The Man Behind the Mask Read Online Free

drops from her umbrella, fold it, then lean it against the wall. ‘Not exactly the best day for coming into town,’ she quipped.
    â€˜Fortunately I missed the downpour. I have spent the past hour under cover at the exhibition.’
    â€˜The same exhibition you visited before?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜It must be quite compelling to make you want to visit it again. What’s it about?’
    â€˜It’s a collection by a French photographer I particularly admire…a retrospective of his life in Paris justafter the war, when the city was being rebuilt. He died recently, and I saw an article in the local news pa per advertising the exhibition.’
    â€˜Oh.’ Collecting her guitar from its case, Marianne gave her visitor an awkward smile. ‘I should probably go and take a look at it myself before it ends. It sounds fascinating.’
    â€˜You are interested in the subject?’
    â€˜I’m always interested in creativity and art—whatever its form. It intrigues me to learn how other artists see the world…how they interpret what they see. Just goes to show we all see things so differently…not in the same way at all.’
    For a moment the man in front of her fell silent, as though he were seriously considering the opinion Marianne had just expressed, and with no small amount of surprise either.
    Then he glanced down at his watch—expensive-looking, but definitely not ostentatious. ‘How about going for that coffee now?’
    Again finding no immediate reason to decline, and feeling chilled to the bone after that hour of re lent less sleet and rain, Marianne found herself agreeing. ‘Okay. Now’s as good a time as any, I suppose.’
    Â 
    In the familiar café, with its cheerful red and white checked curtains and matching table cloths, the aromatic smell of brewing coffee mingling with the steam arising from the damp coats of customers gratefully seeking warmth, shelter and sustenance after their tussle withthe elements, Marianne was mildly surprised to find it as busy as it was. Luckily she found a small table close to the wood stove, and the waitress appeared almost straight away to take their order. She didn’t doubt it was because Eduardo did not look like your average every day customer—his almost regal bearing and sheer physicality alone commanded instant attention.
    Goodness knew what the poor girl made of Marianne as his companion! As it was, she saw her look slightly askance at her guitar in its battered case, as if it was something almost distasteful. Eduardo gave her their order, and Marianne suddenly found herself alone with him. Resting his hands atop the checked table cloth, he studied her without speaking. What was he thinking? Marianne wondered nervously. She cleared her throat and forced a shaky smile, feeling ill at ease and somehow grace less in her jumble of ill-fitting clothing beneath his intense examination.
    â€˜This is a nice place. It makes a change from the local coffee chain I usually use. The coffee’s very good, and the pastries aren’t bad either.’
    â€˜I am glad you chose a table near the fire…you look half frozen!’
    â€˜I’m not any more. I’m quite warm, actually.’ Undoing several buttons on her coat, Marianne flashed him a smile, genuinely touched by the concern in his voice.
    â€˜I have to ask you—’ the disturbing glance seemed to intensify ‘—are your parents happy about you singing at the side of the road?’ he questioned, frowning.
    She could tell by his tone that he disapproved.
    â€˜They’re not around any more to have an opinion,’ she answered instantly, without thinking, and then a splinter of indignant anger pierced her that he should disapprove of people he didn’t even know. ‘Anyway…I don’t mean to be rude…it’s really none of your business.’
    â€˜How old are you?