Kate had never been more glad of her dark glasses. Was every conversation with Jake Harvey destined to lift her spirits, then bring her crashing back to earth with a bump?
‘Sorry about that. Sophie’s headmistress,’ said Jake.
‘ Really? Oh.’ Too late, she realised he was joking.
Entertained, he said, ‘You haven’t seen Sophie’s headmistress. Anne Robinson on a broomstick.’
‘Well, I’d better be going too.’ Kate gave Norris’s lead another tug, before Jake could start telling her all about the stunning girl he’d arranged to meet tonight. Across the road she saw that Oliver had finished settling up; if he and Will made their way over now, Will would be bound to say something excruciating.
‘So who is he?’ Clearly curious, Jake nodded over at Will. ‘He makes documentaries. He’s doing one on my dad. He’ll be filming around here too,’ said Kate.
‘Filming?’ Jake let out a low whistle. ‘Anyone with something to hide had better watch out then.’
‘Does that include you?’ Kate couldn’t resist the dig. ‘Not me.’ He flashed her a wicked grin.
‘Luckily, I’m not the secretive type.’
‘Who’s he?’ said Will.
Honestly, and women were supposed to be the nosy ones. ‘Local coffin-maker. Thinks he’s it. I’m taking Norris home,’ said Kate, because Norris was casting lovelorn looks over his burly shoulder at Bean and she didn’t trust him not to drag her back across the road.
‘We won’t be long,’ said Oliver. ‘Just a quick tour of the town then we’ll be back.’
Sophie and Tiff were playing with a cardboard box on the pavement outside the Peach Tree.
‘Takes me back a bit,’ Oliver said jovially as he and Will approached the delicatessen.
‘Playing with cardboard boxes because we couldn’t afford proper toys.’ He liked to exaggerate the circumstances of his childhood, play up the poverty aspect. ‘Hello there, you two, having fun? This is Sophie, by the way, our housekeeper’s granddaughter. And Tiff is the son of Juliet, who owns the deli.’
‘Hi,’ said Will, eyeing the box with its letterbox-sized slit in the top. ‘Playing postmen?’
Sophie shot him a pitying look. ‘It’s a toll booth.’
‘It costs fifty pence to get into the shop,’ said Tiff.
‘No it doesn’t,’ an exasperated female voice called out from inside the delicatessen. ‘Tiff, let them in.’
Tiff and Sophie gazed up at Oliver.
‘Outrageous opportunism,’ Oliver tut-tutted, pulling a handful of coins from his trouser pocket and slipping them into the box. Sophie and Tiff exchanged smug glances — Oliver Taylor-Trent was always a soft touch. Then their eyes swivelled in unison to fix upon his younger, scruffier companion.
‘Don’t look at me,’ Will protested. ‘I’m like the Queen, I never carry cash.’
‘Appalling children,’ sighed Juliet, appearing in the doorway and ushering in her potential customers. ‘You shouldn’t give them any money.’
‘Nonsense,’ Oliver said briskly. ‘Couple of young entrepreneurs in the making. Reminds me of myself when I was young.’
‘More like a couple of highway robbers.’ Juliet smiled apologetically at Will. ‘What must you think of us?’
It didn’t take a mind-reader to guess what Will was thinking. Juliet was wearing a white, peasant-style Indian cotton blouse and a swirling calf-length skirt strewn with poppies. Her dark hair was tied back in a loose glossy plait. Her eyes, darker still, were alight with gentle humour. Oliver, watching Will’s reaction to Juliet, wondered whether it was those eyes or her glorious hourglass figure that appealed to him most.
‘How’s business?’ Oliver said easily.
‘Oh, pretty good. We get by.’ Dimples appeared in Juliet’s cheeks. ‘I’m sure trade will pick up now that you’re back.’
‘Funny you should mention it. Estelle forgot to buy Parma ham this morning.’
‘Customers with expensive tastes and more money than sense,’ Juliet told Will cheerfully as she crossed to the chill cabinet, ‘are my favourite kind. Three packets or four?’
