Tangled Emotions
Catherine George

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Catherine George was born in Wales, and early on developed a passion for reading, which eventually fuelled her compulsion to write. Marriage to an engineer led to nine years in Brazil, but on his later travels the education of her son and daughter kept her in the U.K. Instead of constant reading to pass her lonely evenings, she began to write the first of her romantic novels. When not writing and reading she loves to cook, listen to opera and browse in antiques shops.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

SOMEONE was following her. The narrow street was deserted, and the light at the end still broken, which meant a plunge into total darkness before she was safe behind a locked door. Determined not to look round, she lengthened her stride, wishing she’d waited for a taxi. The starless night was hot and humid, but for the first time in her life she felt a cold stab of fear. She dismissed it scornfully: once she reached the house, whoever was following would just walk past. Then found herself proved horribly wrong when two skinny figures in cartoon masks appeared on either side of her, jostling her to a standstill.

‘Give us money and you won’t get hurt,’ squeaked one of them, grabbing her arm.

‘Not a chance!’ she hissed, and, fired by fear and rage and sheer incredulity that this could actually be happening to her, she rammed an elbow into her young assailant’s ribs and prepared to do battle.

After a two-hour drive on the motorway, diversion signs were leading Joe Tregenna all round the town, and he was in no mood to get involved when his headlamps picked up a knot of youths in a brawl. Then he saw that one of them was a girl, struggling with two figures in masks. With a muttered curse he braked to a stop and jumped from the car just as one youth doubled up in a crumpled heap on the ground and the other took to his heels and raced off, sobbing, in the darkness.

‘Are you all right?’ Joe asked the girl urgently. ‘Are you hurt?’

She shook her head, thrusting her hair behind her ears. ‘No,’ she panted. ‘Just livid. But he’s not so good.’ She glared at the gasping, writhing figure on the ground. ‘I’d better ring the police.’

At the dreaded word the boy shot to his feet, but Joe grabbed him by his collar. ‘Oh, no, you don’t, sunshine.’

‘We wasn’t hurting her,’ the boy choked. ‘We was only asking for change.’

‘In masks?’ said Joe grimly. ‘I don’t think so.’ He turned to the girl. ‘You’re shivering. Are you sure you’re all right?’

She nodded brusquely. ‘Angry, not cold.’

Joe reached one-handed for the cellphone on his belt. ‘Ring the police on this.’

‘No!’ The boy burst into tears, shaking like a leaf in Joe’s grasp. ‘Please don’t turn me in, miss. We got the masks at the garage with some sweets, so when we saw you come out of the pub we followed you for a dare—got the idea from the telly,’ he sobbed. ‘My mum’ll kill me.’

She surveyed him in silence for a moment, arms folded. ‘Let him go,’ she said at last.

Joe stared at her incredulously. ‘You can’t let him get away with it!’

She moved towards the boy, who shrank away in fright. ‘You just listen to me,’ she said militantly. ‘Here’s the deal. I’ll leave the police out of it if you swear you won’t do this again. Ever.’

He nodded feverishly. ‘I won’t. Nor Dean won’t, neither.’

‘Is Dean your friend?’ she asked.

He shook his head, sniffing hard. ‘Kid brother. He didn’t want to come. He was scared.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Robbie.’

‘Right, then, Robbie,’ she said brusquely. ‘No more stupid stunts like this.’ She bent to pick up the fallen mask. ‘But I’ll keep Batman here. It’ll have your DNA on it, remember. Is your mother at home?’

He shook his head. ‘She’s a nurse at the General—on nights this week.’

‘She leaves you on your own at night?’ said Joe, frowning.

‘No, never!’ The boy knuckled tears from his eyes. ‘Our stepdad’s home in bed. We climbed out the bedroom window once he was snoring.’

‘Are you in the habit of this?’

He gulped. ‘No, honest. We never done it before.’

‘And you’d better be sure you never do it again, like the lady said,’ ordered Joe. ‘I’m sure you’ve been warned about lifts from strangers, so we’ll walk you home and hand you over to your stepfather,’ he added, sending the boy into hysterics again.

‘Are you afraid of him?’ said the girl sharply.

‘No! He’s a good bloke. But he’ll grass on me to Mum!’

When the boy pleaded to climb back through his bedroom window instead of waking his stepfather, Joe raised an eyebrow at the tall, watchful figure of the girl. ‘OK with you? I’ll walk you home afterwards.’

The girl nodded. ‘Fine. Come on, then, Robbie. Let’s go.’

When they arrived at the address Robbie gave them, the boy gave a sigh of relief when he saw a face peering round a curtain at an upstairs window.

‘Dean’s back! He run straight home like I said.’

‘Sensible chap,’ said Joe, and turned a stern look on the boy. ‘Now, just you remember, my lad,’ he said with deliberate menace. ‘I know where you live.’

Robbie nodded feverishly, then ran up the path, swarmed up a drainpipe as nimbly as a monkey, and disappeared head-first through the open window.

Joe waited until he was sure the boy was safe inside, then gave a wry glance at his companion as they began the walk back. ‘Hello, at last. My name’s Joe Tregenna.’

She smiled briefly. ‘Fen Dysart. Thanks for your help.’

‘When I spotted a fight I was going to drive on by, or call the police at the very most,’ he said frankly. ‘But when I saw two lads to one girl I thought I’d better wade in. But I was superfluous. You’d sorted them before I could even get out of the car.’

‘No big deal with a pair of kids. I’m a head taller than either of them, for a start.’ She shrugged. ‘It was just reflex. I lashed out at them in sheer temper.’

‘Which could have been dangerous with a couple of real criminals,’ he pointed out. ‘Lucky for you it was a pair of kids behind those masks.’

‘Which is why I laid into them,’ she said curtly, then frowned. ‘How old do you think Robbie is?’

‘Hard to say. Old enough to know better, certainly. Where do you live? Can I drive you there?’

‘No need. I’m just down the road from my adventure, in Farthing Street. Once we reach your car I’ll be fine,’ she added. ‘No need for you to come any further.’

But Joe insisted on seeing her right to the door of her small, end-of-terrace house. ‘Will there be anyone there?’

‘No.’

‘In that case I’ll see you safely inside before I go on my way.’

About to refuse, Fen changed her mind. A little company right this minute wasn’t a bad idea. Now that the episode was over she felt a bit shaky. She went round the house to the back, unlocked a door, and switched on the light in a small, bare kitchen. Then she turned to get a look at her companion, who returned the scrutiny with equal curiosity as he closed the door behind him.

Joe Tregenna was a few inches taller than her own five feet ten, slim-hipped and broad-shouldered. He wore his dishevelled brown hair long enough to curl slightly at the ends, and his eyes were a dark enough blue to look black at first glance. Like his mouth, they held a hint of humour rather at odds with the uncompromising cut of nose and chin. He wore a formal white shirt with a tie loosened at the open collar, and linen trousers that looked like part of a suit.

‘I need coffee,’ she said abruptly, aware she was staring, and thrust back hair even more dishevelled than his. ‘How about you?’

‘Please.’ He smiled. ‘I could do with some caffeine after the encounter with Pennington’s junior underworld.’

‘Take a seat. I won’t be long.’ Fen dumped her backpack, shrugged off her denim jacket and slung it on the back of a chair, then filled the kettle and plugged it in. She took mugs from a cupboard and milk from the refrigerator, aware all the time that Joe Tregenna’s eyes were following her every move. Not that she minded. After charging to her rescue like Sir Galahad he was entitled to a good look at the maiden in distress.

She made coffee, set the mugs on the table, and sat down opposite her visitor, who chuckled suddenly.

‘What’s the joke?’ she asked.

