office, with his PA there, rattling off a million and one things that needed to be done sooner than yesterday and preferably sooner than the day before. He would have kept going, sometimes until late into the night when exhaustion would finally kick in and sleep would be the only option. An option he would have delayed forever because with sleep came the memories.
What was it with the time down here? It seemed to be like elastic, stretching interminably in a twenty-four hour period. Even with his calls, his emails, his extensive reports, he still seemed to have time on his hands at the end of the day.
These people here seemed to have nothing better to do than while away the time over tea and cakes.
He found that he himself was ordering a pot of tea, when the waitress came across.
‘So?’ Sophie prompted. Those unsettling green eyes rested on her face and she flushed.
‘It’s the heating,’ Theo found himself improvising. Now that he was up close and watching her squarely in the face, he could see that her huge brown eyes were fringed with thick, very dark lashes which made a startling contrast to the blonde hair. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to show me the workings.’ Theo had never asked anyone to help him with anything for as long as he could remember and certainly never something as fundamentally straightforward as the heating system of a house. If his mother could hear him now, she would roar with laughter, he thought uncomfortably. ‘Not that I can’t figure it out on my own…’sheer Greek pride forced him to qualify.
Sophie looked at him warily, then she smiled. So he did have chinks in that armour! Even though he came across as the sort of man who could climb Mount Everest during his lunch break!
That genuine hesitant smile was disconcerting enough to make Theo frown, and Sophie, seeing the frown, misinterpreted it as embarrassment at being caught out unable to succeed at doing something.
‘I know,’ she said with pseudo-concern, ‘it’s terrible for a man having to admit that he actually can’t do something, isn’t it?’ She thought back to the many DIY jobs her father had attempted doing, only to end up calling in the experts. He had been clever at science and enthralled at what mankind was capable of inventing, but show him a flat pack and he had inevitably been stuck. ‘Still, you’re a writer so I suppose you have an excuse.’
‘And why is that?’
‘Because writers aren’t really supposed to know how to do practical stuff, like working out the heating or fixing a washer or…replacing a light bulb.’
Theo was outraged at her generalised assumption that he was a woolly-headed idiot but condemned to accept it with grudging good humour. He wondered why he had conjured up such a ridiculous story. Frankly, he wondered why he had bothered. People had already called to find out whether he needed company, including one acquaintance, Yvonne, who had mistakenly translated his previously polite responses as active encouragement. So why the hell was he seeking out the company of a woman who, aside from everything else, did not have a respectful bone in her body?
‘Is that right?’ he drawled, sitting back and sipping some of the tea and watching as she tucked into the obligatory scone with jam and cream.
‘Yes. Although maybe you’re different as you don’t write fiction.’
Theo watched her lick a drop of cream from her finger. His so-called profession was something he certainly did not wish to linger upon.
‘Okay, I’ll pop in after work and have a look. There shouldn’t be a problem, really. One thing we’ve always made sure to look after has been the heating system in the house. It gets too cold here to take any chances.’
‘You being…you and your father…’
Sophie stilled. She wiped her fingers on the napkin and looked across to the waitress for the bill.
‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘So, if anything, the timer switch needs adjusting. I should have thought that you would want the heating on more than normal because you’re probably indoors all day working.’ The bill came and she protested vigorously when Theo insisted on paying.
‘How did he die?’
He wasn’t overstepping the mark—Sophie knew that. He was being polite, maybe even sympathetic, but she still resented the question. It was none of his business. Asking her personal questions was out of line. He was a tenant, not a friend, and not even a particularly nice tenant.
‘I assume it’s not a secret,’ Theo said dryly, ‘but if you’d rather change the subject, then that’s fine.’
‘He had a heart attack. It was quite sudden. He wasn’t old and he was very fit and healthy.’
The memory of Elena’s death came back to him with such ferocity that he drew in his breath. A different start to her day, a different road travelled, maybe not stopping to take his call, and her life would not have shattered into a thousand pieces.
‘So you have been left to sort out his affairs,’ he said abruptly and Sophie, relieved to escape the sadness of the topic, grasped the diversion gratefully and nodded.
‘It’s a bit of a mess, to be honest. I guess I’ll have to get some financial person in at some point to help, but right now I’m doing the best I can.’ She looked at her watch and stood up. ‘Will you be staying on here for another pot of tea?’ she asked politely. ‘Because I’ve got to go now. It’s a bit cold and breezy, but the shops will be open for another hour or so and you could explore.’
‘I might,’ Theo said dismissively, having no intention of doing any such thing. ‘And I’ll see you…at what time…?’
‘Oh, about six, once I’ve locked up.’
It was a Friday night. She was a young girl. Yes, the area might not be hopping with wild night excitement, but had she nowhere to go?
Curiosity, like some alien virus, entered his bloodstream and he stood up, waiting for her to leave before heading back to the cottage. Where he cleverly adjusted a couple of switches so that his ridiculous story could be corroborated.
For once, the panacea of work took a back seat. Gloria phoned, updating him on various deals he had on the go, filling him in on the snippets of gossip, in which he was not the slightest interested. As she spoke, Theo thought about Sophie, then slammed shut the door on the thoughts the second he became aware of them.
At six he heard the buzz of the doorbell and there she was when he pulled open the door. No longer in her jeans and rugby shirt, but combat trousers and a cream sweater over which she wore a longish olive-green jacket that engulfed her. The rumpled hair was now brushed and tied back into two little plaits that made her look about fifteen.
‘On time,’ he said, stepping aside and watching as she walked into the hall and deposited her coat on the banister with the familiarity of someone who had probably spent a lifetime doing it.
‘I live just above the office. It takes me all of ten minutes to get here.’ Sophie looked around, expecting and finding the house in impeccable condition. Annie and Catherine would have told her if he had been a slob. He might be arrogant, obnoxious and full of himself but at least he was relatively tidy. No sign of anything, not even the reams of paper she would have expected to be piling up somewhere. He probably just wrote directly on to his computer—no need to print anything.
Reluctantly
