Tangled Emotions. Catherine George

to find Joe peering into the sitting room.

      ‘Hell, Fen, it’s worse than the kitchen,’ he said, appalled. ‘You actually spend time in here?’

      ‘None at all.’ She handed him the cushions and pulled on her denim jacket. ‘Let’s go.’

      In the comfortable leather-scented interior of Joe’s car, Fen leaned back with a sigh and relaxed as they threaded through roadworks to make for the motorway.

      ‘Sorry,’ she said, yawning. ‘I won’t be much company for a while.’

      ‘Take a nap. Mind if I play some music?’

      ‘A lullaby would be good.’

      While the Jaguar ate up the miles to the strains of Ravel, Fen wriggled comfortably into her nest of cushions and was fast asleep before they’d gone a couple of miles.

      ‘Are we there?’ she yawned later, when the car slowed down.

      ‘Not yet—pitstop for coffee,’ Joe informed her.

      Fen sat up, pushed back a few escaping strands of hair, and smiled at him as he parked in the motorway service station. ‘As company on a day out I’m a washout so far,’ she said apologetically. ‘I swear I’ll improve as the day goes on.’

      ‘After double shifts at the Mitre all week no wonder you feel tired. Come on, out you get. We need coffee.’

      ‘Urgently, if I’m to stay awake all the way.’ She eyed him challengingly as they walked towards the restaurant. ‘Would you have been as keen on the trip if you’d known that I’m such boring company?’

      Joe gave the matter due consideration. ‘On reflection I think I prefer peaceful silence to incessant chattering.’

      ‘You wait until the journey home,’ she said, giggling.

      ‘Do that again!’

      ‘What?’

      ‘The girly little laugh. But first,’ he added hastily, as she glared at him, ‘tell me what you want and I’ll fetch it for you.’

      She snatched up a tray. ‘No need. I can get my own.’

      There was an argument when Joe insisted on paying for her toast and coffee, but in the end Fen gave in rather than provide more entertainment for the girl at the cash register.

      ‘I asked you out, so I foot the bill,’ he said flatly, as they sat down by a window.

      She buttered her toast, frowning at him. ‘Look, Joe, I’m perfectly able to pay my own way.’

      He drank some coffee, his eyes gleaming at her through the steam. ‘OK. You can pay for lunch.’

      Great. It would serve her right if he fancied a three-course meal in some expensive hotel. ‘I wasn’t being difficult,’ she said belatedly, remembering she had good cause to be grateful to him. ‘I just like to be independent.’

      His smile disarmed her completely. ‘No offence taken. But if you’re paying for lunch I’ll treat you to another coffee.’

      ‘Where are we going?’ Fen asked, on the way back to the car.

      ‘If you stay awake for the rest of the journey I’ll tell you when we’re nearly there,’ Joe promised.

      She gave him a warning look as she fastened her seatbelt. ‘Tell me now, or I don’t pay for lunch.’

      He laughed. ‘I never intended you to.’

      She ground her teeth in frustration. ‘Has anyone ever told you that you’re an infuriating man, Joe Tregenna?’

      ‘Frequently, but they invariably succumb to my charm in the end,’ he said smugly, and drove off to rejoin the motorway.