Liz Fielding - Conflict Of Hearts

‘That doesn’t matter. I just want it back.’

‘You can have it when Mr and Mrs Hallam are safely back across the Atlantic.’ He indicated the sideboard. ‘Would you like a drink? I have a feeling that we’re both going to need one to get through this evening.’

‘You invited them. You have the drink.’ She turned away, unable to bear to look at him, staring instead at the painting that had claimed his attention—a very traditional portrait of a young woman. Oddly out of place amongst Noah’s collection of modern art, the sitter looked vaguely familiar... She took a step towards it.

‘Sherry? Gin and tonic?’ he persisted.

She didn’t drink very much, but her throat was dry. ‘A tonic water,’ she conceded.

She heard the chink of ice, the fizz of tonic, then he walked across the magnificent Aubusson carpet until he was standing beside her. ‘Elizabeth?’

‘Thank you,’ she said, turning to take the crystal tumbler from his hand.

‘You’re entirely welcome.’ And he poured the contents of the glass down the demure décolletage of her gown.

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