Night Train to Memphis - Elizabeth Peters [165]
But I didn’t really care.
However, I managed not to throw myself at him when he entered the room. His hair was damp and a little too long; it curled over his ears. I swallowed and said, with typical graciousness, ‘You didn’t have to come.’
‘I tried to stay away,’ John said. ‘It was for your sake, my darling; I’m not worthy of you, but your image has been enshrined in my heart. Aren’t you going to stop me before I perpetrate any more assaults on English prose?’
He was smiling, but it was an oddly tentative smile, and if I hadn’t believed the word could never apply to John I would have said he looked a little shy.
‘I’m not going to do anything till Schmidt leaves the room,’ I mumbled.
‘Why not?’ Schmidt inquired curiously.
‘Why not, indeed,’ I agreed. ‘Damn good question, Schmidt.’
Mine is a small living room. One step was all it took.
‘Sehr gut,’ said Schmidt’s voice from somewhere in the rosy pink clouds. (I hate to mention those clouds, but as I have already admitted, my imagination runs to clichés.) ‘I will now open the champagne.’
‘No bandages,’ I whispered. ‘Are you really all right?’
‘What are you doing, counting ribs? The area is still a trifle sensitive, so if you wouldn’t mind – ’
‘You’re so thin. Did Schmidt call you, after I threatened to kill him if he – ’
‘You’ve lost bit of weight yourself, haven’t you? Here – and perhaps here – ’
‘He did call you.’
‘When he did, I had been sitting staring at the telephone for over two hours. Trying not to ring you. Are you angry with him?’
‘No. What did he say?’
‘My ears are still burning,’ John said wryly. ‘Even my dear old mum’s lectures never attained that level of surgically accurate analysis. Vicky . . .’ He put his hands on my shoulders and held me away. ‘We must settle this before Schmidt comes back and breaks that bottle of champagne over our bows. I thought it quite likely you’d never want to set eyes on me again.’
‘I told you I loved you.’
‘Yes, but – ’
‘Weren’t my demonstrations convincing?’
‘Oh, that. You couldn’t help that, you were powerless to resist. I’ve been told Great-Grandad had to beat them off with a club. Darling, stop doing that and be serious for once.’
‘Me?’ I stopped doing that.
‘I know. It’s your fault, I don’t behave this idiotically with anyone but you.’ He took my face between his hands. ‘Seriously, Vicky. I did try to stay away. If you hadn’t – ’
‘Will you marry me?’
His eyes widened with horror. ‘Certainly not! Are you out of your mind?’
‘Well, what’s a girl to do? If you won’t ask me – ’
‘You don’t suppose I would insult your intelligence by asking you to marry me, do you?’ John demanded indignantly.
‘How about a dangerous liaison, then?’
It was the wrong adjective. His eyes darkened and his fingers pressed painfully into my temples. ‘I haven’t guts enough to go through this again, Vicky. If I had survived and you – and you hadn’t, I would have put a bullet through my head.’
‘I’m told that drinking yourself to death is more fun,’ I said.
‘Oh, God. Won’t you allow me a single moment of high drama?’
‘I owe you one for spoiling my big scene at Amarna.’
‘You’re incorrigible.’ He pulled me into his arms. ‘And irresistible. All right, then – ’
‘Sweetheart! You’ve made me the happiest woman in – ’
‘I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last woman on earth,’ John said. ‘But we’ll give the other a try. And make frequent offerings to Saint Jude. My darling, are you certain this is what you want? It may be years before – ’
The swinging door to the kitchen opened and Schmidt’s head appeared. ‘Do not concern yourselves, my friends. Schmidt is working on the problem.’
The head vanished, to be followed by a thump, a burst of profanity, and a series of frustrated yelps from Caesar. Schmidt had blocked Caesar’s path but he had overlooked one little thing. John yelped and clutched his leg. ‘Bloody hell!’
I looked down. Clara had bitten him on the ankle.
‘Eight years,’ Schmidt said. His ingenuous face fell. ‘Unless it is petty theft – ’
‘There’s nothing petty about my activities,’ John said. ‘Let me think . .