Melody looked at him quickly, wondering whether he was or ever had been married. There’d been a distinctly cynical ring to his remark, she thought. ‘How long have they owned the place, then?’ she asked.
‘Thirteen years,’ Adam said. He turned to look out of the window again. ‘They were born in the village, and never want to leave the area.’
The significance of his words wasn’t lost on Melody. She was being got at again, she thought irritably. She raised her chin defiantly. It simply was not possible for everyone in the world to live and work in the place of their birth, to stay in one place and do the right thing—much as she acknowledged that the thought of really belonging here, living here all the time, provoked a definite feeling of envy! Her job at the bank was fluid, high-powered and fast moving. At twenty-eight, she was one of the youngest members of staff to hold the position she did, and she was proud of her progress—if only for her mother’s sake.
She was very well aware how vital it was—especially for a woman—to study and work hard, to dedicate yourself to what you were good at. Success brought not only prosperity, but security and peace of mind. You’d never need to rely on anyone else, ever. No, whatever this man thought of her motives, she thought, there was no way she could ever live here permanently. The only option was for this to be her bolthole as often as she could get away. Gatehouse Cottage was hers, the ideal solution for her particular way of life, and if Adam disapproved—tough! Anyway, wasn’t it time for him to make himself scarce and give her some peace to shower and change? she thought.
As if on cue, he went towards the door. ‘The couple of pubs in the village do pretty good food,’ he said casually. ‘Especially the Rose & Crown.’ He paused. ‘If you’d like me to come with you—as this is your first evening here—I’d be very happy to oblige.’
‘Oh—that’s okay, thanks,’ Melody said quickly. How embarrassing!Just because they’d met already, there was no need for him to feel responsible for her, she thought. ‘After that lovely lunch I shan’t need to eat until later on. In any case,’ she added, ‘I might go for a walk first, to get an appetite.’
Tilting his head in acknowledgement of her remark, he left the room, and Melody closed the door behind him thankfully. The man’s presence unnerved her, she thought—but why? Was it just because she had bought the cottage? Or because he’d made it clear what he thought of holiday ownership? Or was it because he had managed to awaken feelings in her that she was absolutely determined would never affect her life ever again? Her work was her soul mate now, and always would be. Work absorbed the mind totally, and carried no risk of hurting her, of wounding her heart. It was a totally abstract thing that demanded only cold dedication. Work didn’t have feelings.
Shaking off all these somewhat intense thoughts, she unpacked her cases, grateful for the huge wardrobe complete with wooden hangers, and then had a long, hot shower, shampooing her hair vigorously. She hoped that by the time she was ready to go back downstairs no one would be about and she could slip out unobserved. She needed to be by herself and take stock of her situation. Perhaps she’d go down to Gatehouse Cottage later and have a really good look at the garden. It had obviously been neglected lately, she realised, but she’d seen the potential at a glance. The gooseberry bushes were heavy with fruit, and the ripening apples and pears on the trees indicated a busy harvesting time later on. Melody hugged herself in renewed excitement.
It was a warm, sultry evening, and she decided to wear a cream, low-necked blouse and a long multi-coloured ethnic cotton skirt. She dried and brushed out her hair, tying it back in a long ponytail, and slipped her feet into open-toed silver sandals.
She went cautiously downstairs. It was quiet and deserted, with a delicious smell of cooking reaching her nostrils— making her realise that, after all, she was hungry enough to find the pub which Adam had talked about sooner rather than later.
She was just letting herself out of the building when a door in the hallway opened and Fee appeared, her cheeks flushed.
‘Oh, there you are, Mrs Forester… We were wondering whether you’d like to have supper with us this evening.’ she said ‘You’d be more than welcome.’
Melody was taken aback at the suggestion, but managed to say quickly, ‘Oh—please call me Mel…all my friends do. And I appreciate the offer, but really I’d hate to intrude. I’m sure you’re looking forward to the end of the day and some time to yourself.’
‘You wouldn’t be intruding,’ Fee said. ‘Adam’s been telling us a little bit about you, and we realise you’re a complete stranger here.’ She paused. ‘Actually, it’d be good to have another woman on the scene to chat to for once, instead of having to listen to Callum and Adam going on and on about boring men things.’ She smiled. ‘To have a nice gossip! And, since you’ll be taking possession of the cottage, we could fill you in on how everything ticks in the village. I’ve roasted a wonderful piece of lamb,’ she added. ‘Because if I dish up one more salad meal I’ll have a mutiny on my hands! What’s the matter with men and salad?’ she said.
She nodded her head in the direction from which male voices could be heard, and Melody found herself unable to resist the genuine invitation she’d been offered.
‘Well—if you’re absolutely sure,’ she began hesitantly.
‘Wonderful!’ Fee said. ‘Come on through. It’ll be ready in about twenty minutes. Just time for an appetiser!’
Although she’d really have preferred to do her own thing tonight—mainly because she didn’t particularly want to spend more time in Adam’s company—Melody knew it would have been churlish to refuse Fee’s suggestion. Besides, the smell of roasting meat was extremely tantalising!
She followed the other woman along a narrow passageway that led to the kitchen, where Adam was already sitting comfortably with his long legs stretched out in front of him, while Callum was busy uncorking a bottle of wine. Both men looked up as they came in, and Adam got slowly to his feet.
‘Ah, good,’ Callum said easily. ‘I want your opinion on this wine, Mrs Forester. I bottled it two years ago, and we haven’t tried it yet.’
‘Look—please call me Mel,’ Melody begged. ‘Do you make your own wine, as well as everything else you do?’ she added, impressed. She bent to smooth the glossy heads of the dogs, who were fast asleep sprawled in front of the Aga.
Callum grinned. ‘Oh, my wife beats me about the head if she finds me shirking,’ he said. ‘And we can’t let all the plums and damsons go to waste.’ He eased the cork out gently. ‘Besides, what we don’t keep for ourselves we sell off at the village fête. It disappears even quicker than Fee’s fruitcakes!’ He threw her a quizzical glance. ‘I don’t expect you’re used to the sort of daft things we get up to,’ he said. ‘Like pig roasts and skittle championships, and tugs of war at the annual Harvest Fair. Not your usual scene, from what Adam has been telling us. Still, I’m sure you’ll get used to it, in your own time.’
Melody looked away. What exactly had Adam been saying about her? she wondered. That she was never likely to fit in here, never be ‘one of them’? She began to feel uneasy.
Adam pulled out a chair for her to sit, glancing down at her, admiring her casual, summery appearance, and the feminine hairstyle which seemed to add something to the package, he thought. Or maybe it took something away—whatever it was, it held more allure for him than the rather sharp-edged look he’d observed that morning.
Callum took a sip of his wine. ‘Mmm,’ he said, rolling his tongue around his mouth in extravagant appreciation. ‘I think you’re all going to approve of this. How shall we describe it? Fruity, nutty, saucy, suggestive…?’
‘Shut up, Callum,’ Fee said. ‘Give us all a glass, for goodness’ sake. Why do