Page 15 of Match Point

‘Flora,’ he says through gritted teeth as he rests one arm on the door and leans into it. ‘I would really like to speak to you. Please can you open the door.’

‘You can speak to me where you are.’

‘Not properly. Anyone could overhear,’ he says, checking over his shoulder.

I don’t say anything, stepping back and folding my arms.

‘Please,’ he says in a strained voice.

Steeling myself, I open the door, taking him by surprise. He stumbles forwards, regaining his balance and then striding in. He stops in the hallway, taking off his cap and turning to face me while I shut the door behind him.

‘What did you want to say?’ I ask breezily, passing him to move into the living room.

‘I wanted to ask you why I’m standing here covered in rosé,’ he begins, as he follows me and lingers in the doorway. ‘Do you have any idea what you’ve done?’

I frown at him. ‘So you’re not here to apologise.’

He gives me a puzzled look. ‘I don’t apologise unless I know what I’m apologising for. Otherwise it would be insincere.’

‘How noble.’

‘I specifically asked you not to draw attention to me,’ he says, his blue eyes blazing as he tosses his cap on the sofa, running a hand through his hair. ‘You threw your drink all over me in front of everyone. Do you know what happened after you left?’

I shrug.

‘I was mobbed,’ he growls.

With a pointedly bored sigh, I pick up his cap and squeeze past him back into the hallway to hang it on one of the coat hooks.

‘Do you know how annoying it is to have people ask you for a selfie when you’ve just been covered in wine?’ he continues, watching me curiously as I stalk back into the room. ‘I had to be rude and fob them off to get out of there.’

I mock gasp, placing a hand on my chest. ‘You had to be rude? Inconceivable.’

He cocks his head at me, narrowing his eyes. ‘I would rather have stayed under the radar.’

‘I would rather you hadn’t insulted me,’ I reply haughtily, busying myself by plumping up the sofa cushions that he flattened earlier.

It’s not completely natural to me to be this confrontational and although I think I’m doing a pretty good job at holding my own, I’m still finding the conversation a bit unnerving so I need to do something with my hands. Also, he has the most intense eyes I’ve ever seen in my life and he won’t take them off me. Not in a good way.

More like, if looks could kill, I’d be breathing my last.

‘How exactly did I insult you?’ he wants to know.

‘You made fun of me.’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘You called me stupid.’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Kieran,’ I say, straightening and putting my hands on my hips, ‘are you seriously standing there and telling me that you don’t remember the exact words you spoke to me in the pub just now? You’re going to deny it?’

‘If you think I called you stupid, then you misunderstood my meaning,’ he argues. ‘And I apologise if I said it clumsily, but I didn’t mean to call you stupid. I was saying that what you said was stupid.’

‘That’s the same thing.’

‘No, it’s not.’

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