London Broil Read Free Page B

casually as they dealt with the payment (she leaving an extra
     large tip for Babur).

 
    "I'd like that,"
     she said, thinking about the wine she had consumed. It was late,
     and she would be glad to have the company on the walk home. On
     the other hand, she thought, I have few inhibitions left. What
     if he asks to come in?

 
    As they left, he
     smoothly placed his hand at the small of her back, as though to
     guide her toward the door. On the street, he took her hand and
     tucked it under his arm, and they set off in the direction of
     her flat.

 
    "My wicked,
     wicked ways are not as degenerate as you think," he said. "One
     of the lasses you saw me with is my daughter Claire," --here he
     seemed to be trying to recall whom he might have brought to the
     restaurant-- "one works under me in the crime section of the Herald , and one is my
     ex-wife. She's now a DCS with the Metropolitan Police."

 
    She nodded, but
     said nothing as she absorbed this information. His daughter was
     perhaps the dark-haired young woman who held her wine glass by
     the bowl. The blonde with the chignon was certainly his ex-wife.
     What favor could he have been asking tonight? There had been
     scandals recently involving unsavory ties between journalists
     and the police in Britain. And his ex-wife was a DCS-- what rank
     in the police was that?

 
    They talked a bit
     about Claire, who was twenty, an aspiring journalist and one of
     a pair of twin girls. He seemed proud of her, though unsure
     whether he wanted her to take up crime reporting. "It can be
     dangerous," he said. "And journalists are less than popular
     here. In the States, you have a much higher opinion of them than
     we do." She silently agreed. In America, people still thought of
     Woodward and Bernstein, or Erin Brockovitch, when journalists
     were mentioned. But in Britain, one thought of phone hacking and
     poor dead Diana.

 
    They reached her
     door and paused, facing each other. She looked up at him, noting
     the fine, pelt-like texture of his dark hair, and feeling
     tempted to touch it. It was very short on the sides, and fuller
     at the top. He combed it straight back, but the breeze had
     ruffled it; in front a few strands had come loose and flopped
     down over his forehead. His lips were not full, but shapely, and
     during the dinner she had noticed that his teeth were good.
     Innocent of American-style orthodontia, but pleasing enough. He
     was looking down at her with a slight smile.

 
    "Laura."

 
    Slowly he bent
     down and kissed her gently on the cheek. He paused, and then
     moved his mouth to hers. They kissed tentatively, only their
     lips touching. The kiss ended and she put both hands on his
     chest, an intimate touch, yet one that kept him at a distance.
     She could feel his heartbeat.

 
    "Good night,
     James," she said, and walked up the steps and through the door.

 
    3.Aristotle and Artichokes

 
    Laura closed the
     door of her flat behind her and leaned against it, dropping her
     bag on the floor. She took a few deep breaths and put a hand to
     her chest as though to calm her own pounding heartbeat. It was
     fortunate that she had come inside when she did, because she
     wanted very much to sleep with James, and the fact was that she
     barely knew him. Walking home with him had not felt like walking
     home with a stranger. But he is a stranger to you, she told
     herself. Remember that. One with quite a few entanglements. At
     least he wasn't married, or so it seemed. Her gaze had lingered
     on his hands during the meal; they were largish and masculine,
     but with a certain sensitivity about them. His fingers were
     long, and ringless, as far as she could recall. She wondered
     where he was now and whether he might still be standing outside,
     perhaps smoking a cigarette. Her flat did not face the street,
     so she couldn't look out the window to see.

 
    She needed time
     to consider, and right now her head was too full of him,