Free Vicki's Work of Heart by Rosie Dean

it has been an honour.’
    We drove home in silence, me contemplating the roller-coaster of moods I had experienced in the last forty-eight hours and Christophe, no doubt, reflecting on his torrid night at the hands (or possibly feet) of some hysterical woman. As we drew up alongside the house, without looking at me, he said very softly, ‘Thank you.’
    ‘Sorry?’
    ‘Thank you for your quiet. I appreciate it.’
    ‘Oh,’ I responded, feeling like I’d just received an unexpected award. ‘You’re welcome.’
    ‘I am dealing with a difficult situation at the moment.’ He shrugged. ‘No matter.’ He turned and opened his car door.
    I watched him head to the house. ‘Well,’ I murmured to myself, ‘What’s all that about?’
    As we stood in the hallway being greeted by a frenzy of delight from Hercules and Boz, I asked, ‘Are you hungry? I was going to make lasagne but I could do something quicker, if you prefer? A frittata, perhaps?’
    He stood up, still caressing the larger dog’s head and barely smiled. ‘A frittata will be fine. Thank you.’
    ‘Okay. I’ll just pop up and get changed.’ I guessed I was looking pretty shabby after stretching all those canvases. I stopped on the stairs. ‘Could you feed the dogs?’
    ‘But of course.’
    The bathroom mirror revealed a couple of dirty smears on my face and strands of hair had escaped from various parts of my clasp. I washed quickly and changed into a long, cotton skirt and a scoop-necked tee-shirt in raspberry pink. The sun had drawn every last freckle out on my face and the tip of my nose matched my tee-shirt. I’d always been a great believer in coordinated accessories.
    So, frittata on the menu tonight. Nice and simple. Simplicity was good. From what Christophe had said, I was guessing simplicity was something he was hoping for just now, too. But what, I wondered, was the difficult situation he was dealing with?

CHAPTER 7
    Christophe felt the wine easing into his system and releasing the tension as he sat on the kitchen table, resting his feet on the seat of a chair. He would take time to savour the second glass. The last twenty-four hours had been quite an ordeal. Why did life have to be so complicated – especially where women were concerned? Oh for the simplicity of a few casual affairs. It had been so easy when he was younger; lots of pretty girls and so much fun with no strings attached. Last year, he had changed the pattern and what a mistake that had been. Now he was dealing with the fallout.
    He heard Vicki running down the stairs and looked up as she came into the kitchen. At least she brightened his day a little. She smiled at him. He poured another glass of wine and offered it to her. As she clinked her glass against his, she said, ‘So, what would you like in your frittata? Onions, mushrooms, tomato, peppers?’
    ‘Anything. I’m sure it will be delicious.’
    ‘Okay.’ She sipped her wine. ‘Hmm, that’s lovely.’ She raised her glass to him and placed it down on the counter.
    Beside him on the table was a small vase containing a bunch of twigs and feathers which Vicki had arranged. He took another slug of his wine and pulled one of the feathers out, turning it between his fingers as he watched Vicki move about the kitchen.
    Cute.
    He clenched his teeth, reminding himself not to complicate things. Their set-up was nice and simple. She had come here to paint. The last thing he needed was another emotional complication.
    *
    I don’t usually mind people watching while I’m preparing food, it was no different from teaching, really, but right then, I was acutely aware of everything I did. Not because I thought Christophe was judging me but because I wondered if he might be – and that was unnerving.
    I glanced round and saw him sitting on the table, looking broodily into his glass and twirling one of the feathers from the vase. Heathcliffe in Armani.
    I threw chopped onions into the frying pan and stepped back as they sizzled.