September (1990) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Rosamunde Pilcher
damn her eyes, she was right. The days had run into each other, and somewhere he had lost track of them. He felt shamefully foolish, and because of this he instantly began to come up with excuses for his own stupidity.
"I've been working. Flying. I've been in New York. Got back this morning. Jet lag does ghastly things to your brain."
She made a sympathetic face. Her dog smelled at his trousers . A nd he moved aside, not wishing to be peed upon. Her hair in the evening sunlight was astonishing. She had grey eyes flecked with green and milkmaid skin, bloomy as a peach.
Somewhere. But where?
He frowned. "Have we met before?"
She smiled. "Well, yes, actually. About six months ago. At the Hathaways' cocktail party, in Lincoln Street. But there were about a million people there, so there's no reason why you should remember."
No, he wouldn't remember. Because she was not the sort of girl that he would register, would want to stay with, or even talk to. Besides, he had gone to that party with Vanessa, and spent most of his time trying to keep track of her, and stop her from finding some other man to have dinner with.
He said, "How extraordinary. I am sorry. And how clever of you to remember me."
"Actually, there was another time." His heart sank, fearing to be faced with yet another social gaffe. "You're with Wenborn and Weinburg, aren't you? I cooked a directors' lunch for them about six weeks ago. But you wouldn't even have noticed, because I was wearing a white overall, and handing round plates. Nobody ever looks at cooks and waitresses. It's a funny feeling, as though you are invisible."
He realized that this was true. By now feeling more friendly towards her, he asked her name.
"Alexa Aird."
"I'm Noel Keeling."
"I know. I remembered from the Hathaways' party, and then for the lunch, I had to do a placement, and write names on cards."
Noel cast his mind back to that particular day and recalled in satisfying detail the meal she had produced. Smoked salmon, a perfectly grilled fillet steak, watercress salad, and a lemon sorbet. The very thought of these delights caused his mouth to water. Which reminded him that he was ravenously hungry.
"Who do you work for?"
"Myself. I'm free-lance." She said this quite proudly. Noel hoped that she was not about to embark upon the history of her career. He did not feel strong enough to stand and listen. He needed food, but, more importantly, he needed a drink. He must make some excuse, take his leave, and be rid of her. He opened his mouth to do this, but she spoke first.
"I suppose you wouldn't like to come and have a drink with me?"
The invitation was so unexpected that he did not immediately reply. He looked at her and met her anxious gaze, and realized that she was, in fact, extremely shy, and to come out with such a suggestion had caused her some courageous effort. As well, he found himself uncertain as to whether she was inviting him to the nearest pub or to some grotty attic pad filled with cohabiting colleagues, one of whom would doubtless just have finished washing her hair.
No point in committing himself. He was cautious. "Where?"
"I live two doors down from the Penningtons. And you look as though you could do with a drink."
He stopped being cautious. "I do."
"There's nothing worse than arriving in the wrong place at the wrong time, and knowing that it's all your own fault."
Which could have been more tactfully put. But she was kind. "You're very kind." He made up his mind. "I'd like that very much."
Chapter 3
The house was identical to the Penningtons', except that the front door was not black, but dark blue, and a bay tree stood in a tub beside it. She went ahead of him, opened it with her key, and he followed her indoors. She shut the door behind them and then stooped to unfasten the little dog's lead. The dog instantly went to drink copiously from a round dish that stood, handily, near the foot of the stairs. The dish had dog written on it.
She said, "He
"I've been working. Flying. I've been in New York. Got back this morning. Jet lag does ghastly things to your brain."
She made a sympathetic face. Her dog smelled at his trousers . A nd he moved aside, not wishing to be peed upon. Her hair in the evening sunlight was astonishing. She had grey eyes flecked with green and milkmaid skin, bloomy as a peach.
Somewhere. But where?
He frowned. "Have we met before?"
She smiled. "Well, yes, actually. About six months ago. At the Hathaways' cocktail party, in Lincoln Street. But there were about a million people there, so there's no reason why you should remember."
No, he wouldn't remember. Because she was not the sort of girl that he would register, would want to stay with, or even talk to. Besides, he had gone to that party with Vanessa, and spent most of his time trying to keep track of her, and stop her from finding some other man to have dinner with.
He said, "How extraordinary. I am sorry. And how clever of you to remember me."
"Actually, there was another time." His heart sank, fearing to be faced with yet another social gaffe. "You're with Wenborn and Weinburg, aren't you? I cooked a directors' lunch for them about six weeks ago. But you wouldn't even have noticed, because I was wearing a white overall, and handing round plates. Nobody ever looks at cooks and waitresses. It's a funny feeling, as though you are invisible."
He realized that this was true. By now feeling more friendly towards her, he asked her name.
"Alexa Aird."
"I'm Noel Keeling."
"I know. I remembered from the Hathaways' party, and then for the lunch, I had to do a placement, and write names on cards."
Noel cast his mind back to that particular day and recalled in satisfying detail the meal she had produced. Smoked salmon, a perfectly grilled fillet steak, watercress salad, and a lemon sorbet. The very thought of these delights caused his mouth to water. Which reminded him that he was ravenously hungry.
"Who do you work for?"
"Myself. I'm free-lance." She said this quite proudly. Noel hoped that she was not about to embark upon the history of her career. He did not feel strong enough to stand and listen. He needed food, but, more importantly, he needed a drink. He must make some excuse, take his leave, and be rid of her. He opened his mouth to do this, but she spoke first.
"I suppose you wouldn't like to come and have a drink with me?"
The invitation was so unexpected that he did not immediately reply. He looked at her and met her anxious gaze, and realized that she was, in fact, extremely shy, and to come out with such a suggestion had caused her some courageous effort. As well, he found himself uncertain as to whether she was inviting him to the nearest pub or to some grotty attic pad filled with cohabiting colleagues, one of whom would doubtless just have finished washing her hair.
No point in committing himself. He was cautious. "Where?"
"I live two doors down from the Penningtons. And you look as though you could do with a drink."
He stopped being cautious. "I do."
"There's nothing worse than arriving in the wrong place at the wrong time, and knowing that it's all your own fault."
Which could have been more tactfully put. But she was kind. "You're very kind." He made up his mind. "I'd like that very much."
Chapter 3
The house was identical to the Penningtons', except that the front door was not black, but dark blue, and a bay tree stood in a tub beside it. She went ahead of him, opened it with her key, and he followed her indoors. She shut the door behind them and then stooped to unfasten the little dog's lead. The dog instantly went to drink copiously from a round dish that stood, handily, near the foot of the stairs. The dish had dog written on it.
She said, "He
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