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‘But is he coming here?’
She ignored this. ‘We’ll spend some time together sorting things out.’
‘It’s a bit early in the relationship for that, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, wishing he’d drop the subject. But he wouldn’t, almost as if he knew how uneasy it made her.
‘Sorting things out is what happens when people have been together a while,’ he said, ‘and things have turned sour, but they want to recapture the magic. If you’re ‘‘sorting out’’ in the courtship stage, he’s the wrong guy.’
‘I’ll decide about that, thank you.’
‘You can decide what you like, but he’s the wrong guy. Why pick on him? Unless you’re afraid of being an old maid.’
‘Get lost!’ she said amiably.
‘Well, it has to be said. You’re no spring chicken. You must be pushing—what? Forty?’
‘Thirty!’
He roared with laughter. ‘I had a bet with myself that you’d tell me your age by the end of the day.’
She made a face at him and he laughed again. ‘So, thirty, and he’s your last chance. Life has passed you by. Men have passed you by. You’re pretty enough in a dim light, but nobody’s offered you lifetime commitment.’
His eyes were wicked and she smiled back, disconcerted by the sudden reappearance of his charm.
‘So, my guess is that you put up with any amount of awkward behaviour on his part, for fear of losing him.’
‘No way,’ she said. ‘It’s my awkward behaviour that’s caused the problems.’
‘Just because you stood him up that night, he’s throwing a wobbly?’
‘Don’t you throw a wobbly if you get stood up?’
‘I don’t get stood up,’ he said with an assurance that was so complete she almost admired it.
‘You are the most arrogant, conceited man I’ve ever met.’
‘I’m just recording facts. He can’t take it that you put him second that night.’
‘It’s not the only time—other things happen, and get in the way. But that’s over now.’
‘Because he’s your hero? The one and only whose voice makes your heart beat? The man who—?’
‘All right!’ she said, trying not to laugh. ‘It’s a bit more prosaic than that, but, like you said, old age is creeping up on me.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ he said in a tone of disbelief. Added to the way he looked her figure up and down, it amounted to a definite compliment.
It was the first time he’d even hinted that he admired her as a woman, and it threw her off balance. Suddenly the ‘modest’ bikini wasn’t modest any more. Her bosom was more generous than she’d realised, and the bra was cut low enough to display the fact.
It was like discovering that she’d been naked under his gaze all the time, and had never known it. She could feel herself beginning to blush.
But, just in time, she saw what he was really up to. He wanted her to think only of Mark, and if that meant fighting off other interests, then he’d do just that.
Well, forewarned was forearmed she thought, amused. It wouldn’t hurt to torment him a little.
‘The truth is that I’m at a crossroads in my life.’ She sighed. ‘Freedom’s all very well up to a point, but sooner or later a woman wants to settle down with a good man. And then there’s security. When I’ve paid off Joe’s debts there won’t be much left and I should be looking to the future.’
‘You mean you’d marry him for money?’
‘Not just that. You said it yourself, he’s my hero. His voice makes my heart beat with anticipation—’
She stopped. He was looking at her.
‘Well, something like that, anyway.’ She laughed.
‘You’re playing a very cool game. Why aren’t you in London, knocking on his door, making sure of him?’
‘Because that would send him running in the opposite direction. How would you feel about a woman who threw herself at you? Silly me, I suppose they already do.’
He regarded her satirically. ‘Think so?’
‘With your money?’ she asked airily. ‘Of course they do.’
It was a gross slander, she thought, looking at him stretched out on the sand in negligent ease. She had seen him from a distance, but close up he was even more impressive.
She considered this matter entirely dispassionately. Her own preference was for a man like Andrew, built on less spectacular lines, but with a mind that met hers.
And a man’s mind was important, she mused. Andrew was intelligent, literary, with fine, sensitive fibres. Justin Dane was undoubtedly intelligent. Or rather, where his own interests were concerned he was shrewd and cunning. He certainly wasn’t literary, and she suspected that his fibres resembled thick canvas.
It was just annoying that he had a body designed to send an easily provoked female into a frenzy. Luckily for her, she wasn’t easily provoked.
Mark came running up the beach with a little crab which he displayed proudly.
‘Look what I’ve got.’
‘Very nice,’ Justin said, regarding the object askance.
‘Isn’t he beautiful?’ Evie said, taking the little crab in her hand. ‘I used to look for these on this beach when I was a child.’
‘What did you do with them?’ Mark wanted to know.
‘I used to look for someone whose shirt I could drop it down.’
‘Really!’ Justin said in a voice heavy with significance. ‘Let me advise both of you to forget any such idea.’
Then Mark delighted her by asking, ‘Not scared, are you, Dad?’
And Justin pleased her even more by grinning and saying, ‘Terrified. So remember that, and beware!’
