She was squirming with embarrassment. Tally cocked her head to one side and gave him a look of puzzlement. Hengist was shivering by the wall, well out of reach. “I didn’t mean it. The hose just slipped out of my hand.”
Josh threw her a very stern look.
“It was an accident, honestly.”
“Hmm,” he said, looking down at his trousers which were clinging to his thighs.
“You wouldn’t think a bit of water could make such a mess,” she said, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
His face, terribly serious, made her suddenly want to giggle.
Josh still didn’t smile.
“You think it’s funny, do you?”
“Well…”
“You know, when I was a lad, I used to have water fights all the time.”
“There you are, then,” said Lucy airily. “Just a bit of fun. Ha-ha.”
He picked up the still-running hose. “But they were
serious
water fights. We played dirty.”
Her skin prickled. “Dirty?”
“No holds barred,” he said, taking a step toward her. “In fact, there wouldn’t be an inch of us dry when we’d finished. My favorite tactic was to shove the hose down the neck of anyone I could catch.”
Lucy’s skin prickled but she refused to back away. She stood up straighter and said, through a dry throat, “You wouldn’t dare.”
He raised his eyebrows and, before she could move, he’d flicked his wrist, sending a stream of water spurting over her.
“Ow! You—” shouted Lucy as the icy water soaked through her top and bra.
Josh grinned. “I let you off lightly,” he said. “Seeing as you’re new here.”
The wet patch was spreading upward toward her breasts, and she tried to suppress a shiver. As Lucy quickly turned off the tap, she realized her heart was banging away. He curled up the hose and stood up, hands on his hips, watching the dogs playing tag.
“You know,” said Lucy, now that the hose was safely packed away. “I was going to thank you for helping me to clean him, but I’m not sure I will be nice now.”
“Suit yourself, but he’d have stunk out the cottage if we hadn’t washed that stuff off him. Creekside is a very small cottage and Hengist is a very large dog.”
“Yes, he’s far too large for London, but I can’t see Fiona with one of those little dogs you can fit in a handbag. She totally adores him. Sometimes, I worry that she’s too attached to him but then, he’s so much easier to fathom than men.”
The instant the words were out of her mouth she regretted them, but he didn’t seem to take offense.
“I don’t think people are easy to fathom, period. Being hard to understand isn’t confined to one sex.”
“Really?” asked Lucy, turning to him, surprised he’d even responded to such a topic.
“So I don’t even try to work them out these days. All I ask is that someone’s straight with me. If they don’t like what I do or who I am, they should say it straight out.”
“Oh, absolutely,” she said, suddenly feeling she was being X-rayed by Josh’s blue eyes and uncompromising ideals. Any moment now he was going to fix her with a laser gaze and tell her he knew not only exactly what she’d done, but exactly what she was thinking.
“Honesty is the best policy and all that.”
Josh smiled. “I don’t mind what somebody’s done, what kind of past they have, as long as they don’t try to hide it. The one thing I don’t have time for is lying and deception.”
She swallowed hard. “Awful. Totally awful. Terrible, in fact,” she murmured. “Wouldn’t stand for it at all… you know, Tresco Farm is a really beautiful place, the stonework is so um… pretty and the roof tiles, they have lots of character… is it very old?”
He gave her another unfunny funny look, obviously confused by the sudden twist in the conversation, but then his gaze lingered on the gray stone walls, as if he was sizing the building up for the first time. “I guess it’s about three hundred and fifty years old, as far as we can tell. It was owned by an old Cornish family for generations. They made their money from tin mining.”
Lucy took in the dour farmhouse with its stone lintels and solid walls, imagining it as the focal point of a small community, rather than a vacation home. “There was probably a medieval manor house here even before this was built but Marnie never got round to digging out the records,” Josh went on. “The local history people have been round and they’ve said it goes back to the Doomsday book. It’s picturesque enough, or so the visitors tell me, and I’m supposed to be ‘guarding it for future generations,’ according to the heritage people. But at the end of the day, it’s just four walls and a roof. It’s a home and that’s all that matters.”
