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his eye.
    Did he do that sort of thing on a regular basis? The blonde bombshell looked like the sort of woman who appreciated overblown gestures along those lines, and presumably she was merely an indication of the type of female he went out with.
    â€˜Actually,’ she said, looking at him, ‘I thought people only did that sort of thing in third-rate movies.’
    His mouth twitched, but at least he didn’t burst into laughter. She had a sneaking suspicion that if he had her remark would somehow have backfired in her face, making her appear dull and unadventurous.
    â€˜I take it you don’t approve...?’
    â€˜Does it matter what I think or not? Oh, I forgot, you like to have insight into your employees. Well, as a matter of fact, I neither approve nor disapprove. I just think that it’s not my style.’
    â€˜And what is your style?’
    His voice was a low murmur and his eyes on her were suddenly intense. She felt her skin break out in a faint film of perspiration. It was the wine, of course. Between them, they had managed to drink the better part of two bottles, and that simply was not something she was accustomed to doing. One glass, yes. But virtually a bottle? She was surprised that all she saw on his face was a look of curious interest. She should rightfully be seeing three faces, all blurry, and all with different expressions.
    â€˜Work!’ she told him, plucking the word from out of the blue.
    â€˜Work,’ he repeated obligingly. ‘I take it that my limited time on getting insight has been exhausted?’
    Jessica looked at her watch and realised that they had been at the restaurant far longer than she had imagined.
    â€˜I must be getting back!’ she exclaimed.
    â€˜Before the carriage turns into a pumpkin?’ he asked with dry amusement.
    â€˜I don’t have a carriage,’ she answered, choosing to ignore any possible innuendo. ‘In fact, I shall have to take a taxi back to my place. I only hope I can find one.’
    â€˜Why don’t you walk back with me to the office, and I can give you a lift home?’
    â€˜That won’t be necessary.’ A lift home? She thought not. Whether it was the drink or not, the night seemed to have taken her onto unfamiliar ground. She had no desire to prolong the experience. Unfamiliar ground was territory she felt should be better left unexplored. She bad never been able to control her background. She had watched in helpless silence as her parents had waged their unremitting cold war and as soon as she had been able to she had left, first to university, then to London. She had learned to exercise control over her life and that had always suited her.
    Bruno Carr, however, was not a man who slotted easily into any sort of category she could handle.
    As she reached for her briefcase and her bag she realised that the conversation between them had had all the elements of a free fall. How had that happened?
    She could feel his eyes on her, and she refused to look at him, at least until she had managed to get some of her thoughts in order.
    â€˜It’ll be a damned sight more convenient if I give you a lift home,’ he said.
    â€˜No, thank you. Honestly.’ Why was she in such a panic at the suggestion? It made sense. ‘Perhaps I ought to telephone for a taxi.’ She looked around her, searching for inspiration.
    â€˜Come on,’ he said, signing his credit-card slip, tearing off his copy, and then standing up. ‘Before you collapse in distress at the thought of getting into a car with me.’
    She heard the amusement in his voice with a sinking heart. What must he think of her? Another hysterical woman, overreacting at something utterly insignificant. Hardly professional behaviour, was it?
    She took a few deep breaths to steady herself.
    â€˜I must appear quite ridiculous,’ she said in a calmer voice, rooting around for something sensible to say, ‘but I had no idea