by Anne Mather
'Do I?' Eve was sardonic. 'How many times have I heard you tell Ellie the same?'
'Forget Ellie,' said Cassie irritably. 'This is between you and me, Eve. Come on. Don't you owe me?'
Eve could hardly speak. 'You—you dare to ask me that?' she choked, but Cassie just looked bored.
'Haven't you got over it yet?' she protested. 'You've got a cushy number here, haven't you? You wouldn't have had that if it wasn't for me.'
'I'm here in spite of you,' Eve told her bitterly. But even as she said the words she knew she was wasting her
time. There was no point in expecting Cassie to understand.
She'd never cared about anyone but herself, and she wasn't going to change now. 'All right,' she said at last. 'I'll lend you the money for the fare and I'll take you to Newcastle Airport. But only because I don't want you bumming off Ellie again.'
'You're a pal.'
Cassie would have closed the door then, but Eve put out a hand to stop her. 'You'll have to get an afternoon
flight,' she said. 'I've promised to help Mr Trivett this morning, but I'll be free this afternoon.'
'Lunchtime, then,' said Cassie resignedly. 'Try not to be late.'
There was to be an autumn fair in the church hall the next week, and Eve had promised Harry that she would go to the rectory on Sunday evening and help him sort everything out. The fair was in aid of the St Mary's restoration fund, the church where Harry was minister, and in the ordinary way Eve would have enjoyed the visit.
She and Harry had become good friends in recent months—ever since he'd taken up the appointment, actually— and she knew he was hoping their friendship might deepen into something warmer.
Eve wasn't so sure. She wasn't convinced she wanted to have that kind of relationship with anybody. Ever. And it didn't help matters to know that this evening she would have preferred to stay at Watersmeet—just in case she was needed.
Not that she would be, she supposed, as she walked to the rectory after evening service. So far Jake Romero hadn't left his bed, and since delivering Cassie to the air port the day before her involvement in his recovery had been negligible. Mrs Blackwood had supplied him with tissues and aspirin and plenty of fluids, and according to her he'd slept most of the day.
'The man's exhausted,' she'd remarked the previous evening, setting a dish of steak and kidney pie on the
table. 'And sleep's the best medicine of all, as my old mother used to say. You'll see—he'll be right as rain in a couple of days.'
Eve didn't doubt it. Romero was a powerful man. He wouldn't like being laid low by a simple virus. Besides, he'd told Ellie that he wanted to be back in London by the end of the week.
Her grandmother had spent most of the previous day in bed, too. Despite the feisty way she'd spoken to her
daughter, having Cassie there had tired her, and Eve was glad she was being sensible for once. She had joined her granddaughter for supper that evening, but Eve suspected she was glad Eve was going out. It gave her an excuse to have another early night.
Harry Murray opened the door himself when she reached the rectory. A tall, angular man, with long, lean
limbs and a receding hairline, he nevertheless had the kind of genteel good-looking features that invited confidences. Despite his age—he was only thirty-two—he was a popular figure around the village, and the congregation at his church had increased considerably since he took over.
'Hi,' he said warmly, stepping back to allow her into the hall of the building. 'You look rosy. Is it cold?'
Eve grinned. 'I'm not sure whether that's a compliment or not,' she said, shedding her duffel into his waiting
arms. 'But, yes, it is cold. According to the forecast, it could snow later.'
Harry's expression grew anxious. 'I hope not,' he said, hanging her coat on the Victorian hatstand and leading the way into his study. 'It would certainly limit the numbers coming to the fair. People are more inclined to stay at home in bad weather.'
'Well, the forecasters have been wrong before,' said Eve cheerfully, unwinding her scarf and looking round the large room with incredulous eyes. 'My Go— Goodness!
You've certainly collected a lot of stuff.'
'Haven't I?' Harry looked pleased. 'That's why I'm so grateful to you for coming to help me.'
'I'm sure you know there are any number of volunteers waiting for an invitation to help you,' declared Eve drily.
'Not least all the ladies.' She pulled a face. 'You're considered the local heartthrob, you know.'
