Читать книгу At The Greek Tycoon's Pleasure - Кэтти Уильямс, Cathy Williams - Страница 5

ARE you sure you are following the doctor’s orders and resting? Does your foot feel any better? Yes, we’re managing just fine here. Of course I’ll sort out those conference calls, but are you quite sure you shouldn’t just be resting?

At the end of four interminably long days and even longer nights, Theo could feel his head clanging with the repeated urges from the entire world, it seemed, that he relax. He had been assured by Gloria so many times that it was business as usual that he had been forced to cut her short on a couple of occasions rather than sit through the inevitable ramblings about his need to take it easy.

Taking it easy had never been one of Theo’s greatest talents and he was finding it exceptionally difficult to adhere to now.

It was mid-afternoon. The house had been cleaned so thoroughly that any lingering bacteria would have had a struggle to stage a comeback. He had eaten the pasta which the cook had prepared and his conference call had ended over an hour ago.

Outside, a cold breeze was threatening to turn into a gale. Even through the small window panes, he could appreciate the wildness of the scenery. It occurred to him that, apart from a couple of visits to the garden, he hadn’t been outside the house for days. Not since that aggravating woman had left, in fact.

For once, the image of a woman other than Elena crossed his mind. The slight frame that should have heralded a demure personality but didn’t. The stubborn mouth which looked as though it had been having a hard time trying not to rebel against the smile she had pasted on. The flashing brown eyes, narrowed to suspicious slits and ready to glare.

He felt a reluctant smile curve his mouth.

It disappeared as swiftly as it had surfaced. Uttering an oath under his breath, Theo slammed shut his computer, shoved his cellphone into his pocket and headed out of the cottage with his thick jacket slung over his shoulders.

It was as cold outside as it had looked. And as scenic. Having been to places in the world most people had only ever dreamed of, Theo wondered how it was that he seemed to be seeing what was around him for the first time. The downside of zero distractions, he assumed, considering the majority of his visits to exotic places had taken place under the mantle of work.

Out the cottage, the small lane towards the village was lined with a selection of shrubbery, stripped at this time of year of its greenery and jostling for space. And the clean, salty smell of the air was pungent enough to make him gasp.

The routine of exercise he had been sticking to made use of the stick less necessary but he had brought it along with him anyway. Every so often, he swiped some of the shrubbery at the side and scowled impatiently at the sneaky feeling of boyishness it gave him.

The first thing he glimpsed as he turned the corner was her office.

There it was, fronted by lovingly cared for plants on the outside and resembling not so much an office as somewhere casual in which to relax.

He thought it typical. Her behaviour towards him had not marked her out as a professional woman with her finger on the pulse. Any competent career woman would know that to expose her feelings was tantamount to waving the white flag.

Feet that should have been walking to the café next to the office paused and, before he knew it, he was rapping his stick on the office door, pushing it open into a scene of seeming chaos. In the middle of this chaos, Sophie stood with one hand raked through her fair hair in frustration, peering and frowning at a piece of paper in her hand. Around her, three people appeared to be doing things, though what Theo couldn’t begin to fathom. Two women and a fair-haired man, who looked at him and smiled with good-natured curiosity.

He was already regretting the insane impulse that had prompted his appearance.

He must, he thought sourly, be in need of company even though he had never considered himself the sort of man who craved the presence of other people, especially in the last few months when memories had been the only things to share the space in his head.

‘Soph, you have a visitor.’

From across the room, Sophie glanced up, plucked out of her little world of trying to figure out what the heck this latest scribbled piece of paper was supposed to signify. Another bill? Of sorts? Something that had been returned for a credit that would not be chanced upon any time soon?

It was only when her eyes tangled with Theo’s that she realised how much she had been thinking about him—off and on for four days—and even though she felt nettled every single time he had crossed her mind, she still hadn’t been able to erase the image from her head.

Her skin tingled in sudden awareness of his eyes on her and the impossibly sexy slant of his body as he lounged indolently against the doorframe, taking in the scene in front of him.

‘Oh. It’s you.’ She looked around and introduced him indifferently to Moira, Claire and, of course, Robert. ‘This is Mr Andreou, the man from the cottage. How can I help you?’ Her feet suddenly felt like lead and she translated the heat racing through her body as an angry reaction to the fact that, not content with living in her cottage, he was now invading the privacy of her working space.

