by Karen Clarke
‘What?’ My head snapped up. ‘He must have been freezing out there.’
‘It’s a very nice car.’ Ollie expertly peeled one of the satsumas and popped half in his mouth, then gently pressed a segment to my lips so I had no choice but to eat it. ‘He’s slept in it before, in worse conditions.’
So, I’d been alone with Ollie. Was that better or worse than there being two strange men in my house? I swallowed. ‘But why not just sleep on the sofa?’
‘Because he’s funny like that.’ Ollie made a ‘what can you do?’ face. ‘After you slammed the door in our faces, he said we should find a hotel to stay in, but I told him that was silly because there wouldn’t be anywhere suitable, and even if there were, we wouldn’t get a room at short notice.’
So, he’d stayed for convenience, not out of concern for me?
‘And I was worried about you,’ he added quickly, running warm eyes over my face.
Hmmm. ‘You might have got in somewhere, at this time of year. Out of season, I mean.’ Why was I discussing hotel bookings? ‘You should go and get him,’ I said, reluctantly. Having barely adjusted to Ollie’s presence, the idea of someone new turning up wasn’t very appealing. Especially when I felt delicate. ‘I’ll put some bacon on.’
‘Actually, I popped out while you were in the shower, and he wasn’t there,’ Ollie said. He put down the remaining satsumas and stretched, arching his spine so his shirt rode up, revealing a strip of taut stomach. ‘I expect he’s gone for a run.’
‘A run?’ I said, staring. Thankfully, he tucked his shirt back in.
‘On the beach, probably; he was oddly keen on taking a trip to the seaside. Plus, he loves running. Lord knows why. I tried to get him to join my gym, but he’s not into pumping iron.’ He flexed a bicep, twinkling his eyes at me, and while I wasn’t normally impressed by gym-honed muscles, it had clearly paid off for Ollie. ‘Do you want to give it a squeeze?’
‘I’m fine, thank you.’ I laced my hands primly in front of me.
Ollie suddenly released a yawn. ‘I might scrub up after breakfast, if you don’t mind?’ he said. ‘I feel a bit grimy and probably smell dreadful.’
‘You smell nice.’ The words popped out unbidden and his mouth curved into a smile. ‘I mean, yes, of course you can. You can do it now if you like, while I make breakfast. There’s plenty of hot water.’
‘Super, if you’re sure you don’t mind.’ He was proving to be as polite as he was good-looking. ‘I’ll fetch my bag from the car and get changed.’
As I reversed from the room, I sucked in my stomach, wishing I hadn’t when it let out a noisy gurgle. He touched my elbow on his way past, and I jolted against the door frame.
‘Sorry,’ I said, feeling foolish. I drew myself up to my full five feet four, which only brought my gaze level with his shoulders. Wide, strong shoulders.
‘You’ve a hole in your tights.’
‘Oh.’ Looking down, I saw that one of my toenails was poking through, the pink varnish chipped and worn. ‘Sorry,’ I said again. I felt somehow exposed, which was ridiculous when he’d already seen me naked from the waist up.
‘Please don’t keep apologising,’ he said, so close I could feel his warm breath on my cheek. He seemed fixated by my attempt to wiggle my toe back inside my tights, and we both jerked when the doorbell chimed a series of tinkling notes through the cottage.
‘Jumping Jesus!’ Ollie clutched his chest. ‘That scared the sh… life out of me.’
‘I was wondering what the doorbell sounded like.’ Giving up on my holey tights, I slipped my feet into my sheepskin slippers at the bottom of the stairs. ‘It’s probably your cameraman.’
‘Our cameraman,’ Ollie said, right behind me. ‘I want some slippers like that.’
Flustered, I couldn’t quite understand what was happening when I opened the door.
‘It looks like your mother was right to be worried.’ It was Doris Day, in a red woollen coat and a matching knitted scarf tucked around her neck. Her mouth was set, and her eyes stretched as she glanced over my shoulder at Ollie. ‘Not one man in the house, but two, and you’ve been here less than a week.’
‘Wha…?’
‘She was going to call the police, you know. Your mother.’
‘I don’t understand.’