‘I know where you live! I can’t believe I actually said that to the little tyke.’ He grinned at her. ‘Though you weren’t far behind, with your talk of deals and DNA.’

‘The idea was to frighten him in terms from his beloved “telly”. He obviously likes cop shows. So between us let’s hope we’ve diverted our Robbie from a life of crime.’ Fen shrugged. ‘No way could I have handed him over to the police.’

He looked at her thoughtfully as he drank some coffee. ‘Do you make a habit of walking home alone late at night?’

‘Asking for trouble, you mean?’ she retorted. ‘No, I don’t. My car’s in for repairs. And like a fool I didn’t think to ring for a taxi until I’d finished work. By then my customers had snaffled them all, which meant a forty-minute wait.’

‘Customers?’

‘I work behind the bar at the Mitre.’

He shook his head. ‘I’m fairly new in town. I don’t know that one.’

‘It’s a big place on the crossroads, near the area where we dropped Robbie. It used to be a coaching inn, now it’s the “in” place of the moment and very busy.’ Fen shrugged. ‘Which is how I got the job. They were desperate for staff.’

‘How long have you worked there?’

She smiled ruefully. ‘Long enough to know that a trudge home is bad news after a double shift on my feet. In future I drive or take taxis.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He finished his coffee and got up. ‘It’s a bad idea for any woman to walk alone at night. And for someone with your looks it’s madness,’ he added casually.

Fen took her looks for granted. But Joe Tregenna’s offhand remark pleased her rather a lot. Even with the sting in the tail. ‘It’s not a habit of mine, Mr Tregenna.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Can’t we cut the formality?’

‘Right. Thank you, Joe.’ She smiled, and held out her hand.

He held on to it for a second. ‘I was only too glad to help—’ He broke off as the phone at his belt began beeping. ‘Excuse me.’

Fen busied herself with rinsing the coffee mugs, doing her best to block her ears to what was obviously not the happiest of conversations.

‘For the last time, Melissa,’ she heard Joe say eventually. ‘I was delayed. I’m not even home yet. I’ll ring you tomorrow. Goodnight.’ He looked at Fen. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said brusquely, putting the phone back. ‘I forgot to ring the lady I dined with.’

‘Tell her it was my fault.’

He shook his head, the humour back in his eyes. ‘Somehow, Miss Fen Dysart, I think that would do far more harm than good.’

‘If that’s a compliment, thank you.’ She hesitated for a moment, then gave in to curiosity and asked what had brought him to Pennington.

‘I sell insurance.’

‘Really?’ she said, surprised it wasn’t something more high-powered. ‘Thanks again for coming to my rescue.’

‘My pleasure.’ He paused. ‘Do you live here alone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then make sure you lock up securely behind me. Goodnight.’

Because her new home had no shower, Fen was rinsing her hair clean under the bathroom taps when reaction finally caught up with her. Shivering, she pulled the plug, hopped out of the coffin-like tub and wrapped herself in a towelling robe. She switched her hairdryer to the hottest setting, and the moment her hair was dry enough pulled on pyjamas for once and burrowed under the covers. But she took a long time to get to sleep. And when she did dreams woke her and rocketed her bolt upright, sweating and scrabbling for the light switch as she heaped curses on young Robbie’s head for giving her nightmares.

‘You look a bit fragile, Fen,’ said the owner of the Mitre next morning.

She explained about the near-mugging of the night before, and got bawled out by Tim Mathias for not asking someone for a lift home.

‘I didn’t think about it until it was too late. Anyway, I get the car back this afternoon, so no more transport problems.’

Once the lunchtime session was over Fen went to collect her car, then drove back to the Mitre to find Tim using the full battery of his charm on some of his female staff. When Fen asked what was going there was a ripple of laughter and one of them pointed a dramatic finger at her.

‘Fen’s your best bet, Tim,’ said Jilly, grinning. ‘She can do it, no problem.’

‘Do what?’ demanded Fen with suspicion.

Tim eyed his newest recruit speculatively. ‘You know that this is live music night in the piano bar?’

She nodded. ‘But if Martin’s off sick it’s no use asking me to fill in; I can’t play a note.’

‘Martin’s fine. The problem is Diane, our sexy songstress.’ Tim scowled. ‘She’s lost her voice. We’ll have her fans streaming in to spend good money on drinks, but when they find her missing they probably won’t stay to buy more. How the devil did the woman manage to lose her voice in the middle of a heat wave?’

‘I don’t suppose she did it on purpose—’ Fen broke off, staring at him as the penny dropped. ‘Wait a minute. Why are you looking at me?’

‘I’ve heard you singing when no one’s around—not bad at all, in a breathless kind of way.’ Tim grinned. ‘Come on, Fen. It’s only tonight. I’ll get Martin to come in for a quick run-through, now while it’s quiet, then tonight you just croon a few standards into a microphone for a couple of sets. Easy as pie.’

Laughing at the loud encouragement from her joshing colleagues, she shook her head. ‘Not a chance. I’m not good enough.’

‘Of course you are. We’re not talking grand opera. And,’ he added coaxingly, ‘I’ll pay you double your money.’

Fen’s eyebrows rose. ‘You mean that?’

Tim laid a hand on his heart. ‘Would I lie?’

She thought it over, reminding herself why she’d come here asking for a job at the Mitre in the first place. This would add fuel to the fire. And she could certainly do with the money. ‘All right, I’ll do it. But for one night only,’ she added, to cheers from the others.

‘Done,’ said Tim jubilantly. ‘Remember Michelle Pfeiffer in The Fabulous Baker Boys?’

‘Certainly not. I’m too young!’ Fen grinned. ‘Actually, I do remember. But I’m a lanky brunette, not a fragile blonde, and I don’t have a shiny red dress.’ She glanced down at her uniform white blouse and black skirt. ‘Talking of dresses, I suppose I won’t do as I am?’

‘Hell, no,’ said Tim bluntly. ‘Surely you can come up with something sexy, like the stuff Diane wears?’

‘A beanpole like me?’ she jeered. ‘I don’t do sexy. But if I can dash home after my session with Martin, I’ll find something.’

‘Take a couple of hours. You’re not due on until eight-thirty.’

The rehearsal went well enough to earn Fen a round of applause from everyone in earshot as the staff prepared for the evening. She got by largely because the songs were familiar, her memory for lyrics was good, and Martin was a skilful, sympathetic accompanist who gave useful tips on how to steal a breath in certain places. But, with her ears buzzing with Gershwin standards on the way to the car park later, doubts set in.

She had to be mad! The adventures of the night before had obviously addled her brain. Martin had assured her that her husky, breathless style was very easy on the ear, but it was sheer audacity, just the same, to perform for an audience used to an experienced performer like Diane. On the other hand, Fen thought philosophically, she could never resist a challenge.

Back at the house, she scribbled the lyrics on a sheet of paper small enough to hide on top of the piano, in case she dried, then took a critical look at a brief, clinging black dress with narrow straps holding up the low cowled top. Deciding it would have to do, Fen took a breather with a sandwich and a mug of coffee before her bath, then began transforming herself into a cabaret act.

She applied an extra layer of foundation and blusher, accentuated her eyes with smoky green shadow and two coats of mascara, then brushed her curling dark hair loose on her shoulders. She surveyed the result in the mirror. The dress clung to her boyishly narrow hips, added a touch of welcome emphasis to her breasts, and left a lot of suntanned leg bare. Fen shrugged. Not bad, though a lot different from voluptuous blonde Diane, who was given to plunging necklines and glittery dresses long enough to hide her thick ankles.

When Fen arrived back at the Mitre, Jilly followed her into the staffroom and let out a loud whistle of appreciation.

‘Gosh, Fen, you look terrific. I never noticed your eyes were green before. Diane would be mad as fire if she could see you.’

