her hands were seldom free to eat. But after a while she seemed to be enjoying herself.
“You're not English are you?” she said between mouthfuls. “You've got a funny voice. No, I mean-not funny exactly…”
“It's all right,” he said, rescuing her. “I do have an accent.” He tried to sound casual. “Actually, I come from Elluria.”
“What, that place we were just talking about?”
“The very same.”
“Cor! Fancy that!” She giggled. “You're not royal, are you?”
“No,” he said quietly. “I'm not.”
It was true, he told his conscience. It had been true for several weeks now.
“I don't know anything about Elluria,” she admitted. “Not even where it is.”
“It's in the center of Europe. It's quite small, about three million people. The traditional language is German, but everyone speaks English as well because it's the language of trade and tourism, and these are important to us.”
“Is that why you're here?”
“In a sense. You might say that I've come on a fact-finding expedition.”
“But why Wenford? Why The Grand? You're completely out of place there.”
“Thank you.”
“Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. I speak first and think later. Always have, and I guess I always will. Too late to change now.”
“Don't you think you could try?” Randolph ventured.
She gave a worried little frown. “Are you mad at me?”
“No, speaking first and thinking later is charming in a young woman, but there are times and situations when it could be damaging.”
“You mean when I'm an ugly old battle-ax?” she asked cheerfully, spreading her hands wide and forcing a waiter to swerve around her.
“I can't imagine that you could ever be ugly,” he said truthfully.
“But a battle-ax, right? Mike says it's like being with a dictator sometimes.”
“And you don't mind him saying things like that?”
She chuckled. “Oh, if he steps out of line I just give him a long, lingering kiss, and then he forgets everything else.”
That was wise of her, he thought. A kiss from those lips wouldn't just be about sex. It would be about laughter and sunshine, wine, sweetness and all the good things of life.
“Guys never give me any trouble,” she added blithely.
“You give them all long, lingering kisses?” he asked, startled.
“No need. A smile usually does it. But you're quite right. The day'll come when they're not trying to get me into bed-”
“Would you mind keeping your voice down?” he begged, conscious of the waiter just behind her.
“And then I'll have to watch my mouth,” she finished.
He reddened. “That's not really what I said.”
“Well, it's what you meant by 'damaging.' Me coming out with something daft isn't going to damage anyone but me, now is it? Kingdoms aren't going to rise and fall because Dottie Hebden opened her big gob-”
“Aren't they?” he murmured grimly.
“-and that's lucky because she's always blurting out something stupid. A really daft cow, that's what everyone says. Well, Mike doesn't say it because he doesn't dare but…oh heck, I'm sorry!”
“It's perfectly all right,” said the waiter, rubbing himself down. Carried away by her own eloquence, Dottie had made a wildly expansive gesture right across his path. He'd gone straight into it before he could stop, with disastrous consequences to the artistic creation in his hands.
A wail from behind him indicated that the chef had arrived on the scene, and it wasn't all right with him. “My masterpiece,” he moaned, regarding the mess on the floor.
“I shall naturally pay for any damage,” Randolph declared with a touch of loftiness. It was maddening to have this interruption when he was getting a glimpse into Dottie's mind, even though what he found there made him deeply apprehensive.
“Damage? Damage?” shrilled the chef. “It took me an hour to get it perfect. Do you really think that you can-?”
“I never think,” Dottie said penitently. “Oh, I'm so sorry. How could you ever forgive me?”
She'd risen from the table and taken the chef's hands in hers, smiling up into his eyes. He was a foot taller, so that Randolph was able to see straight over Dottie's head, and observe the precise effect she was having on the man. From avenging angel to trembling jelly in three seconds flat, he thought in admiration. The chef was almost burbling, assuring her that there would be no further trouble, she wasn't to worry herself…
“That was very clever,” he said when they were alone again. “How long did it take you to perfect it?”
“Hey, c'mon, I wasn't being cynical.” Her tone suggested a crime.
“Be fair. You were just boasting about how you could reduce Mike to a quivering wreck any time you liked-”
“I was not boasting,” she said firmly. “Mike
“With him, maybe, but what about the others? 'A smile usually does it,' is what you said. You knew exactly what you were up to just then, Dottie.”
“Oh well.” She gave a wicked chuckle. “I didn't do badly, did I?”
“No, they're not even going to charge for the 'masterpiece' you ruined. One flash of your eyes and he buckled at the knees.”
“But that's not being cynical,” she said earnestly. “That's being nice to people. I did spoil his master piece, so I just said sorry and…and…that's all there was to it.”
She meant it, he realized. Dottie might talk about playing off her tricks, but the truth was she preferred being nice to people. The smile sprang from her kindness and honesty, which was why it was dynamite.
Encouraged by Randolph, Dottie chatted about her family, which seemed almost nonexistent. Neither her parents nor her grandparents were still alive, and he gathered that she'd been alone since she was sixteen. She told this part of the tale without conscious pathos. She'd fended for herself and survived with her humor intact. No big deal.
She knew how to tell a funny story, and a woman who could do that had never been part of Randolph's experience. All the strains and tensions of his life seemed to fall away as he rocked with laughter at her description of her grandmother coping with her grandfather's numerous flirtations.
“'Course she knew he loved her really, and she loved him, but she was always chucking pans at him, and if she really thought he'd blotted his copybook she'd be after him like a ferret up a drainpipe.”
“Pardon me?” he said, startled. “Ferret? Drainpipe?” These too, were outside his experience.
“Sorry. Don't suppose you've ever seen a ferret, have you?”
“No,” he said thankfully.
“Grandpa wanted to keep some, as pets, but Grandma said over her dead body, and he said not to tempt him.”
She finished the meal with an exotic ice cream and another glass of wine.
“It's my third,” she said guiltily. “Ought I?”
“Wine as good as this can be drunk safely,” he assured her. “And I promise you're quite safe with me.”
“No funny business?”
“No funny business.”
The word, “pity,” flitted through her head and was gone before she could be sure it had ever been there. The man across the table was regarding her with kindly amusement. His eyes were warm and suddenly she felt as though the two of them were the only people left in the world. She wondered why she hadn't realized before just how handsome he was.
She seemed to see him more clearly than before, and it occurred to her that he was two different men. He had the body of an athlete, broad shouldered, tall and powerful, as though his whole frame had been made hard and
