it’s nothing like that.’ She walked determinedly up the hill towards her cottage.
He sent her a puzzled look, but they’d reached her house by now and she stood still, looking up at the blotchy, white-painted building with its peeling woodwork. ‘This is it. This is where I’m living now.’
He stared, his gaze moving up to the roof where a few slates were cracked or missing altogether. To his credit, he managed to keep a straight face as he said slowly, ‘I think you might have your work cut out here.’
She laughed. ‘You said it … but that’s nothing. Wait till you see the inside.’ She’d already reinforced his view that she was as reckless as ever, buying on impulse, so what did it matter if he looked around and saw the pitiful state it was in?
They walked along the drab hallway to the kitchen, where he set the bags and packages down on the pine table. He glanced thoughtfully around the room for a moment or two, taking in the flaking ceiling and the windows that hadn’t seen a lick of paint for quite some time.
‘The cupboards and worktops look as though they’re made of solid wood,’ he commented after a while. ‘I suppose they could be stripped back and restored to their original condition—or painted, depending on how you feel about it.’
‘Hmm. Yes, you’re right. I haven’t quite decided what I’m going to do yet.’ She smiled at him. He was being positive, and that made her feel much better. ‘I’ll put the soup on a low heat, and the rolls in the oven, and I could show you around the place while they’re warming up, if you like?’
He nodded. ‘Sounds good to me. Can I do anything to help? Shall I put the kettle on?’
‘Okay, thanks. Mugs are over there, cutlery in the drawer.’
They worked together for a while, and then she took him on a whistle-stop tour of the three-bedroomed cottage, pointing out the best features, where she was able to find any.
‘I knew the structure of the house was reasonably sound when I bid for it,’ she told him, ‘because Murray, my neighbour, is a good friend, and he knew about the property—from a layman’s point of view, of course.’
‘Ah … I see … I think.’ He hesitated. ‘Have you known him long?’
She nodded. ‘For years, though of course we’ve been out of touch until recently. He’s been a great help to me.’ They were in one of the bedrooms, and she waved a hand towards the small fireplace. ‘I’m not sure quite what to do about that. As you’ve seen, there’s a fireplace in each of the three bedrooms.’ She frowned. ‘They say you should keep any character features like that if at all possible when you’re renovating, but they don’t look too good at the moment, and anyway I’m wondering if the rooms might be a bit chilly with the open chimney.’
He shook his head. ‘The chimney shouldn’t make any difference, and from the looks of things you have central heating, which should keep everything cosy. I think it would be a good idea to keep them. The house is Victorian and pretty solid in most respects, and it would be a pity to lose its character. It should be a fairly straightforward job to renovate them—you have to get rid of any rust, of course, apply a coat of red oxide and then when that’s dry rub in some black grate polish. It doesn’t come off once it’s done, and the fireplace will look as good as new.’
‘You’re probably right.’ She was thoughtful. ‘I’ll put it on my list of things to do—it’s getting to be quite a long list.’
‘I could do it for you, if you like.’
She blinked in astonishment. ‘You’d do that?’ She was completely bowled over by his unexpected offer. Why would he want to spend time doing anything at all in this old, neglected house? And why would he do it for her?
‘I think it’s something I would enjoy.’ He went over to the fireplace and ran his fingers lightly over the partially engraved cast iron. ‘I often did restoration work in the family home, don’t you remember? There was that time I was up a stepladder, trying to decide what colours to use on the ornate ceiling in the dining room, when you walked in.’ He sent her an oblique glance, a glimmer sparking in his dark eyes.
‘Oh.’ The breath left her lungs in a small gasp. How could he have brought that up? Did he recall everything, every tiny instance of when she’d brought havoc into his life? ‘How was I to know you were balanced on a ladder?’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to take you by surprise. All I knew was I was supposed to go to the house and find someone who would get me started on the apple picking. I should have gone to the study, but I went into the dining room by mistake.’
‘And I narrowly avoided taking a nose dive.’
‘Because I managed to steady the ladder just in time—’
‘Only after I grabbed hold of the mahogany cabinet and regained my balance.’
‘Yes, well …’ Sarah clamped her mouth shut. Perhaps it was for the best if she didn’t say any more. It was an experience that had alarmed her greatly at the time. For a number of years she had worked on the estate in the summer holidays and this particular season she had been scheduled to spend time in the orchards. She hadn’t meant to catch her employer’s son off guard, and the consequences could have been disastrous. ‘You made a good job of the ceiling anyway,’ she said, breaking her vow of silence.
He grinned. ‘I guess I did, in the end. It took a while, though. A couple of weeks at least.’ He moved away from the fireplace. ‘I’ll make a start with the fires as soon as I get hold of the red oxide and the polish … that’ll be sometime next week, I expect.’
‘Um, okay. Thanks. That would be really good. I’m really stunned that you should offer.’ She looked around for a moment at the fading wallpaper and gave a soft sigh. It would all get done eventually.
‘As you say, the house is sound in most respects,’ James commented, interpreting her rueful expression. ‘It doesn’t look much now, but with care and attention it could be something quite special.’
She smiled at him. ‘Yes, you’re right, of course.’ She turned towards the door and said, ‘I think you’ve seen everything now—shall we go and see if the soup’s ready?’
The kitchen was warm from the old AGA, and Sarah soon had the table set for the meal. She put out butter, ham and cheese, along with a bowl of fresh salad, and invited James to sit and eat. Then she remembered the gingerbread men and laid some out on a plate, sliding it alongside the sticky buns James had bought.
‘Help yourself,’ she said, taking a seat across the table from him.
He smiled as he looked at the food, and sniffed the air appreciatively. ‘Mmm,’ he murmured, ladling soup from the tureen into his bowl. ‘This smells appetising—like home-cooked vegetables in a rich, meaty broth.’ He dipped his spoon in the soup and tasted the mixture, his eyes widening in surprise. ‘Ah … this is wonderful. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything quite like it.’
‘Well, I’m glad to hear it—though if you’re that hungry, I expect anything would taste good right now.’ She grinned. ‘Although I did spend a good deal of yesterday evening getting it ready.’
His dark brows rose, and he looked at her dubiously, as though he expected to see her nose grow like Pinocchio’s had whenever he’d told
