Kissed a sad goodbye - Deborah Crombie [112]
Their eyes met as he seemed to realize what he’d said, and in the uncomfortable silence that followed neither of them spoke the name that hovered between them. Normally adept at filling silences and putting others at their ease, Reg was the least likely person she knew to make such an awkward remark. And yet tonight he seemed to be possessed by a sort of reckless desperation.
Searching for a way to rescue them both, she closed the menu without looking at it and said, “What about you, Reg? Aren’t you having anything?”
“Just some soup, I think, to keep you company. Is it the fish cakes, then?”
When she nodded, he got up again and gave their order at the bar. “There’s a proper restaurant upstairs,” he told her as he returned. “But I’m glad they’ve left the pub a pub. There ought to be some immutable things in the world, don’t you think?”
“Reg, I—”
“I’m sorry I buggered off this afternoon after the solicitor. I shouldn’t have, leaving you on your own like that.”
“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “It was quite all right, really. It’s just that I was a bit worried about you, when you didn’t come back to the office.”
“As if you hadn’t enough to deal with.” He looked at her, his face still for the first time, and after a moment added, “I have been a washout these last few days, haven’t I? I just can’t seem to stick it.”
Teresa blinked, surprised by such a personal admission. He had been quite useless at the office, if she were to be brutal about it, seemingly unable to manage tasks that he could ordinarily do without batting an eye. But she’d no idea how she would cope if she were in his position, and she knew people reacted differently to grief. Her own response had been to buckle down to the job, because it was the concentration that kept her going.
In the end, she didn’t deny his failures, but said, “Reg, if there’s anything I can do to help—”
“You’ve been a peach as it is.” He reached out and touched his fingers to her cheek. Suddenly very aware of his legs against hers, and of her response, she flushed with embarrassment, but didn’t withdraw her knees. It was wicked of her to hope, even, that he found her attractive, but she’d discovered that knowing the wrongness of it didn’t make the feelings go away.
The waitress arrived with their order, relieving Teresa of the necessity of responding to his comment. Rather to her surprise, she discovered that, in spite of everything, she was ravenous. The fish cakes were as good as Reg had promised and she tucked into them with enthusiasm.
He watched her, smiling, while he toyed with his soup, and when she’d finished he said, “Good girl. Couldn’t have you wasting away to nothing—where would Hammond’s be without you?”
The fears she’d managed to hold at bay the past few days clutched at her. “Reg, what are we going to do? Already, I’m finding things I don’t know how to handle—I can’t guess what Annabelle would have done—”
“Use your own judgment. Annabelle trusted you—it’s time you trusted yourself.”
“But I haven’t the authority,” she protested. “And the business was precarious enough even with Annabelle in charge.”
“You know what we have to do—”
“We can’t. Not now—”
“Then we had bloody well better