‘I’m more concerned with how I’ll sound than the way I look!’ said Fen, exchanging trainers for stilt-heeled black sandals.

‘Don’t worry.’ Jilly patted her on the shoulder. ‘The male punters will be too busy looking at those gorgeous tanned legs to care, dearie.’

Tim Mathias was equally enthusiastic when Fen reported for duty. ‘You look fantastic,’ he said jubilantly. ‘Thanks a lot. There’s a bigger crowd than usual in there tonight.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ Martin assured her, when Fen handed him her crib sheet of lyrics.

‘Can you hide them where I can take a look if I forget?’ she said urgently.

‘Will do.’ He patted her shoulder, glanced at his watch, and made for the door. ‘I’m on. See you in a few minutes.’

‘Want a drink, Fen?’ said Tim.

‘No, thanks.’ Fen took in a deep, unsteady breath as the sound of Martin’s piano came through the speakers. ‘I just hope I don’t make a hash of it.’

‘You’ll be fine.’ Tim smiled encouragingly as a skilled arpeggio from Martin finished his short selection from the shows. ‘There’s your cue. Break a leg.’

Fen waited, heart hammering, at the back of the small piano stage, while Martin apologised for Diane’s indisposition, then gave the audience the glad news that at the last minute another artiste had been persuaded to sing for them instead.

‘Let’s have a big hand for the lovely Fenella!’

Fen experienced a surge of unadulterated panic, survived it, heaved in a deep breath and stepped, smiling, onto the small, raised platform.

Martin gave her an encouraging wink as he began the familiar opening to a Gershwin melody. Fen smiled at him gratefully, checked that her crib sheet was in place, leaned into the curve of the grand piano, and began to sing.

At the end of the third song the applause was loud and enthusiastic, with shouts of ‘Encore’. Martin promised more later instead, and took Fen’s hand to bow.

Back in the office Fen sat down abruptly, her knees trembling now the first hurdle was over.

‘That was just brilliant, Fen,’ said Tim, elated. ‘You went over really well. Drink?’

‘Just water, please—I got rather hot in there.’

Martin grinned. ‘You weren’t the only one. When you pleaded for someone to watch over you quite a few blokes in there were panting to volunteer. One, in particular, couldn’t take his eyes off you.’

‘I was too busy concentrating to notice,’ said Fen, and drained the glass thirstily.

Tim looked worried as he told Martin about the mugging incident the night before. ‘You be extra careful tonight, Fen.’

‘One thing you can be sure of, boss dear. I’m in no danger from my mugger of last night,’ she assured him. ‘He’s probably tucked up in bed by now.’

When Martin left them to do his second stint at the piano Grace Mathias came in to add her congratulations.

‘You were a big hit, Fen. Quite a few of my diners went off to the piano bar afterwards.’ She smiled at her husband. ‘While they paid their bills I casually mentioned that we had a new attraction tonight.’

‘What a businesswoman you are,’ he said fondly.

‘So get me a glass of something extravagant while I listen in peace to Fen’s second set,’ she said promptly.

‘Don’t expect too much, Grace,’ warned Fen as she renewed her lipstick. ‘Peggy Lee I’m not.’ She jumped to her feet, tugged the clinging dress into place, then braced herself as her cue came through the sound system. ‘That’s me. Wish me luck.’

This time round Fen felt less nervous when she joined Martin at the piano. She smiled into the audience, which had grown considerably since the first set, then caught sight of a familiar face at the entrance, and instead of leaning against the grand piano perched herself on top of it as Martin began the introduction to a classic Cole Porter favourite. They followed it with Jerome Kern, then ended the set with Hoagy Carmichael’s ‘Skylark’, which taxed Fen’s untrained voice to the limit as she breathed, rather than sang, the last three ascending notes. Afterwards the applause was wildly enthusiastic, with loud demands for encores. But Fen shook her head, smiling, and kissed her hand to them as Martin, grinning from ear to ear, helped her down.

She felt drained as he took her back to receive warm thanks from Tim and Grace, plus some teasing from the three of them about her perch on the piano for the second set.

‘I thought I’d give the punters value for money,’ Fen said airily. She refused offers of drinks, accepted her fee, confirmed that her car was parked right outside the door, said her goodnights, then went off to exchange a word with some of the other girls before leaving.

When she reached the side door later Fen’s heart gave a thump. A tall man stood barring her way, as expected. She stared up defiantly into dark eyes which held such furious disapproval she felt a surge of triumph. ‘Hi,’ she said casually. ‘I didn’t know you were coming here tonight.’

‘Obviously,’ he said through his teeth. ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’

‘Not playing. Working for my living.’ Fen brushed past him, heading for the door, but he caught her by the hand and swung her round.

‘Not so fast, my girl—’

‘Problems, Fen?’ said a familiar voice, and she turned to find Joe Tregenna smiling at her. ‘Is this guy giving you trouble?’

‘It’s OK, Joe. No problem,’ said Fen, freeing herself. ‘He’s a relative.’

Adam Dysart controlled himself with obvious effort. ‘Look,’ he said to Joe Tregenna, ‘this is a family thing. Would you excuse us? I need to talk to Fenny.’

‘But I don’t want to talk to you,’ she retorted, and smiled warmly at Joe as she took his hand. ‘Thanks for coming to take me home.’

‘My pleasure,’ he said, without missing a beat. ‘Won’t you introduce us?’

‘Unnecessary,’ said Fen curtly, and, turning her back on Adam Dysart, she hurried Joe off.

‘Sorry to land you in it again, Joe,’ she muttered, casting a look behind her. ‘A bit late in the day to ask, I know, but are you on your own?’

‘Fortunately, yes,’ he said, amused.

‘That’s a relief.’ She smiled at him. ‘This is a bit cheeky of me, but could you possibly drive me round for a bit? I don’t want Adam to know where I live.’

‘Of course. Better still, why not come to my place for a drink until the coast is clear?’ said Joe as he led her to his car. ‘Unless—’

‘Unless what?’ she asked absently, straining to see if Adam was in sight.

‘Unless that guy’s your husband. Because if so I’m not getting involved.’

She glared at him. ‘Adam Dysart is most definitely not my husband. He’s—’ She halted, suddenly deflated. ‘He’s just a cousin.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘AND not a kissing cousin, obviously,’ observed Joe as he drove off. ‘I stuck my oar in again in case he got rough with you.’

‘No danger of that,’ Fen assured him. ‘I’m not in Adam’s good books at the moment. But he would never harm me.’

‘Why was he so angry with you?’

She sighed. ‘I can’t tell you that. Which is pretty mean, I know, when you’ve come to my rescue two nights running. Not,’ she added militantly, ‘that I couldn’t have handled it myself—both times.’

‘It didn’t look that way to me.’

‘You’re wrong. I really can take care of myself.’ She glanced at him curiously. ‘I was so furious with Adam I forgot to ask why you were at the Mitre tonight, Joe. Were you eating there?’

‘No. I called in on the chance that a certain bar person might serve me a drink, and to my surprise found she was doing a cabaret act.’ Joe grinned. ‘You didn’t mention that last night.’

‘I didn’t know last night!’ she said with feeling. ‘The manager sprung it on me today because the usual chanteuse was careless enough to lose her voice. The piano bar does a roaring trade on the nights Diane sings, so rather than lose good business Tim bribed me to fill in.’

‘How?’

‘By paying double my usual wages. Which I don’t deserve, because I can’t sing as well as Diane.’

‘From where I was standing your punters didn’t agree. You went down very well indeed.’

‘Flattery, Mr Tregenna?’

‘Fact. The husky, breathless voice charmed them right enough, but it was the bare shoulders and endless legs that knocked ‘em dead.’

