convincing.
‘You shouldn’t keep your …’ she jerked her head towards the red car ‘… PA waiting.’
He directed a frowning glance towards the car; she was right. ‘True.’
‘Don’t let me keep you.’ The words were barely out of her mouth before she gave a contradictory urgent cry of, ‘Wait!’
‘You are missing me already. I’m touched.’
Libby directed an ‘if I see you again in this lifetime it will be too soon’ look at him and pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket. ‘Do you have a pen?’
Rafael pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and watched as she began to scribble on the paper.
‘Here,’ Libby said, pushing it at him.
‘What is this—your telephone number?’
‘My name and address,’ she retorted, refusing to react to the mockery in his voice. She glanced towards the damaged vehicle. ‘Send me the bill for the damage.’
Rafael glanced down at the words on the paper. ‘That could be quite a bill.’
‘I pay my debts,’ she told him proudly. ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked, frowning as he did a visible double take.
‘Marchant? Would that connect you to Marchant Plastics?’
‘My grandfather began the firm and my dad runs it now. Have I said something amusing?’ she asked spikily. ‘What are you doing?’ she added as he screwed up the paper between his long fingers. ‘I mean it—I want to pay for the damage.’
‘I won’t hold you to it, but don’t worry, I have an excellent memory.’
Puzzling over the cryptic parting shot, Libby stood watching as he walked away and got into the car with the beautiful blonde, not once looking back.
Of course he didn’t look back! He had probably already dismissed her from his memory, or maybe he was sharing an amusing anecdote about the incident with his blonde PA—sure, that was really likely.
Eustace sat on the passenger seat with his head out of the window as Libby drove the half-mile down the lane to the chocolate-box roses-around-the-door cottage where Chloe lived.
The short journey did not take long, though longer than it might have had she not felt the need to stop halfway to bury her head in her hands and groan a mortified—You wanted to kiss him; you enjoyed it!
It seemed to Libby as she angled a glance at her refection in the driving mirror that her shame was written all over her face. Chloe was going to know that something had happened the moment she saw her and in her present frame of mind Libby had an uncomfortable feeling she might tell her what it was!
Hand on the ignition key, she paused and dropped her hand, thinking, Maybe not …? It might be an invitation to any passing felon, but a running engine also provided an escape route of the ‘must dash, the engine’s running’ variety. And Chloe was already aware that she was in a hurry home.
Her precautions proved unnecessary as it was Chloe’s husband, Joe, who answered the door. Not really renowned for his sartorial elegance, Joe resembled an unmade bed even more so than normal and the bags under his eyes had acquired company.
Libby’s own problems receded momentarily as she angled a look of sympathy at his exhausted face. ‘Hi, Joe.’
Beside her Eustace saw his master and leapt at him, tearing the lead from her hand in the process.
‘Hush, you’ll wake the baby, hound,’ Joe said, grabbing the trailing lead of the barking dog and receiving a slobbery kiss from the overexcited animal before bestowing a grateful but weary smile on Libby. ‘Thanks, Libby. It turns out I could have picked him up—I got off work early.’
Now he tells me, Libby thought, fixing a smile. ‘No problem.’
Other than discovering I am actually not a nice girl. That actually when it comes to breathtakingly handsome Spaniards I am what is termed easy.
On the plus side, it was good to know your weaknesses. From now on she was going to avoid anywhere where there was so much as a chance of hearing flamenco music.
‘The vet said you can bring him back Tuesday to get the stitches out and to give him these.’ She reached into her pocket and produced a bottle of tablets. ‘Twice a day, I think he said,’ she said, glancing at the label.
Joe took them and pocketed them. ‘Don’t worry, we know the drill—unfortunately.’ Joe ran a hand over his unshaven jaw and seemed surprised to find gingery stubble there. ‘But no more or it’s obedience school for you,’ he warned, patting the animal’s head.
Libby fought back a smile. Poor Joe—designer stubble was not a good look on him. Of course there were some men who would not necessarily look disagreeable with a couple of days’ beard growth.
A few might even look sexy in a slightly edgy, piratical way, she conceded, thinking of one face in particular.
‘How are things?’ she asked, making a conscious and unsuccessful effort to push the face away.
‘A bit … twilight zone, really. I think it’s the sleep deprivation. Chloe’s having a nap. I know she’d love to see you, but you don’t mind if I don’t wake her …?’
Finally banishing the image of a specific dark lean face complete with designer stubble, Libby shook her head and struggled to hide her relief.
‘Not a problem. To be honest I’m a bit tired. I want to get home and Mum and Dad—’
‘Yes, of course!’ A spasm of sympathy crossed Joe’s face. ‘I heard, Libby. I’m so sorry. If there is any—’ He broke off, looking over his shoulder and groaning as the unmistakeable sound of a baby’s demanding cry rang out in the distance.
Oblivious to the alarm in Libby’s expression, he gave an apologetic shrug. ‘Sorry, must go before Chloe wakes up. She’s all in and—’
‘No problem, you go and give my love to Ch—’
‘You’re a pal.’
If Libby had not stepped back the door might have hit her nose. As it was she turned her ankle on the cobbles that ran around the house.
Teeth gritted and ignoring the stabbing sharp pain in her ankle, she retraced her steps, the sound of Joe’s voice amplified in her head above the sound of her feet on the gravel driveway—I heard, I’m so sorry …
Heard what? Sorry about what?
She had to fight the impulse to run back to the cottage, bang on the door and demand that Joe explain himself. However the sound of the dog barking and the baby crying did suggest that Joe had enough on his plate … and anyway she might be misreading what he had said.
She shook her head. Deep down she knew this wasn’t the case. She wasn’t misreading anything or overreacting—she had known something was wrong!
And
