and the demands of the job well within her capacity. Ginny Watson was pleasant and friendly, and the self-contained flat over the garage that Marin would occupy was comfortable as well as compact.
She was going to Australia to see her boyfriend, Ginny confided, another vet who’d recently relocated there.
‘He wanted me to go with him,’ she said. ‘But it’s a big change, and I wasn’t sure. However, we miss each other terribly, so I’m off to see if I like it there too.’
‘How wonderful,’ Marin said, wondering rather wistfully what it would be like to be wanted and needed from half a world away. ‘I hope it all goes really well.’
Ginny eyed Marin thoughtfully. ‘You’re all right about staying down here for a whole month? Your boyfriend won’t mind?’
‘That was Fiona,’ Marin said. ‘I’m—free as air.’
Or I will be, she thought, her throat tightening. Once this weekend is behind me.
As she waited for Jake to come for her on Friday afternoon, tension was coiled inside her like a spring.
Punctual to the minute, he stood in the doorway of the living room, smiling faintly. ‘So you haven’t run away after all?’
The charcoal trousers he was wearing emphasised his lean hips and long legs, and the pale grey-and-white checked shirt was open at the neck, its sleeves rolled back over his forearms, revealing what she suspected would be an all-over tan.
‘Did you think I would?’ she challenged, suddenly dry-mouthed and despising herself.
She hadn’t wanted the clothes he’d bought for her but, as she endured his critical scrutiny, she knew that the deep-red sleeveless top gave warmth to her pale skin and looked good teamed with the plain cream knee-length skirt, while elegant cream sandals added at least an inch to her height, plus a much-needed boost to her confidence.
What she was wearing underneath would be her little secret.
Her hair, which Lynne had ordained should be trimmed slightly, was newly washed and shining, and she’d made careful use of cosmetics to bring a glow of colour to her mouth and darken her long lashes.
He shrugged. ‘I wasn’t sure.’ Once again he made no comment on her appearance, but simply picked up her case. ‘Just this bag?’
‘It’s a weekend,’ she said. ‘Not a lifetime.’ Words she’d been repeating to herself continuously over the past days.
His mouth twisted. ‘Although it may seem like a lifetime before it’s over,’ he commented brusquely. ‘Shall we go?’
The car waiting downstairs was low, sleek and powerful with a dashboard like the controls of a nuclear reactor.
‘Typical,’ Marin muttered under her breath as she slid into the passenger seat and adjusted her skirt. Yet, at the same time, the smell of expensive leather made her draw a swift, appreciative breath, and the comfort of the cushions which supported her was like a caress.
She desperately wanted him to drive badly, to be an arrogant, selfish risk-taker with a bad temper. Needed it, so that she could focus all her churning, fragmented feelings about him and channel them once and for all into dislike.
But she was to be disappointed, because of course he was none of those things and, instead, she was unwillingly forced to admire the skilful and patient way he dealt with the heavy traffic leaving London for the weekend.
‘Do you drive?’ he asked at last, breaking the tautness of the silence between them.
‘I have a licence,’ Marin said stiltedly. ‘So I can do so if my work requires it. But there isn’t much opportunity when I’m in the city.’
‘Do you want to take a turn driving this?’
She gasped. ‘My God, no.’ Adding, ‘Thank you,’ as a hurried afterthought.
‘As you wish,’ he returned casually. ‘I simply thought you might enjoy it. That it would start the weekend on a pleasant note at least, whatever happens later.’
‘Are you expecting trouble?’
‘If I was anticipating a restful break with close friends, I’d be travelling alone,’ he said caustically. ‘As it is, I don’t know what to expect, and that makes me uneasy. Let’s just say I’ll be glad when it’s over.’
‘Not nearly as much as I will,’ Marin retorted.
His brief smile held no humour. ‘I can believe it. Try to keep that particular viewpoint under wraps, will you?’
Once they were free of the capital, an hour’s steady driving brought them to their destination. Queens Barton was an attractive village, its houses clustering round a well-kept green.
The house, Georgian in style and built of mellow brick, was situated down a private road some three hundred yards past the church, and approached through a tall, pillared gateway. Jake parked the car alongside several others on the broad, gravelled sweep at the front and came round to open Marin’s door.
He said quietly, ‘It’s going to be all right. I promised your very scary stepsister I’d look after you, and so I will. Now stop worrying.’
He drew her towards him and for a brief instant Marin felt his lips brush her forehead, her eyes and her startled, parted lips.
When he stood back, she stared up at him, telling herself it was unimportant. A gesture. Trying to laugh about it but failing, she said huskily, ‘More window dressing?’
‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘Sheer self-indulgence, actually.’ He took her hand and walked her across the neatly raked gravel. ‘And here’s our host, waiting for us.’
Graham Halsay was standing at the open front door, smiling expansively. He said heartily, ‘Good to see you here again, Jake. And welcome, Miss…er…?’
She said in a voice that she managed somehow to make calm and pleasant in spite of her inner turmoil, ‘My name’s Marin, Mr Halsay, and it’s lovely to be here.’ She looked around her. ‘Everything smells so fresh and beautiful after London.’
He nodded, his glance approving. ‘My sanctuary,’ he said. ‘That’s how I’ve always regarded it. And how it always will be.’
He ushered them into a large entrance-hall, its floor tiled in black and white. ‘Diana’s conferring with the cook, I believe, but Mrs Martin will show you to your rooms.’
At the sound of the plural, Marin almost sagged with relief. Avoiding Jake’s ironic glance, she followed the housekeeper’s plump figure up the wide sweep of staircase and right along a galleried landing. At the far end, an archway gave access to another much briefer flight of stairs, leading to a short passage.
Mrs Martin paused at the first door they reached and threw it open.
‘This is your room, Miss Wade, and I hope you’ll find it comfortable. Mr Radley-Smith will be next door,’ she added, and Marin wondered if she’d imagined the slight emphasis in the words. ‘Shall I send someone to unpack for you both?’