Oliver thought about it. ‘Better make it six.’
‘Gravlax?’
‘Go on then.’
‘How about those olives you like?’
‘You’ve twisted my arm.’
‘And we’ve got the most amazing Sevruga caviar.’
‘Now you’re pushing your luck,’ said Oliver.
‘Oh well, worth a try.’ Juliet laughed as she rang up his purchases on the till and expertly packed them into a Peach Tree brown paper carrier with string handles. ‘Thanks very much, I’ll put it on your account. And we look forward to seeing you again soon.’
‘Bye, Mr Taylor-Trent,’ chorused Tiff and Sophie as they left the shop.
‘Bye,’ said Oliver. ‘Don’t spend it all at once.’
‘It wasn’t that much money,’ Sophie told him. ‘Only three pounds twenty pee.’
‘Wow,’ breathed Will, when they were out of eavesdropping range of the children. ‘I mean ...
wow.’
‘ She has that effect on men,’ Oliver agreed. ‘I tell you, if I were twenty years younger, I’d be tempted myself.’
‘It’s not just her. This whole ... place.’ As Will Gifford spread his arms to encompass Ashcombe, a button went ping and parted with his shirt. ‘I mean, are any of the people who live here normal?’
‘ Funny you should say that.’ Oliver steered him up the road towards the mini supermarket. ‘Brace yourself, you’re about to meet Theresa Birch.’
You knew your subconscious was up to something when you went into Bath to buy a new pair of trainers and a bottle of contact lens cleaning solution, and scuttled home three hours later with a lime-green silk and velvet bra and knicker set instead.
What a trollop.
Worse still was hearing the front door open and guiltily stuffing the carrier bag containing your new bra and knickers under the sofa.
‘Hi, darling.’ Marcella came bursting into the living room. ‘Buy something nice?’
Maddy pulled a face. ‘Couldn’t find any trainers I liked.’
‘Oh, what a shame. So you didn’t get anything at all?’
‘No, just looked around the shops.’ Not just a trollop, but a wicked lying trollop. Wondering if this was how people felt when they smuggled hard drugs through customs, Maddy hurried through to the kitchen and put the kettle on. She imagined the hidden underwear pulsating and glowing like kryptonite, signalling its presence to Marcella. ‘Chocolate biscuits?’
‘No thanks, but I’d love a raw carrot.’ Marcella grinned. ‘What a ridiculous question. Of course I want chocolate biscuits – ooh, here come the rabble.’ She jumped to one side as the door crashed open again. Jake, Sophie and Bean came clattering down the hallway and erupted into the kitchen. Sophie, covered in grass stains and dust, was clutching a football and looking triumphant.
‘She’s lethal,’ complained Jake. ‘Almost broke my leg. She’s Vinnie Jones in a skirt.’
‘He lost,’ Sophie said matter-of-factly. ‘And I don’t wear skirts. Anyway I’ve never heard of Vinnie Jones. Who’s she?’
‘That reminds me,’ said Marcella. ‘Vince and I are having a barbecue tonight, if you fancy coming along.’
‘Great,’ said Jake.
‘I can’t.’ Maddy used the excuse she’d had the foresight to prepare earlier. ‘I’m meeting up with Jen and Susie in Bath.’ She looked suitably regretful. ‘We’re having a girly night out.’
‘Oh well, never mind. Give them my love,’ said Marcella warmly, which only made Maddy feel worse. ‘And if you’re home before midnight, come on over, we’ll still be going strong – oh, darling, what have you got there? Is that a present for me?’ Bending down, she reached for the glossy black carrier Bean was dragging into the kitchen, and Maddy felt herself break into a light sweat. For a panicky moment she wondered if she could get away with pretending it was a present for Marcella, but it wasn’t her birthday and the bra was the wrong size and her mother wasn’t stupid. So basically she wasn’t going to be able to get away with it at all.