St Matthew's Passion - By Sam Archer Page 0,60

standing on its own in the scoop of a huge bay window that afforded a spectacular view over the Thames. The wine waiter had just arrived, and filled their glasses after Fin sampled and approved it. Melissa sipped. She was no expert, but this was quality.

She gazed at Fin over the rim of her glass. He looked, as the saying went, like a million dollars. His tuxedo was immaculate, the collar notched rather than cowled. Beneath the jacket he wore a crisp dress shirt of such brilliant white it almost hurt her eyes. His bow tie was perfectly straight, his face shaved beautifully. In the candle light his eyes glittered like dark gems.

Melissa found herself hypnotised by his eyes, his mouth, found herself incapable of tearing her gaze away.

She herself had agonised for over two hours about what to wear. She’d tried on and cast aside outfit after outfit before returning to the beginning again and repeating the sequence. At one point she’d considered phoning Emma to sound out her opinion. But she’d stopped herself. This was her night, hers and Fin’s. It wasn’t to be shared with anybody else, not even her closest friends.

Eventually she’d settled on a subtly sequinned blue dress that ended just above the knee and was cut moderately low up top. She hadn’t worn it for months, and was pleased to find that it fit as well as it did, snugly across her bust and hips and tightly at the waist. She studied herself with a critic’s eye in the full-length mirror in her wardrobe door, thinking she’d struck the right balance between demure and vampish. She chose stockings, not tights, and a pair of heels that were just low enough to be comfortable to walk in.

When the buzzer went she sprang out of her chair, her heart pounding, her palms sweaty, and raced to the intercom, feeling like a sixteen-year-old going on her first proper date. An unfamiliar voice said, ‘Ms Havers?’

Surprised and nonplussed, she said, ‘Yes?’

‘I’m Mr Finmore-Gage’s driver.’

He has a driver? She hurried downstairs, almost forgetting her coat – she’d regret that quickly, as it was still mid-February and the winter was showing few signs of saying goodbye – and saw the limousine immediately, parked directly outside her block of flats. The driver opened the door and she ducked in. Fin sat across from the door, handsome and smiling in his livery, a single red rose between his fingers.

‘A limo?’ she said once they were underway and she’d kissed him briefly and taken his hand.

‘Even a beast like a Jaguar needs a rest once in a while.’ He handed her the rose.

Now, she lost herself in his gaze, the clink and murmur of the restaurant around them barely registering. The wine was spreading its slow warmth down through her chest and stomach, and at the same time she felt the beginnings of heat rising in the opposite direction.

‘Good day at the office?’ he murmured.

‘Not bad.’

‘Really?’

Melissa grinned. ‘I’m going stir crazy, to be honest.’

She’d cancelled the locum job in Devon she’d been intending to take to tide her over in February, and instead had agreed to spend the month working purely on research at St Matthew’s, collating and writing up data other people had gathered. She’d earn a small stipend for it, and it would keep her busy in London until the beginning of March when Emma was to go off on maternity leave and Melissa would step into her shoes in Professor Penney’s team. So she’d spent the last fortnight cloistered in an office with a couple of research assistants, trawling through reams of notes and screen after screen of computer files.

Fin had been discharged ten days ago, having been given a clean bill of health, and had returned to work four days later. He and Melissa had seen each other daily, meeting for lunch and walking in St James’s Park when the weather permitted it, but apart from growingly passionate kisses they hadn’t taken matters any further yet. It needed to be a special night, and Fin admitted he couldn’t get a booking at the restaurant until now.

Emboldened by the wine, Melissa eased the side of her foot against his under the table, increased the pressure gently. He pushed back, taking her free hand in his across the table. They talked, meanderingly, luxuriating in the surroundings and the wine and the pleasure of exploring one another’s faces with their eyes as they did so.

As the meal went on, their conversation turned