What options did she have? Precisely none. Her well-rehearsed speech had flown right out of her head, and she spent the short journey back to the village fuming.
Ever so often she glanced into the rear-view mirror, and the sight of Nicholas behind the steering-wheel made her feel even angrier.
By the time they made it to the village and had parked their cars she had made up her mind to make any social patter over coffee as brief as she possibly could, and if he didn’t like her attitude then he could lump it.
Freddie was looking decidedly more relaxed. He shot her a wheedling smile, and asked whether he could go home.
Leigh looked at him, irritated to find that she was suddenly appalled at the prospect of being alone with Nicholas Reynolds.
‘Why do you want to go home?’ she prevaricated.
‘I have some study to catch up on.’
There was no answer to that one. It was rare enough that Freddie volunteered to study, usually relying on the fact that he was innately bright to get him through exams.
He grinned coyly at Leigh, as though fully aware that he had trapped her into submission.
‘Fine. You can also clean the house,’ she informed him, refusing to be beaten by a cheeky sixteen-year-old, ‘fix the kitchen door and take the dustbins out.’
‘Why do I have to fix the kitchen door? It works all right to me.’
‘It’s falling off its hinges.’
‘It doesn’t matter; I mean, there’s just the two of us, and—’
‘Just fix it, Freddie, or else you can stay put and accompany us to the coffee-shop, and afterwards you can come with me to the shoe shop so that I can get you some new shoes, and then to the barber for a haircut.’
She knew that the new shoes and the haircut would swing the argument in her favour, and it did. Freddie hurried off, promising to fix the kitchen door first thing, after awkwardly thanking Nicholas once again for getting him out of a jam.
‘Jam indeed. I’ll soon straighten him on that score,’ Leigh muttered under her breath. She looked at Nicholas, resisted looking at her watch, and said, ‘Shall we go?’ And get this over with, her tone implied.
‘There’s no rush, you know,’ he said softly, as though reading her mind, but he fell in step with her, and as it turned out she was the one who had to hurry, merely to keep pace with him.
They walked through the village, with Nicholas commenting politely on how little had changed since he was last there.
‘Nothing needs to change,’ Leigh said curtly, ‘we’re perfectly happy with the way things are. We don’t need tall buildings and fast cars, and all the glamorous trappings that go with big city life. We don’t need to barricade ourselves into our houses because we’re scared of people breaking in. We all know each other here…’
‘And that’s the way we like it,’ Nicholas finished for her.
Leigh glanced sharply at him. Was he mocking her or was she just imagining it? His tone of voice had been pleasant enough, but there was something about it that she found disturbing.
Was he implying that she was somehow insular? Not for the first time, she wondered what her life would have been if she had left Yorkshire and gone to one of the bigger cities to live. Leeds, perhaps, even maybe London.
The situation had never arisen, and she had never really engineered it, being perfectly happy to have the rugged, beautiful Yorkshire dales all around her, even though she had sacrificed the opportunity to study art at college. She had settled instead for a safe job at the local library, which she rather enjoyed, and looking after her grandfather, which she had enjoyed rather more.
He had raised them ever since her parents had died in a plane crash when she was a child, and she had never once begrudged taking over the job of caring for him as he became older.
Now this suave outsider, because he was an outsider even though he had spent part of his life here, was beginning to addle her, beginning to make her think of things beyond the Yorkshire boundaries. Made her feel hot and defensive, although she couldn’t quite put a finger on why he should be able to do so.
He was remarking on shops which were still around from his boyhood days, and she said sweetly, ‘You wouldn’t be so amazed at all this if you had made an effort to come back here now and again.’
Nicholas turned to face her. ‘Outspoken, aren’t you?’
‘We all are in this part of the world.’
As though to prove her point, Mrs Evans, the middle-aged lady who ran the post office with her husband, came up to them, and greeted her.
‘Aren’t you going to introduce us, lass?’ she asked, looking at Nicholas with interest.
‘Nicholas Reynolds,’ Leigh said reluctantly. ‘He came here to help with Freddie.’
‘Oh, yes. He was a bit off the rails, your Freddie, wasn’t he? Jacob would be turning in his grave. Nicholas Reynolds—Reynolds, name rings a bell…’
Nicholas gave her one of his charming smiles.
Leigh, looking at him, was suddenly struck by his attractiveness, his masculinity. He was, she thought with shock, more than simply attractive, he was sexy. What must he think of her? Of course, she couldn’t care less, but even so she must appear a complete peasant to him.
She had dressed informally because of the weather, and was wearing only a summery cotton skirt in shades of blue and purple, and a short-sleeved jersey with buttons down the front. She wore no make-up, and had plaited her waist-length hair into a French braid which hung down her back.
No wonder he had looked disapprovingly at her as though she were a schoolgirl, barely older than sixteen-year-old Freddie, instead of the twenty-three-year-old woman that she was.
He was probably accustomed to a quite different type of woman. Even looking at him, any fool would know that he moved in that rarified world of the wealthy and powerful. The women who inhabited that world were no doubt as sophisticated and urbane as he was, leggy blondes with impeccably made-up faces and smiles that never quite reached their eyes.
Leigh pursed her lips defensively, determined not to try and pretend to be anything other than what she was.
He was chatting amiably to Mrs Evans, and the older woman was responding to his charm with blushing smiles and coy motions of protestation when he told her that he remembered her well from his youth, and that she hadn’t aged a bit.
‘Isn’t he terrible?’ she said, turning to Leigh. ‘Hasn’t he grown up into a fine-looking young man, and such a charmer!’
Leigh hoped that Mrs Evans was not expecting any sort of response to her observations, but just in case she was she said succinctly, ‘He seems pretty much the same to me. Just older. As for his charm, I’m immune to it. I remember too clearly when he used to tease me.’
‘I don’t remember teasing you,’ Nicholas murmured to her, after Mrs Evans had left.
‘You used to derive a great deal of pleasure from pulling my hair.’
‘Well, it doesn’t seem to have done it any harm. It’s still as long and silky as I remember.’
Leigh blushed bright red and told herself to get her act together. He might have some kind of charm, but he could forget it if he thought that he could use it on her. She might be a country girl, but that didn’t mean that she was a gullible idiot.
She led him towards the coffee-shop, waiting impatiently while Mr Baird, who owned it, accosted her in a very similar manner to Mrs Evans. He too regarded Nicholas with undisguised interest, and Leigh fervently hoped that the scrutiny went some way to making him feel out of place. Though,