wrong,’ she said, instantly guilty asshe caught his frown so that, to make it up to him, she drew him close. ‘Sorry. I really am exhausted, darling, and I need my sleep.’
‘Okay. I understand but you owe me one.’ Accepting the inevitable, he kissed her gently. ‘Sleep all you like but I’m staying here with you.’
‘Thanks.’ The soft touch of his lips with no passion attached meant a lot, that and the gentlemanly way he accepted the rebuff. He could be so very nice.
And she really was sleepy.
But now of course, perversely, within minutes she was wide awake even as she heard his breathing quieten as he in turn began to drift off.
‘What do you make of my family?’ she asked, nudging him awake.
The room was too hot, stuffy, and it was too quiet, a quiet she had once known and loved. The flat she lived in now was on a busy road and all night long there was the constant hum of traffic, cars changing gear just outside her window and accelerating up the hill. She often wondered what on earth people were doing driving around at night, for it never eased up until shortly before dawn when there was a lull. Never a night owl, she often woke shortly after dawn and the silence then was blissful, a time for slowly coming out of her sleep knowing that she needn’t get up quite yet. That early-morning half-awake state was the best time of day for her, the time when she did her thinking, the time when many of her work ideas came to her. She had no need to bother with an alarm clock, much preferring her own gentle wake-up call and once out of bed she wasted no time in having her first shot of caffeine and a brisk shower. On most working days she could be dressed and out of the flat in twenty minutes.
‘What do I make of your family?’ Brian echoed her words, moving to lie on his back, taking more than half the duvet with him. ‘I don’t know. They seem a mixed bunch. Moniquedoesn’t fit in with the rest of you.’
She had not bothered to draw the curtains but it was dark still and she reached out to switch on one of the bedside lamps, which sent out a soft rosy glow. She propped herself up so that she could see him better. ‘Happy Christmas,’ she said softly. ‘In what way doesn’t she fit in?’
Brian had the most extraordinary hazel eyes that seemed to have the ability to change colour and she wondered if he was short-sighted because sometimes he narrowed them as if he was finding it difficult to see. There was no evidence of glasses or contacts but then she imagined he would be far too vain to admit to short-sightedness, which he would see as a weakness.
‘She’s so unlike you all,’ he laughed quietly. ‘She looks like a little doll who’s been dressed in the wrong clothes by an excited little girl.’
‘She has her own style,’ she said, peculiarly defensive on Monique’s behalf. ‘And of course she doesn’t look like us because she’s not blood related.’
‘It’s not just that. Does she get on with your father?’
‘She doesn’t work hard enough for his liking. He doesn’t think being an artist is much of a job.’
‘He’s wrong. It’s a very special job but I can see that he’s a pragmatic sort of guy who would think that. Is she as talented as her husband thinks?’
‘I’m the wrong person to ask. I’m afraid I’m biased. I agree with Dad that she should be out there earning her share.’
‘She’s a homemaker she tells me.’
‘Well, yes and if she had kids then I could just about understand it. It must be hell combining work with kids, which is why I’m not going down that road. But Monique doesn’t have kids, does she? Unless …’ she glanced at him. ‘Is she pregnant?’
‘How the hell would I know?’
‘I thought she might have told you. You seemed to begetting on very well together.’
‘Surely you don’t think I’m interested in her?’
‘Of course not.’ She laughed that off but it made her feel uncomfortable because he had certainly been
‘Okay. I understand but you owe me one.’ Accepting the inevitable, he kissed her gently. ‘Sleep all you like but I’m staying here with you.’
‘Thanks.’ The soft touch of his lips with no passion attached meant a lot, that and the gentlemanly way he accepted the rebuff. He could be so very nice.
And she really was sleepy.
But now of course, perversely, within minutes she was wide awake even as she heard his breathing quieten as he in turn began to drift off.
‘What do you make of my family?’ she asked, nudging him awake.
The room was too hot, stuffy, and it was too quiet, a quiet she had once known and loved. The flat she lived in now was on a busy road and all night long there was the constant hum of traffic, cars changing gear just outside her window and accelerating up the hill. She often wondered what on earth people were doing driving around at night, for it never eased up until shortly before dawn when there was a lull. Never a night owl, she often woke shortly after dawn and the silence then was blissful, a time for slowly coming out of her sleep knowing that she needn’t get up quite yet. That early-morning half-awake state was the best time of day for her, the time when she did her thinking, the time when many of her work ideas came to her. She had no need to bother with an alarm clock, much preferring her own gentle wake-up call and once out of bed she wasted no time in having her first shot of caffeine and a brisk shower. On most working days she could be dressed and out of the flat in twenty minutes.
‘What do I make of your family?’ Brian echoed her words, moving to lie on his back, taking more than half the duvet with him. ‘I don’t know. They seem a mixed bunch. Moniquedoesn’t fit in with the rest of you.’
She had not bothered to draw the curtains but it was dark still and she reached out to switch on one of the bedside lamps, which sent out a soft rosy glow. She propped herself up so that she could see him better. ‘Happy Christmas,’ she said softly. ‘In what way doesn’t she fit in?’
Brian had the most extraordinary hazel eyes that seemed to have the ability to change colour and she wondered if he was short-sighted because sometimes he narrowed them as if he was finding it difficult to see. There was no evidence of glasses or contacts but then she imagined he would be far too vain to admit to short-sightedness, which he would see as a weakness.
‘She’s so unlike you all,’ he laughed quietly. ‘She looks like a little doll who’s been dressed in the wrong clothes by an excited little girl.’
‘She has her own style,’ she said, peculiarly defensive on Monique’s behalf. ‘And of course she doesn’t look like us because she’s not blood related.’
‘It’s not just that. Does she get on with your father?’
‘She doesn’t work hard enough for his liking. He doesn’t think being an artist is much of a job.’
‘He’s wrong. It’s a very special job but I can see that he’s a pragmatic sort of guy who would think that. Is she as talented as her husband thinks?’
‘I’m the wrong person to ask. I’m afraid I’m biased. I agree with Dad that she should be out there earning her share.’
‘She’s a homemaker she tells me.’
‘Well, yes and if she had kids then I could just about understand it. It must be hell combining work with kids, which is why I’m not going down that road. But Monique doesn’t have kids, does she? Unless …’ she glanced at him. ‘Is she pregnant?’
‘How the hell would I know?’
‘I thought she might have told you. You seemed to begetting on very well together.’
‘Surely you don’t think I’m interested in her?’
‘Of course not.’ She laughed that off but it made her feel uncomfortable because he had certainly been
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