‘I imagine you eventually persuaded him to see things your way.’
‘Of course,’ she said with a quick grin that drew his gaze to her mouth and for the briefest of moments stopped time.
‘You really enjoy what you do, don’t you?’
‘Very much.’
‘Why?’
‘I like solving problems and fixing things. I also love a challenge,’ she said with a pointed look in his direction, which was rather wasted, since he’d switched his attention to peeling a clove of garlic. ‘Do you like what you do?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did you get into fund management?’
‘I have a talent for numbers and a drive to make money,’ he said, then added, ‘You should be careful you don’t burn out.’
What was it to him? she wondered, as bewildered by his concern as she was by the rogue flood of warmth she felt in response to it. Why did he ca
re whether she burned out or not? And hadn’t they been talking about him in the first place?
Ah.
She saw what he was doing, she thought as the warmth fled and strangely cold realisation struck. He was trying to manipulate the conversation. Well, that was fine. At least she’d recognised it. And now she had, she could use it. This whole exercise was supposed to be about her extracting information from him, not vice versa, but perhaps things would move more efficiently if she went along with his plan. She need give away nothing of significance. She hadn’t so far and now she was on her guard, she wouldn’t. There’d be no more warmth stealing through her at anything he might say and there’d be no more grins, quick or otherwise.
‘And that’s why I’ve taken next week off,’ she said, taking a sip of her drink and noting a fraction more acidity than she had before.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I have no idea. Sleep probably. I haven’t had a break in months. I suppose I could learn to cook. I might even take up Italian. And, talking of languages, how come your English is so good?’
‘It’s the language of business and I have an ear for it.’
His reply was too quick and too smooth, and undoubtedly only partly the truth. ‘You understand nuance and inference and your accent is almost flawless. That’s quite an ear.’
‘Grazie,’ he said, taking a knife to the garlic and slicing it with impressive deftness.
‘Where were you raised?’
‘Mestre. Across the lagoon, on the mainland. You?’
‘On a series of communes in various corners of the UK.’
‘Not much opportunity for haute cuisine there, I imagine,’ he said with a smile that bounced off her defences.
‘None whatsoever. We mainly survived on lentils and vegetables.’
‘Siblings?’
‘No.’
‘Parents?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do they still live on a commune?’
‘Yes.’