building, with lots of polished mahogany timbers decorating the ground-floor frontage and white-painted rendering higher up. There were window-boxes filled with crimson geraniums and trailing surfinias in shades of pink and cream, and in front, on the pavement, there were chalkboards advertising some of the meals that were on offer.
There was still more than half an hour left before her transport should arrive, plenty of time for her to get some lunch and try to gather her thoughts.
She chose a table by a window, and went over to the bar to place her order. ‘I’m expecting a Mr Flynn to meet me here in a while,’ she told the landlord, a cheerful, friendly man, who was busy polishing glasses with a clean towel. ‘Would you mind sending him over to me if he asks?’
‘I’ll see to it, love. Enjoy your meal.’
‘Thanks.’
The solicitor had told her Mr Flynn had been acting as caretaker for the property these last few months. ‘He’ll give you the keys and show you around. I think he’s probably a semi-retired gentleman who’s glad to help out. He seems very nice, anyway. When I wrote and told him you don’t drive at the moment he offered to come and pick you up.’
So now all she had to do was wait. There was a fluttery feeling in her stomach, but she went back to her table and sat down. she felt conspicuous at first, being here in a bar full of strangers, but now that she was tucked away in the corner she felt much more comfortable, knowing that she was partially shielded by a mahogany lattice.
For her meal, she’d chosen a jacket potato with cheese and a side salad, and she had only just started to eat when a shadow fell across her table. She quickly laid down her fork and looked up to see a man standing there.
Her eyes widened. Was this Mr Flynn? He wasn’t at all what she’d been expecting, and her insides made a funny kind of flip-over in response.
Her first impression was that he was in his early thirties, tall, around six feet, and good looking, with strong, angular features and a crop of short, jet-black hair. He was definitely no elderly caretaker, and seeing such a virile young man standing there came as a bit of a shock.
He, in turn, was studying her thoughtfully, a half smile playing around his mouth, but as his dark grey glance met hers it occurred to her that there was a faintly guarded look about him.
‘Saffi?’
‘Yes.’ She gave him a fleeting smile. ‘You must be… You’re not quite what I expected…um, you must be Mr Flynn…?’
He frowned, giving her a wary, puzzled glance. ‘That’s right. Matt Flynn.’ There was an odd expression around his eyes and in the slight twist to his mouth as he watched her. He waited a few seconds and then, when she stayed silent, he seemed to brace his shoulders and said in a more businesslike fashion, ‘Your solicitor wrote to me. He said you wanted to look over the Moorcroft property.’
‘I…Yes, that’s right…’ She hesitated, suddenly unsure of herself. ‘I was hoping I…um…’ She glanced unseeingly at the food on her plate. ‘I…uh…’ She looked up at him once more. ‘I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Do you want to leave right away?’
He shook his head. ‘No, of course not—not at all. I’m early—go on with your meal, please.’ He seemed perplexed, as though he was weighing things up in his mind, but she couldn’t imagine what was going on in his head. Something was obviously bothering him.
‘Actually,’ he said, after a moment or two, ‘I’m quite hungry myself. Do you mind if I join you?’ He smiled properly then, the corners of his eyes crinkling, his mouth making a crooked shape. ‘The food here’s very good. The smell of it’s tantalising as soon as you walk in the door.’
‘Yes, it is.’ She began to relax a little and waved him towards a chair. ‘Please…have a seat.’
‘Okay. I’ll just go and order, and be back with you in a minute or two.’
Saffi nodded and watched him as he walked to the bar. His long legs were clad in denim and he was wearing a T-shirt that clung to his chest and emphasised his muscular arms and broad shoulders, causing an unbidden quiver of awareness to clutch at her stomach. Her heart was thudding heavily.
It was strange, acknowledging that she could have such feelings. For so long now it had seemed she’d been going through life on autopilot, stumbling about, trying to cope, and feeling her way through a maze of alien situations. She didn’t know where men fitted into all that.
He came back to the table and sat down opposite her, placing a half-pint glass of lager on the table. He studied her thoughtfully. ‘Your solicitor said you’ve been mulling over your options concerning Jasmine Cottage. Are you planning on staying there for a while?’ He looked around. ‘Only I don’t see any luggage, except for a holdall.’
‘No, that’s right, I’m having it sent on. I thought it would be easier that way. There’s quite a lot of stuff—I’ll be staying for a while until I make up my mind what to do…whether to sell up or stay on.’
‘Uh-huh.’ There was a note of curiosity in his voice as he said, ‘I suppose it would have been easier for you if you had a car, but your solicitor said you sold it a few weeks ago?’
‘I…Yes. I was…I…’ She faltered momentarily. ‘It was involved in a rear-end collision and I had it repaired and decided I didn’t need a car any more. I lived quite near to the hospital where I worked.’
It was a fair enough excuse, and she didn’t want to go into the reasons why she had suddenly lost her confidence behind the wheel. All sorts of daily activities had become a challenge for her in the last few months.
‘Ah, I see…at least, I think I do.’ He gave her a long, considering look. ‘Are you worried about driving for some reason?’
He hadn’t believed her lame excuse. She winced. ‘Perhaps. a bit. Maybe.’ She hoped he wasn’t going to ask her any more about it.
He sat back for a moment as the waitress brought his meal, a succulent gammon steak and fries. He was quiet, absorbed in his own thoughts, as though he was troubled by something. Whatever it was, he appeared to cast it aside when the girl had left and said, ‘Are you planning on working at a hospital here in Devon?’ He sliced into the gammon with his knife.
She shook her head. ‘No, at least, not right away. I’m going to take a break for a while.’
It still bothered her that she had to say that, and as she lifted her iced drink to her lips she was dismayed to see that her hand shook a little. She put the glass down and took a deep breath, hoping that he hadn’t noticed. ‘What about you…what do you do? I’m guessing you’re not a semi-retired caretaker, as my solicitor suggested.’
A variety of conflicting emotions crossed his face and Saffi gazed at him uncertainly. He seemed taken aback, somehow, by her question.
His dark brows lifted and his mouth made an ironic twist. After a moment, he said, ‘No, actually, caretaking is just a minor part of my week. I’m an A and E doctor, and when I’m not on duty at the hospital I’m on call as a BASICS physician, weekends and evenings mostly.’
Her eyes grew large. ‘Oh, I see. We have something in common, then, working in emergency medicine.’
Being
