Page 48 of Joker in the Pack

Did he mean me? My skin tingled as he met my gaze.

“Besides,” he continued, “my godfather’s a senior partner at the firm, and when he heard what happened to you, he told me to take the day off and help.”

“Is there anybody left in southern England who doesn’t know about the break-in?”

Tate’s smile turned sheepish. “Probably not. The Women’s Institute holds its weekly meeting on a Sunday afternoon, so you can guarantee that the only people in the three villages who didn’t know by Monday morning are either too young to speak or dead.”

My every move being common knowledge made me squirm a little inside. I’d lived in my London flat for over three years, and I’d only known the name of one of my neighbours. And that was only because the postman kept getting number one confused with number seven and delivering me his post by accident.

But the close-knit community did have its good points. As Tate and I carted broken things out to the horsebox and put anything left intact back into its rightful place, people I’d never even met before stopped by to offer condolences or home-baked snacks. By the time the lorry was packed, I’d eaten so many cakes and quiches and sausage rolls I could barely move.

One lady had insisted on cleaning the kitchen, and another had done the windows. I felt particularly guilty over the latter because their filthy state was nothing to do with the burglary. Eleanor couldn’t have touched them for years, and I’d barely been able to see out of the dining room in particular. Eleanor had worried as little about natural light as she had about salmonella.

By the time Tate drove the horsebox back to the cottage, it looked better than I’d ever dreamed it could, and we’d salvaged a lot of the stuff for me to sell. A stranger had even donated a pair of wooden chairs to replace the broken ones in the kitchen, and I sank gratefully onto one while Tate took the other. Through the now-sparkling window, the sun set in a blaze of pink and orange, signifying the end of one of the strangest days of my life.

And while I couldn’t say I’d enjoyed the last forty-eight hours, they’d certainly turned out to be less unpleasant than I’d anticipated.

“Let me make you dinner,” I said to Tate. “It’s the least I can do.”

“I’m not sure I could eat another thing. I got through at least six of those blueberry muffins alone.”

Same for me. Good thing I’d worn trousers with an elasticated waist. “They were rather good, weren’t they? There are some spares left if you want to take them home.”

“That’s kind of you.” He nodded slowly and pushed his chair back a couple of inches. “Well, I’d better be going.”

“Stay for coffee,” I blurted, then felt my cheeks turn red. “Oh, gosh. That sounded a bit dirty, didn’t it?” A nervous giggle bubbled up my throat. Everyone knew what the coffee euphemism meant.

Tate grinned. “You’re too sweet to think like that, but I’ll take a cup of coffee. For now,” he added under his breath.

I replayed those words over and over as I lay in bed that night. Or rather, what was left of it. My unwelcome visitor had slashed the mattress, but we’d flipped it over so it was still usable.

Had Tate meant what I thought he meant? And if he had, what should I do about it? After Edward rode roughshod over my emotions, I’d thought it would be years before I felt ready to spend time with another man, but Tate was so incredibly sweet. Edward would never have dropped everything and stepped in like that. Hired someone to help, maybe, but not got his own hands dirty.

And Warren? He’d been nothing but kind too. What if Maddie was right and I should consider spending time with a man more on my level?

The last thing I wanted was to get hurt again.

Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight, red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning, or so the old saying went. It had certainly held true today. Last night’s sunset heralded a clear dawn, the birds were singing in the old apple tree outside the kitchen window, and I had a whole bundle of things we’d saved to list on eBay.

I’d barely got any work done on the bus to Maddie’s last Saturday because I kept getting distracted by the scenery, and when I got to London, I’d cursed about having the extra laptop to carry, but it had turned out to be a blessing in disguise. At least I didn’t need to spend my meagre savings on replacing it.

With that in mind, I decided it was important to celebrate the small victories in life and headed to The Cock and Bull. Would their lunch menu be as strange as dinner? I could get to know the locals better and take advantage of their free Wi-Fi while I waited for my food to arrive, killing two birds with one stone.

At least, that was my plan. I spotted a quiet table in the corner and waved at Jean as I headed towards it, but she didn’t return the gesture. In fact, she scowled.

I checked behind me, but there was nobody else there. That expression had definitely been aimed in my direction. And when I went to the bar to order fish and chips, she didn’t say a word, just took my debit card and swiped it through the machine.

“Could you ask the chef to leave out the pea and chilli purée?”

“As you wish.”

What had I done wrong?

My meal turned up twenty minutes later, slammed onto the table in front of me without a word. No cutlery. I had to borrow that from the next table, along with a bottle of ketchup. It seemed the kitchen had run out of plates too, because the fish came on a tiny surfboard and the chips were served in a miniature plastic bucket.

The story continued in the post office. Betty had been chatty for the last few weeks, but today she weighed my parcels without a word.

“Seventeen pounds fifty.” She held her hand out for the money.

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