logs and only needed a match to send the reflection of flames flickering off the bookshelves that lined the walls.
Not a bit like the bare stone interior of the horrible giant’s house in her childhood story book.
First impressions could be so wrong…
Harry crossed to the hearth and hunkered down to put a match to the fire, although the room wasn’t cold. She perched on the edge of the sofa as he coaxed the fire to life, watching his deft movements, quick reaction as a log fell into the hearth, his broad back. And forgot her own pain as her stomach wrenched in empathy for pain she could not even imagine. And she closed her eyes.
‘Jacqui?’ She jerked them open. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes,’ she said, but without conviction.
‘You look a bit pale. Do you feel sick?’
She did, but not as a result of the bang on the head. ‘I’m fine, really.’
He continued to look at her for a moment, before turning back to the fire. When he was sure it had caught, he placed a guard in front of it.
‘Shall I take that?’
She looked down at the ice-pack, which was beginning to melt into her lap. ‘None of this is necessary,’ she protested. ‘I should be—’
‘What?’
Looking for her phone. Chasing Vickie to find out what was happening. But then, as Harry had pointed out, Maisie was happy enough. This was what she’d wanted. So why was she getting her knickers in a twist, instead of doing as she was told, lying back and letting everything work itself out?
‘Nothing,’ she said.
‘Right answer.’
And this time the crease at the corner of his mouth was deep enough to qualify as a smile. Lopsided maybe. A trifle wry, even. But a heart-stopping improvement on the alternative.
She could live with ‘wry’.
‘Now all you have to do is put your feet up and I’ll go and get some aspirin.’
And to prevent any further argument, he bent, picked her feet up in one hand, pulled off her shoes and placed them on the sofa.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHEN Harry returned a couple of minutes later with aspirin and a blanket, Jacqui was asleep. He watched her for a while. Her colour had returned and her breathing was good, but there were dark smudges beneath her eyes that had nothing to do with the crack on the head.
He’d noticed them last night when she’d come down—minus the make-up she’d used to conceal them—to make herself a drink. Jacqui Moore, he suspected, hadn’t been sleeping properly for some time. Something he knew all about.
No doubt there was a man at the bottom of it. Why else would she be going on holiday on her own?
He left the painkillers on the sofa table and, as gently as he could, covered her with the blanket.
‘How is she?’
He turned as Susan came in with tea.
‘She’s dropped off. Best thing for her.’
‘She shouldn’t be left. My sister’s boy fell out of a tree—’
‘Yes, thank you, Susan. I’ll stay and keep an eye on her. Just leave the tray.’
‘Right. Well, I’m off upstairs to do the bedrooms if you want me.’
‘Take Maisie with you. I don’t want her coming in here disturbing Jacqui.’
Susan made a sound that only women beyond a certain age could manage. She ‘humphed’. It said more clearly than words that she knew exactly what he didn’t want. Maisie disturbing him. Then she said, ‘She should be at school, playing with children her own age.’
‘Save the lecture for Sally when she turns up.’
‘I won’t hold my breath.’ Then, ‘I’m sure Mrs Jackson, the head teacher, would be happy to take her until the end of term.’
‘No doubt, but she’s not staying.’ He gave the final three words equal weight, hoping that someone would finally get the message.
‘If you say so.’ She put down the tray. ‘Well, I can’t stand about here gossiping. If you need anything you know where I am.’
‘Will you keep an eye out for Jacqui’s cellphone? It wasn’t in the office so she must have dropped it upstairs somewhere.’
‘I’ll do that.’
As she turned to leave they both saw Maisie, half-hidden by the open door, apparently afraid to venture closer.
‘Is she dead?’ she whispered. ‘Did I kill her?’
‘You?’ Susan exclaimed. ‘Why on earth would you think something—?’
He crossed swiftly to the door, bundling them both out. ‘She bumped her head on the desk, Maisie. It had nothing to do with you,’ he said, putting a stop to the discussion.
‘But she was looking—’
‘She’ll be fine. She just needs peace and quiet for an hour, that’s all. Go along with Susan, now.’
‘I’d rather go to school.’
Thank you, Susan′
‘Can I? In the village? Now? Pleeease…’
She was unusually twittery. He might even have said anxious…
‘I don’t think so. Maybe,’ he added, cruelly, ‘if your mother had packed something sensible for you to wear—’
‘Don’t blame her! It wasn’t her fault! I did it. I just wanted to look pretty so you’d like me!’
Then, as if horrified by what she had said, she turned and ran off.
Susan just looked at him. ‘You know, Mr Harry, it’s not my place to say so, but in my opinion that child needs a little order in her life.’
‘You’re right, Susan,’ he said. ‘It isn’t your place to say so.’
She sniffed, leaving him in no doubt what she was thinking, and went after Maisie.
The hound had taken advantage of Susan’s arrival to slip into the library and was lying as flat as possible in front of the fire, hoping not to be noticed.
He added another log and then turned to make sure Jacqui hadn’t been disturbed. She was curled up on her side, her cheek resting on her hands, a strand of silky hair slipping across her forehead.
He eased a finger beneath it, lifting it carefully out of her face.
