so fast, my girl—’
‘Problems, Fen?’ said a familiar voice, and she turned to find Joe Tregenna smiling at her. ‘Is this guy giving you trouble?’
‘It’s OK, Joe. No problem,’ said Fen, freeing herself. ‘He’s a relative.’
Adam Dysart controlled himself with obvious effort. ‘Look,’ he said to Joe Tregenna, ‘this is a family thing. Would you excuse us? I need to talk to Fenny.’
‘But I don’t want to talk to you,’ she retorted, and smiled warmly at Joe as she took his hand. ‘Thanks for coming to take me home.’
‘My pleasure,’ he said, without missing a beat. ‘Won’t you introduce us?’
‘Unnecessary,’ said Fen curtly, and, turning her back on Adam Dysart, she hurried Joe off.
‘Sorry to land you in it again, Joe,’ she muttered, casting a look behind her. ‘A bit late in the day to ask, I know, but are you on your own?’
‘Fortunately, yes,’ he said, amused.
‘That’s a relief.’ She smiled at him. ‘This is a bit cheeky of me, but could you possibly drive me round for a bit? I don’t want Adam to know where I live.’
‘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.’
CHAPTER TWO
‘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