This was the longest speech he’d ever made to her and Lucy was almost too taken aback to reply. “Has your family lived here long?” she offered eventually.
He laughed out loud. “God, no. I only came to live here in my teens. Marnie, my foster mum, inherited the place from some distant relatives before I was even born.”
“So Marnie isn’t here now?”
“She died six years ago. She was only fifty-three.”
“I’m sorry. That’s way too young.”
“Shit happens,” he said, thrusting his hands into his damp pockets. Lucy didn’t know how to reply and when Josh didn’t elaborate, she tried a change of subject. “Do you mind Fiona having Creekside Cottage? After all, it’s the only one out of the four that you don’t own.”
“It was Marnie’s decision and I respected it. These cottages were hers and I was away at college at the time. She left the place to us when she died.”
“So Tresco belongs to you and Sara?”
The sun burst out from behind a cloud, making Lucy squint painfully. “No. Not to Sara and me. Sara has her own place in Porthstow. I live here alone.”
He’d said “us” clearly but didn’t elaborate on who the other owner, or owners, of Tresco Farm were. Instead, he bent down to pick up the muddy scrubbing brush. When he straightened, he was facing the sun, shading his forehead with his free hand. “Here’s Sara,” he said, tossing the brush into an old metal bucket with a clatter.
On the opposite side of the yard, Sara was emerging from the farmhouse door. She was wearing board shorts, a tiny pink tank top, and Roxy flip-flops, even though the wind was cool and clouds were gathering. Lucy felt a wimp, wrapped up in jeans, a hoodie, and Fiona’s leopard-print wellies. As soon as she reached them, Sara linked her arm through Josh’s and Lucy saw his hand slide to the small of her back. Lucy wasn’t sure who was protecting whom; she only knew she was definitely the third wheel.
“Getting a bit of country air and exercise, were we?” said Sara, her eyes taking in the wellies and wet clothes.
“I took Hengist for a walk. It’s such a lovely day,” Lucy said cheerfully, hoping to fend off any sympathy. It was bad enough being patronized when you really were in need of TLC, let alone when you were only pretending to be.
“That will do you good. You’re looking better, by the way. You’ve almost lost that city pallor, and the dark circles under your eyes are almost gone. I’m guessing you’re eating more healthily too. Not so many cappuccinos and doughnuts in Porthstow, I suspect.”
Her gaze traveled to Lucy’s wet top, which she knew was now clinging to her stomach and breasts. Restrain yourself, Lucy told herself. Sara was probably only trying to be
nice
and she had to admit she probably did look tired and unhealthy to a gilded surf babe. But the doughnuts remark was pushing it. A lot.
“The dogs took a dip in the tidal mud by Hannaford beach,” said Josh, pulling his hand away from Sara’s waist and signaling to Tally with a snap of his fingers.
“Ah-ha. So you went for a walk together?” said Sara, her eyes lighting up with interest. “Via the creek probably, looking at how wet you are.”
“I met Josh when I was out,” said Lucy quickly, sensing an atmosphere that had nothing to do with weather conditions. “And he showed me a new way back to Tresco.”
“Of course! Josh was on his way to the club to meet me. I wondered where he’d got to.”
“I was on my way but I had to walk back to Tresco for the course schedules,” cut in Josh.
“Then it’s a good job I came over to fetch you or we might have been late. Are you ready now?”
Josh had a worried expression on his face. “Well, I really ought to touch up my makeup and slip into something more comfortable first.”
Lucy let out a giggle but Sara’s lips were set in a tight line.
“Yes, perhaps you should change out of those wet things. I see someone’s been having some fun with the hose!”
“A bit of cold water never did anyone any harm, Sara. Now, I’ll just fetch the schedules from the farmhouse and wait for you by the Land Rover.”
