The Factory part 2

“There you are, Claire.”

“Sorry, I was looking at something.”

“If you insist on your daughter accompanying us, she best not touch anything, please,” said the overseer, almost sneering.

“Of course,” replied Claire, her eyes running over the machinery in front of her.

She looked too familiar. Sandy’s eyes narrowed in a frown, trying to place her.

But of course.

It was the girl he had driven the other day. The one who had looked at him. And ignored him. Someone who, no doubt, thought she was royalty.

Raising his eyebrows, he watched her disappear momentarily behind the men, then reappear as they stepped into the machines in this row. She seemed uncomfortable, surrounded by so many men. They were all watching her. But she didn’t falter, either, and nothing missed her eyes.

Not even Sandy.

Something like recognition hit her suddenly, and she twisted her mouth a little. She glanced at her father and the other two men, who were inspecting some piece of machinery Sandy new was defective. They’d be at it for a while. So she walked forward slowly, ignoring the eyes following her back and getting closer to Sandy, but looking as if she was only interested in the machinery.

A faint smile raised the corner of his mouth as she stopped walking, eyeing a strangely shaped lever, not four feet away from him. “Hello,” he said.

She turned her head sharply at first, then relaxed slightly, though still on guard. “Hello.” She spoke with a British accent, her eyes going back to the machine. She looked very pretty with her pale skin and green eyes glowing faintly in the light sifting through the door.

“You remember me?” he asked, expectantly.

“You’re that driver boy, aren’t you?” she said, without looking at him.

“I’m Sandy.”

“Charming.”

He laughed quietly, and her eyes glanced at him, narrowed slightly. “What’s yours?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Just making conversation.” He paused, smiling. “Don’t like talking to people?”

“Of course I do.”

“Not to people like me?”

“I usually can’t talk to people who aren’t millionaires and don’t own top hats and enough black coats to clothe the population of a small town.”

“Well, now no one’s watching.”

Amusement flickered across her face, then worry. She turned her head hurriedly, glancing back at the men. They were still preoccupied. “Maybe for now.”

“So, what’s your name?”

She twisted her mouth, considering, though she was half-smiling. “Claire.”

“Nice name.”

“Claire!”

She exhaled in annoyance and called over her shoulder, “I’m coming!” Then back to Sandy. “See, what did I tell you?”

“You’re sheltered, that’s what you are.”

“I hate it.” She laughed a little, turning and hurrying off, her golden brown curls flying behind her.