dwell on the memory.
‘I suppose you must be reasonably secure as a writer now,’ she said, attempting to guide the conversation in another direction.
‘You can never be secure in my business,’ he said. ‘One flop and it’s back to square one. It’s like walking a tightrope in a pair of wellies.’
Kelly chuckled.
‘Does it bother you living alone?’ Blake asked.
‘Not anymore,’ she told him. ‘It did to begin with but I’m used to it now.’
‘And you’ve never felt like getting married?’
‘No.’ She dismissed the suggestion as if he’d just asked her to commit suicide. ‘I’m not the settling down type, I don’t think.’
‘I know what you mean,’ he confessed.
‘You’re not telling me you haven’t been tempted. There must have been girls who you’ve been close too,’ Kelly said.
‘A couple. But none that I’d want to spend the rest of my life with.’ He smiled. ‘I’m a selfish devil. Sharing isn’t one of my strong points.’
‘Too much give and take, is that it?’
‘You ask a lot of questions, Kelly,’ he grinned.
‘That’s because I’m interested in you,’ she told him.
‘Now that is a compliment.’
They sat in silence for a time, looking at each other, enjoying the warmth of the dying sun, the smell of freshly cut grass and the gentle breeze. It stirred the trees which flanked the pub garden on one side. Birds nesting in the branches watched over the activity below them. Near to where Kelly and Blake sat, three sparrows were busily picking at a piece of bread thrown down by a young couple who were eating sandwiches. Somewhere in the distance Kelly could hear a cuckoo. She sat back in her seat feeling more relaxed than she had done for many months. The combination of the surroundings and Blake’s company had a calming influence on her. She wondered if he felt the same way.
The writer downed what was left in his glass and looked at Kelly. She still had most of her Martini left.
‘I’ll have to bring you out more often,’ he said, peering at the glass. ‘If one drink lasts you this long you’re going to save me pounds.’
They both laughed.
‘You have another,’ she said.
‘Very generous,’ Blake replied.
‘Let me get it,’ she offered, fumbling for her purse.
Blake looked indignant.
‘Let a woman buy drink for me?’ He winked at her. ‘Good idea.”
She balled up a pound note and tossed it at him, watching as he retreated back into the bar to fetch another pint. It was a matter of moments before he returned, holding the glass in one hand and her change in the other. He sat down and supped a third of it immediately, wiping the froth from his lip with his thumb.
‘Did Vernon say anything when you told him I’d left this afternoon?’ the writer asked.
‘No,’ Kelly said, suspiciously. ‘Should he have?’
Blake smiled, wryly.
‘You know, Kelly,’ he said. ‘I could be forgiven for thinking you’re a tiny bit paranoid about Dr Vernon.’
Kelly didn’t answer.
‘Every time I mention his name you go cold on me,’ Blake continued. “Why? Or is it my imagination?’
She took a sip of her drink.
‘Perhaps it’s my imagination,’ she told him, wondering if that was the answer.
Maybe she was becoming paranoid.
‘What do you mean?’
She thought about mentioning what had been going on, her suspicions and suppositions but then decided against it.
‘Forget it, David,’ she asked. ‘Please?’
He nodded.
Kelly finished her drink and pushed the glass away from her.
‘Do you want another one?’ the writer asked.
She smiled and shook her head.
‘No thanks.’
There was another long silence between them then finally Kelly spoke.
‘To tell you the truth, David,’ she began, wearily, ‘I’m a little bit concerned at the amount of interest Dr Vernon is showing in my research.’
Blake frowned.
‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘Surely he’s got every right to be interested.
He is Director of the Institute after all. It’s only natural.’
‘But he seems obsessed with my work.’
She told him about the incident with Maurice Grant, her trip to France and how Vernon had insisted on keeping her report.
Blake didn’t speak, he merely finished the rest of his beer and put down the empty glass.
‘Well,’ she said, challengingly. ‘Do you think I’m being paranoid now?’
‘There’s probably a perfectly reasonable explanation for it, Kelly,’ he said.
‘Don’t try and humour me, David.’ He was surprised at the vehemence in her words. ‘There are other factors too. Things which don’t make sense, which have no logical explanation.’ She emphasised the last two words with scorn.
‘Like what?” he wanted to know.
Kelly shivered as the slight breeze seemed to turn cold. She looked up and saw that the crimson of the setting sun had been replaced by a layered sky of purple. Kelly felt goose-pimples rise on her flesh and she rubbed her forearms.
‘I don’t feel comfortable talking about them here,’ she told him, as if she feared some kind of surveillance in the peaceful garden.
‘I’ll take you home,’ Blake said without hesitation.
They got to their feet and walked to the car park where the writer opened the passenger door of the XJS, allowing Kelly to slide in. He clambered in behind the wheel and started the engine, guiding the Jaguar out into the road.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, glancing across at her, a little puzzled by her silence.
She nodded, feeling more at ease within the confines of the car. She even managed to smile at the writer who reached across and squeezed her hand gently. Kelly felt the coldness draining from her, as if Blake’s touch had somehow restored her composure. She gripped his hand in return, reassured by his presence.
After a fifteen minute drive they reached her flat.
Kelly no longer felt the cold seeping through her and she looked at the writer almost gratefully.
‘Home,’ he said, smiling, and once more she found herself captivated by that smile of his. No, more than that. She was ensnared by it, drawn to him unlike any man before. He
exuded a magnetism which she found irresistible, almost in spite of herself.
‘How do you feel now?’ he asked.
‘I’m OK,’ she told him. ‘Thanks, David.’
‘For what?’ he wanted to know.
‘Just thanks.’ She reached across and touched his hand with her slender fingers. If any emotion registered in his eyes she couldn’t see it because his dark glasses now hid them even more completely. ‘Would you like to come in for a coffee?’
Blake needed no second bidding. He climbed out of the Jag and locked his door then walked around and let