As he headed over the yard toward the house, Sara shot Lucy a mega-watt smile. “Josh is
such
a lovely guy, isn’t he? Escorting you back here with the dogs was so sweet of him even though he knew he was keeping me waiting. Still, he never can resist a damsel in distress.”
Lucy smiled back, but not quite so luminously. “Well, I wouldn’t call myself a damsel. I was fine, really. I’m sure Josh was just being—” She was going to say nice, but decided against it. “Neighborly.”
“Neighborly? Oh, you are so funny! Well, we are neighborly down here, Lucy; we help out everyone, friends and strangers alike. I’m sure you’re not used to that where you come from. I should think it takes a real ruthless streak to get where you have in your job.”
“I’m not sure that ruthless quite describes me,” replied Lucy, congratulating herself on keeping on the right side of the truth. Ruthless was a word she’d have thought far more suited to Sara.
“Hmm. I think you’re underestimating yourself, but of course, you’re here to forget the cutthroat world of banking, aren’t you?” She paused before adding, “Do you think you can find your way back safely to Fiona’s cottage from here or would you like Josh or me to take you home?”
Lucy couldn’t think of a single reason why she shouldn’t respond as if the offer was genuine, even if Sara was being about as genuine as a nine-dollar bill. “You know, I think I’ll just about be able to manage it, thank you.”
Sara gave a shrill little laugh. “Of course you will. Just my little joke. We’ll see you soon, then. Maybe you and Fiona would like to come along to the sailing-club barbecue the weekend after next, if you feel up to it and you’re still here, of course.”
“I’m here for a month, actually,” said Lucy.
“Really? How lovely for you! Anyway, we’re having a regatta during the day and the social afterwards. It will all be very informal, of course. Nothing to compare with the high-powered events you’re used to in London, but we do our best to have fun down here in the sticks, simple folk though we are.”
This girl was
really
beginning to grate. “I don’t mind,” she began and was going to add that high-powered events are vastly overrated, but she stopped. She hated been drawn into Sara’s spiteful game but the sneering comments were seriously winding her up. So she smiled in what she hoped was a gracious way and said, “Actually, Sara, high-powered events become rather a bore after a time. I much prefer a relaxed affair myself. You know the sort of thing: a few hundred close business acquaintances and a couple of sophisticated canapés.”
Sara’s eyes grew wider. “Canapés? I must ask the club president to throw a few on the barbie for you.”
Don’t worry about me
, Lucy was going to say but, seeing Sara’s eyes glittering with delight, said, “Well, I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble, naturally, but if you insist…”
“No trouble. We’ll get something special in for you. Monkfish, scallops, really healthy stuff like that. And,” she added, almost gleefully, “perhaps you’ll feel up to telling me more about London. My father’s a director with Metrobank. He’s called Roland Pentire—perhaps you’ve met him? He’s quite well known.”
Lucy feigned a puzzled look. “Hmm. You know, Sara, I really don’t think I’ve heard that name.”
“Maybe that’s because he’s too senior. I must give him your card, ready for when you go back to London. But of course, you don’t want to be reminded of all that horrible corporate stuff now. I’ll tell Josh you’re coming to the barbecue. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see you rejoining the real world.”
All Lucy could do was simmer inside, smile politely, and kick herself for being goaded into embroidering her tale. As for rejoining the real world, after six months with Nick and a couple of weeks in Tresco Creek, she wasn’t quite sure what real was anymore.
“You did what?” said Fiona, pulling off her designer glasses and blinking as Lucy hovered in the doorway to the bedroom later that day. It was past six, and Fiona had a large G&T perched on top of her manuscript.
“I got trapped by Sara into going to a barbecue at the sailing club the Saturday after next,” replied Lucy.
“No one gets trapped into going to a barbecue, not even by Sara Pentire.”
“I kind of provoked her into it.”
Fiona laid her glasses on the keyboard. “Provoked?”
“Well, she was going on about how I must be used to the high life in London and that I’d be too snooty to attend a humble barbecue and so I told her I didn’t mind slumming it and now they’re ordering in special food to suit my refined palate.”