Within minutes she was utterly absorbed, her whole being focussed only on her work, and the rest of the world disappeared from sight.
* * *
‘So,’ said Bastiaan, keeping his voice studiedly casual, ‘you want to start drawing on your fund, is that it?’
The two of them were sitting outside on the shaded terrace outside the villa’s dining room. They’d eaten lunch out there and now Bastiaan was drinking coffee, relaxed back in his chair.
Or rather he appeared to be relaxed. Internally, however, he was on high alert. His young cousin had just raised the subject of his approaching birthday, and asked whether Bastiaan would start to relax the reins now. Warning bells were sounding.
Across the table from him, Philip shifted position. ‘It’s not going to be a problem, is it?’ he said.
He spoke with insouciance, but Bastiaan wasn’t fooled. His level of alertness increased. Philip was being evasive.
‘It depends.’ He kept his voice casual. ‘What is it you want to spend the money on?’
Philip glanced away, out over the gardens towards the swimming pool. He fiddled with his coffee spoon some more, then looked back at Bastiaan. ‘Is it such a big deal, knowing what I want the money for? I mean, it’s my money...’
‘Yes,’ allowed Bastiaan. ‘But until your birthday I... I guard it for you.’
Philip frowned. ‘For me or from me?’ he said.
There was a tightness in his voice that was new to Bastiaan. Almost a challenge. His level of alertness went up yet another notch.
‘It might be the same thing,’ he said. His voice was even drier now. Deliberately he took a mouthful of black coffee, replaced the cup with a click on its saucer and looked straight at Philip. ‘A fool and his money...’ He trailed off deliberately.
He saw his cousin’s colour heighten. ‘I’m not a fool!’ he riposted.
‘No,’ agreed Bastiaan, ‘you’re not. But—’ he held up his hand ‘—you could, all the same, be made a fool of.’
His dark eyes rested on his cousin. Into his head sprang the image of that chanteuse in the nightclub again—pooled in light, her dress clinging, outlining her body like a second skin, her tones low and husky...alluring...
He snapped his mind away, using more effort than he was happy about. Got his focus back on Philip—not on the siren who was endangering him. As for his tentative attempt to start accessing his trust fund—well, he’d made his point, and now it was time to lighten up.
‘So just remember...’ he let humour into his voice now ‘...when you turn twenty-one you’re going to find yourself very, very popular—cash registers will start ringing all around you.’
He saw Philip swallow.
‘I do know that...’ he said.
He didn’t say it defiantly, and Bastiaan was glad.
‘I really won’t be a total idiot, Bast—and...and I’m not ungrateful for your warning. I know—’ Bastiaan could hear there was a crack in his voice. ‘I know you’re keeping an eye on me because...well, because...’
‘Because it’s what your father would have expected—and what your mother wants,’ Bastiaan put in. The humour was gone now. He spoke with only sober sympathy for his grieving cousin and his aunt. He paused. ‘She worries about you—you’re her only son.’
Philip gave a sad smile. ‘Yes, I know,’ he said. ‘But Bast, please—do reassure her that she truly doesn’t need to worry so much.’
‘I’ll do that if I can,’ Bastiaan said. Then, wanting to change the subject completely, he said, ‘So, where do you fancy for dinner tonight?’
As he spoke he thought of Le Tombleur. Thought of the rejection he’d had the night before. Unconsciously, his face tightened. Then, as Philip answered, it tightened even more.
‘Oh, Bast—I’m sorry—I can’t. Not tonight.’
Bastiaan allowed himself a glance. Then, ‘Hot date?’ he enquired casually.
Colour ran along his cousin’s cheekbones. ‘Sort of...’ he said.
‘Sort of hot? Or sort of a date?’ Bastiaan kept his probing light. But his mood was not light at all. He’d wondered last night at the club, when he’d checked out the chanteuse himself, whether he might see Philip there as well. But there’d been no sign of him and he’d been relieved. Maybe things weren’t as bad as he feared. But now—