Page 48 of The Key to the Last House Before the Sea

‘Nice coat,’ she murmured.

‘Hmm.’ He ran his hand down the waterproof material. ‘Ms Merchant—’

‘Rosie,’ Nessa interrupted.

‘Rosie,’ he said her name very deliberately, ‘spotted me going out and insisted I wear it. The coat belongs to her boyfriend, I believe.’

‘It suits you.’

The khaki jacket made him look less like a city hotshot and more like an outdoorsy local. He had nice cheekbones, Nessa realised. And nice pale grey eyes. He had a nice face when he wasn’t sneering at her or looking exasperated.

‘Why do you always wear a suit?’ she asked, feeling bold in the pale morning light.

He glanced round at her. ‘Why not?’

‘I get that it’s what you wear to work – a bit like a uniform. But surely you can ditch it when you’re working in Devon in a heatwave?’

‘My father insists that members of the management team always wear a suit.’

‘Your father isn’t here,’ said Nessa quietly.

‘Anyway’ – he shrugged – ‘that’s all I brought with me. Ms Merchant… sorry, Rosie is letting me use the washing machine for my shirts.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘I packed light, not realising I was going to be stuck in Heaven’s Cove for so long.’

Nessa ignored the barbed comment. ‘There’s a good boutique in the village, down by the quay, that sells shorts and polo shirts.’

‘Shorts?’ A corner of Gabriel’s mouth twitched upwards. ‘My father would self-combust on the spot.’

‘Well, I won’t tell him your secret if you don’t.’ That sounded slightly flirtatious, Nessa realised. She wrapped her arms tightly around her body. ‘So why are you sitting out here, rather than knocking on my door?’

‘I’m admiring the view. I thought I’d give myself a treat, seeing as it’s my birthday.’

Nessa blinked, surprised at Gabriel offering up personal information. No wonder he looked miserable, spending his birthday far from friends and family. She felt a twinge of guilt that he was still in Heaven’s Cove because of her.

‘Happy birthday,’ she said, giving him a smile.

He ignored her, ducking as a gull swooped too close.

‘How old are you?’ she asked.

‘Thirty-two.’

‘Are you going to take the day off? Do something nice? Have some fun?’

He opened his mouth and closed it again.

‘You know, fun?’ persisted Nessa. ‘You could go for a walk or have a swim or go shopping in Exeter. Whatever floats your boat. Or you could buy a pad from Stan’s store in the village and do some sketching. You said you’re good at art.’

‘I didn’t say I was good.’

‘You must have talent to be offered a place at art college.’

‘Maybe. But I don’t have time to waste messing around with paints these days.’

He sounded so brisk and business-like, Nessa felt sorry for him. What kind of miserable life did he have if he couldn’t spare an hour or two to do what made him happy? Not even on his birthday.

‘My gran always said painting was therapy, not wasting time. She used to insist I have a go and she never told me I was dreadful, even though I was. Sadly, her talent bypassed my generation.’

He actually smiled at that. ‘Did your grandmother paint Sorrel Cove?’

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