your husband ran the farm, while you wrote books?’
‘Yes. Although he didn’t really enjoy being a farmer…’ In fact, he’d run the farm right down, she reflected.
‘What did he want to do?’
‘He wanted to own his own company, be the successful businessman. He bought into a business once, before we married. But he had a bad experience with a back-stabbing friend, and lost out…Look, would you please stop?’
‘Stop what?’
‘Grilling me about my life!’
‘There’s very little point in your grilling me about mine,’ he pointed out, ‘since I can’t remember a damned thing about it.’
‘True…’ Despite her irritation, she felt a pang of sympathy.
‘What are you so defensive about, anyway?’ he wanted to know, his eyes cool on her hesitant expression.
‘Nothing. I’ll complete my entire life story if it amuses you,’ she went on calmly. ‘I went to an all-girls’ boarding-school in Somerset, followed by an English degree at Exeter. I then couldn’t find a job, but, since I’d already decided all I wanted to do was write novels, it was probably a blessing in disguise. My father was chairman of a big international farm machinery company and he and my mother were abroad a lot. My late husband’s parents were friends of my parents, through the farming connection. That’s how he and I knew each other…’
‘And you fell in love and got married.’
She turned her back on him, and stared out of the window. The spell of fine weather was continuing. The pale sun shone on the wide sweep of bay. The sea shimmered with a million tiny reflections.
‘Of course. What else?’
‘People have various reasons for marrying,’ Daniel said calmly. ‘I just wondered what yours was.’
Carla felt as if that X-ray vision was somehow penetrating the back of her head, sorting mercilessly through her jumbled thoughts. She swung round and faced him. She felt tense as a reed under the searching appraisal, and now she was angry. Really angry.
‘OK. I realise you were listening in on my conversation with Becky…’
‘I couldn’t help overhearing the tail-end of it. It sounded to me as if you were putting yourself down.’
Carla drew a deep breath, and glared at her tormentor.
‘I realise you’ve time on your hands, and apparently nothing better to do than amuse yourself at my expense…’ Her heart was thudding. Two angry flags of colour darkened her cheeks. She was painfully aware of his eyes searching her face, moving slowly and consideringly over her from head to toe.
‘Hey…I’m sorry.’ His voice was cool. ‘You’re right. I was going to say that your husband sounded like an insensitive bastard. But maybe I’m one too.’
She swallowed.
‘Well, you said it.’
Daniel stood up, stretched his shoulders slightly. His dark face was wry.
‘Thanks for breakfast, Carla. I think I’ll go for a walk.’
She found herself staring at him in consternation, in spite of her suppressed anger.
‘I don’t think you should go alone…’
A sardonic gleam sharpened the cool green. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll steer clear of the lower cliff-path.’
‘Even so…’ Why was she feeling so guilty? But if he was still getting headaches, and still suffering from amnesia, surely he shouldn’t be left to his own devices for too long?
‘Even so?’ he teased gently. ‘I’ve been discharged from hospital. I’m feeling fitter by the hour. The police haven’t managed to pin any unsolved murders on me yet. And making idle conversation with you seems to be fraught with unexploded time bombs. I need some air.’
‘Of course.’ Turning away, she closed the dishwasher with a controlled click, and briefly shut her eyes. ‘I must get back to my study. I’m in the middle of a book…’
‘In that case, I’ll keep out of your way.’
There was no expression in his voice, but she found herself swinging round abruptly.
‘If you need anything, let me know.’
‘Thanks.’ He shot her a cool smile and strolled towards the door. ‘And stop looking so worried. You haven’t been officially appointed my keeper, have you?’
‘No.’
‘See you later.’
When he’d gone, she hung on to the worktop fiercely for a few seconds, then felt almost limp with reaction. She watched him disappear across the gravelled yard, and into the cottage, his loose-limbed, rangy walk holding her gaze, in spite of her anger.
Breathing deeply, she forced herself to finish the routine morning jobs, before marching purposefully into her study and slamming the door shut.
Here was her sanctuary, her haven. Here was the place she’d retreated to when things had got unbearable during her marriage. She switched on the word processor, slotted in the disk, and tried to immerse herself in the complexities of her current plot…
For once, her characters seemed to elude her. Inspector Jack Tresawna, the drily spoken Celt with the passion for local history and a habit of accidentally tapping in to another dimension in the course of his investigations, somehow lacked any substance in her mind. Instead, all she could see as she concentrated on her story was the dark, rather harsh image of Daniel’s face. In place of Jack Tresawna’s piercing blue eyes she kept seeing Daniel’s equally piercing green. Sea-green, and amused. Watchful and intelligent, beneath those straight dark eyebrows, and above lean, slightly hollow cheeks. Tresawna’s firm mouth blurred into Daniel’s well-shaped, slightly quirky lips.
Carla sat motionless at her desk, staring into space, the two images melting together in the most exasperating way in her mind’s eye. It was almost as if Daniel and Jack Tresawna had merged into the same man. Which was the craziest idea she’d had so far, she lashed herself impatiently. But the lunatic notion refused to go. It totally blocked her ability to write. The intricacies of her plot defeated her. The multi-layered strands waiting to be neatly unravelled stayed stubbornly tangled.
Finally, she abandoned the attempt. Fetching her waxed jacket from the hook in the hall, she thrust her feet into wellingtons and set off towards the coastal path at an impatient pace. When she couldn’t write, walking often proved therapeutic. It was a cool, breezy November morning. The sun still defied a depressing weather forecast and was steadily gilding the green and blue landscape. It would soon be December, but it had been such a mild autumn, there were even more wisps of tamarisk still blooming, lacy pink on the feathery bushes. The deeper pink of a few late-flowering wild valerian dotted the hedges as she made her way through to the open cliff-top.
The lower path was blocked, but she took the higher one, which wound round behind banks of gorse and bracken, and eventually looped back towards the cliff edge.
Then she saw Daniel. He was sitting not far above the spot where he’d fallen, his Barbour jacket spread out beneath him, elbows resting on bent knees, hands thrust into his hair, staring fixedly out to sea. He looked so isolated, so frustrated and alone, her heart seemed to squeeze idiotically in her chest.
Drawn like a magnet, she found herself steering her steps down towards him. He heard her approaching, and slowly turned to watch her.
‘Hello again,’ she said brightly, stopping a few feet away.
‘Hello.’ He sounded abrupt, then smiled ruefully. ‘I thought you had a book to finish? Did you feel obliged to make sure I hadn’t fallen over the cliff again?’
‘No. I couldn’t