Harry flushed. 'You're embarrassing me,' he said, but she noticed he didn't deny it. 'Anyway, would you like me to get Mrs Watson to bring us some refreshments first?'
'Oh, no.' Eve shook her head. 'I've just had supper,"
she added, running a rueful hand over her stomach. 'Let's do some work first, and then we can think about refreshments.'
He agreed, and for the next hour they were absorbed in sorting out clothes and bric-a-brac and all the many
magazines and books that the parishioners had donated.
Eve enjoyed looking through the books. There was always something interesting to find, and she had to be firm with herself and not give in to the urge to browse.
Eventually Harry got to his feet and brushed his dusty fingers against his worn cords. 'I think that will do for tonight,' he said, looking round at all the boxes they'd dealt with. 'Yes, I'm sure I can manage the rest of it myself.'
Eve, who had been stowing tins of fruit and vegetables into a cardboard box, looked up at him enquiringly. 'If you're sure.'
'I am.' Harry put out his hand and helped her to her feet. 'I don't want to spend the whole evening working.'
'Okay.' Eve extricated her hand and looked down at her own dusty ringers. 'But if you don't mind I'd like to
wash off this dust first.'
'Of course.' Harry went to open the door for her. 'You know where the bathroom is. I'll ask Mrs Watson to bring us some—what? Tea or coffee?'
'You choose.'
'Tea it is, then,' he said apologetically. 'I'm afraid I'm not a coffee-lover.'
The word 'lover' sounded incongruous on his lips, despite its innocent application, and Eve was uneasily reminded of Jake Romero. That was what her grandmother had said he was: Cassie's lover. Eve shivered as she hurried along the hall to the downstairs bathroom. It was not a description she cared for—in any sense of the word. She took her time, washing her hands thoroughly and brushing wisps of dark hair from her smooth temple. She needed time to compose herself, to put Jake Romero out of her mind. But it wasn't easy. It annoyed her that this should be so, but she acknowledged that he had got under her skin on more than one occasion. The truth was, she'd never known anyone quite like him before, and she told herself she wouldn't have been human if she hadn't found him attractive.
Though only physically, she assured herself.
Nevertheless, it wasn't pleasant to feel that he had some kind of hold on her thoughts. She didn't need the kind of complication he presented, and she wished he'd just gone back to London with Cassie—then she could have forgotten all about him. .
Pressing her lips together, she regarded her tense reflection with impatient eyes. What was she doing, wasting her time worrying about Romero? After all, aside from the obvious barrier his relationship with Cassie created, what man was going to look at her dark skin and hair when he was used to Cassie's porcelain-skinned, blonde-haired beauty?
Folding the hand towel back onto its rail with taut, controlled movements, Eve turned to the door. Harry would be wondering what she was doing, and she could just imagine his reaction if she told him she was wondering what it would be like to have an affair with a man like Jake Romero. Dear God, he would think she was mad.
And who could blame him? She thought she was a little mad herself.
Mrs Watson, his housekeeper, had already brought a tray of tea and biscuits, and when Eve returned to the
study Harry was pacing agitatedly about the floor.
He stopped when he saw her, however, and his eyes
took on an expression of concern. 'Are you all right?' 'Of course.' Eve did her best to control her colour. 'I
told you I wanted to wash my hands.' 'You've been almost fifteen minutes,' exclaimed Harry,
gesturing her towards one of the squashy armchairs that were set beside a low occasional table. 'Sit down. The tea's going to be cold.'
'I'm sorry.' Despite the fact that she'd expected such a reaction, Eve found herself irritated now. 'I didn't realize you were timing me.'
Harry clicked his tongue. 'I wasn't timing you,' he said unhappily. 'I was just—'
'Impatient for your tea. I know,' said Eve, managing a faint smile. 'Well, I'm here now. Do you want me to
pour?'
'If you would.' Relieved, Harry took the chair beside her and stretched his long legs out towards the fire smouldering in the grate. 'You'll have to forgive me. I tend to be rather possessive where you're concerned.'
