Licence to Dream by Anna Jacobs Page B

company tonight. May I join you?’
    She hesitated, trying to resist the temptation to say yes, and failing.
    ‘Please?’ he begged, clasping his hands together at his chest in a gesture of mock supplication.
    ‘Well . . . ’ she began, then fell silent. He really did have the most delightful smile. And perhaps if she got to know him better, it might cure her of this ridiculous reaction every time she saw him. ‘You must be in the mood for an argument, Elless,’ she said, smiling back at him in spite of herself.
    ‘Couldn't we cry truce tonight? I'll promise to be on my very best behaviour, if you'll just smile kindly at me from time to time.’
    ‘Oh – why not? Sit down.’
    It was his turn to hesitate. ‘Be honest. Would you rather I took another table? I won't impose myself on you if I'm making you feel uncomfortable. After all, you've already refused to have dinner with me four times.’
    ‘I’d welcome a bit of company tonight as well, actually.’ What harm could there possibly be in sharing a table with him for one meal? As he sat down, she took the initiative firmly into her own hands. ‘Tell me about yourself.’
     ‘Thirty-four, in excellent health, only child. And you?’
    ‘That's a thumb-nail sketch if ever I heard one.’ He was probably married. He must be married, a good-looking man like him. It was out before she could stop herself. ‘Are you married?’
    He stiffened. ‘That's a very personal question.’
    She raised her brows. ‘I like to know where I stand with people.’
    He tossed the question back at her. ‘Why? Are you married?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Divorced?’
    ‘Certainly not! When I marry – if I ever do – it'll be for ever, as far as I'm concerned. I don't believe in on-off relationships. And you didn't answer my question. Are you married?’
    ‘Not now.’
    Why did she feel so disappointed. ‘Divorced?’
    ‘No.’ He took a deep breath, then said in a quiet level voice that didn’t match the pain on his face, ‘My wife died in a car accident.’
    ‘Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to . . . ’ Meriel couldn’t think what to say, so laid her hand on his for a moment.
    Before she could pull away, he had taken hold of her hand, as if he needed the comfort she was offering. He was looking down at it as he added, ‘It happened four years ago. I should be used to it by now, but the memory still sinks its claws in sometimes.’
    From the expression on his face, he must have loved his wife very much. That was hard to reconcile with the image she’d built up in her mind. She looked away, giving him time to recover, but didn’t like to pull her hand away.
    When she raised her eyes to his, the mood changed again and he gave her a wry smile. ‘Sexual attraction can spring up between the unlikeliest people, can’t it?’ He chuckled at her discomfiture. ‘You did say you like to know where you stand, didn’t you?’
    She could feel the flush creeping across her face and couldn't think of a smart response.
    He let go of her hand and picked up the menu. ‘What shall we eat, then, Ms Ingram?’
    ‘Why do you keep addressing me so formally?’ She was rather puzzled by that after such a frank exchange.
    ‘Because I don't actually know your first name, except that it begins with an M.’ He put his head on one side. ‘Mary doesn’t suit you, nor does Margaret. Miranda, perhaps? Or Matilda?’
    She couldn’t help laughing. ‘Not quite. My name's Meriel.’
    ‘Meriel. Unusual, but it suits you. What on earth is a woman like you doing looking at properties in a small country town like York?’
    ‘What do you mean by ‘a woman like me’?’
    ‘Someone so attractive. You should be on the front cover of magazines, not hidden away on the back blocks.’
    His voice was honey-warm as he murmured, for her ears only, ‘You must be aware that you're good looking. I'm surprised you didn't go into modelling with that face and hair.’
    She had never been good at accepting