Instead of taking offence Fen threw back her head and laughed. ‘I just can’t believe I did it. Any of it. I must have been out of my mind.’

‘But tonight a star was born!’

‘Not on your life.’ She shook her head emphatically. ‘I’m never doing that again. My nerves wouldn’t stand it. Besides, when the lovely Diane hears what happened I bet her voice will make a dramatic recovery.’

Joe slanted a look at her. ‘Pity. I enjoyed the show.’

Fen’s eyebrows rose when he parked outside one of the most exclusive addresses in Pennington, most unlike her own narrow little back street. Joe Tregenna lived in a square with well-kept gardens, in an expensive part of town where roads were tree-lined, all the lights worked, and most of the large houses had been converted into luxury flats.

‘This is it,’ he said, helping her out of the car.

Fen looked up, impressed, at the creamy façade of a villa with arched triple windows and lace-like ironwork railings and balcony.

‘It’s not all mine,’ said Joe. ‘I live upstairs. But my neighbours on the ground floor are away a lot, so I get the garden to myself when time and weather permit.’

He unlocked a side door and led the way up a narrow flight of stairs to usher Fen into a big room with floor-to-ceiling windows and curtains drawn back on the walls, so that only the wrought-iron balcony outside hampered a view of the lamplit gardens in the square. In front of the Adam-style fireplace two sofas covered in chestnut cord faced each other in splendid isolation on the expanse of pale carpet.

‘What a great room!’ said Fen, impressed. ‘I’ve never been in one of these houses before.’ She grinned at him. ‘You must have felt a bit claustrophobic in my place last night.’

‘Have you lived there long?’

‘No. I intended sharing a flat originally, but changed my mind. So I rent my little terraced house instead.’ She eyed him curiously. ‘But if you live here, what brought you down my street last night?’

‘Multiple roadworks. I’m new to Pennington, and somewhere among the diversion signs I took a wrong turning.’ His eyes met hers. ‘I’m glad I did. Otherwise it might have been a different story for you.’

‘Not at all,’ she said tartly. ‘I had it all in hand before you even got out of your car.’

Joe looked unconvinced. ‘Just the same, you might consider giving up night wanderings, Miss Dysart.’

‘I already have,’ she agreed soberly. ‘I’ve learned my lesson, believe me.’

‘Good. So what would you like to drink?’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Do artistes like you demand pink champagne?’

Fen let out a gurgle of laughter. ‘No way would I describe myself as an artiste. And I’d prefer tea to pink champagne.’

‘Then come with me.’ Joe took her along the hall to a galley-style kitchen, which by daylight, he informed her, enjoyed a view of the back garden through the full-length window.

Fen sat down at the rectangle of marble which served as a kitchen table, and watched her host make tea in a chunky white pot. He shot her a look as he took mugs from a cupboard.

‘Why the wry little smile?’

‘It just occurred to me that I had the most colossal cheek in latching on to you tonight.’

He chuckled. ‘I was glad to oblige. You’ve given me a couple of very entertaining evenings, Miss Dysart.’

‘Not all down to me. You had dinner in London before you ran into me last night,’ Fen reminded him. ‘Did you live there before you came here?’

He nodded. ‘But when the firm opened a branch in Pennington, I volunteered to relocate.’

‘Because you fancied a change?’

‘That too. But I’m single, with no children to uproot, so I was an obvious choice to make a move.’

Single, but not unattached, thought Fen with a touch of regret. ‘Shall I pour tea for you, or are you having something stronger?’

‘Tea. I’ll wait until I get back for a nightcap.’

‘By the way, did you manage to make peace with your lady?’

‘No.’ Joe’s eyes shuttered. ‘I had an illuminating—and unpleasant—little exchange with Melissa earlier on, which is why I went to the Mitre for a drink afterwards.’

‘That bad?’ said Fen with sympathy.

‘Not good.’ He looked at her for a moment. ‘Would it bore you to hear the details?’

‘Not in the least,’ she said truthfully. ‘Did she break up with you?’

‘No, quite the reverse. Melissa took me by surprise. She’d been trying to persuade me to keep on my London flat for weekends all along, but last night I learned why. She took it for granted she could just move from her flat into mine.’ His face hardened. ‘She informed me it was pointless to go on paying good money for rent on her flat when my place would be empty during the week.’

Nice lady, thought Fen. ‘You didn’t want that?’

‘No. Something she refused to believe over dinner last night. So to avoid a scene in the restaurant I put her in a taxi and drove straight here.’ He shrugged. ‘But tonight I explained, in words of one syllable, that the sale of the London flat was needed to finance this place, at which point she flew off the handle and told me she had no intention of burying herself in the back of beyond, even for me.’

‘Ah,’ said Fen, privately thinking that anyone who looked on Pennington as the back of beyond was best given up as a bad job. ‘Has she seen this flat?’

Joe shook his head and refilled her mug. ‘No.’

She smiled up at him. ‘It might change her mind if she did.’

‘No point. I’ve never thought of her as my “lady”, as you put it, so I made it very clear,’ he said, his voice extra-dry, ‘that her sacrifice was not, and never had been, required.’

‘Ouch!’

‘Exactly. Melissa went through the roof, exposing a side to her personality kept firmly under wraps before. Which is why I felt in urgent need of a drink afterwards. And thought of the Mitre—and you.’ He sat back in his chair. ‘So. Apart from the angry cousin, is there someone in your life?’

‘No. I’m on my own.’ She drank some tea to counter a fleeting wave of misery. ‘My mother died when I was born.’

Joe reached a hand across the table to grasp hers in sympathy. ‘Your father brought you up?’

‘No. Relatives.’ She detached her hand and got up. ‘Time I went home, if that’s all right with you.’

He got to his feet. ‘I obviously touched a nerve.’

She smiled ruefully. ‘Only because I’m a bit on edge after meeting Adam.’

‘I’ll try to keep off contentious subjects in future,’ he promised. ‘So, when can I see you again?’

‘I work pretty unsociable hours,’ Fen reminded him.

He raised a straight dark eyebrow. ‘Is that a no?’

‘No, it’s not. I’m off this Sunday, if that’s any good.’

‘Sunday it is. What shall we do?’

Not sure how much of Sunday he had in mind, Fen played safe. ‘You choose.’

‘Let’s see what the weather’s like and go from there. How soon do you surface after Saturday night at the Mitre?’

‘Nine-ish?’

‘I’ll ring you.’ Joe took her hand again, and turned the palm up. Fen stood very still as he bent his head to kiss it. He straightened, and smiled into her watchful eyes, then closed her fingers over the spot his lips had touched and led the way from his elegant apartment.

‘I’m afraid we’ll have to go back to the Mitre,’ Fen told him as he drove off. ‘My car’s parked there, which is partly why I forced myself on you. I don’t want Adam to know which car I drive these days, either.’

‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ said Joe casually. ‘Does Cousin Adam lust after you, by any chance?’

‘Absolutely not!’ said Fen, turning a shocked face on him. ‘He’s married, with two children.’

Joe shrugged. ‘It doesn’t always rule such things out.’

‘I know that! But it does in this case. It’s not that kind of thing at all.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘We had a quarrel. Such a bad one I’m still licking my wounds.’

When they reached the deserted Mitre car park Joe switched off the engine and turned to her.

‘Now this cousin of yours knows where you work, he’ll be back.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed glumly. ‘And from the mood Adam was in tonight I don’t think a fond reconciliation is on the cards. No matter. I can handle him.’

‘If you say so. Nevertheless, I’ll follow you home and see you safely inside your house,’ said Joe, with the kind of casual Alpha-male assurance Fen normally objected to. But he came to your rescue again tonight, she reminded herself. Be nice.