'Possessive?' Eve echoed the word rather uneasily. She didn't want Harry to feel possessive of her. They didn't have that kind of a relationship. Not yet, at any rate.
'Yes, possessive.' Harry put down the cup of tea she'd just handed him and leant towards her. 'Eve, don't you think it's about time we put our association on a more— formal footing?'
'Oh, Harry—'
'No. Hear me out.' Harry was determined to continue.
'You must know how I feel about you. I've made it plain enough. And—well—when I hear that you've got some strange man living in your house, I can't deny I get jealous.'
'Jealous?' Eve was appalled. She wouldn't have attributed
such feelings to Harry. He'd always seemed so placid, so easygoing. And as for making his feelings
plain... Well, the only physical contact they'd had was a fairly chaste kiss when they said goodbye.
'Do you blame me?' he demanded now. 'I've been expecting you to mention him all evening, but you haven't.'
'But—Mr Romero was Cassie's guest, not mine,' protested Eve, amazed that he should feel he had the right to question her like this.
'Yet Mrs Robertson's daughter has gone back to London, hasn't she?' Harry persisted, and Eve expelled
an indignant breath.
'Yes,' she agreed tersely. 'Mr Romero has only stayed on because he's not well.' She endeavoured to calm herself.
'May I have a biscuit?'
'Of course—of course.'
Harry immediately reached for the plate, but in his haste he succeeded only in spilling its contents onto the
floor. Red-faced, he bent to rescue the scattered biscuits, just as Eve did the same, and they banged heads.
'Oh, dear!' Harry was contrite. 'I'm such a clumsy oaf!' He caught her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. 'Did I hurt you?'
'Not much.' Eve tried to make light of it, but she was intensely conscious of the weight of Harry's hands upon her shoulders, and the quickness of his breathing as he stared into her eyes.
She knew she should have anticipated that he might try to kiss her, but she hadn't. She glimpsed his intentions only seconds before he bent towards her, and although she turned her head, he still managed to press his wet lips to the corner of her mouth.
'Oh, Eve,' he said, when she recoiled with a muffled squeak of protest, and, misinterpreting her reaction, he
buried his hot face against her neck. 'You must know I wouldn't hurt you for the world.'
Eve couldn't get away quickly enough. His heavy hands and coarse breathing reminded her all too vividly
of another man's sordid attempts to touch her. Scrambling backwards off her chair, she managed to put the width of the occasional table between them before saying unevenly,
'I have to go.'
'Eve!' Harry got to his feet, his face flushed now with a mixture of excitement and embarrassment. 'You can't leave yet.' He glanced down at the table. 'You haven't drunk your tea.'
'I don't want any more.' Eve realised she had to say something to normalise the situation, or run the risk of
Harry suspecting there was something wrong with her.
There was. of course, but that was nobody's business but her own. 'I've just remembered: I promised Mrs
Robertson I'd be back by nine o'clock, and it's almost that now.'
Harry frowned. 'You didn't say anything about this before.'
'I forgot.' Eve managed to offer an apologetic smile.
'What a memory, eh?'
Harry still looked doubtful. 'This isn't because I kissed you, is it?' he asked.
'No—'
'Because if it is, I want you to know that my intentions are strictly honourable.'
'Oh, Harry!' Eve pressed her lips together with a genuine feeling of remorse. 'I—I didn't expect this, that's
all.'
Harry shook his head in obvious bemusement. 'But I thought we were friends—'
'We are friends.'
'—that we understood one another—one another's feelings.'
He paused. 'Don't you care about me at all?'
Eve sighed. She had hoped to avoid this conversation.
Feeling her way, she said, 'I've just told you. I consider you a friend. A dear friend,' she appended, when her
words failed to produce any lightening of his expression 'But—well, it's too soon to—to consider anything else.'
'Too soon?' Harry sounded bitter. 'We've known one another for almost a year, Eve.'
'I know.' She was uncomfortable now, and she desperately wanted to end this awful post-mortem of something that should never have happened. 'I'm sorry, Harry, but I'm just not ready to—to think of you in that way.'
