The one remaining problem was accommodation, and that was solved almost immediately as well.
She had a phone call the following day, from the only estate agent in the town, to say he had a charming little place to rent in Barton-Under-Edge, a three-bedroomed stable flat attached to Barton Manor, the impressive seventeenth-century stone-built house she had noticed on the outskirts of the town.
It sounded delightful, the rent seemed extremely reasonable, and she made arrangements to view it at the weekend.
The agent showed her round as the owner was unavailable, and it was, as she had supposed, absolutely charming. Attached to the side of the house, it was over the original stable block, now converted to a workshop and garage, and was accessed by a lovely old cast-iron staircase up the outside. A magnificent climbing rose was trained against the wall and reached almost to the eaves, and huge trusses of heavily scented apricot blooms cascaded over the doorway, drenching her with their exquisite fragrance.
The view over the rolling hills from the top of the steps was breathtaking, and, if that alone wasn’t enough to convince her, the flat itself, comfortably furnished and homely, was absolutely perfect for their requirements. Her natural prudence made her check all the terms, and, that done to her satisfaction, she agreed to take it and the agent said he would send her a contract to sign.
So it was that, two weeks later and a week before she was due to start her new job, she and Stephen packed up their things, rented a van and uprooted themselves from Bristol. As she closed the front door of their old flat behind her, it was as if she had closed a door on that part of her life. Her emotions ambivalent, but hope predominating, she bolstered herself with the memory of their new home. Surely there, in those wonderful surroundings, things would start to look up.
Joan came with them to help unload, because although there was no furniture there was still a phenomenal number of boxes, and she was glad of the other woman’s company.
They collected the key from the agent and Cathy drove up to the side of the house, parking at the foot of the steps.
‘What a beautiful house!’ Joan breathed, clearly awed.
‘Isn’t it? Come and see the flat. You’ll love it. Stephen, come with us, please.’
‘Oh, Mummy, do I have to? There’s a duck with her babies!’
And there was, waddling across the grass beside the stable block, head held proudly erect, followed by an untidy line of fluffy little ducklings.
Cathy relented. ‘All right, but don’t go anywhere else. I don’t want you wandering off!’
She led Joan up to the flat and they let themselves in, to find the place freshly polished and gleaming, a bowl of the apricot roses set in the middle of the dining table.
‘Oh, Cathy, how delightful!’ Joan exclaimed. ‘Oh, I just know you’ll be happy here!’
She hugged her mother-in-law and friend. ‘I hope so—oh, Joan, I hope so. I’ll find Stephen—I want to show him his bedroom. I’ll have to ask the owner if we can have an area for him to play in. He’ll love that. He’s hated not having a garden in Bristol.’
Her heart singing, she ran lightly down the cast-iron steps—and slap into a solid and very masculine chest.
‘You!’ the man exclaimed, and, with a sinking feeling, Cathy looked up into the astonished blue eyes of Max Armstrong.
CATHY stepped back, snatched a calming breath and dredged up a smile. ‘Dr Armstrong! What a surprise.’
Goodness, she had forgotten how blue those eyes were. They glittered like sapphires—especially when, like now, they were clearly angry!
‘Is this young man anything to do with you?’
Belatedly Cathy noticed Stephen, lurking uncomfortably behind Max. ‘Yes—I wondered where he’d got to. He was watching the ducks—’
‘Well, you should keep a closer eye on him. I nearly had to fish him out of the pond!’
‘I was just following the baby ducks,’ he mumbled miserably.
‘Oh, Stephen! I told you not to go anywhere. You can’t just do what you want, it isn’t our garden. Wait until I’ve sorted something out, OK?’
He scuffed his toe against the gravel and nodded, evidently subdued. Apparently he had already been given a severe talking-to. She glanced up, and her attention was snagged again by the glittering sapphire chips of Max Armstrong’s eyes.
‘Did you want to see me?’ she asked.
‘I rather thought you must be looking for me.’ He glanced around. ‘You must have parked on the road—or did you walk?’
She laughed. ‘From Bristol? Hardly—I drove the van.’
His eyes were riveted on hers in what seemed to be horror. ‘You’re the new tenant?’
‘Yes—I haven’t met the owner yet, he wasn’t available when I looked round. Why? Do you know him?’
‘You might say that,’ he said drily, and groaned under his breath. ‘I’ll bet it was John.’
Cathy felt she was several conversations behind him. ‘John?’
‘Come on, Dr Harris, stop playing innocent. You know damn well who the owner is—I expect John put you up to it. He probably even told you when I was on call so you could arrange to view it when I’d be out of the way.’
Cathy’s confidence faltered as his words registered in her befuddled brain. ‘You—you’re the owner?’
He sketched a tiny, mocking bow. ‘That’s right—and you, I gather, are my tenant. How dreadfully cosy.’
She was stunned. The place absolutely reeked of wealth. It couldn’t possibly belong to him …
‘I didn’t realise that country practices were quite so financially buoyant,’ she said bluntly.
‘They aren’t,’ he replied, equally bluntly. ‘So now tell me John Glover had nothing to do with this.’
A tell-tale flush crawled up her cheeks, and he nodded. ‘I knew it—interfering old goat. Dammit, he really has gone too far this time.’
‘I didn’t know it was you, or I wouldn’t have taken it,’ she said frankly, ‘but don’t worry; I won’t trouble you. Believe me, Dr Armstrong, I have no more wish to be in your company than you apparently have to be in mine. I can assure you we won’t get in your way again. Stephen, go inside, please, and stay with Granny. Excuse me.’ She waited pointedly until he moved out of her way, then wrenched open the back of the van and hauled out a box.
He got in her way again. ‘Where are you going with that?’ he asked sharply.
‘My