A man was letting himself through the gate, carrying a holdall and a rucksack, and he threw a small smile at Doris as he drew level. ‘I said you’d explain everything,’ he said to me. He had bright eyes and a faint scruff of beard, the same sandy shade as his tangled hair.
‘What’s my mum got to do with anything?’ I said, switching my gaze back to Doris and cuddling my cardigan around me. Despite the brightness of the day it was arctic, with a thick coating of frost on the ground.
‘She called me last night.’ Doris’s red-gloved fingers clutched the handle of her scarlet handbag, and I was reminded of Little Red Riding Hood without the hood. ‘She was very worried about you.’
I pulled my chin back. ‘My mum called you?’ I frowned. ‘How? Why?’
‘Oh, yah, I forgot to say your phone rang a couple of times last night,’ Ollie said. ‘I popped it by your bed.’ So that’s how it had got there. ‘Craig, my man, come in,’ he went on, to the man hovering with the bags. ‘Thought you’d got swept out to sea.’
‘There was a café on the seafront, so I stopped and had a coffee,’ the man – Craig – said, stamping his black trainers on the doorstep.
‘I was just coming to get my bag.’ Ollie pulled the door wider, like the man of the house, seeming oblivious to Doris’s outraged bewilderment.
‘I’m sorry about this,’ Craig said to me, a salt-scented tang of the sea coming off him. His voice was pitched deeper than Ollie’s, and he had a polite London accent. ‘I’m Craig Daniels, by the way.’
‘I know,’ I said, aware of Doris attempting to assess the situation with her eyes, trying to stem a blush as I remembered my doorstep encounter with Ollie and Craig the night before. ‘Lily Ambrose.’
He nodded. He was shorter and leaner than Ollie, with a slightly crooked nose, but his eyes were a clear, greyish-green beneath strong brows, and he had a steady gaze. His layered running gear seemed inadequate for the cold. ‘I’ll’ – he nodded towards the hall – ‘see you in there?’
‘Right.’
‘Thanks.’ He slipped through the door, and there was the sound of some friendly back-slapping behind me.
‘Why don’t we all go inside?’ Ollie suggested, and I turned to see him blowing on his hands. ‘It’s brass monkeys out there.’
‘No, thank you very much.’ Unmoved by his winning smile, Doris glared at him.
‘As you wish.’ He widened his eyes at me as he retreated. ‘I’ll go and clean up.’
When he’d gone, Doris sharpened her gaze. ‘Your mother received a rather alarming picture of you yesterday evening, with hardly any clothes on and white powder around your nose.’
‘What?’ Then I remembered. ‘It was icing sugar,’ I said, feeling slightly hysterical. ‘I’d been baking. I was eating a homemade mince pie.’
Doris drew back. ‘In the nude, dear?’ She looked behind her, as if checking no one was listening. ‘Are you one of those naturists?’
‘Of course not, I was just… hot.’
She pulled a bag of sweets from her coat pocket and held it out. ‘Pineapple cube?’
‘No. Thanks,’ I said. ‘How did my mum know your number?’
‘She remembered my name from the note I left with your muffins, and looked me up.’ Doris sounded approving of Mum’s detective skills. ‘She mentioned you’d had a break-up with a married man a while ago and a nasty encounter with his wife, and might be having regrets about moving away—’
‘He was separated,’ I said, surprised that Mum had been so open. ‘And I’m absolutely fine, it was months ago.’
‘Well, I told her I’d keep an eye on things.’ Doris popped a sweet into her mouth. ‘Anyway, I thought I’d
call in, and I saw a man getting out of that car.’ She turned to point at a black saloon, like a witness for the prosecution. ‘When I asked what his business was, he said they were FBI and you were under arrest, but it appears he was joking.’
‘I’m sure he was just being friendly,’ I said, trying not to be annoyed by her interfering. The point of living somewhere like Shipley was that everyone knew everyone’s business, and that’s what I’d chosen – for better or worse. ‘Thank you for your concern.’
‘So, who are they?’ Doris craned a neck for a glimpse inside. ‘Is one of them your lover?’
‘Of course not,’ I spluttered, and she looked momentarily crushed. ‘Did Sheelagh call to tell you I’ve found a celebrity to switch on the tree lights?’
