to herself, she filled three large bin bags with the rubbish and took them outside and then ran the dishwasher twice while she threw out piles of papers and scrubbed at the stubborn rings on the kitchen table.
Two hours later the surfaces and the floor were gleaming and the crockery was clean and neatly stacked away in the cupboards. Having checked the contents of the fridge and found them decidedly lacking, she was glad she’d had the foresight to stop at the supermarket on the way and stock up on emergency provisions.
She retrieved the bags from her little car and emptied them into the cupboards. Then she set about making supper.
Remembering the remains of the take-away on the kitchen table, she decided that her impromptu shopping trip had been inspired. She chopped, fried and stirred, filling the kitchen with delicious smells. Satisfied that the food would look after itself for a while, she took a last glance around the now gleaming kitchen, threw out some ancient newspapers and takeaway menus and gave a nod.
‘Much better. Now for the rest of the house.’ She strolled out of the kitchen with the intention of being thoroughly nosy. For a man living on his own, Mac Sullivan had a big house.
She opened the door to the living room and blinked. It looked as though the room had never been used. ‘Like something out of a magazine,’ she observed to herself, closing the door again and walking back into the hall. Two more huge reception rooms, an elegant conservatory with views of the sea and the downstairs cloakroom that had been her route into the house.
Unlike the kitchen, the rest of the house was tidy.
Unlived in.
She almost preferred the kitchen, she mused. At least it showed signs of life. The house felt cold and uninhabited. As if someone had given up hope.
Was that what had happened? she wondered.
Had Mac Sullivan given up hope when his wife had died?
She didn’t know much about it, of course. Only the little that Josh had told her, that his older brother had lost his wife in a car accident two years earlier. And that he’d done nothing but work ever since.
Noticing the footprints on the hall floor, Louisa gave a sigh and wandered back into the kitchen to retrieve the mop.
Mac Sullivan might be a dedicated doctor but he definitely needed some help with the rest of his life.
* * *
Mac slept without moving for three hours and then woke to find that it was already dark.
He lay for a moment, listening to the winter wind howling around the house and trying to work out what was different, and then he remembered Louisa.
Cursing his interfering brother, he grabbed some clothes and made his way downstairs.
There was no way she was staying. He’d find her somewhere in the village. And he’d find her somewhere tonight. Before she had the chance to mess with his life.
Bracing himself for an unpleasant scene, he pushed open the kitchen door and stopped dead.
His brother Josh was convulsed with laughter, his feet up on the kitchen table—the scrubbed, tidy kitchen table—while Louisa stood in front of the Aga, talking non-stop and stirring something that smelt delicious. Her dark hair spilled down her back and her cheeks were flushed from the heat.
She looked extremely happy and totally at home.
‘Hi.’ She broke off in mid-sentence and threw a smile at him, still stirring. ‘You slept well. Supper will be ready in five minutes if you’re interested. If you’re not then it will keep until later. I wasn’t sure when you’d be hungry.’
Mac opened his mouth to tell her that she had to leave and then the smell hit him again. He wavered, caught in a battle between his stomach and his brain. His stomach won. He’d eat and then he’d tackle the subject.
‘Fine.’ He sprawled in the nearest chair, noticing that the floor was gleaming and the bin was empty. In fact, if it hadn’t been in his house, he wouldn’t have known it was his kitchen. ‘It looks great in here,’ he said stiffly. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re very welcome.’ She removed the pan from the heat and reached for a wooden board. Her hands moved quickly, chopping, slicing and mixing, and then bowls started appearing on the table.
Mac watched with something close to fascination. He’d never actually watched a woman cook before. Melissa had been a career-woman so on the rare occasions that they’d been in at the same time to eat, they’d lived on fast food and take-aways. And his mother had always had help in the house.
Watching Louisa was like watching an artist at work.
Josh sniffed and gave a moan of pleasure as she placed a bowl of fluffy rice in front of him. ‘I’m not the marrying type, but I swear to heaven I’d marry you if you’d have me, Louisa.’
‘You’re safe, Josh,’ Louisa said soothingly, turning away to lift a casserole out of the Aga. ‘I wouldn’t have you in any shape or form. Given the contents of the take-away cartons, I gather you both like Indian food so I’ve made you curry, but hopefully mine is a tastier and healthier option.’
Mac glanced at the array of dishes and felt his taste buds spurt. ‘You made curry?’
He was starving.
‘That’s right.’ She went back to the oven and removed several more dishes. ‘That’s a lamb rogan josh and a chicken pasanda—very creamy with almonds. Rice, naan bread, spinach with garlic and green beans. Enjoy.’
Deciding that difficult conversation could definitely wait, Mac helped himself, piling his plate with food and then turning his attention to his brother. ‘So—what happened today?’
Without lifting his eyes from his plate, Josh reached for his beer. ‘Usual story. Too many patients. Too few staff. Any chutney, Lu?’
Louisa pushed the dish towards him. ‘It’s fresh chutney. Tomatoes, red onion, coriander—try it. It’s better for you than that sugary stuff you had hanging around in the fridge which, by the way, expired a year ago so I threw it out.’
Josh gave a sheepish smile. ‘Oops.’
‘The forecast is bad. It’s going to be a difficult Christmas,’ Mac said, forking lamb curry into his mouth. For a moment he sat still, savouring the flavour. A fabulous mix of spices exploded onto his palate and he just managed to stop himself groaning with pleasure. ‘This is amazing.’
‘Glad you like it.’ Louisa helped herself to some chicken. ‘Why are you so busy at work? Surely there aren’t many tourists at this time of year?’
‘Difficult to attract staff to deepest Cornwall,’ Mac said, chewing slowly, his eyes fixed on her face. ‘Which makes me wonder what you’re doing here.’
Why would she agree to come and live with strangers at Christmas?
Josh choked on his beer. ‘For crying out loud, Mac, finish the food before you insult the woman. If she deprives us of seconds, I’ll kill you.’
Mac
