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a decade, Mike asked with surprising mildness, 'Is that it, then? No flowers or hot soup for the injured party?'
    'I was afraid that if I bought a—a peace-offering, you'd think I was trying to buy you off,' she whispered.
    'I'm not easily bought,' said Mike in the same mild way.
    'I can believe that,' said Yona. What she couldn't believe was that he wasn't raging and swearing and calling her every kind of maniac, which was what she'd been expecting from a plain-speaking, down-to-earth Lancastrian who had disliked her from the start.
    'I don't know what happens in cases of injury inflicted by a motorist on private land,' she ploughed on earnestly. 'I mean, had it been on the highway then the insurance would... would...' His calm, contained manner was proving more unnerving than any amount of rage. 'Tell me what you expect of me and I'll do my best to comply,' Yona wound up awkwardly.
    'Will you, now?' he asked thoughtfully. 'Well, suppose you begin by coming in and making me an omelette or something? This foot throbs rather a lot if I stand on it for any length of time.'
    'What? Yes, well, if that's what—' But he was already limping away down the corridor so Yona went in and shut the door.
    'This is the kitchen,' said Mike, turning round so abruptly that Yona very nearly knocked him down again.
    'Er, right! An omelette, you said...'
    'Anything you like. I'm not fussy—just hungry. There's plenty of stuff in the fridge. I'll leave you to it, shall I? This is such a small kitchen.' He turned round and limped out.
    At least twice the size of mine, she was thinking when he came back to say, 'You'll be making enough for yourself, too, of course—it'll be way past dinnertime when you get home.'
    Yona stared up at him, trying desperately to fathom his mood. 'Coals of fire,' she said at last.
    A smile flickered at the corner of his mouth for a microsecond before he responded, 'If you like.'
    He'd been right when he'd said his fridge was well stocked. Either he was an enthusiastic cook or, more likely, some devoted girlfriend did his shopping. A lot of women still went for the strong, silent type and bachelor doctors had the same attraction for women as honey pots for bees.
    Something quick, thought Yona, before he comes round and starts throwing things. She made a gratinee of eggs Basque with pasta shells, and chopped a small ogen melon in half to be filled with some thawed-out raspberries for dessert. 'And if he's still hungry after that, he can have some cheese,' she muttered, before calling out, 'Would you like it on a tray or what?'
    'In here,' he called back.
    She found him in a living room which, like the kitchen, was twice the size of hers. A round, glass-topped table by a picture window was already set for two. A bottle of very good burgundy stood ready on a side table. 'I prefer red,' he said, following her glance.
    'So do I,' said Yona.
    'But do you think you should?' he asked slyly. 'After all, if you're planning on driving anywhere later on...'
    'Please don't remind me,' she pleaded.
    'I'm sorry you've forgotten, so soon.'
    'I have not forgotten—of course I've not. Only with you being so...so nice about it...'
    'You feel a little less guilty?'
    'I suppose so—yes. But I'm still mortified and very sorry!'
    'Good—but, there, it wasn't deliberate, was it?'
    'Good God, no! Of course it wasn't.'
    'Ted asked me that,' she said when she'd been to fetch the rest of the food and been told her cooking obviously surpassed her driving skills.
    'Asked you what?' asked Mike, through his first mouthful of food.
    'If I'd run over your foot deliberately.' Amazing how easy it was to say it now.
    'You told Ted?' Mike looked and sounded absolutely horrified.
    'But of course. I didn't want him to hear about it from anybody else.'
    'I can't wait to hear his reaction,' he said half to himself. 'Have you, er, confessed to anybody else?' he asked.
    'No—and I suppose that was rather cowardly.'
    'Not at all. Rather sensible, I'd say.