She reluctantly walked towards him, aware that all eyes were on her.

‘I was just out for a walk and I thought I’d drop in.’

‘How did you know where I worked?’

‘Saw you here when I arrived, as a matter of fact. You were locking up behind you.’

‘There was no need for you to come here, Mr Andreou…’

‘When do you intend to start calling me Theo?’ he asked, suddenly irritated.

‘Theo. I wrote down my telephone number and left it by the phone book on the table in the hall. I believe I told you that.’

‘So this is where you work…’ He pushed himself away from the doorframe and was confronted by Robert, who offered his hand by way of a more formal introduction.

‘The name’s Robert Bell. Your face looks familiar. Have I met you somewhere before?’

‘No,’ Theo said flatly, ignoring the outstretched hand and moving towards one of the desks on which he perched, while Sophie looked on, mouth agape at the sheer nerve of the man.

‘You probably recognise him from the cover of a book somewhere. Theo’s a writer.’

‘In the presence of fame,’ Robert remarked, grinning. ‘Aren’t you lucky, Soph? You can take his picture and build up a wall of fame over the years! Do wonders for the rental income, you know.’ He moved to sling one arm over Sophie’s shoulder and she eased herself away and towards Theo, now idly rifling through the reams of disorganised paperwork on her desk.

‘You never said what you wanted. Is everything all right with the cottage? Are Catherine and Annie working out okay?’ She snatched the papers from him and dumped them back on the desk.

He had, she noticed abstractedly, great hands. Strong, with long fingers and sufficient dark hair curling at the strap of his watch to make her wonder whether he had hair on his chest or not. She caught herself midway through the treacherous uninvited thought and frowned at him.

‘Fine. The house is beyond clean and the food is beyond good.’

‘Then why are you here?’ Sophie asked bluntly. ‘I have an awful lot of work to get through and I really can’t spare the time for chit-chat.’

Theo looked around him. ‘You do seem to be a bit…overwhelmed here…’

‘Not overwhelmed, just…’

‘Trying to impose order on chaos…’ Robert approached them and clicked his tongue in good-natured reprimand at Sophie. ‘Sophie has inherited all this from her father and…’

‘Do you mind, Robert? I’m sure Mr…Theo…isn’t interested in all of that!’ She tempered the sharpness of her reply with an apologetic smile and gave his arm a brief warm squeeze. All said and done, Robert had been her rock in recent months, sacrificing quite a bit of his free time to help her out, taking her out for the odd pizza when she had been feeling particularly down, always looking on the bright side of things. Yes, they went back a few years, but there was no way that she was going to take him for granted!

‘What sort of job was your father in?’ Theo asked, curious now that she had made a point of trying to steer him away from her boundaries. ‘Was he a doctor?’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because the papers seem to indicate a medical bent.’

Sophie’s mouth dropped open and she shut it quickly. She didn’t care what he thought of her, but the gaping goldfish impression wasn’t an attractive one.

‘Dad trained as a pharmacist, if you must know, and after he retired he dabbled here in one or two things…’ Talking about him still upset her and she turned away and walked towards another part of the office where yet more boxes awaited inspection. ‘Now, I really must ask you to leave. I have heaps to do.’ She busied herself with the little bundle of files on the desk.

‘Take a break. Join me for a cup of coffee at the café next door.’ Theo was mildly surprised that he had offered the invitation and he wasn’t at all surprised when she turned him down. ‘There are, actually, one or two things I need to discuss with you about the cottage.’

‘I thought you said everything was fine.’ Sophie looked at him anxiously. From the laborious process of going through her father’s belongings, one thing was becoming clearer and clearer by the day. His assets were heavily compromised. Invoices for supplies of substances she could barely pronounce, never mind recognise, littered the office. There were people waiting by the door for payment. Most weren’t as yet baying, because her father had been a lovable man and had obviously surrounded himself with very loyal and supportive people, even the ones waiting to have their bills met, but her father was no longer around and it wouldn’t be long before the patient waiting turned ugly. No one, owed money, remained jolly indefinitely.

The cottage was his greatest asset and she had to make a go of renting it because she just couldn’t bring herself to sell it.

If Theo wasn’t happy then her bank manager wasn’t going to be happy either.

‘What kind of things?’ she asked with a worried frown.

