‘Sounds like someone’s just backed into something,’ Tom observed.
‘And no prizes for guessing who the “someone” is.’ Kate groaned as Lauren clambered out of her car, her hand pressed to her mouth.
‘Oh, come on, be fair, Kate,’ Eve protested. ‘The cars are parked really close to one another. Whose car did she hit?’
Kate frowned. ‘Don’t know. It’s a metallic blue Range Rover, not from around here by its number plate, so my guess is it belongs to some flash holidaymaker.’
Tom cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid I’m the flash holiday-maker, so who is the “she” who has just reversed into my car?’
Kate looked uncomfortably at Eve, and Eve bit her lip.
‘Lauren. She’s our practice physiotherapist, and a really lovely woman, but quite dreadfully accident prone.’
And currently absolutely mortified, Eve thought as Lauren hurried towards them, her cheeks scarlet, her eyes worried.
‘I was certain I had enough space to reverse,’ she exclaimed, ‘absolutely certain, but… Does anyone know who owns the blue Range Rover?’
‘Tom does,’ Eve replied. ‘Tom, this is Lauren Nightingale.’
‘Not Florence?’ he said, and Eve rolled her eyes.
‘Tom, Lauren must have heard that joke about a million times.’
‘A million and one now, actually,’ Lauren said, ‘but that’s not the point. I’m so sorry about your car—’
‘From the looks of it, your Renault’s come off worse,’ Tom interrupted, gazing critically at his car, then at Lauren’s. ‘You’ve scraped quite a bit of paintwork off your tail, whereas you’ve only broken my indicator light cover.’
‘Which I will pay for,’ Lauren insisted, digging into her bag. ‘I have my insurance certificate in here—’
‘Look, how about I simply send you the bill for the repair, and we don’t involve our insurance companies at all?’ Tom suggested. ‘That way you won’t lose your no-claims bonus.’
‘Are you sure?’ Lauren said uncertainly, and, when Tom nodded, she extracted a notebook and a pen from her bag. ‘You’ll need my address for the bill. It’s Gatehouse Cottage. That’s—’
‘The cottage at the bottom of the drive that leads to the Manor House.’ Tom smiled when the physiotherapist looked at him in surprise. ‘I was born in Penhally, lived here for the first twenty-four years of my life, so I know where everything is.’
‘Where are you staying so I can contact you?’ Lauren asked.
‘The Anchor Hotel,’ Tom replied, taking the notebook and pen from Lauren, ‘but I won’t be there long so you’d better have my London address.’
His London address. So he didn’t live in the States any more, Eve thought as she watched him scribble in Lauren’s notebook, and he wasn’t going to be staying in The Anchor for long, but did that mean he was moving back into his old home in Penhally, or what?
‘You’re staying at The Anchor Hotel?’ Kate said before Eve could ask the questions she so desperately wanted the answers to. ‘Very posh.’
‘You mean, you’re amazed they let anyone called Cornish through the door?’ Tom said with an edge, and Kate coloured deeply.
‘Of course I didn’t mean that!’ she exclaimed. ‘I just meant…’
Her voice trailed away into awkward, embarrassed silence, and Eve came to her rescue.
‘Kate, shouldn’t you be making tracks for The Smugglers’?’ she said. ‘Alison and Jack headed off a few minutes ago, and they must be wondering where you are.’
‘Oh. Right,’ the midwife declared with a grateful smile and, as she and Lauren both headed for their cars, Eve turned to Tom, her expression sad.
‘So, it still pushes all your buttons, does it, even after all these years?’
Tom’s face tightened.
‘Only in Penhally,’ he said, then forced a smile as he noticed Tassie gazing up at him in obvious confusion. ‘Well, half-pint, what are we waiting for? If we don’t get to the reception fast all the best food will have gone.’
‘Are we going in your car?’ the little girl asked. ‘The one that got hit?’
‘We can walk,’ Eve said hurriedly. ‘The Smugglers’ isn’t far—just up the road.’
‘We drive,’ Tom insisted. ‘If I’m taking two gorgeous women out to lunch then we go in style, even if my car is missing one indicator light cover.’
Walking would be better, Eve thought. Tassie would leap about as she always did, pointing things out to Tom, which would mean she wouldn’t have to talk to him, but she could hardly insist on them walking. Tom would wonder why, and if Tom was the same man she had known—and she strongly suspected he was—he would badger and badger her until she told him.
‘In style it is, then,’ she declared, striding determinedly towards his car before she lost her nerve.
‘Can I sit in the front?’ Tassie asked, hopping excitedly from one foot to the other, her fine blonde hair flying about her shoulders, and Tom shook his head.
‘Surely you know royalty always rides in the back behind the chauffeur?’ he replied.
‘But I’m not royalty,’ the little girl pointed out, and Tom smiled the smile Eve knew could charm the birds off the trees.
‘Today you are,’ he said, helping Tassie up into the Range Rover. ‘So, where to, ma’am?’
‘Smugglers’Inn, as quick as you can, driver,’ Tassie declared with an imperious air that was completely ruined when she dissolved into a fit of giggles.
‘That was kind,’ Eve murmured, as she got into the front seat, and Tom slipped into the driver’s seat beside her.
‘It’s only manners to open a door for a lady,’ he replied, and Eve shook her head.
‘I meant it was kind of you to be so nice to Tassie.’
‘She’s a nice kid.’
‘Not everyone sees that,’ Eve observed, then managed a smile when Tom stared at her curiously. ‘Do you honestly remember where everything in Penhally is, or do you want directions for The Smugglers’?’
‘I haven’t forgotten anything about Penhally,’ he said abruptly, then grimaced as a slight frown creased Eve’s forehead. ‘Sorry. An hour back in the place, and already I’m defensive. No, I don’t need directions,’ he added as he drove out of the car park and turned left. ‘The Smugglers’ is at the top of Mevagissey Road.’
Odd, she thought as he drove north, that he should remember that. They’d never been to the inn when they’d been younger. It had been too expensive for them when he’d just qualified as a doctor and she’d just finished her nurse’s training, and yet he’d remembered where it was. What else did he remember? she wondered, but she didn’t want to go down that particular memory lane. It was fraught with too many dangers, too many complications.
‘How long have you lived in London?’ she said, deliberately changing the conversation. ‘I mean, I thought you were still in the States,’ she continued as he glanced across at her, ‘but you gave Lauren a London address.’
‘I haven’t