talking easily to her, laughing with her, enjoying her presence.
As he was. She had style, he thought, the sort of style that couldn’t be taught. They’d had people come into the firm who’d lacked people skills, and no amount of training had given it to them. It required genuine interest in the person they were talking to. It could never be feigned.
‘She’s a lovely young woman,’ an elderly man said to him, and he realised that he’d turned to glance at Rose and maybe watched for longer than he’d intended. Well, why not? The farmer was watching her too, and his face showed he was as appreciative as Nick was.
‘She’s a damned sight more attractive than her sister,’ the old man said, and that brought Nick up with a start. There were factors here that he hadn’t yet met-threats? Their escort had disappeared. The powers that be would be uncomfortable with what was happening right now, he thought. What would they do?
‘Please…’ It was a young man, just arrived on a shabby motor-scooter. He had a camera slung around his neck. Beside him was an intense-looking young woman with pad and pencil.
‘We had a call,’ the young man said. ‘To say you were here.’
‘Lew and his friends run a newspaper,’ the old man said.
‘It’s supposed to be illegal,’ someone else said. ‘Only the government can’t shut it down because they don’t charge. It comes out as two or four pages every month.’
‘With things the government don’t want us to know,’ someone else added.
So he and Rose were interviewed, a professional, insightful interview that Nick realised was sympathetic to the people’s cause. The journalist wasn’t interested so much in Nick and Rose as what they intended to do. She was interested in them as a means to lessen the plight of the men and women around them.
As was everyone else. As the interview progressed, the crowd around them fell silent. Someone signalled the musicians to put aside their instruments. Every ear was tuned to what they were saying. As Nick outlined the changes in Alp d’Azur and Alp d’Estella-their neighbouring principalities-and their hopes that the same changes could be made here, there was a ripple of approval through the crowd.
Finally the reporter tucked her notebook in her jacket, smiling her approval. Interview over. Now for the photographs.
‘Dance,’ someone called. ‘That’ll make a great photograph.’
The musicians obediently struck up again, but not in the lively folk music they’d been playing. They played a slow waltz so the photographer would have time to focus.
Once more Rose was in his arms.
‘We’re doing okay,’ he murmured into her hair as he led her round the grassy makeshift dance-floor. No one else was dancing-all eyes were on them.
‘I know,’ she said, but she sounded uncomfortable.
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘I’m thinking…It feels weird.’
‘The whole situation?’
‘Dancing with you.’
He paused, lost his timing, made a recovery. The youth with the camera was moving around them, taking shots from all angles.
‘It feels okay to me,’ he said cautiously. ‘You’re not a bad dancer.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, but she didn’t smile.
‘So what’s weird?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You just said…’
‘I know what I said,’ she snapped, and concentrated on the dance for a little. But she didn’t need to concentrate.
‘Um…Rose?’
‘Yes?’ She sounded seriously annoyed.
‘I’m not sure what I’ve done wrong here.’
‘You haven’t done anything,’ she said crossly. ‘That’s the trouble.’
‘Right.’
‘It doesn’t make any sense to me either.’
‘No.’
There was a moment’s silence. Another circuit of the dance ground.
‘You’re very good,’ she said at last, stiffly, and he thought about that for a bit, aware that it behoved him to tread cautiously.
‘At dancing?’ he asked at last.
‘At this,’ she said. ‘At the political bit.’
‘I was thinking the same thing about you.’
‘No, but you’re smooth,’ she said. ‘You do it like a professional. I don’t know how much it means.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s occurred to me that I’m not really sure who you are,’ she said. ‘You’re like a piece of veneered furniture, polished on the outside, but what’s underneath?’
‘Wormwood,’ he said promptly, and felt her smile.
‘I don’t think so. But you’re so…smooth.’
‘And that worries you?’
‘You see, I find you incredibly attractive,’ she said.
As dance conversation that was a real show-stopper. His feet faltered.
‘Do mind your steps,’ she said kindly. ‘The photographer’s documenting your every move.’
‘I’ve never been told before…’
‘That you’re incredibly attractive? I find that hard to believe.’
He was back in step now, and found himself smiling, responding to her laughter. ‘It’s a guy’s line.’
‘A pick-up line,’ she agreed. ‘That’s why I thought I ought to say it.’
‘You’re trying to pick me up?’
‘The opposite.’ They turned right by the youth with the camera, and she beamed into the lens. ‘It just occurred to me, then, watching you.’
‘Watching me dance?’
‘No, watching you talk to everyone. Watching you make people smile. Watching you make people believe that you’re sincere and that you have their best interests at heart.’
‘That’s a problem?’ he said cautiously, and she nodded.
‘Yes.’
‘You want to tell me why?’
‘Because I’m starting to believe you. And it doesn’t help that you dance so well.’
‘You want me to dance badly?’
‘I don’t know what I want. All I know is that we’re being forced to spend time together as a couple and it’s starting to scare me. And because you’ll be used to dating and I’m not…’
‘I’m losing the thread here,’ he said, and she looked exasperated. How they could be holding a personal conversation in the midst of such an audience was beyond him, but Rose was speaking to him as if they were completely alone. As if whatever she was talking about had to be said urgently. It had to be said now.
‘I met Max in second year of vet school. I was just turned twenty and my mother had just died. Max was my second-ever boyfriend. My first was a guy called Robert who I fell for because he had a really cool sportscar. But that’s it, my dating history, so brief you could write it on a postage stamp.’
‘I’m still not following,’ he said cautiously.
‘You don’t have to follow,’ she said, and sighed. ‘That’s it. I just want to make it clear that I’m not the least bit interested in a relationship, so even if I do laugh at anything you say, and even if I do find you attractive, then it’s up to you to call a halt. Use a bucket of cold water if necessary, but please, let’s not let this relationship go any further than it already has.’
‘No,’ he said blankly. ‘Right.’
‘Yeah, and I can tell you think I’m forward,’ she said. ‘Or scatty, which is just as bad. But I do need to say that
