Marjorie Lewty - A Real Engagement

Leon had evidently been trying to cut a stale baguette into slices for toast, using a plate instead of a wooden board. Naturally, the bread had slipped on the plate, which was now lying in fragments on the floor. ‘Men!’ she muttered.

She found a brush in the cupboard and brushed up the pieces of broken plate, then carefully washed the bread knife. Then she cut more slices of baguette, which she put in the wide-mouthed toaster. She made one cup of instant coffee and set the small round table with one plate and knife, butter from the fridge and three different kinds of jam.

As she was taking out the toast Leon appeared in the doorway. In spite of his injured hand he had managed to dress neatly in jeans and a cream silk shirt. His springy dark hair was brushed tidily. He really was very good-looking, Josie thought. She said, ‘I’ve made some toast. Was that what you were trying to do?’

He nodded and sat down at the table. ‘Are you going to join me?’

‘Yes, if I’m invited,’ Josie said.

‘The least I can do,’ he said. ‘Please sit down and join me for breakfast.’

She put an extra knife and plate on the table, made a mug of coffee, and sat down opposite him. She found that she was extremely hungry, and munched toast and apricot jam ravenously. She glanced apologetically at Leon, who was having some difficulty because of his tightly bandaged hand. She knew better than to offer to cut up the toast for him. He wasn’t the kind of man who would tolerate nannying. ‘Sorry I’m being a pig,’ she said. ‘I can’t remember when I had a proper meal.’

‘Carry on,’he said, sitting back in his chair and eyeing her thoughtfully. ‘Where did you come from yesterday?’ he said.

‘From London,’ Josie said. ‘I bought some basic food in Menton, before I took a taxi up here, but by the time I’d found my house I was too hot and tired to eat, so I just flopped down on the nearest flat surface.’ She pulled a face and added, ‘Until you disturbed me so ungallantly.’ She laughed lightly. If they could share a joke that would put the embarrassing incident in its true perspective.

But there was no laughter, not even a smile in the strange grey eyes as he regarded her narrowly. ‘What gives you the idea that Mon Abri belongs to you?’ he enquired.

Josie choked on a piece of toast. She had begun to like this man, to think that he liked her, that they would be able to talk together rationally. But his tone and the way he had framed his question made it an insult.

‘I resent that. I certainly own Mon Abri. What right have you to question it?’ She spoke calmly, but danger signals flashed in the hazel-green eyes.

He frowned, puzzled. ‘How old are you, Josie?’

She kept her temper with an effort. ‘I really don’t see what my age has to do with the matter, but, if you must know, I’m twenty-three.’

He stared at her, dark brows raised. ‘Well, well, I was a long way out. When I first saw you, stretched out on the divan, I took you for about fifteen—one of a party of youngsters who were wandering about the world. I expected to see your friends joining you, setting up a squat in this pleasant place. Then, when you walked into my house and drank my tea, and smiled seductively at me—’

‘I didn’t smile seductively,’Josie broke in furiously.

‘And smiled seductively at me,’ he went on, as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘I upgraded you to a higher age group—say seventeen or eighteen at the most. Yes, yes—’ he held up a hand as she opened her mouth to speak again ‘—I’m aware that I was mistaken about your intentions. But I don’t think I can be blamed for that. I must say I thought again when you saved me from bleeding to death just now, but twenty-three! No, I shouldn’t have guessed that It makes a difference.’

Josie gritted her teeth. ‘I suppose I may be allowed to own a house at twenty-three?’

‘Certainly. But not the house next door. And in case you’re going to say why not, it’s because I shall own it myself in a few days. I plan to restore the villa to its former glory, to take down the dividing walls and re-plan the rooms.’

‘Really?’ Josie raised delicate brows. He was so confident, so disgustingly sure of himself, that it would be a pleasure to take him down a peg or two. But she mustn’t rush it. ‘More coffee?’

‘Please.’ He pushed his mug across the table. He was not looking at her now. He was staring out of the window. No doubt planning what he was going to do with her house when he obtained it. He had a surprise coming to him, Josie thought, grinning to herself.

He pushed back his chair jerkily and got to his feet. ‘Let’s go outside and talk this over. Open air clears the head.’

‘Are you implying that my head needs clearing?’ she demanded acidly.

‘Don’t be silly.’ He grasped her arm and yanked her to her feet unceremoniously. ‘Bring the coffee and we’ll sit on the terrace.’

Josie had already discovered that he was a man who got his own way, by superior strength if necessary, and that it was a waste of time to argue. She shook off his hand. The touch of his fingers on her bare arm disturbed her. Oh, dear, if she had to battle with a man in the way of business, why couldn’t he have been as lacking in sex appeal to her as were the other men who had appeared in her life from time to time. Except Roger Ward, of course, and he had been married. She filled the two mugs again and followed Leon outside.

There was a white-painted table and chairs at the end of the terrace, where tendrils of vine hung down, making a kind of arbour. Josie thought she must get a similar table for her own end of the terrace.

Leon held out a chair for her politely and took the other one himself. ‘This is better. Now, let’s get things straight. My name is Kent—Leon Kent, practising architect. You seem to think you own the house next door. I am convinced that I am on the verge of becoming owner myself.’ His expression changed. There was no amusement in the strange grey eyes now. His mouth was hard as he added, almost under his breath, ‘And I mean to have it.’

Josie stared at him, and a wriggle of fear twisted in her stomach. She was going to have a fight on her hands, for she certainly wasn’t going to be bullied into parting with her house, not on any terms.

‘Why do you want the house anyway?’ he went on. ‘What do you propose to do with it?’

‘Live in it.’

‘Just as it is?’

‘Of course not. I intend to refurbish it to my own designs.’

‘You’re an interior designer?’

‘That’s what I want to be.’

He looked back at her, and his tone was reasonable now as he said, ‘Will you explain your claim to the house?’

Stormy hazel-green eyes looked straight into his. ‘I don’t have to answer that question. But as it’s such a simple answer I’ll tell you. It was left to me in my mother’s will. If you don’t believe me you can have it confirmed by my solicitor, Sebastian Cross of Lincoln’s Inn Fields. I have his phone number. Satisfied?’ she added defiantly.

He had been frowning as he listened. Now his frown deepened. ‘I must get in touch with my own solicitor before I answer that question,’ he said. ‘There’s something very funny going on and I mean to get to the bottom of it.’

Josie thought of her conversation with Uncle Seb and remembered uncomfortably that she, too, had wondered if there had been some mistake. She said, ‘May I ask the name of the person who promised to sell the house to you? Was it by any chance Charles Dunn?’

Dark brows rose. ‘Yes, it was, although I can’t imagine how you could have guessed. He’s an old colleague; I’ve worked with him for some time. You’re not suggesting that he has been conning me to get a better price for the house?’