‘You’re not from the agency, are you?’ he exclaimed. ‘I should have known. You’re another bloody reporter, aren’t you?’ He gave her a scathing look. ‘They must be desperate if they’re sending bimbos to do the job!’
‘I am not a bimbo!’ For once he had stung her into an unconsidered retort. She straightened her spine, as if she could add to her height. But she was still several inches shorter than Matt’s six feet plus and her frustration showed in her face. ‘And I never claimed to be from any agency.’
‘Whatever.’ Matt’s jaw compressed. ‘So, what are you doing here? I notice you haven’t denied being a reporter.’
‘A reporter?’ She stared at him, thick blonde lashes shading eyes of a misty grey-green. ‘I don’t understand. Were you expecting a reporter?’ Her face paled a little. ‘Why would a reporter come here?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know who I am.’
‘I don’t.’ She frowned. ‘Well, I know your name is Seton. You told me that.’
‘Matt Seton?’ prompted Matt caustically. ‘Ring any bells?’
‘Actually, no.’ She looked troubled. ‘Who are you?’
Matt swayed back on his heels. Was she serious? She certainly looked as if she was, and if he’d had any conceit to speak of she’d have certainly exploded it with her innocent words. If they were innocent, he amended. Or could she really be that good?
‘You don’t go to bookshops, then?’ he enquired drily, aware of a totally unfamiliar sensation of pique. ‘You’ve never heard of my work?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ She looked a little relieved now, but hardly apologetic. ‘Are you famous?’
Matt couldn’t prevent an ironic laugh. ‘Moderately so,’ he said mildly. ‘So…’ He lifted his shoulders. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I told you. My car broke down.’ She paused. ‘I was hoping to use your phone, as I said.’
‘Really?’ Matt considered her.
‘Yes, really.’ She shivered suddenly, and, although it was hardly a cold morning, Matt noticed how pale she was. ‘Um, would you mind?’
Matt hesitated. It could still be a clever ruse on her part to get inside his house. But he was beginning to doubt that. Nevertheless, no one apart from his friends and family had ever got beyond his door, and he was loath to invite any stranger, however convincing, into his home.
‘Don’t you have a mobile?’ he said, and she gave a weary sigh.
‘I don’t have my mobile with me,’ she told him tiredly. ‘But if helping me is a problem just tell me where I can find the nearest garage. I assume the one you mentioned isn’t far away.’
‘Far enough,’ muttered Matt heavily. ‘Can you walk the best part of three miles?’
‘If I have to,’ she replied, lifting her head. ‘Just point me in the right direction.’
But he couldn’t do it. Berating himself for being a fool, he slammed the door of the Range Rover and gestured towards the house. ‘You can use the phone,’ he said, striding past her. He led the way through an archway that gave access to the back of the building, hoping he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his life. ‘Follow me.’
Immediately, his two retrievers set up an excited barking, and he wondered if she’d heard them earlier. Although the dogs themselves were just big pussy-cats, really, the noise they made had scared off tougher intruders than her.
‘Do you like dogs?’ he asked, glancing over his shoulder, and she gave an uncertain shrug.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Are yours dangerous?’
‘Oh, yeah!’ Matt gave a wry grin. Then, realising she was taking him literally, he added. ‘Dangerously friendly, I mean. If you’re not careful they’ll lick you to death.’
Her smile appeared again, a more open one this time, and Matt was amazed at the difference it made to her thin features. For a moment she looked really beautiful, but then the smile disappeared again and he was left with the knowledge that for someone who had supposedly only been driving for about an hour that morning she looked exhausted.
Opening the door into the boot room, Matt weathered the assault of the two golden retrievers with good-natured indulgence. They were Rosie’s dogs, really, but as they spent as much time with him as they did with her they tended to share their affections equally.
It took them only a few moments to discover he wasn’t alone, however, and he had to grab them by the scruffs of their necks before they knocked his guest over. As it was, she swayed a little under the onslaught, and he was forced to lock the dogs in their compound in the yard before opening the door into the kitchen.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said, glancing ruefully about him. Their plates from the previous night’s supper still lay on the drainer, waiting to be put into the dishwasher, and Rosie’s breakfast bowl and glass occupied a prominent position on the island bar. If Mrs Webb had been working that morning the place would have looked much different, and Matt thought how typical it was that the one morning he had a visitor the kitchen should look like a tip.
‘They’re very friendly, aren’t they?’ she said, speaking about the dogs, but he knew she’d noticed the mess. ‘Are they yours or your wife’s?’
Matt’s mouth turned down. ‘My daughter’s, actually,’ he said. Then, because she was looking as if the next puff of wind would knock her over, he added, ‘I was just about to make myself some coffee. Would you like a cup?’
‘Oh, please!’
If he was to speculate, Matt would have said she spoke like someone who hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in some time. There was such eagerness in her response, and once again he felt a renewal of his doubts about her. Who was she really? Where had she been heading on the coast road, which was usually only used by locals and holidaymakers? What did she really want?
‘I’ve got the number of the garage in Saviour’s Bay,’ he said as he spooned coffee into the filter. ‘I’ll just get this going and then I’ll find it for you.’
‘Thank you.’
She hovered by the door, one hand clutching the strap of her haversack, the other braced against the wall unit nearest to her. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought she was trembling, though whether that was because she was cold, despite the warmth of the Aga, or apprehensive, he wouldn’t like to say.
It was quite a novelty for Matt to face the fact that she might not trust him. Her question about whether the dogs belonged to him or his wife might just have been a rather clumsy attempt to discover if he was married. For the first time he realised how vulnerable she might feel.
‘Hey, why don’t you sit down?’ he suggested, pointing towards the two stools that were set at either side of the island bar. ‘This is going to take a few minutes.’
‘O—kay.’
With evident reluctance she crossed the room and, dropping her haversack onto the floor beside her, levered herself onto one of the tall stools. But he noticed she chose the one that put the width of the bar between them, before treating him to another of those polite smiles.
Matt pulled a wry face but he didn’t say anything. She’d learn soon enough that he wasn’t interested in her or anyone else. That was, if she bothered to check him out in whatever place she was heading for. Despite his fame, and the monetary success it had brought him, Matt had declined all opportunities to replace his ex-wife.
And he had had opportunities, he conceded without conceit. A man in his position always attracted a certain type of woman, even if he was as ugly as sin, and he wasn’t that. His features were harsh, maybe, but they weren’t totally unappealing. He’d been