awkward weight of the tray on my lap and the tantalising scent of the thick and hearty leek and potato soup suggested something much more down to earth. I picked up the spoon and raised it to my lips, sniffing the warm aroma appreciatively. The soup tasted as good as it smelled and I was soon wiping the bowl round with the bread. I hadn’t realised quite how hungry I was until I’d started eating. After popping the last hunk of bread into my mouth, I sensed someone standing behind me. The couch was facing the fireplace, with the heavy oak front door set back behind a curtain to one side of it and the rest of the room behind me. I craned my head round, still chewing, and found myself staring into a pair of blue eyes that left me in no doubt that this was Jadie’s father.
He was a handsome man in his early thirties. His features were nicely symmetrical; short blond hair framed a cleanshaven face with a small cleft in the centre of his chin. The stiff way in which he held himself brought to mind a Roman centurion—I decided he’d look pretty good in a short-skirted leather uniform—but I wished I didn’t have a mouth full of bread, because I was fairly sure it was about to choke me.
I chewed with a dry mouth and swallowed with difficulty as he walked directly into my line of vision. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a blue checked shirt over a white T-shirt, which on anyone else might have looked casual, but there was nothing casual about his demeanour; he seemed almost more ill at ease in his own house than I felt as a visitor. He came round to perch on the arm of the nearest chair and offered an embarrassed half-smile. I watched as he knotted his hands in his lap and leaned forward, his expression neutral.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.
‘I’m much better now, thank you.’ I ignored the dull throbbing in the tips of my fingers and toes, and the ache in my head. ‘I can’t thank you enough for bringing me into your home like this. I hadn’t realised the weather was going to get so bad.’
He nodded, apparently reassured by my answer, but I noticed he avoided making direct eye contact with me. ‘I’m glad you don’t need to go to hospital because I don’t think we could have got you out. We’re completely snowed in and, according to the weather forecast, there’s more to come.’
‘I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.’ Picking up the empty tray I leaned forward to try to deposit it on a nearby coffee table. I succeeded in sliding the tray onto the polished surface of the low table and sat back. Realising the blankets weren’t quite covering me, I gathered them quickly round me.
He seemed not to notice. ‘I’m Vincent James.’ He half rose out of the chair towards me, his hand outstretched to shake mine.
I kept my hand knotted tightly round the top of the blanket, whilst eyeing his nervously. What was I going to say? Should I confess I hadn’t the faintest idea who I was or what I was doing out there in the snow? Would he think I was a crazy woman and throw me back outside to take my chances in the blizzard?
He frowned at my hesitation and I realised I had no choice but to tell the truth. Taking a deep breath, I took the plunge.
‘I’m afraid I can’t remember who I am. The bump on my head has obviously given me some sort of amnesia…but I’m sure everything will come back to me soon.’
He let his hand drop onto his lap as he scrutinised me closely with a frown of surprise. ‘You can’t remember anything?’
I shook my head.
‘Umm,’ he murmured, obviously thinking things over. His eyes drifted over me and I watched his face as he came to a decision. ‘Well, whoever you are, you are welcome to stay here until the weather clears and we can find some proper help for you.’
Breathing a sigh of relief I began to relax. But then he seemed to remember his manners and reached his hand rather abruptly towards me again in welcome. Keeping the blanket in place with one hand I stretched the other hesitantly towards his. I found I was holding my breath as our hands met; this was my rescuer, the man who had carried me through the snow. I don’t know quite what I expected, but his handshake was dry, firm and unremarkable. Perhaps I had dreamed the whole thing. No flashing lights, ringing bells or electrical currents passed between us; nothing to indicate we were soul mates greeting one another. I felt something inside me plummet. I relinquished his hand and inwardly berated myself for my foolishness. It was just that after he had rescued me in the blizzard I had thought…what had I thought?
‘So you have no idea what you were doing out there in that snowstorm?’ he asked, intrigued now. He sank back onto the chair and glanced past me towards the kitchen. Was he looking for a means of exiting without giving offence, or watching for his ever-vigilant housekeeper?
‘I have no idea at all.’ I hauled my thoughts back. ‘I remember coming to at the side of a road and feeling the cold eating into me. I don’t know how I got there, but I do remember having a cat with me.’ The memory brought a new flood of anxiety rushing through me. ‘You don’t know what happened to it, do you? It was in a pet carrier. I was trying to carry it to safety, but it was so heavy and my hands were so cold I think I dropped the poor thing into the snow.’
‘I don’t know anything about a cat, but I’ll ring round some of the locals, see if anyone knows anything about one.’
‘It was in a plastic carrier,’ I persisted. ‘It’ll die out there in this weather.’
‘I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do now. It’s still snowing heavily and it’s pitch-dark outside. You should try to get some rest and not worry about it. And when the snow clears we should get you to a hospital.’ He rose to his feet.
Resting my head back against the arm of the couch, I found I was suddenly overwhelmed by the events of the day. My head was throbbing, my hands and feet still ached and I felt bone weary.
Vincent paused as if sensing my misery. ‘Look, you were huddled in the snow up on Adam Jenkins’ top field, next to the footpath. It’s possible the cat is still there so I’ll give the farmer a ring and ask if he could look for it in the morning, OK?’
I nodded resignedly.
He hesitated just before he left the room. ‘You can use the room my mother normally has when she stays with us. Tara will show you where it is. Get a good night’s sleep. Things never seem so bad in the morning.’
‘Thank you,’ I said quietly.
Listening to his footsteps receding on the polished wooden flooring, I took a great steadying breath. I was alone for the moment and had an opportunity to take in my surroundings. This felt and smelled like an old house, the faint aroma of the soup mixed with the more ingrained scents of wax polish and wood smoke from the fire. What I could see of it from the couch seemed warm and cosy, like a much-loved pair of old slippers. If it hadn’t been for my strange circumstances I was sure I would have felt quite at home here.
I closed my eyes and tried to force my mind back. Surely, I thought, I must be able to remember something of my past, anything at all that could give me a hint as to who I was or what I was doing in this place. But my mind remained obstinately blank as if there was a curtain drawn across it, sealing off my former life and keeping my memories elusively out of reach on the other side.
‘You’ve finished your soup, then.’ I jumped as Tara appeared to take my tray, her lips pursed in what I took to be disapproval. ‘Vincent said you could use the guest bedroom when you’re ready to go up.’
I noticed she was no longer referring to her employer by his surname and wondered