Joe walked with her to her car, and waited until she drove off before following her to narrow, treeless Farthing Street, where it was rare to find all the streetlights functioning at the same time. True to form, the one outside her house was still out of action. Fen parked on the square of concrete in front of her house, and waited for Joe to follow her round to the back.

‘It’s hellish dark out here,’ he said, as she opened the door. ‘Turn all your lights on. Better still, I’ll do it.’

‘Joe,’ she said tartly. ‘I’m perfectly capable of turning them on myself.’

He backed away, hands held up in mock surrender. ‘Of course you are. Goodnight, then, Fenella. I’ll ring you on Sunday morning.’

‘Thanks again for playing along with me tonight.’

‘No thanks necessary—I enjoyed it enormously.’

For a moment Fen felt sure he would kiss her, and felt a pang of regret when Joe merely smiled and told her to lock the door behind him.

Fen had been taken on originally for part-time work at the Mitre, but due to staff holidays she’d worked both shifts each day for the past week, with just a short break in the late afternoon. And, though Saturday was always busy, this one was made doubly exhausting by the day-long worry over whether Adam would turn up at some point, hellbent on confrontation.

‘Just thank your lucky stars the Mitre isn’t residential,’ said Jilly, as they tidied up after the lunchtime wave was over. ‘A friend of mine works at the Chesterton, and takes a turn at serving breakfast as well.’

‘Poor soul! Do one’s feet ever get used to it?’ groaned Fen.

‘Mine haven’t. Incidentally, have you heard?’ added Jilly, chuckling. ‘Diane rang the boss today to say she’ll be just fine for her Tuesday gig—surprise, surprise.’

Fen blew out her cheeks in relief. ‘Thank heavens for that! I’d planned to collapse with some mysterious complaint if Tim asked me to fill in again.’

Towards the end of a hectic evening Fen began to relax. Adam was not going to barge in and make a scene after all. Instead, just as her feet were telling her it would be really nice to go home, she saw Joe come up to the bar.

She smiled warmly. ‘Hi. You’re obviously getting a taste for our beer.’

‘Or something,’ he said, returning the smile. ‘Single Scotch and a lot of soda, please.’

Fen provided him with his drink, rang up his money on the register, handed him the change, then moved on to the next customer. It was half an hour before she had any opportunity to speak to Joe. ‘Same again?’ she asked.

‘Better make it a straight soda.’

By this time the bar had quietened down enough for him to ask if she’d had any problems during the day.

‘Nothing other than my aching feet.’

‘No visitations from angry cousins, then. What time do you get off?’

‘In half an hour or so. But don’t worry. I won’t need a bodyguard tonight.’

He leaned closer to look her in the eye. ‘Does that mean you don’t want me to follow you home?’

She shrugged, determined not to look too eager. ‘You can if you like.’

‘Don’t overwhelm me with enthusiasm,’ he said dryly. ‘I’ll wait in the corner over there, nursing my drink.’

It seemed a long half-hour. Fen had begun to consider herself reasonably proficient after two weeks in the job. But with a steady dark gaze trained on her at intervals from the far corner of the bar she was all fingers and thumbs as she poured drinks and took money—something noted with huge glee by Jilly, but with less by Tim Mathias when he made his rounds.

‘Any problems, Fen? That’s the guy who was staring at you when you were singing.’

Her eyebrows rose. ‘Really? I thought you meant Adam.’

‘No. Adam saw you when he came in to book a meal for next week—’

‘Which night is he coming?’ she said quickly.

‘Tuesday.’

‘In that case can I switch shifts?’

‘After you helped me out over Diane I can hardly refuse, can I? Time you went home now,’ Tim added. ‘You too, Jilly.’

In the staffroom Jilly eyed Fen speculatively. ‘The bloke who was watching you out there—is he taking you home?’

‘Sort of. I drive and he follows behind to make sure I’m safe, that’s all. He’s the one who came to my rescue the other night when I was mugged.’

‘Is he, now? He can rescue me any time he likes,’ said Jilly enviously, and sighed. ‘Heigh-ho. Time I was off home to the arms of my beloved. If he’s still awake by this time.’ She paused. ‘Look, kid, is this chap on the level? What does he do for a living? Something exciting?’

‘He sells insurance,’ said Fen, chuckling at Jilly’s disappointment.

The sight of Joe Tregenna leaning against her car was so welcome Fen realised she would miss him on the nights when he wasn’t waiting for her. Which was idiotic. She didn’t need a bodyguard. She wasn’t the nervous kind. Just the same, she liked having Joe around. Liked it a lot.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said, as she joined him.

‘About what, in particular?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘And?’

‘If we make an early enough start, how about making for a beach somewhere?’

‘We’re a fair distance from any beach.’

‘Not the way I drive.’

Fen laughed. ‘I don’t like the sound of that.’

‘I’m careful. You’ll be perfectly safe. A couple of hours and we could be stretched out in the sun.’

‘In that case, you’re on!’

‘If it rains we’ll think of something else,’ Joe said, taking her agreement for granted.

Fen thought about this on the drive to Farthing Street, knowing that with any other man this would be a total turn-off. But with Joe it was different. And the reassurance of his headlights in her driving mirror went a long way to restoring the sense of security she’d taken utterly for granted until recently. She’d sailed confidently through life, certain that bad things happened to other people, never to Fenella Dysart. Not that the episode with a couple of naughty kids could be counted as very desperate. But she could have done without it, just the same. In the circumstances.

When Fen arrived she waited for Joe to park his car. ‘Are you coming in?’ she asked, as he strolled towards her.

‘Only to see you through the door. As I said before, you could do with a light out here.’

‘It’s better when the streetlight’s working.’

‘Why isn’t it at the moment?’

‘No idea.’

‘Complain to the council. In the meantime do something about security lights.’

‘I only rent the place,’ she reminded him, as he followed her inside. ‘And for what I pay I doubt the landlord would cough up for such an exotic extra.’

‘Couldn’t you have found somewhere more comfortable?’ Joe frowned as he took inventory of the cheerless little kitchen. By way of fittings it boasted a couple of cupboards, a small electric cooker, a single-drainer sink, an elderly washing machine, and the brand new microwave Fen had obviously bought herself. ‘Not exactly glossy magazine material.’

She shrugged. ‘I needed somewhere in a hurry. This was available because it’s vacation time. Normally it’s a student let.’

‘Was the flatshare in a more salubrious part of town?’

‘No. In London. What time do you want to start in the morning?’

‘I’ll check the forecast and give you a ring.’

‘Fine. Like some coffee?’

‘No, thanks. Now I’ve made sure you’re safe I’ll take off and let you get those feet of yours to bed. See you tomorrow.’ Joe smiled at her, sketched a salute, then went out, leaving Fen staring, crestfallen, at the door he’d closed behind him.

One thing she had to say for Joe Tregenna: he wasn’t asking for a thing in return for his help. As any other male of her acquaintance would have done. Though she would have rather liked a goodnight kiss. She sighed. Maybe he just didn’t fancy her.

Oh, well, she thought philosophically, as she turned the key in the lock, it was probably a good thing he hadn’t stayed. He wouldn’t like the sitting room any better than the kitchen. She didn’t either.

She kept her television and video recorder upstairs on the dressing table in the bedroom. Which was marginally more comfortable than the other rooms due to curtains she’d bought ready-made, with matching covers for the bed, a couple of cushions, and the new mattress which had been vital before she could bring herself to sleep there. The bedroom now felt more like her own personal space, which the sitting room, with its hideous wallpaper and imitation leather furniture, never would.

She smiled wryly as she got ready for bed. She’d never been given to mooching in her bedroom all day as a teenager, but these days, with a whole house at her disposal, she led a typical bedsit type of existence.

