Falling for you

dimples?’

Honestly, what was it with men? One-track minds or what?

‘I only moved back here this week. I don’t have a clue.’ This was perfectly true; she and the barmaid hadn’t got as far as exchanging names, only insults.

‘Fine, fine.’ Will raised his hands in mock terror, as if dodging a poison dart. ‘No problem anyway, I’ve just had a brilliant idea.’

Kate wondered if he was capable of a brilliant idea. Bored, she said, ‘What?’

‘I’m going to call on my expertise in the field of investigative journalism.’ Will’s brown eyes sparkled. ‘And ask her.’

The champagne helped, which was something to be grateful for. Before long, Kate’s knees were feeling nicely relaxed. When Will realised that the bowl of water hadn’t arrived for Norris, her father said brusquely, ‘Kate, go and sort it out,’ and she found herself rising automatically to her feet.

The abrupt transition from bright sunlight to dim smoky gloom was disorientating, not helped by the fact that she was still wearing her dark glasses. Removing them and blinking, waiting for her eyes to adjust, Kate saw the door from the kitchen swing open and heard a voice saying, ‘Back in a moment, there’s something I forgot to — ooh.’

The curvy redhead with the dimples, carrying something in both hands, had caught sight of Kate in the pub and frozen for a millisecond. Sadly, a millisecond was all it took for the swing doors to swing shut again, before she had a chance to escape them. Realising too late what was about to happen, the girl lunged forward, getting caught anyway. She let out a squeak of alarm as the bowl ricocheted out of her hands, sending up a beautifully choreographed fountain of water before hitting the flagstones with a loud craaacckk. Kate gasped. The girl gazed in dismay at the shattered remains of the bowl, now strewn across the floor, and at the sopping wet front of her white shirt and navy skirt.

A roar of fury made them both jump. Erupting out of the kitchen like a maddened bear, the landlord bawled, ‘You bloody idiot, can’t you do anything right? Is a bowl of water too difficult for you?’

‘I’m sorry, the doors swung shut on me.’ Flushing, the girl knelt and began frantically scooping up the scattered shards, wincing as a splinter of china dug into her knee.

‘Possibly because they’re swing doors,’ jeered the landlord. ‘But then you’ve only been here for two years, haven’t you, so how could you possibly be expected to have known that? Oh, for crying out loud, stop faffing about and clear it up. Get a dustpan and brush, if you know what they are, and try not to get blood all over the flagstones ... Yes, can I help you?’ As the girl scurried off, the landlord turned his attention to Kate for the first time. ‘My apologies for the scene of carnage — you can’t get the staff these days.’

‘It was an accident,’ said Kate.

He gave a snort of derision. ‘She’s the accident.’

‘No wonder you can’t get the staff,’ Kate bristled, ‘if this is the way you treat them. Why do you have to be so rude?’

The landlord smiled, but not in a friendly way.

‘Because it’s fun. I enjoy it. Why, what’s your excuse?’ Eyeing him with contempt, Kate retorted,

‘At least I’m not a bully.’

‘No? Hardly Julie Andrews though, are you?’ He was openly smirking at her now. ‘I mean, forgive me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you the one who was in here the othernight hurling insults at Nuala?

Calling her a fat cow and reducing her to tears?’

‘I didn’t call her a fat cow.’ Kate was seriously regretting coming here now, but she was damned if she’d back down. ‘No?’

‘No. Just ... fat.’ Thank goodness the barmaid — Nuala — was still off somewhere hunting down the dustpan and brush.

‘You made her cry.’

Oh God, she hadn’t, had she?

At that moment the kitchen doors swung back open. Surveying the scene — Kate and the landlord facing each other across the wooden bar — Nuala said, ‘That’s not true.’ Turning to Kate she added, ‘Don’t take any notice of him, he’ll say anything to win an argument.’

‘Been listening at the door, have we? Very classy,’ drawled the landlord as Nuala bent down and began sweeping up the bits of broken bowl.

Not to mention embarrassing, thought Kate. Addressing Nuala, she said in disbelief, ‘Why do you let him speak to you like this? I mean, what are you doing here, working for someone who treats you like dirt?’

Nuala, hurriedly brushing the last splinters of china into the dustpan, mumbled something unintelligible.

‘Ah, but she doesn’t just work for me,’ the landlord declared with satisfaction. ‘She’s my girlfriend. We live together. Didn’t you know?’ He raised his dark eyebrows in mock surprise.

‘We’re love’s young dream.’

‘You’ve been ages. We were about to send in a search party.’ Will Gifford patted the space on the bench beside him. ‘What was all the crashing and shouting about in there? Is that your way of getting reacquainted with the locals?’

Kate wondered if his scruffy, bumbling Hugh Grant act was meant to be endearing. ‘I’m fine. The landlord’s a dickhead, that’s all.’

With a shout of laughter, Will said, ‘Oh good grief, you mean it was you?’

Emptying the lukewarm dregs of her champagne into an oak barrel overflowing with geraniums, Kate held out her glass for a refill from the bottle in the ice bucket.

‘Your daughter doesn’t suffer fools gladly,’ Will told Oliver, and Kate shot him a meaningful, take-note