‘We could discuss this next door…’ He watched as she glanced hesitantly around the office and ran her fingers through her hair. She looked frazzled. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail that had probably commenced the day in a far neater condition than it was now. And Robert, he noticed, was eager for the role of protector, rushing to her side and patting her gently on the back, leaning over to whisper something in her ear. The other two women, both middle-aged, glanced at each other covertly and buried themselves in whatever they had been doing before he had interrupted their afternoon.

The dynamics of a provincial office. If office wasn’t a laughable overstatement, because nothing here resembled Theo’s offices—a huge smoked glass building, with each of its eight floors devoted to the efficient running of an empire that had tentacles stretching from his inherited shipping business to a thousand other concerns, all thriving, all diverse. And, at the top of the impressive building, a monument to modern architecture, sat Theo’s domain, a suite of partitioned offices where members of his close staff worked in silent productivity.

He dragged his attention back to Sophie, who was trying hard now to produce a crisp businesslike manner which was not in keeping with the ruffled hair, the flushed cheeks and the casual attire of faded jeans and an oversized rugby shirt.

‘I guess I could spare a few minutes,’ she conceded. He must think her blind not to have noticed the scathing look he gave her premises. He might be a hot shot writer, but she doubted he would have known where to start if he had been in her shoes. She grabbed her bag which, as usual, seemed to be stuffed with too many things and nodded at him. ‘I’ll only be a short while,’ she said to the others, smiling when Moira told her to take her time, that they were fine to carry on sifting through the paperwork without her for a bit.

‘I would appreciate it if you could phone me with queries in the future,’ was the first thing she said as they left the office. ‘I realise that I’m responsible for what goes on in the cottage but, unless it’s an absolute emergency, I would rather you waited until after working hours.’ Next to him, she felt ridiculously small yet she was an average five foot six. He just seemed very tall and very big. Oppressive, in fact, she thought. And how did he manage to look so expensive when he was really only wearing some cords and a cream jumper with a very ordinary suede jacket? She glanced across at him, cross with herself for letting him get to her. Again.

He pushed open the door to the café without answering and Sophie slipped past him, brushing against the suede jacket and feeling her body stiffen in sudden self-consciousness.

‘So what seems to be the problem? You said that Catherine and Annie were doing their jobs…’

‘To perfection…’

‘Then what?’

At three-thirty on a cold autumn afternoon, Theo was amused to see that the café was practically full. Old biddies were chatting over plates of scones and pots of tea. Where the hell did they find the time? At three-thirty in the afternoon, in London, or New York or Paris or Tokyo, he would have been chairing a high-powered meeting or pacing his office, with his PA there, rattling off a million and one things that needed to be done sooner than yesterday and preferably sooner than the day before. He would have kept going, sometimes until late into the night when exhaustion would finally kick in and sleep would be the only option. An option he would have delayed forever because with sleep came the memories.

What was it with the time down here? It seemed to be like elastic, stretching interminably in a twenty-four hour period. Even with his calls, his emails, his extensive reports, he still seemed to have time on his hands at the end of the day.

These people here seemed to have nothing better to do than while away the time over tea and cakes.

He found that he himself was ordering a pot of tea, when the waitress came across.

‘So?’ Sophie prompted. Those unsettling green eyes rested on her face and she flushed.

‘It’s the heating,’ Theo found himself improvising. Now that he was up close and watching her squarely in the face, he could see that her huge brown eyes were fringed with thick, very dark lashes which made a startling contrast to the blonde hair. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to show me the workings.’ Theo had never asked anyone to help him with anything for as long as he could remember and certainly never something as fundamentally straightforward as the heating system of a house. If his mother could hear him now, she would roar with laughter, he thought uncomfortably. ‘Not that I can’t figure it out on my own…’sheer Greek pride forced him to qualify.

Sophie looked at him warily, then she smiled. So he did have chinks in that armour! Even though he came across as the sort of man who could climb Mount Everest during his lunch break!

That genuine hesitant smile was disconcerting enough to make Theo frown, and Sophie, seeing the frown, misinterpreted it as embarrassment at being caught out unable to succeed at doing something.

‘I know,’ she said with pseudo-concern, ‘it’s terrible for a man having to admit that he actually can’t do something, isn’t it?’ She thought back to the many DIY jobs her father had attempted doing, only to end up calling in the experts. He had been clever at science and enthralled at what mankind was capable of inventing, but show him a flat pack and he had inevitably been stuck. ‘Still, you’re a writer so I suppose you have an excuse.’

