She was just inserting her key into the door lock when she heard a tapping noise. It was coming from Jack’s front window on the other side of the garden wall. Seconds later, it opened.
‘Good morning. Fancy a cup of tea?’ Her spirits soared.
‘Jack, you say the nicest things. That would be fantastic. Just let me dump the dog.’
‘Bring him in. I’ll make him some breakfast too.’
Inside his kitchen, it was warm, dry and bright. Holly found herself blinking as she came in from the darkness outside. Stirling rushed past her to say hello to Jack and then settled down by the radiator with one of his special biscuits.
‘Come in, Holly.’ Jack had cleared the table since last night and there was now a blue and white check tablecloth on there, along with two plates, two mugs and a selection of cutlery. Clearly, he had been planning this. He shook his head apologetically. ‘I’m not very good at breakfasts to be honest. I haven’t got any juice and I’ve just looked in the cereal packet and decided what’s in there is more suitable for the mice, assuming they haven’t already been in there.’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘There are some rather suspicious looking little black bits in there, I’m afraid. Anyway, if you’re up for toast, butter and jam, there’s plenty of that and it’s guaranteed mouse-free. And I can offer you tea or coffee.’
‘Tea would be perfect, please.’ As Holly pulled off her hat, she could feel her sweaty hair sticking to her head. As she removed her jacket, she realised she was still wearing her pyjamas and no underwear. Suddenly this felt somehow improper in a strange man’s house. She was also very conscious of the fact that she hadn’t washed, nor had she even cleaned her teeth. She took a deep breath and sat down on the far side of the table.
He filled a bowl with water and set it down on the floor for the dog. Stirling wasted no time in slurping up half of it, splashing water all over the floor as he did so. Holly caught Jack’s eye. ‘Sorry about that. He’s a very messy drinker.’
‘That’s one thing about three-hundred-year-old stone floors; you can do what you like to them and it doesn’t matter. So, what sort of night did you have? At least you didn’t freeze to death.’ He looked at her critically. ‘You certainly don’t look cold now though. Has Stirling had you up on the moor?’
She nodded as she reached up and wiped her forehead. After the cold outside, she could feel her cheeks burning. As she did so, she spotted a stripy blue and white pyjama sleeve, not dissimilar to the colour of Jack’s tablecloth, sticking out of the wrist of her jumper. She felt her cheeks glow even redder as she hastily tucked it out of sight. ‘I’m sorry. I must look a terrible mess.’
‘Not from where I’m standing.’ He turned away and busied himself making tea and toast.
She decided to take advantage of his friendship with her father to find out more about his life. ‘Jack, you said you and my dad saw a lot of each other. Can you tell me anything about him?’
‘What sort of thing?’ Jack brought over the first slices of toast. ‘Here, dig in while they’re hot.’
Holly did as she was told. The greengage jam looked good, so she picked it up. The lid remained firmly closed, in spite of her best efforts. Jack reached down, took the pot from her grasp and twisted it open. As he handed it back to her, their fingers touched and she felt an unexpected thrill. Funny, she thought to herself, and he’s not even my type. She cleared her throat before replying.
‘I presume you know that he and I weren’t in contact.’ Jack nodded. ‘So, you see, as a result I really know so very little about him. A few people have told me he was a very nice man, but what sort of man was he? Was he into hunting, shooting and fishing? Did he paint pictures, write books?’ As she asked, Holly was tempted to ask Jack about his own background and interests, but for now, she stayed on the original topic. ‘Like I say, just anything about him, really.’
‘Let’s see. Well, you won’t be surprised to know that he was an engineer. But probably you already knew that?’
Holly sat up in surprise and shook her head. ‘I was only seven when he left. I don’t even know what he did for a living, although I’ve heard that it was something to do with wine.’ She carried on, more for her own benefit than his. ‘And fancy him being an engineer and me being an engineer. I really didn’t know.’ Somehow, the fact that she had followed in her father’s footprints served to bring him even closer to her. ‘That’s weird.’
‘Not really – he was your dad after all, so you’ve probably got it in your genes. But I know he was involved with wine one way or another when he was in Australia. I’m not sure of the details, but he had his own company.’ Holly’s ears pricked up.
‘Was that an engineering company?’
‘No, wine, I’m sure, but whether it was making it or selling it or even importing it, I never found out.’ The toaster spat out two more slices of toast and Jack picked them up and set them on the table. He filled the teapot, brought it across and sat down opposite her. Holly looked up and caught his eye. She had to wait until she had swallowed a mouthful of hot toast, butter and jam before being able to ask her next question.
‘So if he was in Australia, when did he come back here?’
‘About the same time I arrived in Brookford. That would be about six years ago now.’
‘Oh, so he’d only been living in the village for a relatively short period of time?’
‘That’s right, but of course, his family were from Brookford and his house has been in the family for generations. Me, I’m the real newcomer.’
‘So you don’t have any local roots?’
‘No…’ Just then there was a tap on his door and a female voice called through his letter box. ‘Morning, darling, are you going to let me in?’
Stirling gave a loud woof that made Holly spill her tea, jumped to his feet and trotted over to the door. Jack gave Holly a smile that contained more than a hint of embarrassment and followed the dog. He opened the door and a woman came in. As she saw Holly, she stopped dead, her expression one of surprise and maybe hostility. She was a very beautiful olive-skinned girl, probably in her early thirties like Holly and, clearly, she hadn’t been expecting to find another woman having breakfast with Jack. Now it was Holly’s turn to feel just a bit embarrassed. Jack closed the door and came over to make the introductions.
‘Dolores, this is my new next door neighbour, Holly. Holly, this is Dolores Jefferson. If you think you recognise her, it’s from the telly. She’s one of the news anchors on local TV.’ He turned towards the other girl. ‘Holly’s had a power cut and she’s got no electricity or heat in her house. Cup of tea?’
‘Maybe a small coffee, please darling.’ Dolores was looking reassured. The brief, but measured, forensic examination she then gave Holly, from her tousled hair to the pyjama collar sticking out of her jumper, evidently reassured her that she was not in the presence of a serious competitor for Jack’s affections. Holly felt the eyes on her and had to struggle to supress a sense of annoyance. She did her best to think what she would be feeling if the roles were reversed. From the way Dolores addressed him, it seemed pretty clear to her that the hunky woodsman and the beautiful TV girl were an item. When all was said and done, Holly knew that she was the interloper here, innocent as she might be. She took another mouthful of tea and summoned her friendliest smile.
‘How exciting, Dolores. So, do you enjoy being on television?’
The