From the Heart

into step beside her.
    “Have you been to London before?”
    “Once, a long time ago. Have you?”
    “In my salad days.” They walked for a time in silence. The restraint she sensed in him was something new, but she said nothing, letting him choose his own time. “There’s nothing new on the terrorists,” he told her after a moment.
    “Yes, I know. I spent the afternoon at Scotland Yard. I suppose they could have been independent.”
    Thorpe shrugged. “They had very sophisticated, very expensive equipment, but they didn’t seem to know how to use it. They were the only fatalities.”
    “It was stupid,” Liv murmured, thinking of the four men who had held the limelight for one brief, fleeting moment. “A senseless thing to die for.”
    Again, they lapsed into silence, walking in the chilly evening. The streetlamps were lit. They passed under the light, into the shadows and back into the light. Abruptly, he laid a hand on her shoulder. “Liv, there were a lot of bullets flying around out there today.”
    “Yes?”
    “It was a miracle that none of the press or bystanders were killed.”
    “Yes.”
    She wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Thorpe let out an impatient breath. “If I overreacted this morning, it was because I stopped thinking about you as a reporter. I only remembered you were a woman and I didn’t want you hurt.”
    In silence she studied his face. “Is that an apology?” she asked him.
    “No, it’s an explanation.”
    Liv considered for a moment. “All right.”
    “All right what?”
    “I consider it a reasonable explanation.” She smiled then.“But the next time you get in my way on a story, you’re going to get a very unladylike elbow in the ribs. Understood?”
    He nodded, returning the smile. “Understood.”
    “Have you had dinner, Thorpe?” she asked, as they began to walk again.
    “No, I’ve been getting the runaround from Donaldson.”
    “Hungry?”
    He glanced down at her, one brow lifted. “Is that an invitation, Olivia?”
    “No, it’s a question. Answer yes or no.”
    “Yes.”
    “Someone told me that colleagues on foreign soil should stick together,” she commented. “What are your views on that?”
    “I would be inclined to agree.”
    Liv took his arm. “Come on, Thorpe, I’ll buy you dinner.”

9
    T hey found a noisy, crowded chophouse and squeezed into a corner table. Thorpe glanced around at the line of customers packed together at the counter. In the air was the scent of grilled meat and frying oil. Overhead were brilliant fluorescent lights.
    “Very romantic,” he commented. “I’m a sucker for atmosphere on a date.”
    “This isn’t a date,” Liv reminded him as she slipped out of her coat. “I’m testing a theory. You should be careful not to spoil it.”
    “Spoil it?” He gave her an innocent stare. “How?”
    Her only answer was a narrowed look.
    When they had ordered, Liv settled back in her chair to soak up the atmosphere. At the counter, two men argued heatedly over a horse race. Over the hiss and sizzle of cooking meat was a constant buzz of conversation. It was precisely the sort of place she had wanted to experience when she had been a teenager on her first trip to London.
    In silence, Thorpe watched her, noting that her eyes went from person to person with no loss of fascination. Gone was the faint sadness he had seen on her face when he had first met her on the street. What had she been thinking about? he wondered. Or was it whom? There was still too much he didn’t know. And, he thought, it would still be some time before she told him.
    “What do you see?” he demanded.
    “London.” Liv smiled back at him. “A lot more of London than you can see by looking at monuments and museums.”
    “Apparently you like what you see.”
    “I only wish we weren’t due to leave in the morning. I’d like another day.”
    “What would you do with it?”
    Liv lifted her shoulders. “Oh, see everything, everyone. Ride a double-decker bus. Eat fish and chips in a newspaper.”
    “Go to Covent Garden?”
    She shook her head. “I’ve been to Covent Garden. I’d rather go to the docks.”
    Thorpe laughed, lifting his beer. “Have you ever been to the London docks, Olivia?”
    “No. Why?”
    “I wouldn’t advise it. At least not alone.”
    “You’re forgetting I’m a reporter again,” she reminded him.
    “So would the dock workers,” he said dryly.
    “Well.” She shrugged before leaning back in her chair.