Sally Wentworth - A Typical Male Read Free Page B

chugged downstream towards the estuary and
the sea, with a black cat that sat on the stern, washing its fur, completely at
home on the water. It made Tasha smile and she suddenly felt good. The cat, the
morning sun, and Brett—yes, she had to admit he made her feel pretty good, too.
He certainly looked good, leaning back like that, his hands in his trouser
pockets, the material stretched tight across his hips. Her throat felt dry for
a moment and she quickly lifted her eyes to his face. And she liked the firm
set of his jaw, its square determination, his
lazy-lidded eyes. But could she trust him as he'd said?
    Tasha was a creature of instinct,
although instinct had proved to be wrong in the past and she'd learned not to
trust it. But, impulsively, she did so now, saying slowly, 'Do you ever feel
that life is like a long corridor—a corridor of closed doors?'
    'Is that
how you feel?'
    She nodded. 'Sometimes the doors
are opened for you; sometimes you open them yourself.'
    'And when you go through them?'
Brett asked, his eyes fixed intently on her face.
    She gave a small shrug.
'Sometimes it's bright and sunlit and you're glad you opened the door. But
sometimes it's dark and cold.' She was silent for a moment, lost in thought,
lost in past memories, then she looked up at him.
'After you've opened those kinds of doors it makes you more careful. Instead of
opening every door you choose to walk past some of them, leave them closed.'
    He came to sit beside her, put
his hand on the back of the seat as he faced her. Softly he said, 'But how do
you know which ones to open and which to leave closed?'
    'You don't; that's just the
trouble.' For a moment her beautiful eyes became very vulnerable. 'That's why
you're always afraid.'
    'Of what?'
    'Of not opening the door that
might lead you to—' She stopped abruptly.
    Instead of pushing her to tell
him, he said gently, 'To the ultimate door?' She didn't answer so he guessed. 'The one that leads to happiness for the rest of your life?'
    Entranced that he had read her
mind, Tasha gave him the most wonderful smile. 'Yes, the one that leads to
paradise,' she said simply.
    He was astonished that she'd
chosen that word, that she still believed that there could be such a place. He
saw that she was, at heart, still an innocent, still a believer in perfect
happiness, even though she'd hinted at a knowledge of
the darker side of life. This new perception of her—and that smile—caught at
his heart.
    She saw the astonishment in his
face and looked away. As if she regretted having confided in him, Tasha suddenly
got to her feet and began to walk along at a brisk pace. Thinking that she was
upset, Brett quickly caught her up. But she smiled at him and said, 'I just
looked at Big Ben and saw the time. It's nearly six. I must find a cab.'
    He wondered if that was just an
excuse; she'd seemed in no hurry before. But he said, 'We'll get one in
Trafalgar Square.'
    Five minutes later they picked
one up, the driver on his way home after working all night. 'Where do you
live?' Brett asked her.
    'In
Bloomsbury. Within spitting distance of the British
Museum.'
    'Handy for
research.'
    Tasha got in the cab and Brett
went to follow her, but she said, 'Look, you really don't have to—'
    But he
said, 'Don't be silly,' and got in beside her.
    In the taxi they talked about
Guy, Brett telling her some amusing anecdotes about him from the time they were
at university together. He spoke entertainingly but without doing Guy down,
which she liked; she got annoyed if people were cruel just to get a laugh at a
story. But Brett spoke quite naturally, there was nothing forced or over the
top. He didn't put on an act, and he seemed to get as much enjoyment out of
remembering the incidents as she did from hearing them. He was obviously fond
of Guy and didn't mind her seeing it, and she liked that too.
    Tasha began to wonder about him,
about his background, if he was very experienced with women. Somehow she
thought he would