last time she’d seen it, it had been dark, gloomy and had birds nesting in it.
Not any more. Now, it was...
‘Just a bit,’ she said weakly. ‘Wow.’
He watched her as she looked round the kitchen, her lips parted, her eyes wide. She was taking in every detail of the transformation, and he assessed her reaction, despising himself for caring what she thought and yet somehow, in some deep, dark place inside himself that he didn’t want to analyse, needing her approval.
Ridiculous. He didn’t need her approval for anything in his life. She’d given up the right to ask for that on the day she’d walked out, and he wasn’t giving it back to her now, tacitly or otherwise.
He shrugged off his coat and hung it over the back of a chair by the Aga, then picked up the kettle.
‘Tea?’
She dragged her eyes away from her cataloguing of the changes to the house and looked at him warily, nibbling her lip with even white teeth until he found himself longing to kiss away the tiny indentations she was leaving in its soft, pink plumpness—
‘If you don’t mind.’
But they’d already established that he did mind, in that tempestuous and savage exchange outside the gate, and he gave an uneven sigh and rammed a hand through his hair. It was wet with snow, dripping down his neck, and hers must be, too. Hating himself for that loss of temper and control, he got a tea towel out of the drawer and handed it to her, taking another one for himself.
‘Here,’ he said gruffly. ‘Your hair’s wet. Go and stand by the Aga and warm up.’
It wasn’t an apology, but it could have been an olive branch and she accepted it as that. They were stuck with each other, there was nothing either of them could do about it, and Josh was cold and scared and hungry. And the snow was dripping off her hair and running down her face.
She propped herself up on the front of the Aga, Josh on her hip, and towelled her hair with her free hand while she tried not to study him. ‘Tea would be lovely, please, and if you’ve got one Josh would probably like a biscuit.’
‘No problem. I think we could probably withstand a siege—my entire family are here for Christmas from tomorrow so the cupboards are groaning. It’s my first Christmas in the house and I offered to host it for my sins.’
‘I expect they’re looking forward to it. Your parents must be glad to have you close again.’
He gave a slightly bitter smile and turned away, giving her a perfect view of his broad shoulders as he got mugs out of a cupboard. ‘Needs must. My mother’s not well. She had a heart attack three years ago, and they gave her a by-pass at Easter.’
Ouch. She’d loved his mother, but his relationship with her had been a little rocky, although she’d never really been able to work out why. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t know. I hope she’s OK now.’
‘She’s getting over it—and why would you know? Unless you’re keeping tabs on my family as well as me?’ he said, his voice deceptively mild as he turned to look at her with those penetrating dark eyes.
She stared at him, taken aback by that. ‘I’m not keeping tabs on you!’
‘But you knew I was living here. When I answered the intercom, you knew it was me. There was no hesitation.’
As if she wouldn’t have known his voice anywhere, she thought with a dull ache in her chest.
‘I didn’t know you’d moved in,’ she told him honestly. ‘That was just sheer luck under the circumstances, but the fact that you’d bought it was hardly a state secret. You were rescuing a listed house of historical importance on the verge of ruin, and people were talking about it. Bear in mind my husband was an estate agent.’
He frowned. That made sense. He contemplated saying something, but what? Sorry he’d died? Bit late to offer his condolences, and he hadn’t felt able to at the time. Because it felt inappropriate? Probably. Or just keeping his distance from her, desperately trying to keep her in that cupboard she’d just ripped the door off. And now, in front of the child, wasn’t the time to initiate that conversation.
So, after a pause in which he filled the kettle, he brought the subject back to the house. Safer, marginally, so long as he kept his memories under control.
‘I didn’t realise it had caused such a stir,’ he said casually.
‘Well, of course it did. It was on the at-risk register for years. I think everyone expected it to fall down before it was sold.’
‘It wasn’t that close. There wasn’t much wrong with it that money couldn’t solve, but the owner couldn’t afford to do anything other than repair the roof and he hadn’t wanted to sell it for development, so before he died he put a restrictive covenant on it to say it couldn’t be divided or turned into a hotel. And apparently nobody wants a house like this any more. Too costly to repair, too costly to run, too much red tape because of the listing—it goes on and on, and so it just sat here waiting while the executors tried to get the covenant lifted.’
‘And then you rescued it.’
Because he hadn’t been able to forget it. Or her.
‘Yeah, well, we all make mistakes sometimes,’ he muttered, and lifting the hob cover, he put the kettle on, getting another drift of her scent as he did so. He moved away, making a production of finding biscuits for Josh as he opened one cupboard after another, and she watched him thoughtfully.
We all make mistakes sometimes.
Really? He thought it was a mistake? Why? Because it had been a money-sink? Or because of all the memories—memories that were haunting her even now, standing here with him in the house where they’d fallen in love?
‘Well, mistake or not,’ she said softly, ‘I’m really glad you’re here, because otherwise we’d still be out there in the snow and it’s not letting up. And you’re right,’ she acknowledged. ‘It could have ended quite differently.’
He met her eyes then, his brows tugging briefly together in a frown. He’d only been back here a couple of days. And if he’d still been away—
‘Yes. It could. Look, we’ll see how it is tomorrow. If the wind drops and the snow eases off, I might be able to get you to your parents in the Range Rover, even if you can’t get your car there for now.’
She nodded. ‘Thank you. That would be great. And I really am sorry. I know I was a stroppy cow out there, but I was just scared and I wanted to get home.’
His mouth flickered in a brief smile. ‘Don’t worry about it. So—I take it you approve of what I’ve done in here?’ he asked to change the subject, and then wanted to kick himself. Finally engaging his brain on the task of finding some biscuits, he opened the door of the pantry cupboard and stared at the shelves while he had another go at himself for fishing for her approval.
‘Well, I do so far,’ she said to his back. ‘If this is representative of the rest of the house, you’ve done a lovely job of rescuing it.’
‘Thanks.’
