“Damage? Damage?” shrilled the chef. “It took me an hour to get it perfect. Do you really think that you can-?”
“I never think,” Dottie said penitently. “Oh, I'm so sorry. How could you ever forgive me?”
She'd risen from the table and taken the chef's hands in hers, smiling up into his eyes. He was a foot taller, so that Randolph was able to see straight over Dottie's head, and observe the precise effect she was having on the man. From avenging angel to trembling jelly in three seconds flat, he thought in admiration. The chef was almost burbling, assuring her that there would be no further trouble, she wasn't to worry herself…
“That was very clever,” he said when they were alone again. “How long did it take you to perfect it?”
“Hey, c'mon, I wasn't being cynical.” Her tone suggested a crime.
“Be fair. You were just boasting about how you could reduce Mike to a quivering wreck any time you liked-”
“I was not boasting,” she said firmly. “Mike loves me, which is why it works.”
“With him, maybe, but what about the others? 'A smile usually does it,' is what you said. You knew exactly what you were up to just then, Dottie.”
“Oh well.” She gave a wicked chuckle. “I didn't do badly, did I?”
“No, they're not even going to charge for the 'masterpiece' you ruined. One flash of your eyes and he buckled at the knees.”
“But that's not being cynical,” she said earnestly. “That's being nice to people. I did spoil his master piece, so I just said sorry and…and…that's all there was to it.”
She meant it, he realized. Dottie might talk about playing off her tricks, but the truth was she preferred being nice to people. The smile sprang from her kindness and honesty, which was why it was dynamite.
Encouraged by Randolph, Dottie chatted about her family, which seemed almost nonexistent. Neither her parents nor her grandparents were still alive, and he gathered that she'd been alone since she was sixteen. She told this part of the tale without conscious pathos. She'd fended for herself and survived with her humor intact. No big deal.
She knew how to tell a funny story, and a woman who could do that had never been part of Randolph's experience. All the strains and tensions of his life seemed to fall away as he rocked with laughter at her description of her grandmother coping with her grandfather's numerous flirtations.
“'Course she knew he loved her really, and she loved him, but she was always chucking pans at him, and if she really thought he'd blotted his copybook she'd be after him like a ferret up a drainpipe.”
“Pardon me?” he said, startled. “Ferret? Drainpipe?” These too, were outside his experience.
“Sorry. Don't suppose you've ever seen a ferret, have you?”
“No,” he said thankfully.
“Grandpa wanted to keep some, as pets, but Grandma said over her dead body, and he said not to tempt him.”
She finished the meal with an exotic ice cream and another glass of wine.
“It's my third,” she said guiltily. “Ought I?”
“Wine as good as this can be drunk safely,” he assured her. “And I promise you're quite safe with me.”
“No funny business?”
“No funny business.”
The word, “pity,” flitted through her head and was gone before she could be sure it had ever been there. The man across the table was regarding her with kindly amusement. His eyes were warm and suddenly she felt as though the two of them were the only people left in the world. She wondered why she hadn't realized before just how handsome he was.
She seemed to see him more clearly than before, and it occurred to her that he was two different men. He had the body of an athlete, broad shouldered, tall and powerful, as though his whole frame had been made hard and taut by a life in the outdoors. His hands were a rare combination of size and grace, as though he could hold anything in them, with no appearance of effort.
Yet his face told a different story. It was lean, almost austere, with fine features and dark, expressive eyes: the face of a thinker, a scholar, perhaps a poet. This was something Dottie had never seen in her life before, yet she recognized it at once, and felt a faint stir of response.
Then she laughed at herself. What could she do with a man like this? A man she couldn't read.
“Are you a soldier?” she asked impulsively.
“Why do you ask?”
“Just…something about you,” she said helplessly. Life in a family with a small vocabulary hadn't left her equipped for this. ventured
“I did a stint in the army,” he said truthfully. It had been part of his training.
“But not anymore? I mean, you didn't want to make a career of it?”
“No, but it's not impossible that I might return,” he said with a wry grimace. She made no answer and he saw a vague look in her eyes, as though she had gone into a trance. “Dottie?”
She came back to earth. She'd been watching his mouth, the way the lips moved against each other as he spoke, or used them expressively.
“Yes?”
“What were you thinking?”
“That this is the best night out I've ever had.”
“Doesn't Mike take you out?”
“Yes, we go dog racing sometimes. It's great.”
“What do you want, Dottie?” he asked suddenly. “I mean, out of life.”
“But you know what I want. I'm going to marry Mike and we're going to have the garage.”
“And live happily ever after,” he finished wryly. “Nothing else?”
“Lots of kids.”
“But don't you ever want to soar into the heavens?”
“In an airplane? With me it was always boats.”
“How do you mean?”
“Grandpa used to take me to see the River Thames. I loved it. I watched the boats and thought about faraway places.” She glanced through the window to where the river flowed, shining under the shore lights and those from the occasional boat.
“Why don't you show me?” Randolph suggested, signaling to the waiter.
In minutes they were outside, making their way toward the water. It was quiet along the embankment, and they could hear the soft lap of the water. For a while Dottie had nothing to say, until at last she rested her arms against the stone ledge overlooking the river with a sigh of deep contentment.
“I didn't really mean soaring in an airplane, Dottie,” Randolph said, taking up the thread of their previous conversation. “I meant, inside you.”
“People don't soar in Wenford,” she said with a faint sigh. “It's not a soaring sort of place.”
“But what about the 'faraway' you mentioned? What about the lands of your dreams? Don't you ever have dreams? You've got your café and your garage mechanic, and that's it?”
“You're having a go at poor Mike, aren't you? Look, I know he's not the answer to every maiden's prayer-”
“That depends what you think the maiden was praying for,” he said wryly.
She gave a choke of laughter. “Well, this maiden was praying for someone who was kind and good-natured, and who'd let her look after him.”
“That's what you like? Looking after people?”
“Of course,” she said, sounding surprised, as though it was a matter of course. “It's wonderful to be needed. I used to think-”
“Go on,” he said when she stopped.
“You mustn't laugh.”
“I promise.”
“Well, at first I wanted to be an actress. But then I used to think I'd like to be a children's nurse.”
“Why would I laugh at that?”
“Well, honestly! Me! I'm too dumb. I never passed any exams at school. In fact I never took any. There was just me and Grandpa by then and he was always sick so I bunked off school.”
“But that doesn't mean you're dumb, just caring. If there'd been someone to care for you, you'd have done well.”