Her gaze shifted back to me. ‘The chap from reality television?’ Her mouth turned down at the corners. ‘Not my cup of tea, but Sheelagh could barely contain herself.’
‘Well, that was him.’ I figured it would come out soon enough, or else Doris would work it out, once she’d stopped concocting dubious set-ups in her overactive mind.
‘Him?’ She sounded stunned. ‘The chap in the funny shorts? I thought he was supposed to be handsome, according to Sheelagh.’
‘No, the other one,’ I said, feeling a bit sorry for Craig. Imagine living in the shadow of Ollie Matheson.
‘Oh, him.’ Doris sniffed and patted her hair. ‘Looked a bit full of himself, if you ask me.’
‘He’s nice actually. The other one’s his… friend.’
‘But it’s not happening until the thirteenth,’ she stated. ‘Why are they in your house?’
‘They, er, want to get a feel for the place first, and as I was the one who invited Ollie I’m… welcoming him to Shipley.’ I decided the whole truth could wait. If she knew Ollie Matheson was my house guest, she might take it upon herself to pass the news around, and then everyone would be turning up at my door. ‘I’d better get back.’
‘Of course.’ Doris tweaked her collar. ‘I’ve got to get on anyway, I’ve got a Zumba class at ten.’ She swivelled at the gate, just as I was closing the door. ‘Oh, and your mother said to expect her around four o’clock.’
Chapter Eleven
With Doris’s words bouncing around my head, I pulled my phone from my cardigan pocket and shot into the kitchen. I didn’t need Mum turning up, her head full of Doris-fuelled nonsense. And I couldn’t believe she’d told Doris about me and Max.
As I pressed in her number, I glanced up and my mouth fell open.
The kitchen had been transformed. The limestone worktops shone, the washing up was tidily stacked in the drainer, and my pies and cake had been covered neatly with foil.
Unless a cleaning lady had snuck in while I wasn’t looking, Ollie must have done it after decorating the living room. As well as being charming, and extremely good-looking, he was house-trained, too. He was hardly living up to his stereotype – apart from the flirting.
As I waited for Mum to pick up, I switched on the grill and manhandled some bacon out of the fridge, determined to give him a proper welcome breakfast. I was going to prove I was more than a wine-swigging loser with a penchant for topless baking, who wore holey tights and apparently snored in her sleep.
‘Lily, thank god! What’s going on over there?’ Mum’s voice exploded into my ear as I placed strips of the bacon under the grill and my temples throbbed in protest. ‘I was worried sick when I got that photo after my play, and you didn’t reply to my call—’
‘How was your play?’ I interrupted, in an effort to deflect her.
‘Oh, it was fine, though Stuart forgot his lines and said the “c” word instead of “count”, which threw things off a bit.’
Stuart was a single ex-fireman who’d taken up acting after early retirement, and I’d started to wonder lately if their relationship was more than professional.
‘If Doris hadn’t promised to look in on you this morning, I’d have phoned the police,’ she said, getting right back on track.
‘Mum, it’s OK, I’m perfectly fine.’ I half laughed to show I meant it, looking around for the eggs. Damn. There were only quail’s eggs and they were tiny. Still, it would be nice to make a posh English breakfast for my guest. Guests, I reminded myself, wondering where Craig had got to.
I could hear the shower running, and assumed it was Ollie, and for the briefest second imagined joining him, and helping to soap his quads – although I would have to shave my legs first. A fiery heat rose to my face, which had nothing to do with cooking, and I realised Mum had stopped talking and was waiting for an explanation.
‘Look, I’d been baking,’ I said, telling her what I’d told Doris, trying to make light of it by adding the bit about the face mask. ‘My skin feels quite nice this morning,’ I said, smoothing a hand over my cheek.
‘Didn’t you use one on your sixteenth birthday, and it brought you out in a rash?’
‘I was hoping you’d forgotten about that,’ I said, glad she was finally distracted.
‘We had to coax you out of the bathroom to attend your own party.’ She laughed, fondly. ‘Your dad said to tell your friends you’d got sunburnt—’
‘But it was the wettest February on record,’ I finished off, smiling – though it hadn’t been funny at the time. ‘Then Chris thought it would be hilarious to announce that I’d got my period.’
‘Your brother always had a silly sense of humour.’
