tube station?"
"About five minutes walk, thataway." He pointed ahead. "However, this house here is Chez Armitage." He indicated the terrace property to his right.
"Oh." She broke into a smile. The man had ulterior motives and she liked them. "I see. So, are you going to ask a girl in for a drink?"
"That was the idea."
"Marvelous, I'd be delighted."
"I'm not being entirely altruistic, believe me. If you come inside it will give me some more time with you, alone."
He was full of surprises. All of them very nice, and Amy was certainly in no rush to get home to her little studio flat. She followed him from the car up the path to the house. The small front garden housed a pretty rockery.
"Self sufficient," he said, when he caught her looking over at it. "I like plants like that."
She nodded, wondering how self-sufficient he was. It wasn't the sort of house she expected him to live in, but then what did she expect? She wasn't quite sure, and her curiosity was now well and truly piqued.
No sooner had he opened the door—a dark oak affair with stained-glass panels—than a loud banging sound emitted from somewhere inside the house.
"Cat door," he explained.
Before he'd even stepped into the house, a pretty tortoiseshell cat appeared at the end of the hallway. It ran to him, meowing at the top of its lungs in the most bitter, complaining tone. Sebastian dropped down to pick it up.
"Hey noisy girl, did you miss me?"
She certainly looked as if she had. And who could blame her, Amy mused, her eyes roving over Sebastian while he fussed the cat. The noisy feline was busy rubbing her head against the stubble on his chin, purring extremely loudly and still giving out the occasional complaining meow.
Sebastian gave Amy an apologetic smile.
"She's gorgeous. Does she mind sharing your company with other women?"
"Well, we'll have to wait and see." He looked quite serious. "She hates Mrs. Arkwright, the neighbor who feeds her while I am away. Don't you, you little fusspot?" He put the cat down and she started to lead him into the house, glancing back to ensure he followed. "She won't even touch any of the food she puts down until the poor woman's left the building." He laughed, but Amy felt as if gaining the cat's approval was her new task for the day.
"Come in, come in," he ushered, directing her into a sitting room that overlooked the front garden. He darted in and shifted a pile of newspapers of a chair. "Make yourself at home, I'll feed Lydia." And with that, he disappeared.
Lydia, she gathered, was the cat.
She looked around. It was a large, comfortable and obviously male space, but with friendly female touches Amy's survey couldn't miss. A long leather sofa was augmented by a carved rocking chair, decorated with an embroidered Indian cushion. A display of dried wild flowers in a tall pottery vase, together with staggered oriental prints, broke up the uniform white walls. An impressive array of stereo equipment filled a good third of a wall of shelves, along with some sports trophies and framed photographs. The rest of the space was crammed with books. A set of dumbbells were scattered near the TV, as if they had just been used. The newspapers he had taken from the chair were copies of The City News, which made her smile.
She could hear him talking to the cat, presumably from the kitchen. Dropping her bag on the sofa, she wandered over to the photographs on the shelf, immediately drawn to one of Sebastian with two young people, presumably the nephew and niece he had mentioned. They stood beside a canoe, drenched and laughing, as if they had been riding the rapids. In another shot, Sebastian was with two other men in a snow scene, snowboards under their arms. The third photo looked like some sort of a dinner party. The men were smartly dressed in evening suits and bow ties, and the two women with them wore cocktail dresses. Sebastian looked so attractive in his formal dress, and she looked at the image for quite some time,
"About five minutes walk, thataway." He pointed ahead. "However, this house here is Chez Armitage." He indicated the terrace property to his right.
"Oh." She broke into a smile. The man had ulterior motives and she liked them. "I see. So, are you going to ask a girl in for a drink?"
"That was the idea."
"Marvelous, I'd be delighted."
"I'm not being entirely altruistic, believe me. If you come inside it will give me some more time with you, alone."
He was full of surprises. All of them very nice, and Amy was certainly in no rush to get home to her little studio flat. She followed him from the car up the path to the house. The small front garden housed a pretty rockery.
"Self sufficient," he said, when he caught her looking over at it. "I like plants like that."
She nodded, wondering how self-sufficient he was. It wasn't the sort of house she expected him to live in, but then what did she expect? She wasn't quite sure, and her curiosity was now well and truly piqued.
No sooner had he opened the door—a dark oak affair with stained-glass panels—than a loud banging sound emitted from somewhere inside the house.
"Cat door," he explained.
Before he'd even stepped into the house, a pretty tortoiseshell cat appeared at the end of the hallway. It ran to him, meowing at the top of its lungs in the most bitter, complaining tone. Sebastian dropped down to pick it up.
"Hey noisy girl, did you miss me?"
She certainly looked as if she had. And who could blame her, Amy mused, her eyes roving over Sebastian while he fussed the cat. The noisy feline was busy rubbing her head against the stubble on his chin, purring extremely loudly and still giving out the occasional complaining meow.
Sebastian gave Amy an apologetic smile.
"She's gorgeous. Does she mind sharing your company with other women?"
"Well, we'll have to wait and see." He looked quite serious. "She hates Mrs. Arkwright, the neighbor who feeds her while I am away. Don't you, you little fusspot?" He put the cat down and she started to lead him into the house, glancing back to ensure he followed. "She won't even touch any of the food she puts down until the poor woman's left the building." He laughed, but Amy felt as if gaining the cat's approval was her new task for the day.
"Come in, come in," he ushered, directing her into a sitting room that overlooked the front garden. He darted in and shifted a pile of newspapers of a chair. "Make yourself at home, I'll feed Lydia." And with that, he disappeared.
Lydia, she gathered, was the cat.
She looked around. It was a large, comfortable and obviously male space, but with friendly female touches Amy's survey couldn't miss. A long leather sofa was augmented by a carved rocking chair, decorated with an embroidered Indian cushion. A display of dried wild flowers in a tall pottery vase, together with staggered oriental prints, broke up the uniform white walls. An impressive array of stereo equipment filled a good third of a wall of shelves, along with some sports trophies and framed photographs. The rest of the space was crammed with books. A set of dumbbells were scattered near the TV, as if they had just been used. The newspapers he had taken from the chair were copies of The City News, which made her smile.
She could hear him talking to the cat, presumably from the kitchen. Dropping her bag on the sofa, she wandered over to the photographs on the shelf, immediately drawn to one of Sebastian with two young people, presumably the nephew and niece he had mentioned. They stood beside a canoe, drenched and laughing, as if they had been riding the rapids. In another shot, Sebastian was with two other men in a snow scene, snowboards under their arms. The third photo looked like some sort of a dinner party. The men were smartly dressed in evening suits and bow ties, and the two women with them wore cocktail dresses. Sebastian looked so attractive in his formal dress, and she looked at the image for quite some time,
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