Isn’t it fabulous?”
His lips twitched involuntarily. Could this be acting? It was damn good if it was.
“It depends what you want it for.”
“To live in,” she said.
“It would be so easy to work here.”
She looked towards the sea.
“I’ve always loved the sound of waves.” She turned to him.
“What do you think? Should I buy it?”
He was curious.
“Will my opinion make a difference?”
“Probably.”
“Why?”
“Because common sense tells me it would be a mad thing to do. It’s miles from everyone I know, and it’s expensive for what it is, a pokey little two up, two down. There must be better ways of investing my money.” She studied his set face and wondered why her earlier offer to help had made him so hostile. He was a strange man, she thought. So very approachable as long as she steered clear of talking about the Poacher.
He looked past her towards the cliff-top where Mr. Richards was just visible, sitting on a rock and having a quiet smoke.
“Buy it,” he said.
“You can afford it.” His dark face broke into a smile.
“Live dangerously. Do what you’ve always wanted to do.
How did John Masefleld put it?
“I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied.” So, live on your cliff by the sea and go beach combing with your dog. As I said, it sounds like paradise.”
She smiled back, her dark eyes full of humour.
“But the trouble with paradise was that it was boring, which is why, when the one-eyed trouser-snake appeared, Eve was so damn keen to bite into the apple of knowledge.” He was a different man when he laughed.
She caught a glimpse of the Hal Hawksley, hail-fellow-well-met, boon companion, who could, were his tables ever full, preside with confident conviviality among them. She threw caution to the winds.
“I wish you’d let me help you. I’d be lonely here. And where’s the sense in paying a fortune to be lonely on a cliff?”
His eyes veiled abruptly.
“You really are free with your money, aren’t you? Exactly what are you suggesting? A buy-out?
A partnership? What?”
God, he was prickly! And he had accused her of it once.
“Does it matter? I’m offering to bail you out of whatever mess you’re in.”
His eyes narrowed.
“The only certain thing you know about me, Roz, is that my restaurant is failing. Why would an intelligent woman want to throw good money after bad?”
Why indeed? She would never be able to explain it to her accountant whose idea of sensible living was minimum risk taking clean balance sheets, and tax advantageous pension plans. How would she even begin?
“There’s this man, Charles, who reduces me to jelly every time I see him. But he’s a damn good cook and he loves his restaurant and there’s no logical reason why it should be going down the pan. I keep trying to lend him money but he throws it back in my face every time.”
Charles would have her certified. She swung her bag on to her shoulder.
“Forget I mentioned it,” she said.
“It’s obviously a sore nerve, though I can’t imagine why.”
She started to get up but he caught her wrist in a grip of iron and held her in her seat.
“Is this another set-up, Roz?”
She stared at him.
“You’re hurting me.” He released her abruptly.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, massaging her wrist.
“You came back.” He rubbed his face vigorously with both hands as if he were in pain.
“Why the hell do you keep coming back?”
She was incensed.