‘No wonder Perry Edwards didn’t hang around to give me a birthday kiss.’
‘I think that was the idea,’ Mum said. ‘Chris was being protective of you, because he knew what Perry was like.’
‘How’s my brother’s hipster café doing?’
‘It’s very popular, as you well know, and not at all hipster,’ she reproved. ‘He’s using barrels as chairs now, and he’s applied for a licence to do cocktail nights.’
Totally hipster, then. Chris had always been good at spotting a trend, and had made a big success of Ambrose and Bell – though Mum hadn’t approved of him adding his fiancée’s surname, despite her helping him run it.
‘Anyway,’ Mum went on, ‘stop changing the subject. Did Doris tell you I’ll be there this afternoon?’
‘Yes, that’s why I’m ringing.’ I turned on the grill to cook the bacon, took out an artisan loaf I’d bought from the supermarket’s instore bakery, and returned to the fridge for butter. It was rock-hard, so I popped the packet in the microwave and switched it on. ‘You don’t need to rush over,’ I said. ‘I’m settling in brilliantly, and you’ll never guess what’s—’
‘Miss Ambrose, do you have another towel I could use, this one’s a little small and I didn’t think to bring one with me.’
I whipped round to see Ollie’s head and one tanned shoulder thrusting round the door. He was vigorously rubbing his hair with a hand towel, which meant... ‘You’re naked.’
‘Sorry?’ He stopped rubbing.
‘You, er… you’re… I mean…’ I blinked to clear a mental image of what he might be hiding. ‘I mean… um… I left the big towel in my bedroom,’ I said, eyes darting everywhere but at him.
‘You only have one?’ He sounded vaguely scandalised.
‘I shoved a couple in the washing machine, and haven’t got round to putting them in the dryer.’ Sexy.
‘Right.’
Why hadn’t I thought to buy more towels while I was out, instead of quail’s eggs? ‘I’ll, er, you can go and get the one in my bedroom, but I might… I mean, it might be damp.’
‘No probs.’ He gave his hair a final ruffle, then raked it back with his hand. ‘I am wearing underwear,’ he said, and gave me an intimate smile as though sharing a secret.
He winked and withdrew, and I finally remembered how to breathe again, drawing in a lungful of air like a drowning woman.
I stared at the gap where he’d been, then lurched into the hall in time to catch a glimpse of jersey-clad buttock and muscular thigh. As I gawped, the front door opene
d and Craig materialised. I hadn’t even realised he’d gone back outside.
‘What’s happening?’ he said, lugging in his camera and another holdall.
‘Ollie couldn’t find a towel,’ I said, stupidly.
Craig shut the door on a blast of cold air and gave me a steady look, no doubt registering my dilated pupils and heightened colour, and jumping to all sorts of conclusions. ‘I meant, something’s burning,’ he said, and I became aware of smoke billowing from the kitchen, and an acrid smell in the air.
‘Oh, mother-of-pearl, the bacon!’
I scooted back, but Craig beat me to it. Wrapping a dishtowel round his hand, he pulled out the grill pan, which was leaping with flames, and flung it into the sink, before leaning over and pushing the window open.
‘Haven’t you got a smoke alarm?’ he said, and succumbed to a coughing fit.
‘Obviously not.’ As I lifted my hand to cover my nose and mouth, I realised I was still holding my phone, and that Mum had hung up. Through a haze of smoke, I read the text she’d left.
‘A naked man in your house??? I’m on my way. XXX’
‘Oh crabsticks.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Craig said, straightening up and wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. ‘No harm done.’
‘I don’t know about that.’ I stared at the message, as if it might change its meaning. ‘My mum’s on her way.’
‘I’m guessing from your tone that’s a bad thing?’ Craig tore off a length of kitchen roll, scooped the charred mess from the sink, and looked around for the bin.
‘Over there,’ I said, pointing.
He deposited the mess and wiped his hands on his running shorts, which were layered over black leggings – not a good look on a man.
‘She’s worried about me having a strange man in the house.’
‘Isn’t that’s a good thing?’ He bent his leg and tugged his trainer off. ‘I should think most mothers would be worried.’
‘I’m thirty years old,’ I said, stung by the implied criticism. ‘I could have a houseful of men, if I wanted.’
