out. What utter bliss.
But the road to paradise was not an easy one, she soon discovered. Other people had also decided to make an early start to the Bank Holiday weekend, and traffic was grindingly heavy.
By the time Tara turned the car on to the rutted track which led to the house her head was aching, and Melusine was expressing vigorous disapproval from the rear seat.
She parked in the yard at the back and got out, stretching luxuriously and drinking in gulps of the cool early evening air. Then she reached into her bag and found the key.
The house felt chill and slightly damp as she stepped into the kitchen. There was a strange mustiness in the atmosphere too.
The smell of loneliness, Tara thought, looking around her. I’ll soon change that.
As usual, there was a box of groceries waiting on the scrubbed table, courtesy of Mrs Pritchard, and one of her magnificent steak and kidney pies covered by a teatowel resting beside it. Tucked under it was a note, stating that the gas tank was full and the log man had delivered the previous week, together with the various invoices for these services. And, waiting in the big old fridge, was a bottle of Tara’s favourite Chablis.
Already she could feel the stresses and strains of the past weeks easing away, she thought, heaving a sigh of pure satisfaction.
Mrs Pritchard, you’re an angel, she told her silently.
She went back to the car, sniffing at the tubs of lavender that her mother had planted the previous year, and collected the frantic Melusine, who gave her a filthy look and stormed up the clematis-hung trellis on to the shed roof.
‘Feel free,’ Tara told her as she unloaded the rest of her things from the car and carried them into the house. From past experience, Melusine would sulk until supper time, then appear as if nothing had happened, twining herself affectionately round Tara’s legs.
When the entire family was staying Tara contented herself with a small room at the back, but now she had the luxury of choice, and she opted for the large room at the front, which matched that of her parents, just across the landing. She might not be spending much time on the river—even the most cursory inspection downstairs confirmed she had plenty to do—but she could enjoy the view, and let the sound of the water lull her to sleep at night.
She tossed her travel bag on to the wide bed and walked to the window, flinging back the half-drawn curtains and opening the casement to take her first long look at the creek itself.
And stopped in utter astonishment and swiftly mounting anger. She’d expected the usual tranquil expanse of water, ruffled only by moorhens or a passing duck, with Naiad as a centrepiece.
Instead she was confronted by another boat, a large cabin cruiser, smart, glossy, and shouting money. And tied up, for pity’s sake, at their landing stage.
She said aloud, furiously, ‘What the hell...?’ and halted, her attention suddenly riveted by the loud, excited barking of a dog just below the window, and Melusine’s answering yowl of fright
‘No,’ Tara exploded. She was across the room in two strides, and flying down the stairs, dragging back the bolts on the front door with hands that shook with rage as well as fear for her pet.
She hurled herself outside, colliding heavily as she did so with another body, much taller and more muscular than her own. Was aware, shockingly, of bare, hair-roughened skin grazing her cheek. Heard a man’s deep voice say, ‘Ouch,’ and felt strong hands steadying her.
‘Let go of me’ She tore herself free. ‘My cat—where is she?’
‘She’s safe. She’s roosting in that tree over there.’
Swinging round, Tara saw Melusine crouching on a branch twenty feet from the ground. And, leaping joyously below, still barking, a golden Labrador dog, not long out of puppyhood.
‘Oh, that’s great,’ she said savagely. ‘That’s just bloody wonderful. Call your damned dog off, will you? And when you’ve got him under control, the pair of you can clear out. This is a private landing.’
‘But apparently not a happy one.’ The interloper’s faint drawl was composed, even amused. All she could see of him was a dark shape between herself and the setting sun. She took a step backwards, shading her eyes.
She registered dark blond hair, in need of cutting, and cool blue eyes. A strong face, with a beaky nose, high cheekbones, and a firm, humorous mouth above a jutting chin. Not conventionally handsome by any means, but searingly attractive, she thought with a shock of recognition. He had a good body, too, lean and tanned, and clothed only from the waist down in faded denim which emphasised his long legs and flat stomach.
She felt a sudden sensuous tingle quivering along her nerve-endings that she had not experienced since Jack. And she resented it. More than that, feared it.
Dry-mouthed, she hurried into speech. ‘There’s not much to be happy about. You’re trespassing, and your dog has tried to kill my cat.’
‘Dogs chase cats. That’s a fact of life. They rarely if ever catch them. That’s another. And if he did get near I wouldn’t give much for his chances.’
His laconic drawl was infuriating. He turned towards the Labrador, put two fingers in his mouth to utter a piercing whistle, and called, ‘Buster.’ The dog came instantly to his side, eyes sparkling with excitement and tail wagging.
Tara glared at them both.
‘And what chance does my cat have—stuck there in that tree?’
‘Is she really stuck?’ he asked mildly. ‘I can probably do something about that.’
Tara took a deep breath. ‘The only thing that you can do is go. You’ve no right to be here. If you weren’t trespassing, none of this would have happened.’
‘And just what are your rights in all this?’
Tara jerked a thumb. ‘That happens to be my house.’
‘Really?’ The straight brows lifted. ‘Now I could have sworn it belonged to a Jim and Barbara Lyndon, who are both in their fifties and currently in South Africa. I must have been misinformed.’
‘They’re my parents.’ His easy assurance was unnerving. ‘And may I ask how you came by that information? ’
He shrugged. ‘People in the village are very helpful.’ He paused. ‘So it’s not really your house at all.’ It was a statement rather than a question.
Tara gritted her teeth. ‘If you want to split hairs...’
‘An excellent idea,’ he agreed affably. ‘You see, I was also told that this landing was a shared one with Dean’s Mooring.’
‘Back in the mists of time, perhaps.’ She hated the defensive note in her voice. ‘However, Mr Dean never used it. He didn’t even have a boat.’
‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘But, you see, I have. And as clearly no one is using the Dean’s Mooring share at the moment, I’m borrowing it.’
‘But you can’t—not without permission from the owner,’
