Dr Blake's Angel. Marion Lennox

find you have to pay for that remark.’

      ‘He doesn’t bite?’

      ‘Bite?’ Nell shook her head in disbelief. She crossed to the little kitchenette and opened the oven door. ‘That requires energy. No, Ernest’s principal way of punishing people is by ignoring them.’

      ‘I can live with that.’

      ‘You’ll find you can’t,’ she warned him. ‘It’s very effective. He sort of embellishes his ignoring routine in all sorts of fancy ways. You’ll see. Now… Dinner?’

      Ernest was promptly forgotten. ‘Dinner!’

      ‘You haven’t eaten?’ She turned back to face him. ‘I didn’t see how you could have.’

      ‘No, but—’

      ‘Then there’s dinner,’ she told him as if he were stupid. ‘I ate hours ago but I saved half the casserole for you. It’s apricot chicken. Very basic but it is my first night. We stopped off at the all-nighter on our first furniture run so I could throw this together while the boys heaved sofas.’ And then she grinned. ‘I imagine it’s set the town talking. An ambulance parked outside the minimart with a sofa sticking out the back.’

      He imagined it might have. He should be angry. But there was apricot chicken casserole. His nose was giving him all sorts of messages, and every one of them was urgent.

      And it was sort of funny…

      ‘I don’t approve,’ he managed, and Nell nodded.

      ‘Of course you don’t. You’re a very responsible doctor. I can see that. So you don’t approve of ambulances filled with sofas, buying chicken drumsticks and cans of apricots. But you will still eat my casserole?’

      He was trying hard not to laugh. For heaven’s sake, she was ridiculous. ‘I might.’

      ‘Ernest will if you don’t,’ she said cheerfully, and Blake turned and glowered at the dog. Ernest glowered back.

      But this was a dog after all. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ Blake told him. ‘Not even the scraps.’

      ‘He’s already eaten,’ Nell said.

      ‘Chicken casserole?’

      ‘Dog food. The ambulance and sofa brought that, too. But he’s not fussy and he’s always up for second helpings.’

      ‘I imagine he might be. That’s quite some paunch.’

      ‘Now you really are getting personal.’ She scooped the casserole onto a plate and set it down on her gorgeous table. The whole room came together. The aroma of the delicious casserole. The furniture. The dog. The brilliantly dressed woman, heavily pregnant, ladling out food…

      It was the sort of scenario that’d normally make him run a mile.

      ‘Wrap yourself around that,’ Nell told him, and she smiled.

      Who could resist an invitation like that?

      ‘Wash your dishes afterwards,’ she said blithely. She hauled her dog up into her arms. ‘We’ve done enough. Ernest and I are very, very tired and we’re off to bed. We’ll leave you to it.’

      She left, and the room was desolate for her going.