'It's this man, isn't it?' he exclaimed, with a sudden change of attitude. 'This—what was it you called him?—
Romeo or something?'
'It's Mr Romero.'
'Romero?' Harry repeated the word scornfully. 'What kind of name is that?'
'He comes from an island in the Caribbean, and it's a Spanish name, actually,' said Eve, resenting his implication. 'And you couldn't be more wrong.' 'Oh, I'm not wrong.' Harry was unpleasant. 'A man
like that is just the kind of man you'd be attracted to. Is he sexy, Eve? Does he make your pulses race? I should have known it wouldn't take much for someone with your background to be seduced.'
Eve's lips parted in dismay and she clapped a hand to her mouth to silence the cry of protest that sprang to her lips. That Harry, of all people, should say something like that, she thought sickly. My God, did he also know she had Hispanic blood?
CHAPTER SEVEN
HARRY realised his mistake at once—realised that he had said something completely unforgivable—and his face crumpled. His cry of anguish was still ringing in her ears as she wrenched open the door of the rectory and ran for home.
But Eve never faltered. Snatching her coat from the stand, she rushed out into the cold night air, not stopping to put it on until she was far enough from the scene of her humiliation for it not to matter. Then, shouldering her way into the duffel's reassuring folds, she wrapped the sides closely about her.
But she was still trembling, and she wondered if she'd ever feel warm again. That Harry, of all people, should show such prejudice made her feel sick, and she couldn't believe he actually thought she might be holding him off because of Jake Romero. What did he truly think she was? The question didn't bear examination. Shaking her head, she reached the foot of her grandmother's drive more through good luck than management. In the first few minutes after leaving the rectory she'd hardly been aware of where she was going, and she realised it was a measure of the security the old lady offered her that had brought
her unerringly back to Watersmeet.
She was chilled to the bone when she reached the house and, letting herself into the hall, she headed straight for the library. With a bit more luck Mrs Blackwood might have left a decent fire going in there, and she couldn't wait to toast her freezing toes in front of its warmth.
&n
bsp; She'd expected the room to be in darkness apart from the firelight. As her grandmother hadn't got up for supper, and Jake Romero was still confined to his bed, she was surprised when she opened the door and found a lamp burning. To her dismay, she found their remaining house guest stretched out in her grandmother's armchair, a discarded magazine resting across his flat stomach. He had obviously been reading, but now he appeared to be gazing into the flames.
He had heard her come in, of course. The room was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop, and the magazine fell heedlessly to the floor as he got to his feet.
'Eve,' he said, his voice still a little hoarse, but not as congested as it had been a couple of days before. 'I'm
sorry. I didn't hear a car.'
'I walked,' said Eve flatly, and although the idea of wanning herself in front of the fire had lost its appeal, she felt too cold to leave the door open.
'You walked?' Jake was surprised. 'I thought Mrs Blackwood said that the Reverend Murray would be
bringing you home.'
Eve didn't know what concern he thought it was of his, but she managed a swift shake of her head. 'I preferred to walk,' she said again. And then, because it was expected, 'How are you?'
Jake shrugged. 'I'll survive.'
Eve frowned. 'Does Ellie know you're up?'
'Ellie? Oh, you mean Mrs Robertson.' He shook his head. 'I doubt it.'
'Then—'
'I'm sorry, but I was going stir-crazy in that room,' he said ruefully. 'Mrs Blackwood told me you'd be out for the evening, so I flung on some clothes and came down here.'
Eve was sure he hadn't 'flung on' the chunky cream cashmere turtleneck, or the soft navy drawstring pants that clung to his hips and moulded the strong muscles of his thighs. As usual, he looked powerfully male, and sexy as hell—another first for her, she thought bitterly.
'Did you have a pleasant evening?'
His question had caught her unawares. He could tell that. Watching her, huddled back against the door as she was, he guessed he was the last person she'd wanted to see tonight. No change there then, he acknowledged drily, yet he had the distinct impression that she was pale beneath the hectic colour the cold had painted on her cheeks.