‘And why is that?’

‘Because writers aren’t really supposed to know how to do practical stuff, like working out the heating or fixing a washer or…replacing a light bulb.’

Theo was outraged at her generalised assumption that he was a woolly-headed idiot but condemned to accept it with grudging good humour. He wondered why he had conjured up such a ridiculous story. Frankly, he wondered why he had bothered. People had already called to find out whether he needed company, including one acquaintance, Yvonne, who had mistakenly translated his previously polite responses as active encouragement. So why the hell was he seeking out the company of a woman who, aside from everything else, did not have a respectful bone in her body?

‘Is that right?’ he drawled, sitting back and sipping some of the tea and watching as she tucked into the obligatory scone with jam and cream.

‘Yes. Although maybe you’re different as you don’t write fiction.’

Theo watched her lick a drop of cream from her finger. His so-called profession was something he certainly did not wish to linger upon.

‘Okay, I’ll pop in after work and have a look. There shouldn’t be a problem, really. One thing we’ve always made sure to look after has been the heating system in the house. It gets too cold here to take any chances.’

‘You being…you and your father…’

Sophie stilled. She wiped her fingers on the napkin and looked across to the waitress for the bill.

‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘So, if anything, the timer switch needs adjusting. I should have thought that you would want the heating on more than normal because you’re probably indoors all day working.’ The bill came and she protested vigorously when Theo insisted on paying.

‘How did he die?’

He wasn’t overstepping the mark—Sophie knew that. He was being polite, maybe even sympathetic, but she still resented the question. It was none of his business. Asking her personal questions was out of line. He was a tenant, not a friend, and not even a particularly nice tenant.

‘I assume it’s not a secret,’ Theo said dryly, ‘but if you’d rather change the subject, then that’s fine.’

‘He had a heart attack. It was quite sudden. He wasn’t old and he was very fit and healthy.’

The memory of Elena’s death came back to him with such ferocity that he drew in his breath. A different start to her day, a different road travelled, maybe not stopping to take his call, and her life would not have shattered into a thousand pieces.

‘So you have been left to sort out his affairs,’ he said abruptly and Sophie, relieved to escape the sadness of the topic, grasped the diversion gratefully and nodded.

‘It’s a bit of a mess, to be honest. I guess I’ll have to get some financial person in at some point to help, but right now I’m doing the best I can.’ She looked at her watch and stood up. ‘Will you be staying on here for another pot of tea?’ she asked politely. ‘Because I’ve got to go now. It’s a bit cold and breezy, but the shops will be open for another hour or so and you could explore.’

‘I might,’ Theo said dismissively, having no intention of doing any such thing. ‘And I’ll see you…at what time…?’

‘Oh, about six, once I’ve locked up.’

It was a Friday night. She was a young girl. Yes, the area might not be hopping with wild night excitement, but had she nowhere to go?

Curiosity, like some alien virus, entered his bloodstream and he stood up, waiting for her to leave before heading back to the cottage. Where he cleverly adjusted a couple of switches so that his ridiculous story could be corroborated.

For once, the panacea of work took a back seat. Gloria phoned, updating him on various deals he had on the go, filling him in on the snippets of gossip, in which he was not the slightest interested. As she spoke, Theo thought about Sophie, then slammed shut the door on the thoughts the second he became aware of them.

At six he heard the buzz of the doorbell and there she was when he pulled open the door. No longer in her jeans and rugby shirt, but combat trousers and a cream sweater over which she wore a longish olive-green jacket that engulfed her. The rumpled hair was now brushed and tied back into two little plaits that made her look about fifteen.

‘On time,’ he said, stepping aside and watching as she walked into the hall and deposited her coat on the banister with the familiarity of someone who had probably spent a lifetime doing it.

‘I live just above the office. It takes me all of ten minutes to get here.’ Sophie looked around, expecting and finding the house in impeccable condition. Annie and Catherine would have told her if he had been a slob. He might be arrogant, obnoxious and full of himself but at least he was relatively tidy. No sign of anything, not even the reams of paper she would have expected to be piling up somewhere. He probably just wrote directly on to his computer—no need to print anything.

Reluctantly she allowed her eyes to finally rest on him and again that little frisson of something. What was it about him that did that to her? Was it because there was a watchful stillness about him that made her painfully self-conscious? When he began walking towards her, her pulses leapt and she had to make an effort not to take a couple of steps backwards. Even with that slight limp, he moved with the grace of an athlete, every muscle in his body honed to fine perfection.

