male chauvinism,’ he said drily. ‘Shall we go?’
‘We’d better. The pub gets very busy at holiday times.’
But when they got there she found he’d booked a table.
‘How did you manage this?’ Tara slid into her seat, noting that the bar was already filling up.
‘I found a phone box when I was out with Buster. I hope you haven’t eaten already.’
‘No, I haven’t, and I’m starving.’ Tara took the menu he was handing her with a thankful heart.
Adam’s lips twitched. ‘You’re amazing. You look as if a breath of wind could blow you away, yet you really enjoy your food.’
She laughed back at him. ‘That’s—’ Then stopped dead, as she realised what she’d been about to say. That’s what Jack used to say.
Only, ‘You eat like a horse and never put on a pound,’ had been his actual, faintly carping comment.
‘That’s what?’ Adam prompted.
“That‘s—not a very fashionable way to be,’ Tara said swiftly. ‘Everyone seems to be on some kind of diet these days.’
“That’s true,’ he said. ‘But not what you really started out to say. Is it?’
She buried her nose in the menu, hoping her faint flush wouldn’t be noticed. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I’d like the spiced chicken, with sauté potatoes and a green salad, please.’
‘I’ll have the beef and Guinness casserole,’ Adam decided. He looked at her. ‘Are you going to permit yourself one unit of alcohol, or are you scared it might make your tongue run away with you?’ he added silkily.
‘Not at all.’ She handed her menu back. ‘A dry white wine spritzer, please.’
His absence at the bar gave her a chance to recover her composure. Keep the conversation general, she adjured herself silently. Don’t let this man under your guard, or he could be there, in your heart, for the rest of your life.
Perhaps she was one of those women always doomed to choose men with whom there was no future, she thought bleakly.
The folk band arrived at this juncture, and began to set up, so when Adam returned to their table it was easy to dive into a discussion about musical preferences—on which they seemed far too closely attuned for comfort, Tara decided uneasily.
The Black Horse was known for the quality of its cooking, so the food, when it came, provided another safe topic.
Her confused emotional state notwithstanding, Tara ate every scrap, including the excellent pear tart that both she and Adam chose for dessert.
And once the music started it wasn’t possible to talk much at all. The lead singers, a girl in a broad-brimmed black hat and a tall man with a ponytail and a crimson brocade waistcoat, had good voices, and excellent backing from traditional Irish instruments. They also had a beguiling way at the microphone, so that Tara found, almost in spite of herself, she was joining in the communal efforts with everyone else, conscious of Adam’s pleasant baritone beside her.
And when the girl sang, unaccompanied, ‘The Londonderry Air’, dedicating it to the cause of peace in Northern Ireland, a pin could have been heard to drop.
The time seemed to ny past.
‘It’s over too soon,’ Tara sighed, as the band, vociferously applauded, sang their last encore.
‘It doesn’t have to be,’ Adam said. ‘May I offer you a nightcap on Caroline?’
She could hardly plead tiredness after her previous remark, she realised vexedly. Besides, she had to admit to a certain curiosity. No doubt there would be pictures of his fiancée and other clues to his life she could pick up, so that when he went, he wouldn’t linger in her mind like an enigma.
Once I’ve solved his mystery, she thought, I can be at peace again.
It was a quiet drive back to Silver Creek. Adam seemed lost in thought, and she was reluctant to disturb his reverie. In any case, she had plenty to think about herself.
As she drew up she could hear Buster barking, a lonely, almost frantic sound which made the hairs on the back of
‘We’d better. The pub gets very busy at holiday times.’
But when they got there she found he’d booked a table.
‘How did you manage this?’ Tara slid into her seat, noting that the bar was already filling up.
‘I found a phone box when I was out with Buster. I hope you haven’t eaten already.’
‘No, I haven’t, and I’m starving.’ Tara took the menu he was handing her with a thankful heart.
Adam’s lips twitched. ‘You’re amazing. You look as if a breath of wind could blow you away, yet you really enjoy your food.’
She laughed back at him. ‘That’s—’ Then stopped dead, as she realised what she’d been about to say. That’s what Jack used to say.
Only, ‘You eat like a horse and never put on a pound,’ had been his actual, faintly carping comment.
‘That’s what?’ Adam prompted.
“That‘s—not a very fashionable way to be,’ Tara said swiftly. ‘Everyone seems to be on some kind of diet these days.’
“That’s true,’ he said. ‘But not what you really started out to say. Is it?’
She buried her nose in the menu, hoping her faint flush wouldn’t be noticed. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I’d like the spiced chicken, with sauté potatoes and a green salad, please.’
‘I’ll have the beef and Guinness casserole,’ Adam decided. He looked at her. ‘Are you going to permit yourself one unit of alcohol, or are you scared it might make your tongue run away with you?’ he added silkily.
‘Not at all.’ She handed her menu back. ‘A dry white wine spritzer, please.’
His absence at the bar gave her a chance to recover her composure. Keep the conversation general, she adjured herself silently. Don’t let this man under your guard, or he could be there, in your heart, for the rest of your life.
Perhaps she was one of those women always doomed to choose men with whom there was no future, she thought bleakly.
The folk band arrived at this juncture, and began to set up, so when Adam returned to their table it was easy to dive into a discussion about musical preferences—on which they seemed far too closely attuned for comfort, Tara decided uneasily.
The Black Horse was known for the quality of its cooking, so the food, when it came, provided another safe topic.
Her confused emotional state notwithstanding, Tara ate every scrap, including the excellent pear tart that both she and Adam chose for dessert.
And once the music started it wasn’t possible to talk much at all. The lead singers, a girl in a broad-brimmed black hat and a tall man with a ponytail and a crimson brocade waistcoat, had good voices, and excellent backing from traditional Irish instruments. They also had a beguiling way at the microphone, so that Tara found, almost in spite of herself, she was joining in the communal efforts with everyone else, conscious of Adam’s pleasant baritone beside her.
And when the girl sang, unaccompanied, ‘The Londonderry Air’, dedicating it to the cause of peace in Northern Ireland, a pin could have been heard to drop.
The time seemed to ny past.
‘It’s over too soon,’ Tara sighed, as the band, vociferously applauded, sang their last encore.
‘It doesn’t have to be,’ Adam said. ‘May I offer you a nightcap on Caroline?’
She could hardly plead tiredness after her previous remark, she realised vexedly. Besides, she had to admit to a certain curiosity. No doubt there would be pictures of his fiancée and other clues to his life she could pick up, so that when he went, he wouldn’t linger in her mind like an enigma.
Once I’ve solved his mystery, she thought, I can be at peace again.
It was a quiet drive back to Silver Creek. Adam seemed lost in thought, and she was reluctant to disturb his reverie. In any case, she had plenty to think about herself.
As she drew up she could hear Buster barking, a lonely, almost frantic sound which made the hairs on the back of
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