‘That might explain why you smell sensational. The scent of you, I’ve been drinking it in ever since you opened the door.’

‘You have? It’s probably the roses, then.’

‘The roses? Let me see, now.’ He bent closer, putting his nose near, but not quite touching, her neck. ‘Nope.’ His eyes were full of merriment. Seen close-to, flecks of gold gleamed in the brown irises. ‘Definitely not the roses,’ he said, his voice deadpan. As he straightened, he reached out and picked a swatch of hair off her neck and laid it over her shoulder. ‘Do I have an answer yet?’

‘Still thinking.’ Esther shivered. The shifting of her hair had caused a rush of goosebumps.

From nowhere, Chico appeared, taking a flying leap onto the piano stool, making them both jump. ‘Now we have company.’ Marcus laughed, reaching down to stroke the cat, who arched his back with pleasure. ‘A gooseberry who wants a ringside seat, and you apparently do not like an audience. Houston, we have a problem.’

‘Whereas you love an audience,’ Esther murmured, unable to stop herself reaching out to trace a finger along the firm line of jaw where a shadow of stubble was darkening.

‘It is true, an audience brings me to life.’ He seemed to shudder slightly at her touch. ‘To kiss, or not to kiss.’ His voice had turned slightly hoarse. ‘That is the question. I am going to have to hurry you for an answer, Esther.’

‘Are you?’ She moved her fingers up into the short thick hair. ‘I am still weighing up the pros and cons, but on balance…’ The sentence found no completion because Marcus chose the moment to place his mouth over hers. There was such gentleness in the contact, but also an intense sense of energy being contained, of holding back. He is an actor, and this could be a film, Esther thought, trying to contain some of her own eagerness, and then giving up.

FRIENDS & LOVERS

28

The crumble was made with home-grown rhubarb, Catherine explained, licking her fingers as she spooned the glistening soft, pink filling and thick chunks of golden-brown topping into the six bowls stacked in front of her. Ralph performed exaggerated sniffs and croons of pleasure at the sight, making his three children, their small round faces speckled with the tail-end of the chicken pox responsible for keeping them off school, erupt into giggles. Handed his portion first, Lucas allowed the sweet aroma of the dessert to drift across his face, smelling nothing. He sipped his water, wishing it were wine. On the mat behind it sat two sturdy jugs, one of cream and one of custard, surrounded by various spillages from the previous course – a lamb stew, served with fat broccoli spears, carrots and mashed sweet potato, whisked into peaks. Lucas had eaten steadily, mechanically, tasting nothing, issuing repeated stock phrases of thanks.