Sally Wentworth - A Typical Male Read Free

manner. That alone would
have aroused her curiosity, but the fact that he was a published writer had
also intrigued her. And he fancied her, of course, but she'd realised that from
the first moment he'd spoken to her.
    That she
was attractive to men, Tasha knew; she had come to look on it as just one of
those things you were born with, like having red hair and being five feet eight
inches tall. But she had learned how to handle it, how to use it to her
advantage when she wanted to, and how to squash flat men she found boring. It
had also got her into a few tight corners when she was younger, experiences
she'd prefer to forget, but she had learned from them and now, at twenty-four,
was pretty confident of her ability to take care of herself.
    The music changed to a hotter
beat and they danced apart. She was pleased to find that Brett moved well, that
he danced as loosely as the surface impression he gave, but the alertness was
still there, as he proved when he caught her hand to pull her quickly out of
the way of a couple who'd drunk too much and were all wildly gyrating arms and
kicking legs. Keeping hold of her hand, he shouted in her ear, 'Why don't we
get out of this?'
    Tasha hesitated only briefly
before nodding. 'OK. But I want to say goodbye to Guy first.'
    They found him propped up
against the bar, literally propped up by a couple of friends as he looked in
danger of sliding to the floor. He gave them a huge grin as they came up. 'Tasha, my darling!' He pulled one arm free and put it round
her.
    'Thanks, Guy,
it's been a great party.'
    'You're not going? You can't go! It's
still early.'
    'I'm afraid so. Every success in Hong Kong, Guy. Don't lose too many
billions on the futures market, will you?'
    'No, I can't let you go.' A look
of great tragedy came into his face. 'I'm going to tell them I'm not going. I
can't leave all my friends like this.'
    'Nonsense,' Tasha soothed.
'You'll love it there. And we'll all come out and visit you. Or else you can
phone.'
    She managed to get away, but not
until Guy had kissed her with maudlin sentimentality. Brett shook his hand and
wished him well and then they made for the door. But when they reached it they
met up with half a dozen other people who were also leaving, friends of
Tasha's, who insisted they go along with them for something to eat. Brett would
have refused but Tasha cast a laughing glance at him and agreed at once. Piling
into a couple of taxis, they drove to a backstreet cafe, a place of metal
tables, wooden floor and condensation running down the windows. 'Have the
all-day breakfast,' Tasha urged him.
    'It's three o'clock in the
morning,' Brett pointed out.
    'So what
better time to have it? You'll be ahead of yourself. Go on, the food
here is fantastic.'
    They ordered and pushed a couple
of tables together, drank beer with their bacon and eggs and sausages, which
were, Brett had to admit, excellent. There were other customers in the cafe:
taxi drivers having a break, workers from the nearby mainline station and a
couple of nurses from the private hospital down the street. One of the latter
asked Tasha for the salt cellar and she passed it over with a sympathetic
smile, saying, 'You poor things, you look worn out. Have you just finished
work?'
    'Yes. Ten hours we've been on.'
    'Really?
Surely you shouldn't have to work that long?'
    'We do if we want to keep our jobs.'
    Tasha started chatting to them, then moved over to sit at their table, Brett and the others
forgotten.
    'She's always doing that,' one
of her friends explained to Brett.
    He nodded, unworried. Soon they would
leave and then he would get her alone. He watched her with a slightly amused
look in his eyes. She was a good listener and the nurses were really opening up
to her as she smiled and nodded in sympathy, asked a question or gave a
horrified gasp at an answer. Watching the play of emotions in her face, he
became fascinated all over again. He was reminded of an old song, something
about falling in love