She felt her breasts ache in a sudden unwelcome response to his overpowering masculinity.

Dislikeable he might be, but he was, she conceded, drop dead gorgeous. The black hair swept away from his face threw into relentless emphasis the drama of his face. It would be enough to send any woman into a dither, she concluded uneasily, even one who disliked him and could smell him for the heartbreaker he probably was from a mile away.

‘I’ll have a look at that heating and then I’ll be off.’ She turned on her unsteady heel and headed for the boiler room where, for a few minutes and some elementary twiddling, she got the system going. When she turned round it was to find him right behind her, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded.

‘You were right. Pretty easy.’

‘Very. Now, if you don’t mind…?’

‘Why don’t you stay for a drink?’

‘I can’t.’ At least she could breathe when he wasn’t looming over her like that.

He had followed her back out into the hall, where she was pulling on her jacket and seemed in a desperate rush to leave.

Theo was not accustomed to any woman being in a desperate rush to avoid his company. In fact, he had become adept at avoiding theirs. Before Elena, with variety spread before him like a moveable feast, he had sampled the wares and moved on. The physical pull towards a beautiful woman had always had temporary, limited appeal. It was the way he had liked it. Since Elena, the moveable feast had become a rude invasion of his privacy, but he had still been accustomed to having it there, to dealing with the necessity of avoiding it.

Something elemental kicked in now, in the face of a woman who was already making for the door as though he was a seriously infectious disease.

‘Where are you going tonight?’ he asked politely. The jacket was sizes too big for her and he wondered if it had belonged to her father. Or the blond man at the office with the over-developed protective streak.

‘Oh.’ Caught on the hop, Sophie looked at him for a few silent seconds, her face going redder by the minute as she tried to think of something fun she might be doing.

‘Exciting nightclub somewhere?’ Theo prompted silkily. He walked through to the kitchen and helped himself to a glass of wine. ‘Cinema? Theatre, if there’s one around here within striking distance? Maybe a restaurant?’ He paused and sipped some of the wine. ‘Or, of course, there’s always the pub. Although you were quick to dispel the myth that all the locals do is frequent a pub and down pints of ale.’

‘I suppose you think you’re so clever,’ Sophie told him in a shaking voice, to which he shrugged and walked towards the sitting room, leaving her with the option of either storming out in mid-tirade and looking like a coward, or else following him.

She followed to find him lounging on her sofa, thoroughly and infuriatingly calm.

‘You might be some kind of writer. Who knows? Maybe you’re even famous in that little circle you mix in, but that doesn’t cut it with me!’

‘What little circle?’ Theo asked, curious to discover what image she had of his mysterious and fictional life.

‘Oh, you know what I mean!’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘That little circle of academics! Everyone sitting around, drinking wine and congratulating themselves on being so much smarter than the rest of the human race!’

There was a lot of insight in what she had just said, Theo thought, and it applied to his own circle of financiers and businessmen, the richest of the rich who could afford to relax on the Olympian summits of their own self-worth.

He watched her fume over the rim of his glass and nodded thoughtfully. ‘You’re right.’

‘But don’t think that you can swan in here and throw your weight around!’ His words registered belatedly and she lapsed into silence. ‘What did you just say?’

‘I said you’re right. There’s a lot of self-righteous preening that takes place when wealthy, important people get together. It’s fairly nauseating.’

‘So you agree with me.’

‘I agree with the concept, but not,’ he said lazily, ‘in so far as it applies to me.’

‘Because…?’ Sophie felt giddy. She took a couple of tentative steps into the sitting room and swore that she would be out of the cottage just as soon as he backed up his statement. She couldn’t very well initiate this and then flounce off, could she? Not, she reminded herself piously, when he was her tenant, a small fact which, once again, she appeared to have forgotten.

‘Because I happen to be a very modest man.’ Quite a few, he admitted to himself, might disagree.

Something didn’t sit right with that statement, but she had to admit that he had not been stingy in conceding her point. When he reiterated his offer of a glass of wine, she found herself accepting. She justified that easily on the grounds that it was just so nice being back in this sitting room, even if she had to share the space with a man like Theo Andreou. And, besides, her bank manager would appreciate her good manners.

