The Wall (16 page)

study, if you're so inclined.' He nodded at her encouragingly.

Her expression was wry. 'No, thank you. I've had enough excitement

to last me for a few weeks, I think. Tell me something else.'

'Unfair, unfair,' she was told mildly. 'You tell me something about

yourself, or I'm a clam.'

She rubbed her eyes with a thumb and forefinger. 'Let me see. I'm a

sucker for a man in a three-piece, navy blue pin-stripe suit. Your

turn.'

Greg raised his eyes to the ceiling and rolled them around, then

wagged a finger at her. 'Not good enough, missy. Try again.'

She chuckled delightedly and reached for the wine bottle to top her

glass off. 'You'll have to give me a moment. What exactly are you

looking for? Do you want a deep, soul-wrenching confession? ... I

thought so, you horror. . . How's this, when I was nine years old, I

stole my mother's car keys and had a wreck.'

He looked immensely fascinated. 'You've got to be kidding. No?

Were you hurt?'

'I've got a scar on my elbow,' she told him blandly, and rolled up her

sleeve to show him. It was on her left arm and curved around the

bone. 'I stuck it through the side window when I hit the tree. Mother

came running out of the house while I was backing up, and she was

screeching like a diesel train, and her mouth was wide open. It

impressed me so much I forgot to watch the rear view mirror and I

ran over a fire hydrant and then into an oak tree. Bet you the tree is

still bent, too.' She grinned as he roared with laughter. 'Of course,'

she confessed with a trace of embarrassment, 'I probably would have

run into the fire hydrant and the tree anyway, because I only knew

how to work the car in reverse. I hadn't learned yet that there was

such a thing as a gear shift involved . .. Your turn.'

Greg had to take a minute to calm down. The bottle of wine was

nearly gone and he poured the rest into their glasses equally while he

pondered the subject deeply. 'I don't know. Don't throw that at me,

I'm thinking! I'm thinking! Okay, here it is: in grade school I put

putty in the front door locks of all the houses in my neighbourhood.

Yes, seriously! I was grounded for a month, and had to write a letter

of apology to everyone. My father wouldn't let me photocopy a form

letter. It took me for ever.'

Sara concentrated on getting her breath back and wiping up the wine

that she had spluttered ail over me table. Her face was flushed from

coughing and laughing at the same time. 'And you were the favourite

on the block, right?'

'Well, I had to learn to run pretty fast,' he admitted adroitly. He

drained his glass and stood. 'Finished with that, yet? I'll take the

glass. How about coffee and some cheese and crackers now?' At her

affirmative, he pulled out the cheese from the refrigerator and the

crackers from the cupboard. She watched while he sliced the cheese.

'I'm curious, Greg. How did they know who did it? Put the stuff in

the locks, I mean. Were- you caught in the middle of the act?' She

spooned coffee into the maker and switched the button. Her nose

wrinkled at the aromatic smell of new coffee making and fresh

pungent cheese, and she perched on her chair with a cracker in her

mouth.

His lips twisted wryly. 'No, I wasn't caught, I was too good for that. I

opened my big mouth and confessed. I'd done it on a dare .. . what

did you think, that I cooked up the zany idea on my own? Here, open

your mouth—like that cheese? I worried myself sick for about a

week or so and finally broke down and blurted the whole story out,

conscience-stricken villain that I was.'

Her eyes regarded him smilingly. 'And you felt better, I'll bet. 'Fess

up, you did, didn't you?'

His mouth twitched in self-mockery. 'I felt worse, especially when

my parents raided my piggy bank for money to pay for the locks that

were ruined, but at least I started to keep my food down after meals

and sleep nights.'

The coffee was done and soon poured. They both duly sipped and

savoured the hot brew, swapping stories and looking into each other's

eyes. The truth of the matter was that Sara never really tasted her

coffee, and barely paid attention to the cheese and crackers she

consumed. Her mind was focussed on the man opposite her, drinking

in every one of his mannerisms. She watched his hands gesture out in

emphatic thrusting movements when he got involved in a subject.

She loved the understanding look in his eyes when she confessed her

childhood isolation, and her loneliness when her mother died. She

delighted in his laughter and she revelled in his sense of humour.

Finally, though, she was forced to call an end to their late-night

conversation when she found herself yawning more than she was

talking. Her eyelids drooped and her head felt fuzzy. She was so tired

that she felt not the least embarrassment or self-consciousness when

Greg walked her up the stairs, his arm around her waist. It was what

she had wanted anyway, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. She

had stiffened up while they had sat talking, and her muscles ached

badly. 'I suspect,' she groaned to him; 'that I might have broken

something when I tripped and fell last night.' At his swift look of

concern, laughter bubbled up and overflowed when she gurgled,

'Maybe we'd better go to the beach and see if I really did break

something!'

He rubbed her cheek in a way that was becoming endearingly

familiar to her. 'You're very, very tired, I think. I hadn't realised that

you fell last night, although I should have guessed at the amount of

bruises you had when I tucked you in bed . . . Sara?' She lifted her

head with an effort to look at him. They were at her bedroom

doorway, and he reached around the wall corner to turn the light on

for her. 'Beowulf will sleep on the rug by your bed, and I'm just in the

next room. If you feel you need to, leave your door open, and I'll

leave mine open too. Call me if you're worried, hmm?'