The phone rang early next morning, startling Fen awake. She stretched out a hand for the cellphone kept charged by the bed, and blinked owlishly as she said a hoarse hello.

‘I woke you,’ said Joe Tregenna, amused.

‘You certainly did.’ She yawned, and turned to look at her watch. ‘You sadist! It’s only just after six.’

‘I’ll be round in half an hour. The forecast promised sunshine, so let’s make the most of it. See you.’

Fen put the phone back, shaking her head in amused disbelief. The possibility that she might have fancied a lie-in after such a hectic working week had obviously never occurred to him.

After the fastest bath of her life she pulled jeans over a scarlet bikini, added a stretchy striped T-shirt, and managed to gulp down a cup of coffee and twist her hair into a braid before Joe rapped on the kitchen door.

‘Good morning!’ He smiled, looking so fit and fresh in khakis and white sweatshirt it tired her to look at him. ‘How are you this morning?’

‘Not human yet. I’m not really an early-morning person,’ she warned. ‘I’ll probably snore in the car. Where are we going?’

‘Mystery trip. You can guess as we go along. Have you packed swimming gear?’

‘Yessir,’ she said, saluting. ‘Plus sunscreen, hat, sunglasses and cagoule.’

‘Have you no faith, woman? The sun’s shining out there!’

‘For now it is,’ Fen said darkly. ‘Hang on a minute.’ She raced upstairs to collect her cushions, and ran down to find Joe peering into the sitting room.

‘Hell, Fen, it’s worse than the kitchen,’ he said, appalled. ‘You actually spend time in here?’

‘None at all.’ She handed him the cushions and pulled on her denim jacket. ‘Let’s go.’

In the comfortable leather-scented interior of Joe’s car, Fen leaned back with a sigh and relaxed as they threaded through roadworks to make for the motorway.

‘Sorry,’ she said, yawning. ‘I won’t be much company for a while.’

‘Take a nap. Mind if I play some music?’

‘A lullaby would be good.’

While the Jaguar ate up the miles to the strains of Ravel, Fen wriggled comfortably into her nest of cushions and was fast asleep before they’d gone a couple of miles.

‘Are we there?’ she yawned later, when the car slowed down.

‘Not yet—pitstop for coffee,’ Joe informed her.

Fen sat up, pushed back a few escaping strands of hair, and smiled at him as he parked in the motorway service station. ‘As company on a day out I’m a washout so far,’ she said apologetically. ‘I swear I’ll improve as the day goes on.’

‘After double shifts at the Mitre all week no wonder you feel tired. Come on, out you get. We need coffee.’

‘Urgently, if I’m to stay awake all the way.’ She eyed him challengingly as they walked towards the restaurant. ‘Would you have been as keen on the trip if you’d known that I’m such boring company?’

Joe gave the matter due consideration. ‘On reflection I think I prefer peaceful silence to incessant chattering.’

‘You wait until the journey home,’ she said, giggling.

‘Do that again!’

‘What?’

‘The girly little laugh. But first,’ he added hastily, as she glared at him, ‘tell me what you want and I’ll fetch it for you.’

She snatched up a tray. ‘No need. I can get my own.’

There was an argument when Joe insisted on paying for her toast and coffee, but in the end Fen gave in rather than provide more entertainment for the girl at the cash register.

‘I asked you out, so I foot the bill,’ he said flatly, as they sat down by a window.

She buttered her toast, frowning at him. ‘Look, Joe, I’m perfectly able to pay my own way.’

He drank some coffee, his eyes gleaming at her through the steam. ‘OK. You can pay for lunch.’

Great. It would serve her right if he fancied a three-course meal in some expensive hotel. ‘I wasn’t being difficult,’ she said belatedly, remembering she had good cause to be grateful to him. ‘I just like to be independent.’

His smile disarmed her completely. ‘No offence taken. But if you’re paying for lunch I’ll treat you to another coffee.’

‘Where are we going?’ Fen asked, on the way back to the car.

‘If you stay awake for the rest of the journey I’ll tell you when we’re nearly there,’ Joe promised.

She gave him a warning look as she fastened her seatbelt. ‘Tell me now, or I don’t pay for lunch.’

He laughed. ‘I never intended you to.’

She ground her teeth in frustration. ‘Has anyone ever told you that you’re an infuriating man, Joe Tregenna?’

‘Frequently, but they invariably succumb to my charm in the end,’ he said smugly, and drove off to rejoin the motorway.

CHAPTER THREE

THEIR destination, which Fen guessed once they were driving through the county of Dorset, was Lulworth Cove.

‘This is just perfect,’ she said, delighted, when they reached the white cobbled beach, which was an idyll in watercolour in the sunshine, with boats riding at anchor on a calm blue sea.

Joe unfolded the steamer chairs he’d taken from the boot of the car, handed Fen into one, then let himself down in the other with a sigh of pleasure. ‘I borrowed these from my neighbours in the hope that the weather would stay good,’ he said with satisfaction, and glanced at her over his sunglasses. ‘Have you been here before?’

‘Once, when I was very small, but I don’t remember much about it.’

‘Was Cousin Adam along on the outing?’

‘Probably,’ said Fen shortly. She dug in her bag for her sunscreen, smoothed it over the small area of skin exposed, then put on sunglasses and a white cotton sunhat, and leaned back.

There was silence between them for a while, broken only by the calls of seagulls and scraps of conversation drifting on the air as other sunseekers began approaching over the cobbles.

‘I don’t mean to be stroppy, Joe,’ said Fen, after a while. ‘But I just don’t want to talk about Adam.’

‘Then we won’t,’ he said promptly, and sat up to open the cool-bag he’d brought. ‘Fancy a cold drink? Or I can provide apples, peaches and chocolate.’

Fen sat up, impressed. ‘You’re very organised.’

‘Habit. I was brought up in Cornwall. Days on the beach were part of life.’

‘Do your people still live there?’ she asked, then gave him a wry grin. ‘Which is a nerve, I know, when I refuse to discuss my own background.’

‘I’m perfectly happy to discuss mine,’ he said, lying back in his chair. ‘I’ve got two older brothers. They’re London-based. But my parents are still in Cornwall, in the same house on the headland above the village of Polruan, with a path leading down to a small cove.’

‘Sounds wonderful.’

‘Until I left home I never appreciated how idyllic my childhood actually was. Not a lot of money to spare, but we lacked nothing important. My parents are retired now, but they both taught at the village school.’

‘Did you go there, too?’

‘All three of us, until we were eleven.’

Fen’s eyes sparkled. ‘Did it cause trouble with the other kids—because your parents were teachers, I mean?’

Joe grinned. ‘It meant quite a few bloody noses after school. My father was the headmaster, and famous for coming down like a ton of bricks on fighting. But he was forced to turn a blind eye in our case, because my mother was adamant that we sorted things for ourselves.’

‘So you grew up tough, Joe. No wonder you pitched in when you saw me in a spot of bother.’

‘Only because I saw a girl,’ he said frankly, and turned to look at her. ‘Which was an inspired move, because it led to meeting you.’

‘A pretty speech,’ she said lightly.

‘True, though. Want some chocolate?’

‘No, thanks. It might spoil my lunch. Where shall we eat?’

‘Right here. On the way down I noticed a place that does crab sandwiches to take out.’

‘Perfect!’

As the morning wore on the sun grew hotter, and after a while Joe got up and stripped down to shorts.

‘You’d better have some of this,’ said Fen, handing him the sunscreen.

He slapped some on his chest and legs, then returned it. ‘Could you do my back?’

Fen smoothed the cream over his impressive shoulders, then gave them a tap. ‘There. All done.’

‘How about you?’ asked Joe.

‘I’ll just take my jacket off.’

Fen had never suffered from shyness, but with Joe for an audience she couldn’t bring herself to strip down to the bikini.

