not yet. '
She looked at the open wallet, and then at him. Before he could react, she dealt him a full open-handed slap across the side of his face. ' You bastard, ' she yelled. ' I am not a whore. '
Rocked back in his seat by the blow, his skin burned where her hand had connected, the sting making his eyes water. 'I never said you were,' he protested. He had intended to offer her one of his cards, as a courtesy, but before he could, she had already let herself out of the car and was marching towards the green door. He waited as she let herself in and slammed the door behind her, before reaching across the passenger seat to pull the door closed.
'Bloody women. Who needs 'em?' he muttered, examining his face in the rear view mirror. He rubbed the sore spot on his face; it had been quite a belt and the skin would no doubt colour.
He took his time returning to Struan after dropping off his guest. He sat outside in the car for a few moments, contemplating the hand shaped print on his face. He had imagined it developing like a Polaroid print, but it was nowhere near as bad as he expected. If he was lucky, Megan might not even notice.
Ah , crap, Megan .
The look of abject horror on her face when she clapped her eyes on his be-robed guest brought on him an uncommon stab of guilt. He had put her in an awkward position and no doubt embarrassed her, and that wasn't in her job description. If he got in first with an explanation, he might be able to forestall her questioning him.
He let himself into the kitchen. She wasn't there. He drew himself a glass of water, took a large draught from it, and went in search of her. He found her in the laundry, sitting on a low stool with her legs crossed over, sewing a button onto one of his shirts. She was concentrating hard, the tip of her tongue poking out between her lips.
He knocked sharply on the doorjamb, attracting her attention. She looked up and flashed him a brief smile of acknowledgement, albeit not a particularly welcoming one. He leaned against the doorframe and took a sip from the glass of water. ' You really don ' t need to do that, ' he said. ' I usually just buy a new shirt. '
' Just because you have money doesn't mean you have to waste it, ' she said, and carried on sewing.
He sniffed and cleared his throat. It felt dry and scratchy. ' I, erm, feel like I owe you an explanation for this morning, for...whatshername...Irene. '
'Irana,' she said, not looking up.
'What?'
'Her name was Irana.'
'Was it? Hmm. You might be right.'
'And you don't need to say anything about her because I don't want to know. What you do in your own home is your business, and absolutely nothing to do with me.'
'Well I want to tell you anyway.'
She sighed unenthusiastically. 'Okay, if you must.'
He took another gulp of water to wet his dry throat and began . ' I went out last night with a mate, Phil McNeil. We've been friends for ever, but I hadn ' t seen him for ages. She was a friend of a friend of his and he introduced us. We got to chatting and had quite a bit to drink … and coming here for some peace and quiet seemed like a good idea at the time. I'm not sure, but I think it was her idea. Anyway one thing led to another and...well, in a nutshell, there you have it.' He sipped at the water again. 'I didn ' t know her from Adam and I won ' t be seeing her again. ' He rubbed his face where Irana had slapped him.
Megan , who had listened to the whole tale in silence, snipped the end of the thread and folded the shirt into her lap. She looked directly at him, sighed and shrugged. ' Why are you telling me this? '
He rubbed his temples with his fingertips, feeling the beginnings of an unpleasant headache. ' I don ' t know,' he said. 'I just thought you ought to know. '
' And what is it you want me to say? '
' I don ' t know.'
'How about , 'It's okay, you made a silly mistake and it might be for the best if you didn't do it again'? '
He smiled dryly. 'That might do for a start.'
She got
She looked at the open wallet, and then at him. Before he could react, she dealt him a full open-handed slap across the side of his face. ' You bastard, ' she yelled. ' I am not a whore. '
Rocked back in his seat by the blow, his skin burned where her hand had connected, the sting making his eyes water. 'I never said you were,' he protested. He had intended to offer her one of his cards, as a courtesy, but before he could, she had already let herself out of the car and was marching towards the green door. He waited as she let herself in and slammed the door behind her, before reaching across the passenger seat to pull the door closed.
'Bloody women. Who needs 'em?' he muttered, examining his face in the rear view mirror. He rubbed the sore spot on his face; it had been quite a belt and the skin would no doubt colour.
He took his time returning to Struan after dropping off his guest. He sat outside in the car for a few moments, contemplating the hand shaped print on his face. He had imagined it developing like a Polaroid print, but it was nowhere near as bad as he expected. If he was lucky, Megan might not even notice.
Ah , crap, Megan .
The look of abject horror on her face when she clapped her eyes on his be-robed guest brought on him an uncommon stab of guilt. He had put her in an awkward position and no doubt embarrassed her, and that wasn't in her job description. If he got in first with an explanation, he might be able to forestall her questioning him.
He let himself into the kitchen. She wasn't there. He drew himself a glass of water, took a large draught from it, and went in search of her. He found her in the laundry, sitting on a low stool with her legs crossed over, sewing a button onto one of his shirts. She was concentrating hard, the tip of her tongue poking out between her lips.
He knocked sharply on the doorjamb, attracting her attention. She looked up and flashed him a brief smile of acknowledgement, albeit not a particularly welcoming one. He leaned against the doorframe and took a sip from the glass of water. ' You really don ' t need to do that, ' he said. ' I usually just buy a new shirt. '
' Just because you have money doesn't mean you have to waste it, ' she said, and carried on sewing.
He sniffed and cleared his throat. It felt dry and scratchy. ' I, erm, feel like I owe you an explanation for this morning, for...whatshername...Irene. '
'Irana,' she said, not looking up.
'What?'
'Her name was Irana.'
'Was it? Hmm. You might be right.'
'And you don't need to say anything about her because I don't want to know. What you do in your own home is your business, and absolutely nothing to do with me.'
'Well I want to tell you anyway.'
She sighed unenthusiastically. 'Okay, if you must.'
He took another gulp of water to wet his dry throat and began . ' I went out last night with a mate, Phil McNeil. We've been friends for ever, but I hadn ' t seen him for ages. She was a friend of a friend of his and he introduced us. We got to chatting and had quite a bit to drink … and coming here for some peace and quiet seemed like a good idea at the time. I'm not sure, but I think it was her idea. Anyway one thing led to another and...well, in a nutshell, there you have it.' He sipped at the water again. 'I didn ' t know her from Adam and I won ' t be seeing her again. ' He rubbed his face where Irana had slapped him.
Megan , who had listened to the whole tale in silence, snipped the end of the thread and folded the shirt into her lap. She looked directly at him, sighed and shrugged. ' Why are you telling me this? '
He rubbed his temples with his fingertips, feeling the beginnings of an unpleasant headache. ' I don ' t know,' he said. 'I just thought you ought to know. '
' And what is it you want me to say? '
' I don ' t know.'
'How about , 'It's okay, you made a silly mistake and it might be for the best if you didn't do it again'? '
He smiled dryly. 'That might do for a start.'
She got
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