Your son said you were painting? Does that mean you’re a painter as well as a photographer?’
‘I’m painting my sitting room … not a canvas.’
‘Okay.’ He held up his hands, grinning at his mistake. ‘At any rate, I dropped by because I have an invitation to give to you—from my sister, Beth.’ He produced what was, in his opinion, a ridiculously scented and girly-pink envelope from the inside pocket of his three-quarter-length black leather jacket.
‘Have I met your sister?’
Amusement forced one corner of Jarrett’s mouth up into his cheek. ‘Not yet … but, trust me, she’s determined to meet you, Ms Markham—or is it Mrs?’
Her expression became even more vexed. She snatched the envelope from him. ‘It’s Ms. I used to be married, but I’m not any more.’
‘So you’re divorced?’
He saw her swallow hard. ‘No. I’m a widow.’
The news sobered Jarrett’s mood. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. I’m not. And before you make some specious judgement about that, the topic isn’t up for discussion.’
‘Fair enough … that’s your prerogative.’
The fire in her eyes suddenly died. Gripping the pink envelope he’d handed her as if she’d prefer to rip it to shreds rather than open it, she laid the flat of her free hand against the doorframe, as if needing support. It was as though every ounce of her vitality and strength had leaked away, leaving her visibly weak and shaken.
To be that angry … that aloof … must take a hell of a lot of energy, Jarrett mused. What had the woman been through to make her so furious and defensive? Her remark about not being sorry that she was a widow suggested that her relationship with her husband had not been the stuff of fairytales.
For whatever pain she’d endured in the past, a genuine feeling of compassion arose inside him. ‘Ms Markham … Sophia … are you all right?’
‘I’m fine.’
With a look of steely resolve she straightened, but he could hardly miss the tears that glistened in her eyes, and the sight made him feel as if he’d just been punched in the gut. He never had been able to bear seeing a woman cry …
‘How did you know my name was Sophia?’ she challenged.
Before Jarrett had the chance to answer, she folded her arms and wryly moved her head from side to side.
‘I expect it filtered down to you from the headquarters of the local gossip collective. Am I right?’
‘I can’t deny it.’
‘Do people have such dull and boring lives that they have to pry into the business of a total stranger?’ she demanded irritably.
‘They most likely do. Why do you think they’re so addicted to the soaps on TV? The invented drama of a stranger’s life is probably far preferable to the reality of their own.’
‘I won’t have a TV in the house. I’d rather read a book.’
‘What about Charlie?’ Jarrett ventured, glancing over at the small boy who was once again careening round the giant hollyhocks, mimicking the ‘rat-a-tat’ sound of machine gun fire.
Sophia winced. ‘My son doesn’t need to be glued to a television or computer screen to enjoy himself. Besides, a lot of the programmes shown nowadays are so negative and manipulative that he’s hardly missing out on anything helpful or essential.’
‘So … what kind of books do you like to read?’
‘If you’re hoping that I’ll invite you in to have a cup of tea and discuss my reading habits, then I’m sorry, Mr Gaskill, but I’m going to have to disappoint you. You may keep turning up like the proverbial bad penny, but I’m not going to encourage you.’
‘You have something against making friends?’
‘I manage just fine without them.’
‘What about your son?’
‘What about him?’
‘You might prefer to be reclusive, but what about Charlie? Doesn’t he need the companionship of children his own age?’
‘He’s joining the village primary school in a couple of weeks, so he’ll make lots of friends there, I’m sure.’
‘My sister Beth’s best friend Molly teaches the nursery class. If you come to Beth’s little get-together next Saturday you’re bound to meet her. Who knows? You might even become friends.’
Sophia huffed out a sigh. ‘What is it with you? Are you employed to go round the village encouraging fellowship amongst its inhabitants whether they want it or not?’
Jarrett laughed. To be honest, he couldn’t remember the last time that a woman’s witty repartee had engaged him quite so much—thrilled him, even. ‘No, I’m not … Though it seems to me that would be a quite commendable way to spend my time. The downside is I could hardly earn a living doing it.’
Tapping the pink envelope against her thigh, Sophia gave an impatient glance that didn’t reflect a similar enjoyment in his company. ‘Look … I’m in the middle of decorating the sitting room and I must get on. I’m sorry if I seem a little terse, but I have my work cut out trying to make this place into a home for me and Charlie. Thanks for taking the time and trouble to bring me the invitation. You can tell your sister that I’ll think about it and let her know.’
‘If you do that much she’ll be delighted, I’m sure.’
He held out his hand without much hope or expectation that she would take it. He almost stumbled when she slid her cool palm inside his. It was as light and as delicate as a bird.
‘Goodbye, Mr Gaskill.’ She quickly withdrew it, but not before his skin tingled fiercely from its contact with hers.
‘Now that we’ve introduced ourselves you can call me Jarrett. Goodbye … Sophia.’ Before turning away he gave her a deliberately teasing smile, lifted his hand in a wave to Charlie, then strode back down the uneven path and out through the gate to his car …
Reflecting on her most recent encounter with Jarrett Gaskill disturbed Sophia so much that, despite her assertion that she had work to do, the desire to spend the rest of her Sunday afternoon painting the sitting room utterly deserted her. In search of a solution to the hard-to-contain restlessness his visit had left her with, she jumped with Charlie into the small second-hand car she’d recently purchased and drove down to the coast.
The spring day was chilly, but they still ate their fish and chips outside, sitting on a bench overlooking the foaming silver sea, and the gusting wind that blew around them was sufficiently cold to prevent Sophia from dwelling on any of the worries that were usually hovering just below the surface of her conscious thoughts.
When they’d finished eating, she bought her son a crabbing line from
