‘I think you are. I think we’ve been flirting with each other since the moment we met.’
‘All I can say to that is that Americans must have a different idea of what constitutes flirting compared to us Brits.’
‘Oh, I doubt that. But to be serious, and yes, I can be exceedingly serious, I’ve known you for,’ he checked his watch, ‘almost twenty-four hours, but I—’
She wagged a finger at him. ‘Don’t you dare say it. Don’t you dare say you feel like you’ve known me all your life!’
‘Hey kid, credit me with more savvy than that! I was going to say, I haven’t had this much fun in quite some time. You’re a real breath of fresh air.’
‘You realise you just called me kid, don’t you? I’m fifty-five years of age; I’m anything but a child.’
‘But I’ll bet inside you feel like a child who has so much more she wants to see and do. Am I right? Or have I got you wrong? Are you itching to get home so you can put on your slippers and sit by the fireside in your rocking chair, content to let others have all the fun?’
‘Don’t forget the cat on my lap and a pair of knitting needles in my hands.’
‘I was coming to those.’
‘Along with a dozen more misguided clichés I don’t doubt.’
He grinned. ‘See, not even twenty-four hours and you know me so well already.’
Incorrigible. Absolutely incorrigible. Dangerously so. If she wasn’t careful, Romily warned herself, she could easily succumb to this man’s charm and wit. In that respect he was a lot like Jack – confident and not afraid to make fun of her. Or stand up to her, yet at the same time prepared to treat her as an equal.
After spending time in the desert with Red last night, she had acknowledged that her mistake yesterday had been to underestimate him. Her initial reaction had been to dismiss him as being shallow and patronising. God knew she had met plenty of men like that over the years, the type who treated her as an inferior little woman who needed to be put in her place. That had been especially true during and after the war. Thousands of women had shown their mettle in helping to fight the war against Germany, only then to be expected to don their aprons and return to the kitchen where supposedly they belonged.
‘I’ve lost you, haven’t I?’
Her attention swiftly brought back to the man sitting opposite her, she apologised. ‘I’m sorry, I was—’
‘Thinking about something entirely different? Care to tell me what?’
She smiled. ‘You always want me to do the talking, don’t you?’
‘That’s because you fascinate me.’
She rejected his words with a wave of her hand. ‘Not true. You’ve been instructed by Gabe and Melvyn to twist my arm and by any means. Which includes flattery and, if necessary, seduction.’
‘You make me sound like a Soviet spy!’ he said with another loud and uninhibited laugh. ‘But I told you last night, not everything I ask you has previously been scripted by Gabe and Melvyn. I’m quite capable of thinking for myself and, for that matter, writing my own scripts. But the thing is, I just can’t get it out of my head that we could make a good team together, you and me. And before you get any ideas, I’m talking about working together. However, I’m astute enough to know that you’re like me, that unless your heart is in a project, it’s a non-starter.’ He rubbed his hand over his chin. ‘Is there anything I could say or do to persuade you to take me seriously?’
‘Why do you believe I don’t already?’
He shook his head and put down his empty glass. ‘I’d feel it if you did. But I’m not getting that vibe.’
‘Then perhaps you need to relax and stop trying so hard. What are we going to do for lunch?’ she asked, keen to change the subject.
He looked surprised at her question. ‘Well, I could cook us lunch, if you’d like?’
‘You can cook?’
‘Sure I can. I’m a dab hand when it comes to grilling steaks. Would that be agreeable to you?’
‘It certainly would. Will you let me help though?’
‘I think I can allow that. But finish your drink first.’
She quickly drank what was left in her glass. ‘Ready when you are,’ she said.
Lunch turned out to be cooked in another part of the garden, and on a large grill that was housed in a solid brick-built affair with a chimney above it.
‘I don’t suppose you have this kind of thing back at home in England, do you?’ he said, poking at the hot coals with a pair of long tongs.
‘No,’ she said, ‘but I’m beginning to think I should like to have one built. It looks fun.’
‘Everything in life should be fun, don’t you think?’
‘I wish it could be, but sadly it’s not always the case.’
‘Which means, and don’t get me wrong,’ he said through a cloud of smoke, ‘I’m not trivialising the harsh realities we all have to face from time to time, but we have to make every effort we can to bring more fun into our lives, and for those we care about. Can you pass me those potatoes you so carefully wrapped in aluminum foil, please?’
She did as he said and watched him place the potatoes on the wire rack a few inches above the hot coals.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘while they cook, I’ll fix us both a proper drink. How does a martini sound to you?’
‘It sounds heavenly. But why don’t I do it for us?’
He smiled. ‘Not on your life, you’re my guest. So sit down and relax.’
Instead of sitting down as he’d instructed, she went over to a lemon tree. She breathed in the delicious fragrance from the blossom. Perhaps when she was home, she would try growing a lemon tree in the garden, then in the winter move it into the glasshouse for protection.
Thinking of Island House and its pretty garden – the epitome of an English garden – she thought how very far away it suddenly seemed. Intriguingly she no longer felt the need to rush home.
She sat down in the shade of a vine-covered pergola and tilting her head right back, she closed her eyes. Birdsong was the only noise she could hear. Paradise, she thought. No wonder Red said he loved living here. She was beginning to understand why. She was also beginning to wonder if he was right and they could work together on turning her novel Sister Grace Falls from Grace into a film script. It might be fun. But could she trust him not to ride roughshod over her creation?
‘Your martini, Madame,’ he said from behind her. ‘Shaken, not stirred, just how you like it.’