Down in the kitchen, Melusine was sitting huffily by the fridge.
‘My poor girl.’ Tara ran a caressing hand down her back. ‘You’ve had quite a day. I’d better start making it all up to you, before you walk out on me.’
The Chinese had a curse, she recalled, as she opened a can of tuna and poured milk into a dish. ‘May you live in interesting times.’
Certainly the current situation seemed to be quite fascinating enough to fit into that particular frame.
And all she had to do was make sure that the curse did not fall on her. A task well within her capabilities.
But, even as she smiled to herself in quiet confidence, a sudden inner vision of Adam Barnard’s tanned face leapt into her mind.
In one shocked moment Tara saw the mocking twist of his firm lips, the little devils dancing in his blue eyes, and wondered if, perhaps, she hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew.
By the time eight o’clock came, Tara felt as if she’d been stretched on wires. More than once she’d been tempted to revert to Plan A, and put some serious distance between herself and the enigmatic Mr Barnard.
At the same time she found herself preparing vegetables, putting the pie in the oven to reheat, and setting two places at the kitchen table.
When the bell finally rang, she took a deep breath, wiped damp palms on her denim-clad hips, and went to let him in.
For a moment she barely recognised him. He was clean-shaven, his hair was combed, and the torn jeans and shirt had been replaced by pale grey trousers and a black rollneck sweater which looked very like cashmere, and he was carrying a bottle of wine.
Nor was he alone. Before Tara could speak, Buster jumped up at her with a joyous yelp, then squeezed past and dashed along the passage towards the kitchen.
‘Oh, God,’ Tara wailed. ‘He’s after the cat. He’ll kill her.’
‘Not a chance.’ Adam Barnard laid a detaining hand on her arm as she prepared to set off in pursuit. ‘He’s a young male. It’s in his nature to hunt.’
‘Then why the hell did you bring him?’ She glared up at him.
‘So that they can get things sorted. If they’re going to be neighbours, they need to get along.’
Tara registered that in passing as she freed herself and made for the kitchen. It sounded, she thought with dismay, as if Adam Barnard was planning to stick around for some considerable time.
Then everything else was forgotten as she heard Buster begin to bark excitedly and Melusine’s answering and blood-curdling yowl.
‘Oh, baby.’ Heart thudding, she shot to the rescue.
One swift glance from the doorway told her the worst. The dog had Melusine cornered in a small dark space beside the washing machine, and was advancing on her aggressively, barking all the while.
‘See what you’ve done,’ she accused Adam Barnard, her voice shaking, as he joined her. ‘Call him off.’
‘No need,’ he said briskly. ‘I promise you.’
As Buster lunged forward, a black silk paw came out of the shadows and swiped him across the muzzle. He yelped in pain and surprise and jumped backwards, shaking his head.
‘See what I mean.’ Adam Barnard’s tone was dry. ‘The female of any species is always deadlier than any mere male.’
‘And I can do without the chauvinist remarks,’ Tara snapped. ‘She could have been badly hurt.’
‘Her nine lives are still intact. Poor old Buster is the one with the bloody nose.’ He reached down and scooped up Melusine, who dangled aloofly from his shoulder. ‘You big bully,’ he scolded softly. ‘Give my pup a break.’
Tara saw that the dog was indeed bleeding from a nasty scratch.
‘Oh, Lord.’ She swallowed. ‘I’d better bathe it for him.’
Buster submitted with docility to her ministrations, his brown eyes full of the soulful anguish of the totally misunderstood.
‘That’ll teach you,’ she muttered as she swabbed the scratch with disinfectant. Melusine watched the process from the safety of the draining board, where she sat, carefully washing the contaminated paw.
‘Perhaps I’d better put her in another room,’ Tara said as she rinsed her hands.
‘Leave them. They’ll be fine now that the pecking order has been established.’ His mouth curved in amusement. ‘You look as if you’d like to banish me to another room as well.’
‘It had occurred to me.’ Tara gave him a challenging look. ‘I’m still not sure why I agreed to this.’
‘Oh, I think you probably had an excellent reason,’ he said affably. ‘But if you’re now having second thoughts you could always put my share in a doggy bag, and Buster and I will go back to our lonely boat.’
Her smile was wintry. ‘I can probably stand it if you can.’ She gestured awkwardly towards the kitchen table. ‘Please sit down, and I’ll dish up.’
‘If you give me a corkscrew, I’ll open this.’ He held up the wine he’d brought.
‘There’s one in the dresser drawer.’ She turned away and began to busy herself at the stove. There wasn’t much to do, just the final touches to the creamed potatoes, and the Vichy carrots and braised celery to be placed in their respective serving dishes, but she was glad of any activity.
It occurred to her that this was the first time she’d entertained a man alone, apart from business meetings, since Jack, and the realisation made her jittery.
The new-look Adam Barnard was another concern. The clothes he was wearing were clearly expensive, and so was the claret that he was setting to breathe.
She was very conscious that her personal preparations for the evening had been a perfunctory wash and a few strokes of the hairbrush. No make-up or change of clothes for her.
Now that he’d smoothed away the rough edges, she was only too aware of the full force of his attraction. Yet she couldn’t afford to be. That was not the purpose of the exercise, she reminded herself vehemently.
She just needed to find out a bit more about him. That was it. That was everything.
As she carried the food to the table she saw that Adam had found some candles during his hunt for the corkscrew and fitted them into the pottery holders which usually stood on the dresser.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he said. ‘I thought it would add a festive touch.’
In truth, Tara minded quite a lot. Candlelight implied intimacy rather than festivity, she thought restively, but now that the tapers were lit she could hardly make a fuss.
Adam, seemingly unaware of her hesitation, sniffed appreciatively. ‘You’ve gone to a great deal of trouble.’
‘Mrs Pritchard did most of it,’ she reminded him coolly. She cut into the pie, and served him a lavish wedge.
‘Hey—save some for yourself.’
‘There’s plenty,’ she said quickly. ‘Actually, I’m not very hungry.’
He looked at her, brows lifted. ‘Really?’ he drawled. ‘We must see what we can do to restore your appetite.’
Cutting out remarks like that would help for a start, she told him silently. Or was she just being ridiculously twitchy? Looking for trouble where there was none?
Pull yourself together, she ordered herself tersely. Just get through the evening.
In