Читать книгу Carmichael's Return - Lilian Peake - Страница 9

LAUREN drove Brett to the car showroom, then, with a wave, drove off towards the village centre to visit the grocery store. Glancing back through her driving mirror, she saw him nosing round one of the cars as the salesman approached.

When she was paying for the goods at the checkout, the assistant, a local lady to whom she had introduced herself before, asked, ‘How do you like living in Mr Gard’s house?’

‘Just fine, thanks.’

‘We heard you had company.’

Oh, dear, village gossip, Lauren thought, collecting her change and loading the goods into her shopping bag.

‘He’s a paying guest,’ she said, in what she hoped was a prim and proper tone as befitted a totally uninvolved landlady—which she was, wasn’t she? ‘He’s very quiet.’ You can say that again, she thought. ‘And is recovering very well from an illness he had when he arrived.’

‘Oh, good,’ the assistant returned with a smile. No suspicion there of any moral wrong-doing on anyone’s part, Lauren decided. Thank goodness. And nor was there any, she thought, leaving the store and stacking the shopping in her car.

As she drove back past the garage she looked for Brett, but there was no sign. Her heart nearly stopped when she did see him. He was lounging, hands in pockets, against the bus stop sign. A bus was due, she knew that, but what was he doing going into the town?

* * *

Three hours later, a long, low, brand-new car drew up in the drive. Mouth open on a gasp, Lauren, from her workroom upstairs, watched her paying guest emerge from the driving seat and slam the door, turning to admire his purchase.

She was overcome by an acute fear that this was the outside world putting its harsh foot in the door just before bursting in to destroy the fragile togetherness that had been forming between them.

Withdrawing from her position at the window, she returned to the task of arranging her watercolours, hanging on convenient picture hooks those already framed.

As swift footsteps took the stairs she stood back, heartbeats racing, pretending to admire her own handiwork. The door swung open and Brett stood there, a light in his eyes.

‘You’ve seen my new possession?’

She nodded. ‘Oh, wow,’ she said, her voice coming out low-key in spite of her doing her best to sound as excited as he was. ‘It’s great. But—? Oh, of course— you’ve got it on hire.’

‘Nope. It’s mine. It’s OK—’ he smiled at her bewilderment ‘—I didn’t have to rob a bank to buy it.’

Which surely meant that he might be a stranger come in from the cold—or rather, the heat, judging by his tan—but he certainly wasn’t poverty-stricken.