she assured him briskly. ‘The desk is wrapped in muslin to avoid any knocks, and if we remove the drawers out here it won’t be much of a problem—unless your study’s in the attic, of course.’
‘No, just inside the front door.’ He ushered her inside. ‘If you take a look, perhaps we can plan a campaign to do the least damage to you or the desk. Or perhaps we could just leave it in the hall and I’ll get Wilf Robbins to give me a hand on Monday.’ He looked at her face, then said smoothly, ‘But that, of course, would cancel your good deed in getting the desk to me tonight.’
The shadowy panelled hall was square, with several wide oak doors opening off it. The first opened into the study, which contained two comfortable chairs flanking a stone fireplace, a couple of small tables, a television, a fax machine and a pile of cardboard boxes.
‘Do you want your desk under the window?’ asked Hester, sizing up the room.
He sighed. ‘Alas, no. If I do I’ll keep looking out on the garden and never get down to any work. I thought of putting it on the blank wall over there behind the door.’
‘It shouldn’t be a problem,’ she said briskly. ‘These old doors are wide, which is a help. The desk should come in easily enough.’
And, despite Patrick Hazard’s doubts about her physical capabilities, fifteen minutes later the beautiful desk was installed, unharmed, against the panelling on the inner wall, with enough space alongside it for one of the tables.
‘Which I shall need for my computer,’ he said, breathing hard. ‘It’s a crime to pile a stack of soulless technology on a work of art like your husband’s desk.’
Hester, also breathing hard, looked at him sharply. ‘This isn’t one of my husband’s pieces, Mr Hazard. I hope you didn’t buy it under that impression. The provenance states very clearly that it’s a David Conway original.’
Narrowed green eyes met hers. ‘I’m sorry—wires crossed somewhere,’ he said, after a pause. ‘You’re not David Conway’s wife?’
‘No. I was married to his elder brother.’
‘Divorced?’
‘No. I’m a widow.’
There was embarrassment, coupled with something less identifiable, in the rueful look he gave her. ‘I’m sorry. You were pointed out as the Conways last night—as a couple. I took it for granted you were married. To each other.’
Hester shook her head. ‘David’s wife has been away visiting her parents this week. Tally’s due back about now, which is why David didn’t deliver the desk himself. And Mark, who works for us and would have been happy to help normally, is playing cricket. So I volunteered.’
‘It’s extraordinarily noble of you on a Saturday night.’
‘Not at all. I wasn’t doing anything.’
‘Which is hard to believe,’ he said swiftly, then bit his lip. ‘I’m sorry. That was probably tactless. How recently were you widowed?’
‘Several years ago, Mr Hazard.’ She smiled a little.
‘And I do have a reasonably busy social life. I just don’t happen to have anything planned for tonight.’
‘Nothing at all? Then what are you going to do now?’
‘Go home and do a bit of gardening, probably. The desk looks happy here. It was a good choice. Goodnight, Mr Hazard.’
He looked at her in silence for a moment, something indefinably different in his manner. ‘Now we’ve established that I’m not the twins’ father and you’re not David Conway’s wife,’ he said at last, smiling crookedly, ‘would you consider staying for a while to share my supper with me?’
Hester, taken aback for a moment, looked at him thoughtfully. She found that she liked the idea. And there was no reason why she shouldn’t accept She went out with various male friends in Chastlecombe, in the purely platonic way that was all she had to offer. On the other hand, if she said yes to Patrick Hazard—who was, without doubt, the most interesting and attractive man she’d met since Richard—it was possible he might misunderstand the situation now he knew she was a widow. Others had before him, taking her attitude as a challenge.
‘You’re taking such a long time to decide,’ he said at last, a wry twist to his mouth, ‘I take it the answer’s no.’
Hester’s curiosity got the better of her. She wanted to know more about this man, why he’d chosen to live here far away from the city lights she felt sure were his usual habitat, what he did for a living. She smiled and shook her head. ‘Thank you, I’d like to very much.’
‘Wonderful!’ The green eyes lit with a dazzling smile. ‘Then come this way, Mrs Conway. Let me show you my kitchen—which is the only place to eat, I’m afraid. Or would you like a tour of the house first?’
I would, very much. This is not a house I’ve ever heard of. I thought I knew most of the interesting places in the Chastlecombe area, but Long Wivutts came as a surprise.’
‘The name attracted me before I’d even seen the place.’ Patrick led the way across the hall into a sitting room with beautiful panelling, and triple-light latticed windows looking out over the tangled wilderness of the garden. ‘I’m told it comes from the size of stone tiles they use on the roofs round here. There are twenty-six sizes, would you believe? All of them with marvellous names like Middle Becks and Short Bachelors. They’re pretty difficult to replace now, apparently, though Wilf—the man who’s going to help me with the garden—has somehow acquired replacements from some derelict cottage.’ He grinned. ‘I had the feeling it wouldn’t be tactful to enquire about their provenance.’
Hester chuckled. ‘Very wise! This is a lovely room—just look at the size of that fireplace. With some chintz-covered sofas and a Persian carpet, maybe, plus a picture or two and some plain, heavy curtains... Sorry. You’ve probably got it all planned already.’
‘Not really. Any suggestions would be welcome.’ He led her out into the hall and into a room obviously meant for dining, and then beyond it to a little parlour at the back of the house, both of them as empty as the sitting room. Only the kitchen, which was so large it had obviously been two rooms at one time, was furnished. Late sunlight poured through the windows, washing over a plain round table and four balloonback Victorian chairs. A bowl of fruit, a basket of eggs and a large bread-crock sat on a counter which ran the length of gleaming oak-fronted cupboards—as new as the cooker and refrigerator, but so severely plain they blended harmoniously with the venerable stone flags underfoot.
‘This is perfect,’ said Hester with enthusiasm. ‘You’ve caught exactly the right note with the cupboards. Only, in winter I advise a rug or two on this floor—I speak from experience. Mine’s the same, and it can be very cold.’
‘I must confess the previous owners had got as far as doing up the kitchen and one of the bathrooms,’ he admitted. ‘I’d like any advice you have to spare. My sister, as must be obvious, isn’t at her best at the moment. And when the baby arrives she’ll have too much to do to have much time for me. She gave me the table and chairs—too small for Ashdown House. But she’s worried about not giving more of a helping hand here. I told her I’m big enough and old enough to look after myself. She’s older than me—still thinks of me as the little brother.’