‘Fen,’ said Joe after a while, staring out to sea. ‘It strikes me that I was a bit insensitive to ramble on to you about my childhood.’

‘Not a bit,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I liked hearing about it. Tell me more.’

‘I probably painted it a bit rosier than it was. The three of us squabbled a lot, and grumbled when required to dig the garden, wash dishes, or walk the dogs. But because my mother worked hard at school as well as at home, my father considered it only fair that the rest of us, including himself, pitched in with the chores. There was no money for hired help, and just coping with the family wash was a major undertaking. The three of us were into rugby, athletics, cricket, and in my case tennis.’

‘Which meant mountains of dirty sports gear,’ said Fen, feeling sympathy for Mrs Tregenna.

Joe glanced at her. ‘In your situation I imagine you had to do your share of chores, too?’

‘Some,’ she agreed briefly, and pulled her hat low over her eyes.

Eventually Joe got up, thrust his feet into deck shoes and pulled on his shirt. ‘I’m hungry. I’ll go and hunt up some lunch. You keep off those aching feet of yours, Fen, and stay here with the gear. If there’s no crab, what shall I bring?’

‘Anything they’ve got.’

She watched him as he strolled out of sight, then turned back to gaze out over the sea, aware of how much she was enjoying Joe’s company. This Melissa of his was mad to refuse the move to Pennington with him. And stupid to assume she could take over his flat rent-free. Joe Tregenna was no one’s fool. Even on short acquaintance Fen knew there was steel behind the humour in those navy blue eyes, a combination which grew in appeal each time they met.

Taking advantage of his absence, Fen took off her jeans and shirt and hung them on the back of the chair, then applied a coat of sunscreen to the expanse of skin left bare by the scarlet bikini. There was a small garden behind the house in Farthing Street, not much more than a patch of rough grass with a washing line, separated from the house next door by a high privet hedge. But it gave her a secluded place to lie in the sun for those brief periods when the weather was kind during her time off. So far she’d been lucky with the weather, but the idea of Farthing Street in constant rain was so depressing she refused to think of it.

It was some time before Joe returned with lunch. He swept her a glance of open appreciation, then sat down on the footrest of the deckchair and took packets of sandwiches from a carrier bag, plus some ripe red tomatoes and a clutch of paper napkins. Madame,’ he said triumphantly, ‘lunch is served. Sorry I was so long. The sandwiches are cut fresh to order, and I had to stand in line.’

‘Worth waiting for,’ Fen assured him. ‘But first could you just slap some cream on my back? I’ve done the rest.’

‘Spoilsport,’ said Joe, grinning, his touch swift and impersonal over her back and shoulders. ‘Right. Now let’s eat.’

The sandwiches were generously filled, made with thick slices of crusty bread, the crab seasoned with lemon and black pepper, and Fen bit into one with an ecstatic groan of appreciation. ‘Wow, these are amazing!’

Joe nodded, munching. ‘As good as the ones they make at the Anchor in Polruan.’

Later, after making inroads on the peaches and chocolate for dessert, they sat in comfortable silence for a while, drowsy with good food and warmth. Eventually, when Joe began to doze, Fen pulled on her shirt and sneakers and went for a stroll. When she got back with two cartons of coffee Joe was sitting up, watching her pick her way over the cobbles.

‘You’re an angel! Just what I need. I woke up with a fur-lined mouth.’

‘Thought you might.’ Fen sat down. ‘First I’m going to drink this, then I’m going to treat my feet to a spot of thalassotherapy.’

‘What the devil’s that?’

‘Dunking them in seawater,’ she said, grinning. ‘Want to paddle?’

‘I fancy a swim. How about you?’

She shook her head. ‘Feet only. The rest of me stays dry.’

Joe took the empty cup from her and stuffed it into the empty sandwich bag with his. Then he took her hand and pulled her up. ‘Come on, then.’

As they crunched their way over the cobbles Fen tripped and almost overbalanced, but Joe fielded her neatly, held her close against his sun-warmed chest for an instant, then kept firm hold of her hand until they reached the water.

It was colder than expected, and Fen hopped up and down as the waves lapped over her feet. ‘Definitely no swim for me,’ she gasped. ‘Are you sure about this?’

Joe gave her a scornful look, waded out until it was deep enough, then dived into the water. He emerged yards away, raking wet hair back from his grinning face, and waved. ‘You don’t know what you’re missing!’

‘Oh, yes, I do,’ she shouted back, and, after a minute or two of watching him power his way through the water, picked her way back over the cobbles to the chairs. She waggled her toes to dry her feet, took off her shirt and applied another layer of sunscreen while Joe made for the beach.

When he stood up, water streaming down the body which had felt so good against hers, she had to admit that Joe Tregenna appealed to her strongly—in every way other than his tendency to take over at times. She watched as he made his way towards her over the cobbles, admiring his broad shoulders and long, muscular legs. These days her most constant problem was loneliness. Which was new in her life. What she needed was a new friend. The girls at the Mitre all had boyfriends or husbands, and in any case worked the same antisocial hours she did. And, if she were honest, Joe was exactly the kind of friend she needed: an attractive, intelligent man willing to accept her just as she was, no background details required.

‘That’s a very stern expression, Fen,’ said Joe, as he joined her. ‘Could you fish in my bag for a towel?’

‘I bet you’re freezing, only you won’t admit it,’ she teased, tossing it to him.

‘It did me the world of good,’ he insisted, rubbing himself down. He secured the towel round his hips and searched in his bag. ‘This is where you gaze discreetly out to sea!’

Fen chuckled, and pulled her hat over her eyes. ‘Use my towel for your hair.’

The rest of the day went quickly. At one point Joe went back to the café to fetch tea, and afterwards they just talked easily, or fell into companionable, comfortable silence. But eventually it grew too cool to sit, and they began to pack up.

‘It’s been a lovely day,’ said Fen, licking the ice-cream cone Joe had bought her on the way back from the beach.

‘Is there something pressing you need to get back for tonight?’ he asked when they reached his car. ‘No. Why?’

He opened the boot to stow the chairs away. ‘We could go back across country and find a pub somewhere for dinner.’

‘I’m a bit grubby,’ said Fen doubtfully, looking down at herself.

‘Does it matter?’

‘No. No, of course it doesn’t.’ She smiled at him. ‘Though this time I’ll be awake all the way, probably talk about myself non-stop, and you’ll be glad to get me back to Farthing Street instead of taking me out for a meal.’

Joe shook his head. ‘I doubt it. So far I know where you live, and that you work at the Mitre. But otherwise, Miss Dysart, you’re very sparing with personal details.’

‘Is that a problem for you?’

He gave her a straight look. ‘You obviously want it that way, so, no, it isn’t.’

‘Good.’ She took off her sunglasses and smiled at him as she slid into the passenger seat. ‘But don’t worry. I’m very law-abiding, Joe. No secret criminal dossier. My décor may not be up to yours, but I’m perfectly respectable. Honest!’

He laughed and went round the car to get in. ‘You won’t nick my silver, then.’

‘No. Though I’d like to steal your flat. You’ve got great taste.’

His lips twitched as he switched on the ignition. ‘Confession time. I bought the place from a couple who were moving to a place in the Mediterranean sun, and some of their furniture was included in the sale.’

‘You mean none of that is yours?’

‘I bought the teapot and mugs myself! But once the flat in London is sold I’ll transfer my own stuff up here. Though I’ll need a dining table and chairs for the other half of the main room, which looks a bit empty as it is.’

‘Not to me,’ Fen assured him. ‘Just wonderfully uncluttered after Farthing Street.’

‘If you dislike it why do you live there?’

Why, indeed? She shrugged. ‘I told you. It was very cheap.’

