CATHY WILLIAMS - Charade Of The Heart

Why, Beth thought pensively, had she suddenly remembered that? Was it because her cool, reasonable approach to life had recently been less reliable? Odd.

She refocused her attention on the small screen and was once again absorbed in various premutations of theory being volunteered by the chief detective, when there was a sharp knocking on the door.

She reluctantly got up, wondering who on earth it could be. Were there such things as door-to-door salesmen in London? Or maybe it was Katie. She had been meaning to get in touch with Katie, but hadn’t found the time so far.

She pulled open the door and her body tensed immediately.

‘Oh,’ she said, simply because she couldn’t find anything better to say, ‘it’s you.’

‘Surprised?’ Marcos walked past her into the small lounge, making no apology for his appearance even though it was after ten o’clock.

He stood in the centre of the room and stared with blatant curiosity around him.

Beth felt her hackles begin to rise.

‘I thought only doctors paid home visits,’ she said pointedly, shutting the door behind her. She would have preferred to leave it open, so that he could get the message that she really didn’t want him in the flat, but it was simply too cold outside for that.

Now that the door was shut, she had a sudden feeling of choking claustrophobia.

‘Funny,’ he mused, ‘I would have expected your flat to have more of an imprint of your personality on it. It looks as though you only use it as a place to sleep.’

‘Have you come here for something specific?’ Beth asked, reasserting her presence. She moved to the chair furthest away from him and sat primly on it, leaning forward slightly, her arms folded across her chest.

She was aware of her heart beating quickly and heavily. What was he doing here? He had obviously just come from work, he was still wearing his suit, although that didn’t exactly speak volumes, did it? She had left him at the office with Angela; who knows what they had got up to? He might have finished with her, but men, she knew, were very susceptible to a beautiful and willing woman, even a beautiful and willing woman who had gone past her sell-by date.

‘Why did you let her into the office?’ He looked at her through half-closed eyes.

‘What?’

‘You heard. Angela. Why did you let her into my office when I expressly told you not to?’

Oh, so this is it, she thought. He couldn’t even have the courtesy to wait until the morning before venting his anger.

She felt a stab of indignation. Some of that bravado that had eluded her earlier on was returning.

‘I could hardly put her under civil arrest just because she wanted to see you, could I?’

‘You could have told her that I was out,’ he said forcefully. ‘Or ill, or in a meeting. The list of excuses is endless. You’ve always managed to handle that sort of situation before.’

‘Have I indeed?’ So it was one of her unofficial duties, and one which her sister had happily complied with. Well, she had no intention of following suit.

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