Catherine George - Tangled Emotions

‘I need coffee,’ she said abruptly, aware she was staring, and thrust back hair even more dishevelled than his. ‘How about you?’

‘Please.’ He smiled. ‘I could do with some caffeine after the encounter with Pennington’s junior underworld.’

‘Take a seat. I won’t be long.’ Fen dumped her backpack, shrugged off her denim jacket and slung it on the back of a chair, then filled the kettle and plugged it in. She took mugs from a cupboard and milk from the refrigerator, aware all the time that Joe Tregenna’s eyes were following her every move. Not that she minded. After charging to her rescue like Sir Galahad he was entitled to a good look at the maiden in distress.

She made coffee, set the mugs on the table, and sat down opposite her visitor, who chuckled suddenly.

‘What’s the joke?’ she asked.

‘I know where you live! I can’t believe I actually said that to the little tyke.’ He grinned at her. ‘Though you weren’t far behind, with your talk of deals and DNA.’

‘The idea was to frighten him in terms from his beloved “telly”. He obviously likes cop shows. So between us let’s hope we’ve diverted our Robbie from a life of crime.’ Fen shrugged. ‘No way could I have handed him over to the police.’

He looked at her thoughtfully as he drank some coffee. ‘Do you make a habit of walking home alone late at night?’

‘Asking for trouble, you mean?’ she retorted. ‘No, I don’t. My car’s in for repairs. And like a fool I didn’t think to ring for a taxi until I’d finished work. By then my customers had snaffled them all, which meant a forty-minute wait.’

‘Customers?’

‘I work behind the bar at the Mitre.’

He shook his head. ‘I’m fairly new in town. I don’t know that one.’

‘It’s a big place on the crossroads, near the area where we dropped Robbie. It used to be a coaching inn, now it’s the “in” place of the moment and very busy.’ Fen shrugged. ‘Which is how I got the job. They were desperate for staff.’

‘How long have you worked there?’

She smiled ruefully. ‘Long enough to know that a trudge home is bad news after a double shift on my feet. In future I drive or take taxis.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He finished his coffee and got up. ‘It’s a bad idea for any woman to walk alone at night. And for someone with your looks it’s madness,’ he added casually.

Fen took her looks for granted. But Joe Tregenna’s offhand remark pleased her rather a lot. Even with the sting in the tail. ‘It’s not a habit of mine, Mr Tregenna.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Can’t we cut the formality?’

‘Right. Thank you, Joe.’ She smiled, and held out her hand.

He held on to it for a second. ‘I was only too glad to help—’ He broke off as the phone at his belt began beeping. ‘Excuse me.’

Fen busied herself with rinsing the coffee mugs, doing her best to block her ears to what was obviously not the happiest of conversations.

‘For the last time, Melissa,’ she heard Joe say eventually. ‘I was delayed. I’m not even home yet. I’ll ring you tomorrow. Goodnight.’ He looked at Fen. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said brusquely, putting the phone back. ‘I forgot to ring the lady I dined with.’

‘Tell her it was my fault.’

He shook his head, the humour back in his eyes. ‘Somehow, Miss Fen Dysart, I think that would do far more harm than good.’

‘If that’s a compliment, thank you.’ She hesitated for a moment, then gave in to curiosity and asked what had brought him to Pennington.

‘I sell insurance.’

‘Really?’ she said, surprised it wasn’t something more high-powered. ‘Thanks again for coming to my rescue.’

‘My pleasure.’ He paused. ‘Do you live here alone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then make sure you lock up securely behind me. Goodnight.’

Because her new home had no shower, Fen was rinsing her hair clean under the bathroom taps when reaction finally caught up with her. Shivering, she pulled the plug, hopped out of the coffin-like tub and wrapped herself in a towelling robe. She switched her hairdryer to the hottest setting, and the moment her hair was dry enough pulled on pyjamas for once and burrowed under the covers. But she took a long time to get to sleep. And when she did dreams woke her and rocketed her bolt upright, sweating and scrabbling for the light switch as she heaped curses on young Robbie’s head for giving her nightmares.

‘You look a bit fragile, Fen,’ said the owner of the Mitre next morning.

She explained about the near-mugging of the night before, and got bawled out by Tim Mathias for not asking someone for a lift home.

‘I didn’t think about it until it was too late. Anyway, I get the car back this afternoon, so no more transport problems.’

Once the lunchtime session was over Fen went to collect her car, then drove back to the Mitre to find Tim using the full battery of his charm on some of his female staff. When Fen asked what was going there was a ripple of laughter and one of them pointed a dramatic finger at her.

‘Fen’s your best bet, Tim,’ said Jilly, grinning. ‘She can do it, no problem.’

‘Do what?’ demanded Fen with suspicion.

Tim eyed his newest recruit speculatively. ‘You know that this is live music night in the piano bar?’

She nodded. ‘But if Martin’s off sick it’s no use asking me to fill in; I can’t play a note.’

‘Martin’s fine. The problem is Diane, our sexy songstress.’ Tim scowled. ‘She’s lost her voice. We’ll have her fans streaming in to spend good money on drinks, but when they find her missing they probably won’t stay to buy more. How the devil did the woman manage to lose her voice in the middle of a heat wave?’

‘I don’t suppose she did it on purpose—’ Fen broke off, staring at him as the penny dropped. ‘Wait a minute. Why are you looking at me?’

‘I’ve heard you singing when no one’s around—not bad at all, in a breathless kind of way.’ Tim grinned. ‘Come on, Fen. It’s only tonight. I’ll get Martin to come in for a quick run-through, now while it’s quiet, then tonight you just croon a few standards into a microphone for a couple of sets. Easy as pie.’

Laughing at the loud encouragement from her joshing colleagues, she shook her head. ‘Not a chance. I’m not good enough.’

‘Of course you are. We’re not talking grand opera. And,’ he added coaxingly, ‘I’ll pay you double your money.’

Fen’s eyebrows rose. ‘You mean that?’

Tim laid a hand on his heart. ‘Would I lie?’

She thought it over, reminding herself why she’d come here asking for a job at the Mitre in the first place. This would add fuel to the fire. And she could certainly do with the money. ‘All right, I’ll do it. But for one night only,’ she added, to cheers from the others.

‘Done,’ said Tim jubilantly. ‘Remember Michelle Pfeiffer in The Fabulous Baker Boys?’

‘Certainly not. I’m too young!’ Fen grinned. ‘Actually, I do remember. But I’m a lanky brunette, not a fragile blonde, and I don’t have a shiny red dress.’ She glanced down at her uniform white blouse and black skirt. ‘Talking of dresses, I suppose I won’t do as I am?’

‘Hell, no,’ said Tim bluntly. ‘Surely you can come up with something sexy, like the stuff Diane wears?’

‘A beanpole like me?’ she jeered. ‘I don’t do sexy. But if I can dash home after my session with Martin, I’ll find something.’

‘Take a couple of hours. You’re not due on until eight-thirty.’

The rehearsal went well enough to earn Fen a round of applause from everyone in earshot as the staff prepared for the evening. She got by largely because the songs were familiar, her memory for lyrics was good, and Martin was a skilful, sympathetic accompanist who gave useful tips on how to steal a breath in certain places. But, with her ears buzzing with Gershwin standards on the way to the car park later, doubts set in.