Catherine George - Tangled Emotions

‘Of course. Better still, why not come to my place for a drink until the coast is clear?’ said Joe as he led her to his car. ‘Unless—’

‘Unless what?’ she asked absently, straining to see if Adam was in sight.

‘Unless that guy’s your husband. Because if so I’m not getting involved.’

She glared at him. ‘Adam Dysart is most definitely not my husband. He’s—’ She halted, suddenly deflated. ‘He’s just a cousin.’

‘AND not a kissing cousin, obviously,’ observed Joe as he drove off. ‘I stuck my oar in again in case he got rough with you.’

‘No danger of that,’ Fen assured him. ‘I’m not in Adam’s good books at the moment. But he would never harm me.’

‘Why was he so angry with you?’

She sighed. ‘I can’t tell you that. Which is pretty mean, I know, when you’ve come to my rescue two nights running. Not,’ she added militantly, ‘that I couldn’t have handled it myself—both times.’

‘It didn’t look that way to me.’

‘You’re wrong. I really can take care of myself.’ She glanced at him curiously. ‘I was so furious with Adam I forgot to ask why you were at the Mitre tonight, Joe. Were you eating there?’

‘No. I called in on the chance that a certain bar person might serve me a drink, and to my surprise found she was doing a cabaret act.’ Joe grinned. ‘You didn’t mention that last night.’

‘I didn’t know last night!’ she said with feeling. ‘The manager sprung it on me today because the usual chanteuse was careless enough to lose her voice. The piano bar does a roaring trade on the nights Diane sings, so rather than lose good business Tim bribed me to fill in.’

‘How?’

‘By paying double my usual wages. Which I don’t deserve, because I can’t sing as well as Diane.’

‘From where I was standing your punters didn’t agree. You went down very well indeed.’

‘Flattery, Mr Tregenna?’

‘Fact. The husky, breathless voice charmed them right enough, but it was the bare shoulders and endless legs that knocked ‘em dead.’

Instead of taking offence Fen threw back her head and laughed. ‘I just can’t believe I did it. Any of it. I must have been out of my mind.’

‘But tonight a star was born!’

‘Not on your life.’ She shook her head emphatically. ‘I’m never doing that again. My nerves wouldn’t stand it. Besides, when the lovely Diane hears what happened I bet her voice will make a dramatic recovery.’

Joe slanted a look at her. ‘Pity. I enjoyed the show.’

Fen’s eyebrows rose when he parked outside one of the most exclusive addresses in Pennington, most unlike her own narrow little back street. Joe Tregenna lived in a square with well-kept gardens, in an expensive part of town where roads were tree-lined, all the lights worked, and most of the large houses had been converted into luxury flats.

‘This is it,’ he said, helping her out of the car.

Fen looked up, impressed, at the creamy façade of a villa with arched triple windows and lace-like ironwork railings and balcony.

‘It’s not all mine,’ said Joe. ‘I live upstairs. But my neighbours on the ground floor are away a lot, so I get the garden to myself when time and weather permit.’

He unlocked a side door and led the way up a narrow flight of stairs to usher Fen into a big room with floor-to-ceiling windows and curtains drawn back on the walls, so that only the wrought-iron balcony outside hampered a view of the lamplit gardens in the square. In front of the Adam-style fireplace two sofas covered in chestnut cord faced each other in splendid isolation on the expanse of pale carpet.

‘What a great room!’ said Fen, impressed. ‘I’ve never been in one of these houses before.’ She grinned at him. ‘You must have felt a bit claustrophobic in my place last night.’

‘Have you lived there long?’

‘No. I intended sharing a flat originally, but changed my mind. So I rent my little terraced house instead.’ She eyed him curiously. ‘But if you live here, what brought you down my street last night?’

‘Multiple roadworks. I’m new to Pennington, and somewhere among the diversion signs I took a wrong turning.’ His eyes met hers. ‘I’m glad I did. Otherwise it might have been a different story for you.’

‘Not at all,’ she said tartly. ‘I had it all in hand before you even got out of your car.’

Joe looked unconvinced. ‘Just the same, you might consider giving up night wanderings, Miss Dysart.’

‘I already have,’ she agreed soberly. ‘I’ve learned my lesson, believe me.’

‘Good. So what would you like to drink?’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Do artistes like you demand pink champagne?’

Fen let out a gurgle of laughter. ‘No way would I describe myself as an artiste. And I’d prefer tea to pink champagne.’

‘Then come with me.’ Joe took her along the hall to a galley-style kitchen, which by daylight, he informed her, enjoyed a view of the back garden through the full-length window.

Fen sat down at the rectangle of marble which served as a kitchen table, and watched her host make tea in a chunky white pot. He shot her a look as he took mugs from a cupboard.

‘Why the wry little smile?’

‘It just occurred to me that I had the most colossal cheek in latching on to you tonight.’

He chuckled. ‘I was glad to oblige. You’ve given me a couple of very entertaining evenings, Miss Dysart.’

‘Not all down to me. You had dinner in London before you ran into me last night,’ Fen reminded him. ‘Did you live there before you came here?’

He nodded. ‘But when the firm opened a branch in Pennington, I volunteered to relocate.’

‘Because you fancied a change?’

‘That too. But I’m single, with no children to uproot, so I was an obvious choice to make a move.’

Single, but not unattached, thought Fen with a touch of regret. ‘Shall I pour tea for you, or are you having something stronger?’

‘Tea. I’ll wait until I get back for a nightcap.’

‘By the way, did you manage to make peace with your lady?’

‘No.’ Joe’s eyes shuttered. ‘I had an illuminating—and unpleasant—little exchange with Melissa earlier on, which is why I went to the Mitre for a drink afterwards.’

‘That bad?’ said Fen with sympathy.

‘Not good.’ He looked at her for a moment. ‘Would it bore you to hear the details?’

‘Not in the least,’ she said truthfully. ‘Did she break up with you?’

‘No, quite the reverse. Melissa took me by surprise. She’d been trying to persuade me to keep on my London flat for weekends all along, but last night I learned why. She took it for granted she could just move from her flat into mine.’ His face hardened. ‘She informed me it was pointless to go on paying good money for rent on her flat when my place would be empty during the week.’

Nice lady, thought Fen. ‘You didn’t want that?’

‘No. Something she refused to believe over dinner last night. So to avoid a scene in the restaurant I put her in a taxi and drove straight here.’ He shrugged. ‘But tonight I explained, in words of one syllable, that the sale of the London flat was needed to finance this place, at which point she flew off the handle and told me she had no intention of burying herself in the back of beyond, even for me.’

‘Ah,’ said Fen, privately thinking that anyone who looked on Pennington as the back of beyond was best given up as a bad job. ‘Has she seen this flat?’

Joe shook his head and refilled her mug. ‘No.’

She smiled up at him. ‘It might change her mind if she did.’

‘No point. I’ve never thought of her as my “lady”, as you put it, so I made it very clear,’ he said, his voice extra-dry, ‘that her sacrifice was not, and never had been, required.’