Falling for you

Looking pleased with herself, Nuala said, ‘Because you knew I’d say you had to meet him. Face it, you know me. I’m hardly likely to tell you never to see him again, am I? You want me to persuade you to go to his flat tomorrow night, so it’s my decision and not yours.’ Squishing an ant with her thumb, she beamed across at Maddy. ‘Plus, of course, it’ll be my fault if anything goes wrong.’

Maddy couldn’t speak.

‘See?’ Nuala said happily. ‘I’m not as daft as I look, am I?’

‘God, I didn’t even realise what I was doing.’ Maddy let out a wail, snatching the letter and shoving it back into her pocket. ‘I hate it when you’re right!’

‘So there you go, you have my permission to see him. And wear something sexy.’

‘We’re only going to talk.’

‘ Good grief, are you mad? If he’s as gorgeous as you say he is, and meeting him is this risky, what on earth’s the point of just talking?’ Nuala raised her eyebrows in disbelief. ‘I mean, if Marcella’s going to go ballistic anyway — not that she will find out, of course, but if she did — you may as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb.’ Pausing, she frowned.

‘You know, I don’t actually understand what that means. I mean, why would anyone want to hang a sheep or a—’

‘ Time’s up,’ bellowed Dexter like a sergeant major from the back door of the pub.

‘Honestly, he’s such a bossy-boots,’ Nuala grumbled, but she was already on her feet, gathering up their empty glasses.

Maddy, wondering why on earth she was asking advice from someone whose idea of a perfect partner was Dexter Nevin, said, Will you two end up getting married, d’you think?’

‘Good grief, no.’ Vigorously, Nuala shook her head. ‘Not a chance.’

Oh well, that was something to be grateful for.

‘I’ve already asked him,’ Nuala went on, blowing her fringe out of her eyes. ‘He turned me down flat.’

‘What are you, a three-toed sloth?’ bawled Dexter. ‘Get a bloody move on, woman, there’s customers dying of thirst in here!’

Wishing she’d thought to bring Sophie’s potato gun along with her, Maddy shook her head and said, ‘Wouldn’t it be nicer to have a boyfriend who isn’t horrible to you the whole time?’

‘Dexter isn’t horrible,’ Nuala said fondly. ‘That’s just his way. It’s only a bit of fun.’

Chapter 12

‘Lunch? We stop serving lunch at two.’ Dexter jerked a finger in the direction of the clock on the wall. ‘It’s five past.’ Bolshy pub landlords didn’t faze Oliver Taylor-Trent. ‘Tell me about it,’ he said jovially. ‘My wife burned ours to a cinder. We’re starving. My invited guest here is starving. I’ve told him all about your miraculous bouillabaisse – he’s a documentary maker, by the way. Will, meet Dexter Nevin. Dexter, this is Will Gifford.’

‘Blimey, you must be really hungry.’ Dexter’s dark eyes glinted with sardonic humour.

‘More than you can imagine. Cooking’s never been my wife’s strong point. We’ll have a bottle of Laurent Perrier, by the way. Oh, and would you have any objections to Will doing a spot of filming here in the pub?’

‘For TV? What, now?’ Dexter looked taken aback.

‘Not now.’ Will spread his arms reassuringly. ‘See? No camera. But within the next few days.

The thing is, I’m making a film about Oliver,’ he explained. ‘And Ashcombe’s such a great place. I wouldn’t want to leave the pub out of it. Could be good publicity for you,’ he added with a winning smile, ‘but don’t worry, feel free to say no if you’d rather not.’

‘Two bouillabaisses?’ said Dexter, who wasn’t stupid.

‘I think we’ll take a look at the menu,’ Oliver replied with satisfaction. ‘And there are three of us.

My daughter’s waiting outside.’

See and be seen was Oliver’s motto. Despite the fact that the Fallen Angel had a perfectly good restaurant area and a ravishingly pretty rear garden, he had insisted they eat at one of the tables at the front of the pub. Kate, waiting self-consciously for her father and Will Gifford to re-emerge, watched as one of the locals ambled past and turned to stare at her. Oliver had persuaded her, against her far better judgement, to join them for lunch while Estelle set about the task of fumigating the kitchen and scraping cremated salmon fillets off the baking tin she had put into the oven and promptly forgotten all about until the smoke alarm had gone off. Oh well, she couldn’t hide away for ever.

Safety in numbers and all that.

‘Quite a character, that landlord,’ announced Will, sitting down next to her and handing her a menu.

Glancing at it, Kate prayed no one passing by would assume they were a couple. More specifically, she hoped Jake Harvey in his workshop across the road wouldn’t think it.

‘I’ll have the steak in port. And a glass of red.’

‘Your dad’s on his way out with another bottle of champagne. What it must be like to be wealthy,’

Will marvelled. ‘You wouldn’t believe the lengths I normally have to go to to get a glass of champagne — blagging my way into celebrity parties, getting turfed out on my ear when they realise I haven’t been invited, the humiliation of realising I’m actually a pint of bitter man through and through — excuse me, but is that dog all right?’

Norris was snorting and grunting at her feet. Kate shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He always breathes like that.’

‘He might be thirsty. I’ll ask for a bowl of water while we’re ordering the food.’ Unfolding his long legs, Will said, ‘Backin a sec. By the way, you don’t happen to know the name of the pretty barmaid, do you? Curvy redhead, cute