Sandra Marton - Yesterday And Forever

‘But you do have a table near the window,’ he said in that same quiet tone. ‘You must have forgotten.’

The head waiter glanced from the table to Daniel’s tautly composed face.

‘I did indeed, sir,’ he said quickly. ‘If you’d just follow me?’

Conversation ceased as they made their way through the dining-room. Miranda’s embroidered skirt swirled around her leather-clad ankles. Women in the latest Chanels and Adolfos stared with unabashed interest at her as she swept past. Men watched her, too, but with a different kind of interest, as if her exotic clothing and tousled mane of dark hair marked her as fair game.

Miranda kept her head high, but she felt herself shrivelling inside. Her pace quickened, and instantly Daniel’s head bent so that his lips were close to her ear.

‘Easy does it,’ he said softly.

She felt a swift rush of gratitude and she looked up at him. He was walking beside her nonchalantly, as if he made this kind of entrance all the time, and he met each stare with an even gaze of his own so that gradually the curious faces turned away and the sound level in the room returned to its normal, muted buzz.

Daniel wasn’t doing this for her, she understood that. It was for himself: he wasn’t a man who’d let anyone mock him. Still, it was hard not to be grateful, and she gave him a quick smile as the head waiter, all but bowing now, drew out her chair, seated her, and handed them menus.

Miranda let out her breath. Daniel leaned towards her across the table. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked quietly.

She nodded. ‘I’m fine. I just…’ She touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘For what?’

‘You know what I mean. Those people—well, you knew they were making things difficult for me—’

His expression hardened instantly. ‘You’ve made things difficult for yourself,’ he said coldly, and he lifted his menu and opened it so that she couldn’t see his face.

Miranda stared at him, and then she sighed and opened her menu, too. The best thing to do was order quickly, eat just as quickly, and leave. An act of charity, he had called this, and that was exactly what it was. Not that she’d expected anything else. It was just that—that…

‘What would you like?’

She looked over the menu at Daniel. The look of distaste had gone from his face, replaced by a courteous neutrality. Yes, she was right. He was waiting for her to choose something so that he could get on with the task he’d set himself and finish it as quickly as possible.

For no discernible reason the thought depressed her.

‘Miss Stuart?’ He smiled politely. ‘Have you decided what to order?’

She looked at the menu again. It was four pages long, a dazzling blend of French and Dutch, and for the life of her she couldn’t make one line of it stand out from another.

‘It doesn’t matter. Anything. Soup, or ham and frites is fine. Or a hamburger. Or eggs and bacon.’ She smiled slightly as she closed the menu and put it down. ‘Whatever you’re having is OK.’

Daniel nodded and signalled the waiter. ‘I’d like a cup of coffee,’ he said. ‘As for the lady—she’ll have a bowl of pea soup to start, and then she’d like ham and frites.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘She’d like a hamburger, too.’

The man’s brows rose. ‘Yes. Of course.’

‘And she’d like an order of bacon and eggs.’ He met the head waiter’s eyes as he handed over his menu. ‘We’ll choose dessert after we’ve eaten.’

Miranda leaned across the table when they were alone again. ‘Are you trying to make fun of me?’ she demanded quietly. ‘Ordering all that food…’

‘We’ll have the kitchen pack what you don’t finish,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders. ‘You can have it later this evening, for supper.’

‘Good,’ she said primly. ‘Because I could never eat even half that much.’

But, of course, she did. The first mouthful of food seemed to set off a chain reaction; once she’d started eating, she couldn’t stop. She ate the soup, the ham, the French fried potatoes, the hamburger, and almost all the bacon and eggs. She was ravenously hungry, and not even the muffled laughter from a nearby table was enough to curb her appetite, although the laughter stopped after one harsh glance from Daniel.

When she was finished she pushed the last plate aside, patted her lips with her linen napkin, and sighed.

‘That was wonderful.’ She hesitated, and then her eyes met Daniel’s. ‘Thank you,’ she said simply.

He frowned. ‘You weren’t exaggerating,’ he said, watching her. ‘You were damned near starving.’

Miranda laughed uncomfortably. ‘Well, not starving, but—’

‘You’re American, aren’t you?’

She nodded. ‘You are, too.’ She smiled hesitantly. ‘I knew we had that in common.’

His frown deepened. ‘How long have you been in Holland?’

‘A little over four months.’ She hesitated. The man had been kind to her, she had to admit that. It was time to tell him the truth about herself. ‘I came to Amsterdam because it’s known worldwide for—’

‘Yes,’ he said coldly, ‘I’m fully aware of what it’s known for, Miss Stuart. A free and easy lifestyle that someone like you can’t handle.’

Miranda laughed. ‘No. No, you’re wrong, Mr Thorpe. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You see, the reason I came here is—’

He leaned forward. ‘How can you live this way?’ he demanded. ‘It’s one thing to be a free spirit, and another to be a damned fool.’

She flushed. ‘If you’d just listen—’

‘You can’t live like a—a gypsy forever, for God’s sake. And you can’t rely on your looks forever, either.’

Miranda glared at him. ‘I don’t,’ she said. ‘I work hard, the same as you or anyone else.’

Daniel’s jaw shot forward. ‘I suppose you could call it that. Going from man to man can’t be easy.’

A patchwork of crimson rose in her face. What an insufferable bastard he was! She took a deep breath.

‘No,’ she said coolly, ‘it isn’t.’ She thought of her two painting instructors and how differently they approached art, of the last sculptor she’d posed for who’d kept her in one pose for hours so that when she had finally tried standing up her legs had felt as if they were stuck full of pins. ‘No,’ she said again, her eyes flashing fire, ‘it’s not easy at all. Each man wants something different from you and you have to deliver.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘But I’m good at what I do, so they tell me. Very—’

She gasped as his hand clamped down on hers. She could feel the bones in her wrist flex beneath the harsh pressure.

‘You’re hurting me,’ she spat. ‘Damn you, you’re—’

‘Here you are, Daniel. I wondered what had happened to you.’

Daniel’s hand fell away from her. Miranda looked up, startled, as he scraped back his chair and got to his feet. A woman had materialised beside the table, a woman with a softly lined face, white hair, and a score of questions in her blue eyes.

Daniel frowned. ‘Aunt Sophie,’ he said, ‘what are you doing here?’

‘Well,’ she answered, her eyes on Miranda, ‘you said we’d meet in our suite for tea, but it got later and later and you didn’t show up or telephone, so I thought—’ She smiled sweetly. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to your charming friend, Daniel?’

There was a heavy silence, and then he sighed. ‘Aunt Sophie, this is Miranda Stuart.’ He glowered at Miranda. ‘This is my aunt, Sophie Prescott.’

Miranda looked from him to the older woman, and she smiled hesitantly. ‘Hello.’

‘Daniel, where are your manners? Aren’t you going to ask me to join you?’