They all laughed. It was the happiest and most relaxed moment that the three of them had shared.
Her phone rang again. Her heart leapt at the thought that it might be Andrew, yet she knew a brief flash of regret that the moment was over.
But it wasn’t Andrew. An unfamiliar female voice asked if that was Miss Wharton, then went on to explain that a couple would like to look over the cottage.
‘This afternoon, if possible.’
‘Yes—yes, of course,’ Evie said. ‘Do you need directions?’
As she described the way, Justin began to pack up their things, quietly explaining to Mark what was happening. When Evie hung up they were ready to go.
‘That was the estate agent,’ she said. ‘A Mr and Mrs Nicholson will be here to view the cottage in a couple of hours.’
Then she turned away quickly so that her face shouldn’t betray how wretched she suddenly felt.
‘I suppose a potential buyer is good news,’ Justin mused.
‘Yes,’ she said, trying to convince herself. ‘I should go and tidy up.’
They had all left early that morning, not stopping to make beds and do washing-up, in their eagerness to get to the beach. Now they helped her, going around the cottage at speed, shoving things into drawers and hurrying dusters over every spare surface.
The Nicholsons arrived half an hour early and walked in as though they already owned the place. They were rich, middle-aged and insensitive.
‘Isn’t this just wonderful?’ Mrs Nicholson demanded of her husband, standing in the middle of the downstairs room. ‘Look at those flagstones. How romantic! And a real open fire! How beautiful! Of course, it’ll have to come out.’
‘But why, if it’s beautiful?’ Evie couldn’t help asking.
‘Unhygienic. All that smoke.’
‘It goes up the chimney,’ Justin observed.
‘But it’s still unhygienic,’ Mrs Nicholson said firmly. She was plainly a woman who grabbed an idea and hung on to it.
She and her mostly silent husband went through the whole cottage like that, criticising while pronouncing everything beautiful, wonderful, magnificent.
Justin’s brow was getting darker, as though this behaviour upset him too, and at last he came up behind Evie, putting his warm hands firmly on her shoulders and murmuring into her ear, ‘It’s perfect, but it’s all got to be changed. To hell with them!’
She growled agreement. His hands vanished from her shoulders, leaving behind a warm imprint that stayed with her for several minutes.
‘We just love it,’ Mrs Nicholson proclaimed at last. Mr Nicholson nodded without speaking.
‘Of course, it’s very over-priced,’ she charged on. ‘We’d expect you to come down.’
‘I’m afraid that’s not possible.’
For a moment Evie wondered who had spoken. All she knew for certain was that it wasn’t herself. Then she saw Justin’s face. He was giving Mrs Nicholson the kind of resolute look that she imagined he’d used to close profitable deals in the past. Evie stared at him, past speech.
‘You see,’ he went on, ‘Miss Wharton can’t make any agreement. You have to deal with her uncle’s executor, who is obliged, by law, to get the best possible deal. So I’m afraid he won’t be in favour of an ‘‘agreement’’—’
‘But I’m sure you realise—’
‘And I’m sure that you realise that he would be very displeased with her if she agreed a lower price with you.’
‘But surely a private arrangement first—’
‘Miss Wharton will give you the executor’s number, and he’ll expect your call.’
Sulkily the woman took the number and made a grand exit, her husband trailing meekly in her wake. Through the window, the three of them watched the couple get into a car whose size and luxury left no doubt of their ability to meet the price.
Evie turned awed eyes on Justin, and found him regarding her with less than his usual confidence.
‘Did I go too far?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she said. ‘You were terrific. But how—?’
‘She was trying to steamroller you and I wasn’t going to let it happen. I’m an old hand in the art of not getting steamrollered.’
‘I’ll bet you are. Thank you.’ Then she sighed. ‘But I’ll have to sell in the end.’
‘Yes, but you’ve got a little more time.’
‘Don’t you want to sell?’ Mark asked her. He’d been listening intently.
She could only shake her head.
The call from the lawyer came an hour later. The Nicholsons had made an offer, but it was below the market price.
‘I’ve refused and we’re playing a waiting game,’ he said. ‘I think they’ll go higher if we wait. Or do you think I should make the deal now?’
‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘We should wait.’
‘What happened?’ Justin asked as soon as she hung up.
‘They’ve made an offer below the price. I’m not taking it.’
‘Good for you.’
‘Does that mean we can stay here?’ Mark asked eagerly.
‘Yes, we don’t have to go for a bit,’ she told him, smiling.
‘Yippee!’ he crowed. ‘We’re going to have a wonderful time.’
She hugged him. ‘That’s right. We’re going to have a wonderful time.’
Chapter Six
EVIE had expected Mark to grow quickly bored with an old-fashioned seaside holiday, but it didn’t happen. He was eager for even the simplest experiences, and she could almost imagine that she saw herself again in him.
