you got with Mr Quinn Ellington, she told herself caustically. Mr Nice Guy when it suited him, but that was all.
‘I shall stay in touch with them,’ she said defiantly.
‘That’s very good of you.’ It was deeply sarcastic.
Her nostrils flared and she would have loved to have made a grand exit, but she didn’t have the key or the instructions.
‘Sit down, Candy, and finish your coffee.’ It was an order, not an invitation.
‘I would prefer to leave now, if I can have the key?’ Why was she behaving like this? Candy asked herself in disbelief. Even the note in her voice wasn’t really her. She was never petulant.
‘Sit down.’ It was a bark this time, and she sat, acknowledging, with a touch of dark humour, that he was certainly in the right profession. There wasn’t an animal alive that would step out of line if he spoke to it like that. Well, she needed the key and so she would play along, but once she had it she would make sure she never set eyes on Mr Quinn Ellington again. Essie or no Essie!
‘Thank you.’ Quinn wasn’t sure if he was angrier with himself or this Titian-haired virago who looked like an angel but had the temper of something from the other place. But she was Essie’s fledgling, she was still recovering from the sort of accident that no one got out of alive, she was all alone in an alien country and he had promised to look out for her, damn it. He had promised. And he hadn’t lost his temper for years; why had he to start with her, now? He took a deep breath and forced his mouth out of the grim line it had set in. ‘Now, please drink your coffee; you look ready to drop and it will help you concentrate on the drive to the cottage.’
Oh, so she was an inept driver now as well? Candy scowled at him, her eyes shooting blue sparks that negated any idea she was sleepy. But she finished the coffee and ate the finger of shortbread Quinn had wedged on the saucer. It was delicious, and she would have loved another slice, but she would rather have been hung, drawn and quartered than say so.
‘Ready?’ Quinn rose as he spoke, and it dawned on her he was tall, very tall. He towered over her five feet eight by at least six inches, and he needed a haircut. Her eyes widened slightly as the thought hit and she pushed it aside firmly. She didn’t care if his hair grew down to his feet; it was no concern of hers if that quiff kept falling in his eyes.
‘I’ll meet you round the front.’
She had been hesitating on how to finish the meeting. It seemed a bit fatuous to thank him for the coffee, but she couldn’t very well just ask for the key again. Now, as Quinn spoke, she found herself gaping at him before she shut her mouth with a little snap. So he was still determined to escort her to the cottage? She swallowed back the hot retort that had jumped to her lips and almost choked with the effort, before sweeping past him and wrenching open the front door.
Calm down, Candy; don’t let him get to you. She stood for a moment on the doorstep and breathed deeply of the crisp, cold English air before striding over to the Fiesta and unlocking the door.
Once inside the car she started the engine and then waited. Within moments a sleek, beautiful champagne-coloured Aston Martin nosed on to the front drive from the back of the house. It figured. She allowed a small cynical smile to play round her angry mouth. This was a car women would take a second and a third glance at, and she didn’t doubt that was why Quinn had bought it.
Oh, why was she being so bitchy? she asked herself in the next moment, as Quinn raised a hand in acknowledgment before easing the car past the docile little Fiesta. He was entitled to drive any car he liked!
Harper had liked powerful cars. The statement was in answer to her previous thoughts, and she recognised it as such as she followed Quinn out on to the main road. The realisation made her nip at her lower lip. No, she wasn’t going to do this. She wasn’t going to get all bitter and twisted and tar all men with the same brush. No doubt there were still a few men out there, nice, ordinary men, who were capable of being faithful all their lives. The thought was without conviction, and she frowned at herself before shrugging irritably.
It didn’t matter one way or the other anyway. She didn’t intend to fall into the trap of commitment and all that hogwash ever again, so it was pointless to think along these lines. She clamped her lips together, straightened her back and followed Quinn into the sort of narrow country lane that was pure picture book England.
They passed several huge thatched cottages with magnificently laid out gardens, and within a moment or two the lane had narrowed still more to show green fields either side of the drystone walls.
Candy was just thinking she hoped they didn’t meet any traffic from the opposite direction when Quinn’s indicator began to flash and his snail’s pace slowed still more, before he eased the Aston Martin into a pull-in just big enough to take two cars.
‘Oh, Essie…’ Candy spoke out loud, as though Xavier’s wife was in the car with her, but her first sight of the cottage Essie still couldn’t bear to sell was enchanting.
It was tiny, minute, but the narrow winding path that led to the gnarled front door, the pretty front garden, the white-painted exterior and quaint leaded windows under their bonnet of thatch were chocolate-box material.
The cottage looked to have masses of ground at the back, and she could imagine the gardens would be a blaze of colour come the spring, but even now, with the bare branches of the trees silhouetted against the dying gold sky, the vista was breathtaking. She could understand now why Essie had hung on to her little corner of English heaven, even though Xavier had a penthouse in London for when he was over on business. If this was hers she wouldn’t sell it. No way.
And she was allowed to stay here as long as she liked— Essie had been adamant about that. ‘Months, a year, two years, for ever,’ Xavier’s wife had said airily when she had first offered Candy the sanctuary. ‘Make it yours, Candy. It’s the perfect spot to resume your painting and it’s great to think of the place being used again. Xavier arranged for a lady to dust and air the place every so often, and there’s a gardener who keeps the outside under control, but other than them you won’t see a living soul unless you want to.’
The last words stayed with her now, as she opened the car door and looked over to where Quinn was holding the rickety garden gate open for her.
‘Come in and have a nose round first and then I’ll get your cases,’ he said evenly, but without a smile.
‘There’s really no need. I can manage perfectly well—’
‘And then I’ll get out of your hair,’ he cut in with cool aplomb. ‘Okay?’
She ought to say she hadn’t meant she was waiting for him to leave. It was the polite thing, the courteous thing to do. But she had meant just that and she wasn’t going to lie. Candy raised her chin a notch or two, nodded brightly, and walked over to the gate. She had to brush past him to get through, and as she did so the smell of him, a mixture of delicious aftershave and something lemon, teased her nostrils, making her senses jump.
It didn’t help either that he seemed even bigger and darker than before, in the heavy black leather jacket he had pulled on over his working denims, or that the muscled strength that padded his shoulders and chest was intimidatingly close.
She concentrated on walking to the front door with every ounce of her will, and by the time she reached it she was able to stand aside and let Quinn open the door for her with the magic key without a tremor. A few more minutes and then she would be alone.
