‘Take it easy,’ he said, moving around her to the sagging armchair. ‘You’re not scared of me, are you?’
‘Why should I be? I just don’t want you here so late.’
He sat down, his eyes searching her face. No, she wasn’t afraid of him. He could tel that by looking at her.
‘Get into bed,’ he said. ‘I won’t keep you long.’
‘No.’ She sat on the edge of the bed and ran her fingers through her hair. She looked tired and pale, and he noticed her lips were whitish without the lipstick camouflage. ‘I’m dead beat. I wish you’d go. I don’t want you here.’
He felt a wave of irritation run through him, but he controlled it.
‘I shouldn’t have gone off like that without saying goodbye,’ he said uneasily. ‘I’ve had you on my mind. I’ve stil got that money. I’d like to lend it to you.’
She sat for a long moment looking at him. She saw his embarrassed uneasiness, and she felt sorry for him. Suddenly she smiled. She looked pretty when she smiled, and Baird found himself smiling stiffly back at her. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had smiled at him. He felt as if he had been given a costly and unexpected present.
‘Why do you want to lend it to me?’ she asked.
‘Because you’re such a damned mug you won’t take it as a gift,’ he said, sitting forward. ‘I owe you plenty, and it gives me the belly-ache to know you’re short of dough when I could help you.’