rich coming from someone who has his first childhood pony munching happily away in the lap of luxury.’
‘Reasonable comfort,’ he modified. There was a twinkle in Rafe’s eyes as he acknowledged her pot-shot with a rueful grin. ‘If you’re really worried about the mutt, I’m sure the worthy Andrew would be happy to make a house call.’
Rafe wasn’t up to speed with the status of their romance, but it was well known locally that the middle-aged veterinarian had been sniffing after Tess since he’d bought into the local practice. Even though his acquaintance with that individual had been brief, Rafe didn’t doubt that his estimation of the man as dull, pompous and self-righteous was essentially correct.
Tess flushed at the snide comment and her spine grew defensively rigid. ‘Didn’t you know, Andrew sold the practice? He’s moved up north.’ She knew what Rafe, like everyone else, thought. If he dared offer her any false sympathy…
Why did everyone automatically assume that because she was single, female and just about on the right side of thirty she had to be gagging for the romantic attentions of any half-decent male in the vicinity? Admittedly, half-decent males were thin on the ground, and Andrew had been pleasant company, but even though the only thing they’d shared had been the odd meal the entire neighbourhood, if sly comments and knowing looks were anything to go by, had assumed Tess had been sharing a lot more with him.
Rafe’s upper lip curled. ‘I always thought he was slimy,’ he drawled insultingly.
‘If it’s any comfort, he didn’t like you much either.’
Rafe patted the fawning animal. ‘He’s new…?’
‘So are most things since you last honoured us with your presence.’
‘You’re still the same.’
Tess wasn’t flattered; she didn’t think she was meant to be. ‘He’s pretty second-hand, actually. He was Mr Pettifer’s dog—you remember him…?’
Rafe nodded, dimly recalling a frail octogenarian.
‘Nobody wanted him.’
‘What a surprise!’ He couldn’t imagine there were many households that would be likely to welcome this ugly brute.
Exasperated, Tess pushed the heavy fringe of chestnut hair, which was overdue a trim, impatiently from her eyes and focused on Rafe’s sternly handsome face.
‘He’s got a lovely nature.’
‘And bad breath.’
‘Well, Ben loves him.’ From the way she said it he could tell that, as far as she was concerned, there was no greater recommendation.
She might be wrong—she didn’t see Rafe much these days—but there seemed to be something a bit different about him tonight. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it…
‘Have you been drinking?’ she speculated out loud.
‘Not yet,’ he told her with a jarring, reckless kind of laugh. ‘Just the thing!’ he announced, swooping on a dusty bottle from the wine rack. His dark eyes scanned the label.
‘Elderberry, my favourite. Corkscrew…?’ he added imperiously, holding out his hand expectantly.
Gran’s elderberry! She now knew for sure that something was up! In other circumstances it might have nagged him to tell her what it was. Only at that moment she didn’t much care what was bothering him, she just wanted him out of her hair so she could think…not that that had got her anywhere so far, she was reluctantly forced to acknowledge.
‘You’re not proposing to expose your discerning taste buds to gran’s home-made wine?’ she mocked.
‘Not alone.’
‘A tempting invitation, but it’s three o’clock in the morning,’ she reminded him, automatically consulting her bare wrist to confirm this statement and realising she wasn’t wearing her wrist-watch. Come to think of it, she wasn’t wearing much, she acknowledged uncomfortably, pulling fretfully at the hem of her washed-out cotton nightshirt.
She had a distinct recollection of waving her arms around wildly, revealing in the process God knew what! Still, it was only Rafe and it wasn’t likely he’d turn a hair if he’d walked in to find her stark naked!
Three a.m. or not, Rafe, of course, was looking as tiresomely perfect as ever. It went without saying that his outfit was tasteful and expensive. It consisted of dark olive trousers and a lightweight knitted polo shirt—not that the details really mattered, not when you were at least six feet four, possessed an athletic, broad-shouldered, skinny-hipped, long-legged body, and went around projecting the sort of brooding sensuality that made females more than willing to overlook the fact you had a face that wasn’t strictly pretty. Strong, attractive and interesting, yes…pretty…no.
‘I know what time it is, I was kind of wondering about you…’ His gaze moved rather pointedly over the disarray in the room. ‘Do you often get the urge to spring-clean in the wee small hours, Tess?’
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she explained defensively, peeling off the yellow rubber gloves and throwing them on the draining-board.
She didn’t much care if Rafe thought her eccentric, bordering on loopy; she didn’t much care what Rafe thought at all these days. In her opinion success had not changed Rafe for the better. He’d been a nice, if irritating kid when he’d been two years younger than her.
She supposed he still must be two years younger, time being what it was, only the intervening years seemed to have swallowed up the two-year gap and had deprived her of the comfortable feeling of superiority that a few extra months gave you as a child.
Superiority wasn’t something people around Rafe were likely to feel, she mused. He was one of those rare people folk automatically turned to for leadership—not that she classed herself as one of those mesmerised sheep who hung on his every word.
Still, although she often teased him about his old family name, he wasn’t like the rest of the Farrars who were a snooty lot, firmly rooted in the dark ages. Traditionally—they were big on tradition—the younger son entered the military and the elder worked his way up through the echelons of the merchant bank which had been founded by some long-dead Farrar.
His elder brother Alec had obligingly entered the bank, even though as far as Tess could see the only interest he’d had in money had been spending it. She didn’t suppose that his family had been particularly surprised when Rafe hadn’t meekly co-operated with their plans for him. Since he’d been expelled from the prestigious boarding-school that generations of Farrars had attended they’d expected the worst of him and he’d usually fulfilled their expectations.
He hadn’t even obliged them and turned into a worthless bum as had been confidently predicted. He’d worked his way up, quite rapidly as it happened, on the payroll of a national daily. He’d made a favourable impression there, but it was working as the anchor of a prestigious current affairs programme that had really made his name.
The job was tailor-made for Rafe. He wasn’t aggressive or hostile; he didn’t need to be. Rafe had the rare ability of being able to charm honest answers from the wiliest of politicians. He made
