Consequences

Part 25

Doug phoned Isabelle the next morning at half past nine. He thought she'd be up. She was when he'd called the day before. But not this time.

It was Cara who answered the phone. She told him Isabelle was asleep. And she said she would ask Isabelle to call him when she awoke.

That had Doug frowning. She might be elegant, and classy and beautiful. But clearly she was also lazy. He wasn't sure he liked the combination. But he put that thought out of his mind. He was sure with a bit of reconditioning he could persuade her to join the human race at an earlier hour rather than spend practically the entire morning in bed! People in his social sphere worked. He had to remind himself that is newly acquired 'bride to be' did not. That had him shaking his head.   Bride?

At mid day Isabelle phoned him. After a brief conversation, in which neither said anything of note, they agreed to meet. They arranged to meet later that evening at her house.

She was class, he thought when she opened the door to him, and waited for him to enter. From the top of her tidy hair to the flat leather ballet styled shoes on her feet. She looked elegant and graceful. Dressed simply, it was her carriage that gave her that air of elegance. Must be in the genes and inherited he figured, given it seemed to run through her. There was no pretence here. She wasn't having to put on this mantle of elegance. She just was.

"Hello. Do come in." Isabelle smiled as she held the door ajar and Doug stepped into the hall.

"You got my message then?" He turned, waiting for her to close the door and direct him further into the house. He was sure she'd have picked up the surliness in his tone. He knew that he wasn't in the right frame of mind to have this conversation with her, here and now. But at the same time he knew that putting it off would just complicate matters. His day was far from simple and much of the complication was due to this scam of an engagement. Knowing that had annoyed him. And his annoyance had built over the course of the afternoon. So by the time he had arrived at her front door he was just about holding onto his frustration and annoyance.

Isabelle hid the fact she had noted his tone. Clearly the man was not happy. To be here? She wondered as she closed the door.

"Yes." She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Something wasn't right, she thought as she watched his body language. He was very much in control of his emotions. A wall had gone up. She was on the outside. Now what had happened to the man who had driven her home? The man who seemed to like her, well, maybe like was too strong a word. But he seemed to respect the way she had dealt with the Tina situation. Surely that counted for something. Maybe not like. But something.

"Good." He muttered.

Isabelle gave him a potted version of the message, just to buy a bit of time as she tried to figure out what had changed. "Your meeting was running late." She had read his eyes as he'd stepped in. He looked tired, and hacked off. Not the best combination. His day had clearly not been a good one if his body language was anything to go by. She'd think about why later, in the mean time they had dinner to eat. Or what she thought he might like. Though on what basis she had reached her decision she did not know. Stereotyping she figured. "I ordered Pizza, and it's only just been delivered. I'm happy to share. Would you like some?" Of course she'd ordered for the both of them. Why she was making an attempt to make this a social meeting, she wasn't quite sure. But after that car journey she figured he might like to have a meal with her. How wrong was she?

Pizza? He blinked, somewhat taken by surprise. "You don't seem a pizza takeaway sort of person." He softened the words with a smile, though even that was a strain. It highlighted the difference in their walks of life. He was a pizza type of guy.

"Ah, well, beggars can't be choosers." Isabelle announced candidly and hoped her honesty would help him relax. "Cara has the night off, and she's gone to the movies, so it was either cook or take out. And what does a Pizza sort of person look like? May I take your coat?" She was reaching for it as she spoke. Doug shrugged out of his coat and handed it to her. Isabelle walked to a walk in closet, retrieved a coat hanger and draped his dilapidated trench coat on it. Again the difference in etiquette was starkly evident. He usually just hung his coat on the coat stand in his hallway. He did not have a closet for it. Isabelle wondered about the look in his eyes. He appeared to be laughing, though the laughter did not appear to be laced with humour. More like derision. She gestured toward the kitchen. Too late to wish she'd never seen this evening as a companionable one. "The kitchen is this way. You don't mind if we have this conversation in the kitchen?"

"That's fine." He followed her down the hallway. "I thought we ought to meet face to face to organise this."

She was sure he sounded both tired and hacked off by the fact they had to discuss this in the first place. Guess this was not going to be a pleasant interlude. Pity, she thought as she continued to walk purposefully toward the kitchen.