him. ‘Well then,’ he said, ‘in return for me cooking lunch, how about you continue with the story of yourbell’ Italianowho so touchingly brought you flowers?’
She shook her head. ‘Not before you’ve talked some more about yourself. I want to know more about you.’
He tensed, his mouth suddenly dry. To moisten it, he reached for his glass and drained it in one long swallow. ‘What do you want to know?’ he asked as casually as he could.
‘Has there ever been a Mrs St Clair?’
‘Now why would you want to know a thing like that? Are you volunteering for the job?’
‘You view the role of a wife as doing a job, do you?’
‘It would be for any woman stupid enough to apply for the post of wife to me. It would be a pretty tough job at that.’
She tutted and gave him one of her dubious stares. ‘Come on, Red, you can do better than that. What makes you so different from other men that you can’t be husband material, even a poor husband?’
‘Gee, you know how to make me feel special, don’t you?’
‘I suspect far too many women have thought you exceedingly special.’
‘But you don’t?’
She raised her chin and stared directly at him. ‘I might do so if I could get to know the real you. The man behind the smartone-liners andself-effacing humour. Show me the genuine Red St Clair.’ She leaned across the table and tapped his forehead with an elegant finger. ‘Who’s hiding in there.’
‘But kiddo, take it from me,’ he said, forcing himself not to rear back from the table so he was beyond her reach, ‘that fella’s not worth a dime.’
‘Why not let me be the judge of that?’
