style="font-size:15px;"> ‘What? Oh, God!’ Beth stared down at the rapidly spreading puddle for a second then dashed away.
Using his arms to sweep the bottles aside, Sam wriggled out of the cupboard and back into the other side. His fingers closed on the stopcock, and he muttered a prayer of thanks as, after a grunt of effort, it gave way in his grasp and the hiss of water from the pipe slowed, then stopped. He dropped his head back in relief, cursing as the cold water soaked into his hair.
Sliding back out, he narrowly missed cracking his head on the edge of the shelf as Beth dashed back into the room to throw an armful of bath towels onto the floor. Dropping on her hands and knees, she spread them out, the pale pastel shades deepening in seconds as the towels absorbed the worst of the water. She sat back on her knees with a sigh of defeat. ‘This is hopeless. I’m hopeless.’
‘Nonsense. A small plumbing mishap is hardly an excuse to throw a pity party. You’ve taken on an awful lot with this place, so it will take a while to get your head around everything.’ Ignoring the uncomfortable chafe of wet denim against his legs, Sam crawled about on his hands and knees, using the towels to soak up the last of the water. With the worst of the mess sorted, he set about gathering them back up, holding the sopping wet bundle in his arms. ‘Let’s dump these in the bath tub and then we can wring them out.’
Beth led the way and Sam paused at the kitchen door until she’d cleared the hallway before rushing after her, trying not to drip too much water onto the carpet. He chucked the towels in the bath with a soggy thud, sending splashes up the tiled wall. ‘I’ll tell Dad you need a remedial class,’ he said, hoping to get a laugh. Paul had insisted on teaching both him and Eliza the rudimentary basics of plumbing, car maintenance and anything else he could think of that they might need to know. Beth had joined in with a lot of the lessons.
She held her arms out to the sides. ‘Look at the state of me. Oh Lord, look at the state of you! You’re soaked through as well.’
Sam pushed the wet curls off his forehead. ‘It’s just a bit of water, no harm. Come on, grab the end of this and twist.’ He held out the corner of one of the towels, then grabbed the other end. Working in opposite directions, they squeezed the worst of the water out, hooked it over the shower screen, repeating the action with the rest of them. ‘They should be all right to go in the tumble dryer now.’
Beth shoved a loose strand of hair off her face. ‘Thanks, Sam. Sorry to be a whiny baby earlier. You’re very good at all this practical stuff.’
He went to tuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, grimacing at the cold, wet denim. ‘I’ve had lots of practice, after so many years in all those different kitchens—and my fair share of cock-ups along the way. It must be the day for whining, I had a right session myself earlier.’
She cocked her head, concern drawing her brows together. ‘Something wrong?’
‘Just a few stresses with Dad, that’s all.’
Beth laughed. ‘Let me get changed and stick the kettle on and we can commiserate together, yeah?’
‘Sounds good. Can you lend me a towel to dry off ?’
Beth winced. ‘Those are all the towels from the airing cupboard, sorry. Hold on a sec, I’ll grab you something to put on and we can put your stuff in the dryer.’
It would probably be as easy to nip home and change, but she was gone before the thought occurred to him. Oh, well. He tugged off his sodden T-shirt and began to wring it out over the bath. ‘Here, you can use thi…’ He turned as Beth’s voice trailed off to find her holding out an oversized white bathrobe, her mouth open in a perfect ‘o’ shape.
Her eyes roamed down over his bare chest before flicking back to his face, the look of surprise on her face expanding as though suddenly realising what she’d done. A bright flash of colour heated her pale cheeks. ‘Sorry, I’ll leave you to it.’ The robe dropped to the floor and she dashed back out.
There was no getting around it, Beth had definitely been checking him out. Not quite sure how to feel about it, especially given his own roving eyes earlier, Sam quickly stripped the rest of his clothes and tugged on the thick, fluffy robe. The luxuriant material drew the clammy cold from his skin in moments. After squeezing the worst of the wetness from his clothes, he folded them into a neat pile. Grabbing a hand towel from the railing to dry the back of his hair, he wandered out of the bathroom to see if he could make her blush again.
Having been in the flat numerous times over the years to help Eleanor out with one thing or another, he knew his way around. Sam walked to the end of the hallway, and tapped on the door to the master bedroom which stood slightly ajar. When there was no response, he eased it open a fraction wider and stopped dead. Other than a thin film of dust, nothing about the room had changed since Eleanor had occupied it.
A flannel night gown, the kind that buttoned to the neck and had elasticated frills on the sleeves lay across the end of the floral bedspread. He could recall the one and only time he’d been in the room—to reseal the edge of the window when it had begun to leak the previous winter. Eleanor had scoffed at him when he’d asked her where her duvet was, insisting sheets and blankets were preferable to being ‘choked by some huge marshmallow monstrosity’. The plain flannel garment was about as far removed from something he could image Beth wearing as the fur-lined tapestry slippers sitting neatly beside the bed. The pots and jars on the dressing table looked untouched.
So where was Beth sleeping? Backtracking, he checked the larger of the two spare rooms and found it too dusty and unused, the mattress stripped bare, the pillows uncased. The third bedroom—a single with faded boy band posters still decorating the walls—had a neatly tucked in quilt on the bed and a suitcase on the floor, its contents spilling out into a small circle around it. What on earth was she doing, cramming herself in there? Utterly bemused, Sam made his way back to the kitchen.
Beth had found a mop from somewhere and was tackling the last of the water on the floor. Her own wet jeans had been replaced with a soft pair of yoga pants which clung invitingly to the delicious round curves of her bottom. The bathrobe did nothing to disguise his rising interest in the view she presented, so Sam side-stepped to shield his lower half behind a kitchen chair before speaking. ‘Do you want me to stick these in the dryer?’
She set the mop aside, and held out her hands. ‘Here, I’ll do it. I’ve already put my things in there. I got distracted clearing up. Can you put the kettle on while I sort this out?’
‘Sure.’ Sam made a pot of tea, then rescued the box containing the macarons from the hallway. Beth opened the window to hang the hot air pipe outside then switched on the dryer. She gathered cups mugs and plates from the cupboard and joined him at the table. He poured their tea, adding a splash of milk to his mug before doing the same to hers after Beth nodded. Her eyes strayed to the still-closed Tupperware box, and he placed a hand over the top of it. ‘If you want one of these, you have to promise to be honest with me about a few things.’
Her head shot up to meet his steady stare. ‘Like what?’
‘Like whether you regret giving up your life in London to run this place, and if you don’t, why are you camped out in your old bedroom?’
A stubborn frown etched between her brows, and he thought for a moment she would refuse to answer. He knew what it was like to be thrown a curve ball by circumstances, and he didn’t want her ending up feeling trapped the same way he had lately.
With a sigh she folded her arms and sat back in her chair, every line of her body rigid with tension.