She sighed, nodding, and with a swift kiss on her lips that was quite

brotherly and yet at the same time left her tingling, he was gone. She

barely went through the motions of brushing her teeth, and pulled on

her nightgown carelessly, crawling between the sheets in record time.

She had left the door open, and she fell asleep with her hand dropped

down on Beowulf's silky head. She was not alone in the house. Just

the knowledge that there was someone breathing, sleeping, caring

nearby made a wealth of difference to her peace of mind. She felt

secure.

The dog's whine had her rolling over to bury her head in a warm soft

pillow. The masculine chuckle had her lifting her head and opening

her eyes. The smell of coffee had her turning over and sitting-up. The

sight that met her sleep-blurred eyes had her giggling insanely.

Greg, wryly smiling, approached the bed with a balanced cup of

coffee in one hand. He was very correct and quite handsome in his

pin-striped navy blue suit, with a crisp white shirt on underneath. She

took in at a glance the expensive cut that emphasized broad

shoulders, graceful body movements and long muscular legs. His hair

was brushed and still wet from a recent shower, and it lay sleekly

against his well-shaped head, making his jawline seem more

prominent. He concentrated on setting the cup and saucer down

gently, then he too sat on the edge of her bed.

He told her, running an appreciative eye down her slim neck and

shoulders, 'You look all ruffled, like a little bird caught the wrong

way in a strong wind. Are you always this cheerful in the mornings?'

Sara tried to control her mirth. 'It's just that you're wearing a pin-

striped suit,' she attempted an explanation. 'It struck me as funny

somehow.'

He looked down at himself and appeared to start. 'Good heavens, so I

am!' Then he chuckled deeply as she endeavoured to hit him with her

pillow. He fended it off easily with an agile twist of the wrist. 'I have

to go to town for a while today. Will you be all right on your own, or

would you possibly like to come with me? If you'd like to come,

you'll have to hurry, I'm afraid.'

She relaxed against the headboard of the bed. 'I thought you put the

suit on as a joke,' she confessed with a grin, 'after what I said.'

'I did,' he told her. 'You don't think it was sheer coincidence, that of

all my suits I would pick this one, do you?'

She had to giggle. 'I wasn't sure.'

He looked at his wrist watch, and the movement made her look at it

too, but she found herself looking at the strong corded wrist instead.

Dark hairs curled around the gold band. 'I'm going to have to leave

soon. Did you want to come along?'

'Where were you going, Three Oaks?'

'No, I was going to travel farther south to Niles.'

Sara thought for a moment. 'I think I'll just stay here with Beowulf.'

She dropped her hand over the side of the bed and patted the dog's

head affectionately, and he thumped the floor in response. Greg

looked at the two of them wryly.

'Why do I get the impression that I've lost my dog for ever?' He

touched her face gently. 'I'm going to leave, then. Make yourself at

home. I should be back in about three hours.'

He was gone, and silence settled over the house like a mantle. All

Sara could hear was the sound of her own breathing, the tick of the

bedside clock, and an occasional sigh from the dog on the floor.

Sunlight flooded through her window. It was deceptively bright,

tempting her to throw open the window and bask in the warmth, but

she knew that if she were to open it, all she would get would be a

chilly blast in the face, so she opted for a shower instead.

She thoughtfully soaped her back and shoulders as she considered the

affectionate side of Greg that she had recently seen so much of.

Granted, she had been in need of some human understanding and

support lately, but she was still a little taken aback at how Greg had

responded so positively, with such affirmation. It was another

apparent contradiction in the man. He definitely puzzled her. First of

all he seemed to make a sweeping rejection of all strangers, and then

he had accepted her—no, even more than that. He had actually

invited her to come back to his land, and then into his house. An act

of hospitality from an apparently hostile man. Then, too, his

compassion and understanding friendship were at odds with the wall-

that she had sensed in him, the repelling of all observances, his self-

imposed isolation. She sensed loyalty and integrity in the man, and

an inborn instinct of caring for others. He was like a mathematical

sum that didn't quite add up, no matter how she manipulated the

numbers. He was a puzzle with missing jigsaw pieces. Why did he

seem to accept her, of all people, a total stranger? She felt the need to

find out.

She was too afraid to find out.

She dressed in a skirt with a low hem for a change, instinctively

cloaking herself in her own femininity as she did every time she was

unsure of herself. It was a deep red cotton skirt with a flounce at the

bottom, and she wore a pretty white blouse with ruffles at the neck

and wrists. Then she carefully applied eye make-up, enhancing her

strong, arched brows and deepening the hollow under her brow-bone

to make her eyes appear huge. Then with a quick glance around her

room at the mild chaos, she soon had the bed tidied and her clothes

put away. She dusted too, as an afterthought.

Deciding to skip breakfast, she went for a tour of the house, restless,

anxious for something to keep her hands busy. Finding some

cleaning materials in the downstairs closet, she looked wryly down at

her red skirt, mentally shrugged her shoulders, and lightly dusted

through the downstairs, whirling swiftly through the rooms. She

straightened the den, washed the few dishes in the sink, and

eventually found herself drawn to the closed door that opened to

Greg's office.

She peeped in, as hesitant as she would have been if he were really

there, and nearly turned around to leave again. It was as if she were

violating the man himself by coming into his room like this, but she