Sara Craven - The Virgin's Wedding Night

The dark eyes glinted at her. ‘Wasn’t that the idea?’

‘Yes, of course. Please sit down.’ She sounded as if she was conducting a job interview, but maybe that was the correct note to use, she thought as she resumed her own seat. ‘I’ve been trying to order tea, but—’

She broke off as he lifted a languid hand, and two waiters came running, as if all they’d been waiting for was his signal.

‘The lady would like tea. Coffee for me, please.’

Harriet, bewildered and pardonably annoyed, watched the deference with which his instructions were received.

‘How did you manage that?’ she asked.

‘It wasn’t difficult.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Do you wish to begin our discussion now, or shall we talk about the weather until we have been served?’

‘Now would be best, perhaps,’ she said stiffly. ‘You must be wondering why I asked for this meeting.’

His brows lifted sardonically. ‘I am breathless with curiosity.’

Harriet bit her lip—hard, then addressed herself to the prepared script. ‘First of all,’ she said, ‘I need to apologise for my behaviour at our last meeting. I can only say that I’ve been under a great deal of pressure lately, and your sketch of me was…’

‘The last straw?’ he supplied helpfully as she hesitated.

‘Well, yes,’ she agreed. Although unforgivable was what I really had in mind. ‘I want you to know that I don’t usually lose my temper in such a way.’

‘Reassuring,’ he said. ‘But did you bring me all the way across London just to tell me that?’

‘No, of course not.’ She swallowed. ‘I really want to talk about your work. You see, I wasn’t pretending when I said it was good, and I—I’ve mentioned it to an acquaintance of mine, who owns quite a well-known gallery—the Parsifal. You may have heard of it.’

‘Yes.’ The monosyllable gave nothing away.

Harriet ploughed on. ‘Anyway there’s a chance—if he also thinks you’re good—that he might stage an exhibition for you. Get you launched.’

At which point, the waiters returned. Plates of tiny finger sandwiches, scones, and cakes oozing cream were placed on the table, along with tea for Harriet, and a pot of coffee served black for her companion.

When they were finally alone again, she said, ‘You do realise what could be on offer here. Haven’t you—anything to say?’

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