Crack in the Code by John Behardien

Author:John Behardien
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Publish on Demand Global LLC

Chapter VIII

Dinner for Four

He was ready in his usual unfussed manner and popped downstairs to wait for her, flicking on the TV to see if there was anything on the news. A short time later he could hear her on the stairs, and moved to the hall table to collect his keys. He looked up as she came downstairs. He had been amazed by her physical appearance on more occasions than he could remember, and the vision that he beheld didn’t disturb that conclusion for a moment, yet the aspect that presented uppermost in his mind as he stared at her, was the change in her in so short a span of time – from exhaustion to exhilaration and from despair to deliverance. The long tanned legs, just lightly sun-kissed, in the spiky mules, the skirt above the knee and a pale blue, strappy top that enhanced the slim elegant arms and curvaceous breasts. Her wrist had the usual Patek Philippe wristwatch as its only adornment and she wore a gold chain around her neck, heavy enough to look expensive, but not thick enough to look vulgar. As she continued to descend, he tried, but failed in the attempt not to stare. “Wow,” he said, “you look stunning.”

“Thank you Doctor, not bad yourself,” she smiled, sensing the weight of his stare and asked, “will I do? Am I pretty ordinary?”

“No, Sylvie, I’d have to say that you are inordinately pretty,” he admitted simply.

She smiled; he felt his heart leap and his knees quiver.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she offered.

“So, is that what Jane Tomkins told you?” he asked.

“Oh no, she told me much more than that,” she confirmed with an air of mystery.

She stepped onto the teak floor next to him, and the delicate breeze of perfume washed over him adding its contribution to the intoxication that had submerged him. He smiled contentedly as myriad emotions crossed through his mind; emotions more enthralling than even the most vivid of dreams could suggest. “Nice legs,” he commented as he looked down, appreciatively.

She looked down at the spiky heels. “I never go anywhere without my Manolos, they can make even stumpy legs like mine, look good,” she assured him.

“Look great to me,” he said, reflecting that ‘stumpy’ was probably the last word he would have chosen to define those particular legs. He reasoned further, that there again was the quiet unassuming grace that she exuded in all things she did, and all things she said. People would perhaps forgive her if there were a seam of conceit running through her, for she had much that would support such a flaw. He had yet to see even a trace of it, after observing her in a wide variety of conditions. He could see how the treatment meted out by the press would be doubly hurtful to someone who’d always gone out of her way to treat all those she met with the same unpretentious grace.

“Come on then let’s go,” he suggested, deciding simply to stick to the mechanics of one necessary action after another.

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