‘I should damn well hope so. The furniture in that sitting room is gross.’ He took a hand from the wheel and touched hers in apology. ‘Sorry. But surely other people agree with me?’

‘You’re the only visitor I’ve had.’

There was silence after this statement, while Joe concentrated on the Sunday evening traffic. ‘Why me, then?’ he said eventually.

‘Because you happened along on your rescue mission.’ Her chin lifted. ‘I only asked you in that night because I was a bit shaken after my encounter with Robbie.’

‘Thanks!’ He slanted a look at her. ‘But why no one else?’

‘I’m in my Garbo phase,’ she returned flippantly.

Joe decided to press on as far as he could before stopping for dinner, but when they found a place which appealed to them they were told lunch was the only meal served on Sundays.

‘That could be a problem in other places, especially at this time of night,’ said Fen. ‘How about we pick up a Chinese and eat it on my kitchen table?’

‘Done. We’ll postpone the haute cuisine until another night,’ he said promptly.

She shook her head at him, laughing.

‘What?’ he demanded, as they got back in the car.

‘It’s the way you just assume I’ll fall in with whatever you suggest.’

He shrugged. ‘Only dinner.’

‘True. Let’s go. I’m hungry! In fact,’ she added, searching in her bag, ‘I’ve got a flyer here from the Chinese restaurant nearest to my place, so I could order now.’

Joe eyed her in admiration. ‘Clever girl!’

‘Hunger fuels the thought processes—how long before we get there?’ Fen consulted him on his preferences, used his cellphone to place the order, then sat back, smiling at him. ‘All this is a big improvement on last Sunday, Joe Tregenna.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I worked all day. And the week before that it rained so I went to the cinema.’

‘Alone?’

‘Yes.’

Again he put out a hand to touch hers. ‘In future, any time you want company, just say the word.’

Which was why she’d brought the subject up.

Soon afterwards they were back in Farthing Street, digging into the containers spread out on Fen’s kitchen table.

‘I like to see a woman eat,’ approved Joe later, as they scraped the dishes clean.

‘It was all that sea air,’ said Fen, scrubbing at her mouth with a napkin. ‘But if I felt grubby before I feel mega-scruffy now.’

‘Whereas to me you look so good all flushed and shiny that I could eat you for dessert,’ said Joe conversationally.

She stared so blankly at him he threw back his head and laughed.

‘Could I scrub some of this grease off in your bathroom?’ he asked unsteadily.

Fen nodded. ‘Upstairs, first door you come to.’

When he’d gone off, whistling, she gathered the foil dishes into a bag and put it outside in the bin, feeling outrageously pleased by his remark, and washed her own hands and face under the tap in the sink before Joe came down again. In case he acted on his words.

‘The bathroom lives up to the rest of the décor—well, most of it.’ He smiled. ‘But your bedroom’s better.’

Fen’s eyes turned to green ice. ‘You actually looked in my bedroom?’

He nodded, unrepentant. ‘I was curious. And if my remark just now had you thinking I was going to jump on you as payment for taking you out for the day, you’re wrong. Though as a compliment I meant it,’ he added honestly. ‘I don’t know what’s going on in your life, and because you obviously don’t want me to know I won’t ask. But I can’t be the first man to find you attractive.’

‘No, you’re not,’ she agreed. ‘Men often say that kind of thing. It’s what blokes do, so I took no notice. The angry bit is because my bedroom is my own private space, and strictly off limits.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘To everyone.’

He returned the look, unmoved. ‘It just worried me to think of you sleeping in a room like the one downstairs.’

‘And now you’re reassured that I’ve imported a few girly touches to make a little nest you can go home a happy man—how sweet,’ she said with sarcasm. ‘Thank you for the trip, Joe. Goodnight.’

He stood staring down at her, no trace of humour in his eyes. ‘And goodbye? In that case—’ He seized her by the shoulders and planted a hot, hard kiss on her mouth, then before she’d gathered her wits pulled her into his arms to kiss her again, enfolding her in an aura of sun-warmed male mixed with her own soap, his lips and tongue seeking, and receiving, a response she couldn’t keep back.

Joe smiled as he released her, the laughter back in his eyes. ‘You kissed me back.’

‘You took me by surprise,’ said Fen, sounding so childish, even to her own ears, she gave a snort of laughter.

‘That’s better,’ he said in approval. ‘Look, Fen, I didn’t go in your bedroom. I just took a quick look through the door in the hope of finding one halfway comfortable room in this grim little house.’

‘OK. Sorry I ripped at you.’ She shrugged. ‘I couldn’t do much about the actual bedroom furniture, but the rest is my own. Though it beats me why it matters to you.’ But she was hopeful. ‘You needn’t lose sleep over me, Joe. I’m fine.’

He looked unconvinced. ‘Just the same, Fen, will you promise me something?’

‘It depends.’

‘If you need me any time, just ring. I can be here in minutes.’

She frowned. ‘Why do you think I should need you?’

‘I don’t know. I just have an uneasy feeling about this place. What are your neighbours like?’

‘No idea.’

‘You see what I mean?’

‘No, I don’t, so stop it, Joe,’ she said irritably, ‘you’re giving me the creeps.’

But he wasn’t listening. ‘Fen,’ he said after a moment. ‘How much do you earn at the Mitre?’

When she told him his eyebrows shot to his hair. ‘As little as that? In that case, if I knew of a job which would pay more—enough to let you rent something better than this—would you consider it?’

She shook her head. ‘That’s very nice of you, Joe, but I really like working at the Mitre.’

‘This job would be easier on your feet,’ he said, smiling.

Fen couldn’t help smiling back. ‘A tempting prospect, but no, thanks—’ She broke off, startled, as the doorbell rang.

‘A visitor at this hour?’ said Joe.

‘Never had one before. Certainly not at the front door. It opens into the sitting room, so I keep it locked—and bolted.’

‘Shall I get it?’

‘Of course not; it’s my door.’ Fen squared her shoulders. ‘Probably someone selling something.’ The bell rang again, and this time her caller kept a peremptory finger on it. She wrenched back the bolts and opened the door as far as the safety chain allowed. Then stiffened, her eyes hostile at the sight of her visitor.

‘Go away,’ she snapped, and tried to shut the door. But Adam Dysart stuck a long foot into the aperture and, angry though she was, Fen couldn’t bring herself to slam the door on it.

‘For God’s sake, Fenny,’ Adam said impatiently, eyeing what he could see of the room with incredulous distaste. ‘We need to talk. Will you stop behaving like a spoilt brat and listen to me?’

‘Problems, Fen?’ said Joe, coming up behind her. He slid a protective arm round her waist and held her close.

Adam’s jaw clenched, and suddenly Fen realised what kind of impression they were making. Joe was as dishevelled and untidy as she was from the day in the sun and wind, and due to the delay, she realised, exulting, Adam probably thought they’d had to get dressed to come to the door.

‘Nothing important, darling,’ she assured Joe, and felt his arm tighten. ‘Adam isn’t staying.’

A statement which took Adam Dysart so much by surprise she was able to slam the door in his face, then ram the bolts home to make sure he got the message.

When the doorbell remained silent afterwards Fen’s eyes filled, and Joe took her hand to lead her back to the kitchen, then held her close in his arms.

‘Don’t cry,’ he said into her hair. ‘And I won’t ask. Though I can’t help wondering why you hate this cousin of yours so much.’

‘You’ve got it wrong.’ Fen drew away, pushing a lock of hair back from her tear-stained face. ‘I don’t hate Adam. I love him very much.’

Joe stared at her narrowly for a moment, then shook his head. ‘Getting to know you, Fenella Dysart, is like trying to piece one of those huge jigsaw puzzles together.’

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