“You’re quiet,” Vanessa murmured, cutting into his thoughts. “Is something wrong?” She sounded worried.

He shook himself. “No, not at all. I’m just a little baffled, though, and perhaps you could enlighten me.”

“Of course I will; tell me why you’re baffled.”

“I wager you’d seen me here several times in the past, had tried to get through the usual crowd of people in order to properly meet me. I’m right, am I not?”

“You’re right. But you were always surrounded.”

His mouth twitched, he wanted to laugh, but he held it back. “Why did you want to meet me?”

“Because … because … well, I … er … just did. After all, you’re very good-looking, and charming and … er…” Her voice trailed off, and she felt herself blushing. He had put her in a spot.

She was suddenly afraid to continue. To hide her embarrassment she sat down in a garden chair and looked up at the sky, still light on this summer’s evening.

He remained standing, leaning nonchalantly against the old oak tree, the flute of champagne in one hand, his cigarette in the other. Regarding her for a few moments, an unreadable look on his face, he finally said, “I think you wanted to meet me properly, as you call it, because you were attracted to me.”

When she remained silent, he said in an even gentler voice, “I want you to know I am attracted to you, Vanessa, very much so.”

She gaped at him.

He put the champagne flute on the garden table and stubbed out his cigarette, took several steps over to her, offering his hands to her.

She took them and he pulled her to her feet, brought her into his arms and held her close. She was trembling as she clung to him, and he himself was shaking inside.

After a while, he released her, and looked at her face, his eyes roaming over it. He lifted a hand and stroked her cheek, then said, “Let’s sit down. We have to talk.”

She did as he said, looked across the table at him and murmured in a low voice, “It’s not going to be so easy, is it?”

“You’re obviously very intelligent, and you are correct. It won’t be easy if, and I say if, we did start … an affair. In fact, it presents many problems.”

“I can handle it,” she replied in a low voice, still shaking inside.

“I’m a lot older than you—”

Interrupting him, she said, “I know your age. You’re thirty-nine.”

“And you? How old are you, actually? Twenty-three, twenty-four?” He raised a dark brow.

“I’m twenty-two. You are seventeen years older than me, Robert, but you don’t look it. And I don’t care. Numbers are just that. Numbers. They don’t matter.”