‘What’s with the royal summons? Drinks run out or something?’ Michael asked as they approached.
‘No, no—Tom! Helen says you’re looking for a house, and we’ve got a cottage to sell. It’s only tiny, so it wouldn’t be any use if you’ve got a wife and six children tucked away somewhere, but it is quite lovely, miles from anywhere and beautifully done up —’
‘This is the soft sell, you notice,’ Michael interrupted, and Clare blushed and giggled.
‘Well, you know what I mean. It is lovely, Michael. I shall miss it.’
‘No, you won’t. My grandfather won’t give you time to miss it, and once the bump comes along you certainly won’t have time to mope. Anyway, Tom, as she says, the cottage isn’t big, but you’re more than welcome to have a look if you want.’
Tom nodded. ‘Please. It sounds wonderful, and size isn’t a problem, I’m on my own. When can I look at it?’
Clare and Michael exchanged glances. ‘Tomorrow morning?’
‘Fine. Can you give me directions?’
Helen saw Clare glance at her, then back to Tom. ‘Why don’t you get Helen to come with you? She knows the way, and it’s a bit tricky to find the first time.’
‘Helen?’
She met his eyes and shrugged. ‘Fine. No problem.’
‘Ten o’clock at the cottage?’
They all agreed, and then the conversation moved on, leaving Helen free to absorb Tom’s admission that he was on his own. That didn’t necessarily mean he was interested in her, of course, but it did mean he was free to pursue her if he wanted to. She would just have to wait and see if he did want to.
Lizzi joined them, followed by a trail of tiny children, with Ross bringing up the rear.
‘It’s like the National Childbirth Trust round here. Hoo-hoo-haaaah,’ he huffed, and they all chuckled.
Tom looked quizzically at Helen.
‘Breathing exercises for labour,’ she told him, and he nodded blankly.
Ross chuckled. ‘Not quite in your league, is it?’ he said. ‘Go and help yourselves to food—there’s a stack of cooked bits and pieces, rolls, salad, et cetera. Eat plenty, for God’s sake. There’s always masses left over.’
Tom pulled Helen to her feet and they wandered over to the groaning table beside the barbecue.
‘Oh, terrific—I’m starving!’ Tom confessed, and after they piled their plates up he led Helen away down the garden to a little orchard at the end. Then he lowered himself to the grass under the trees and patted the ground. ‘Sit down and tell me all about the Barringtons’ cottage.’
She settled herself beside him, taking a bite of her burger to distract herself from the sight of his hair-roughened thigh only inches from her knees. ‘Well, it’s called Rose Cottage, and it’s got roses climbing up it and a thatched roof and little latticed windows, and it’s absolutely enchanting. If I could afford to, I’d buy it, but I just don’t earn enough.’
‘Not fair, is it?’ Tom said quietly. ‘You work hard enough, God knows. It’s lovely to see you relaxing; you’ve been rushing about all week. Every time I’ve seen you you’ve been either bent over a patient or buried under a mountain of paperwork.’
She sighed. ‘Well, it’s been a bit hectic. You’ve been busy too.’
‘Mmm. Still, I’ve enjoyed it. Thanks for all the help.’
She turned her head slightly and looked at him. ‘You’re welcome.’
His eyes locked with hers, and for an endless moment they stared at each other, then he turned away and bit into his roll, and she found she could breathe again.
They ate in silence for a while, then Helen put her plate down and lay back on the sweetly scented grass.
‘Oh, heaven. I think I’ve eaten too much.’
‘Rubbish. That’s why you’re so skinny. Do you want the rest of this burger?’
She shook her head, and watched, fascinated, as Tom picked it up and bit into it. His throat worked as he swallowed, and she found the sight of his Adam’s apple rising and falling absolutely riveting.
She made herself look away. Let him make the first move, she thought, and closed her eyes.
Seconds later his breath whispered against her cheek.
‘You’ve caught the sun,’ he said softly, and his finger trailed down her nose.
‘Freckles,’ she said unnecessarily, and he counted them.
‘Fifteen.’
‘Are you sure? There were twelve this morning.’
He chuckled softly. ‘Is that a fact? I told you you’d caught the sun.’
She opened her eyes and found herself staring straight into his, just bare inches from her face. Her lips parted involuntarily on his name, and for an endless moment she thought he was going to kiss her.
Then he rolled away and stood up. ‘I’m going for a dip—coming?’
‘You shouldn’t swim so soon after eating,’ she told him mechanically.
‘Tough,’ he replied, and there was an edge of hardness in his voice she hadn’t heard before.
She watched him walk away, his long legs eating up the grass in great strides, and wondered what she’d done wrong.
He fell in love with the Barringtons’ cottage on the spot, and Helen strolled round the pretty garden while they agreed a price and decided on a completion date. He had apparently sold his house in Oxford to a cash buyer, and was able to go ahead as quickly as Clare and Michael were willing to.
Helen was very pleased for them all. Tom was so clearly thrilled with the cottage, and on the way home afterwards he positively bubbled with enthusiasm. It was the most animated she had ever seen him, and Helen was secretly delighted. He looked so sad for much of the time, and to see him like this, brimming over with excitement and plans, was a real joy.
It was also infectious, and she found herself laughing as she hadn’t laughed in ages.
And then suddenly, without warning, his mood changed again.
Afterwards she found it difficult to put her finger on exactly what had happened. They were talking about when he was to move in, and he said he’d have to buy furniture. Then she asked how come he’d owned a house and didn’t have any furniture, and that was when he went funny.
‘It was all borrowed,’ he said shortly, ‘and anyway, it’s time for a change.’
And after that he hardly said a word all the way back, and dropped her off outside her flat without even a smile. She was bitterly disappointed, because they had been getting on so well and she’d hoped he would suggest they go somewhere for lunch together—instead of which he had driven off with a stony face and left her alone again.
She let herself into her flat and made a sandwich, then sat by the window looking out into the concrete back yard, relieved only by a sorry-looking lilac that struggled for existence in a crack in the paving.
It was such a contrast to Rose Cottage and Ross’s house that she indulged in a moment of self-pity before changing into tatty old jeans and a T-shirt and picking up the keys of her sensible, middle-of-the-road little car.
‘God, I’m so bored!’ she said savagely as she banged the door of the car. ‘Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored!’
She headed