He had drawn the curtains and the room was just how she loved it, bathed in the mellow glow of the standing lamp, with lots of shadows in the corners and the wind rattling against the window panes. Her father’s books were ranged along one wall, housed in a bookcase that looked as old as the overhead beams.

‘You hate this, don’t you?’

Snapped back to the present, Sophie looked at him and frowned uncomfortably. ‘Hate what?’

‘Renting out this cottage to an arrogant bastard like me.’

Sophie dodged the description. ‘It’s been hard renting it out to you or to anyone.’

‘But you had to because you needed the money.’

‘Is this what you writers do?’ she asked edgily. ‘Cross-examine people and then use their reactions as fodder for books?’

‘And is this what you do?’ Theo asked coolly.

‘What?’

‘Categorise people?’

‘I do not categorise people,’ Sophie said. ‘Well, not usually,’ honesty compelled her to admit. ‘Look, yes, you’re right. I’m renting the cottage because I need the money and, no, I don’t like doing it, as I said, because it’s full of memories for me.’

‘And what do you intend to do with it once your father’s affairs have been sorted out? Was his expenditure as extravagant as you think?’

Sophie opened her mouth to tell him that her financial situation was none of his concern, and shut it again. She hadn’t actually spoken to anyone about the mess that was her financial situation. Her bank manager knew and Robert, who had worked alongside her father off and on, a labour of love, as he told her, surely suspected the worst, but the other members of staff, Moira and Claire, wouldn’t have a clue and it wouldn’t have been fair to tell them. They were both in their fifties and had only ever worked on an occasional basis for her father, sometimes writing up complicated reports which would have meant nothing to them, or else generally tidying up in the wake of his discarded petri dishes and test tubes. They had indulged him and looked after him in the way an owner might look after a playful but lovable puppy, making sure that he ate, carting him off to their bridge groups and socials whenever they could.

He would never have let them in on the chaos of his accounts. He hadn’t even let her, his own daughter, in on it! She had lived in blissful ignorance, doing her gap year in the neighbouring town, then on to university in Southampton, from which she had travelled home to see her father every fortnight. Only his death, interrupting the final leg of her teacher training, had woken her from her peaceful slumber and catapulted her into a confrontation with debt and money borrowed and money owing, all poured into her father’s obsession with discovering things.

He had lived for the hope of discovery. Of what exactly he could only ever offer mysterious promises and the general assumption that in a world so full of complex life forms and even more complex diseases there was always something waiting to be discovered.

Over the years, Sophie had fondly considered his passion for tinkering around as a harmless hobby. He had been extremely bright and, having retired from his full-time job, it had kept him out of mischief.

Theo was looking at her with a shuttered expression. She knew that she would be safe from any saccharine-sweet expressions of sympathy from him. He would be blunt and he would probably reduce her to grinding her teeth in anger, but he wouldn’t cluck his tongue and offer her a cup of tea. And he wouldn’t insult her father’s memory by asking how he could have been so irresponsible as to leave his only child to cope with his debts.

‘Worse than that,’ Sophie confessed.

Theo didn’t say anything. He stood up and silently fetched the bottle of wine so that he could refill her glass.

Did he need any of this? Some stranger bawling out her troubles on his shoulder? Because he could smell a financial mess a mile off and he had smelled it big time in that office. It wasn’t his problem and he didn’t have to listen to anybody’s tale of woe.

But a night spent reading through reports, updating files on his computer, downloading information on three companies he had his eye on, didn’t hold much appeal on a rainy, cold October night behind God’s back.

Theo looked at the downbent head consideringly before he handed her the glass of wine, topped up to confessional level.

He knew that the slightest hint of reluctance on his part to listen and she would be off. And she would make sure not to repeat the mistake. And, indeed, take away the fact that it was dark, rainy, cold and she had probably discovered yet one more IOU to add to the stockpile, and he knew that she would never have succumbed to any need to confide. She wasn’t a confiding kind of girl.

What harm in indulging her need to talk? A village in the middle of nowhereland was not the place where confidantes could be easily located, not unless you wanted every member of the village to know your private business. Or at least so Theo assumed.

‘Care to explain?’ he asked, retreating to his chair and feeling suitably pleased with himself for actually bothering to listen to someone else’s problems. Obeying doctor’s orders, in fact! Doing this small good deed filled him with a bracing sense of virtue. ‘You will find that I am very good at listening.’