‘So, what comes next?’ She was mesmerised by the sight, the feel of his long fingers as they carefully teased the grit from between her toes. They were covered with small scars, the kind you got from knocks, scrapes, contact with hot metal. A mechanic’s hands… ‘Ballet?’ he asked, looking up, catching her staring. ‘Horses?’
‘Not ballet,’ she said quickly. ‘She loves horses, but I can’t afford to indulge her. To be honest, I don’t care what she chooses, just as long as there is a stage between now and boys. They grow up so quickly these days.’
‘They always did, Claire.’
‘Did they? I must have missed that stage. Too much homework, I suppose.’ And not enough freedom to hang around the village, giggling with the other girls, dressed to attract the boys. Not that they’d have welcomed her. The girls, anyway. She’d received sideways looks from the boys, but no one had been brave enough to make a move… ‘The local girls my age seemed so much more grown up.’ So much more knowing.
‘You appear to have caught up.’
She shook her head. ‘You never get that back.’ She’d still been hopelessly naïve at eighteen, believing sex and love were the same thing. Not wanting to think about that, she said, ‘I’m taking Ally to the DIY store at the weekend to look around, see what catches her eye.’
‘Shouldn’t you wait and see what the new owner has in mind before you part with more hard cash on a house you don’t own?’
‘A few rolls of wallpaper won’t break the bank.’ And decorating would keep her mind off it. ‘When he sees what a great tenant I am,’ she added, ‘he’ll probably beg me to stay.’
He didn’t comment, but instead turned another chair to face her, covered it with a towel and rested her dripping foot on it.
‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’ she asked, as he tipped the dirty water down the sink and rinsed the bowl before refilling it with clean water to which he added antiseptic. Anything to stop thinking about the way his hands had felt on her foot, her ankle. How good it felt to be cared for.
The big hole that was missing not just from Ally’s life, but her own.
‘Not until I’ve dealt with this,’ he said, washing her foot again, but this time when he lifted it up, he sat on the chair and set both towel and foot on his knee so that he could take a closer look at the damage.
It was one of those ‘clean knicker’ moments—except for clean knickers substitute nail polish.
‘Never go out without painting your toenails in case you have an accident and some good-looking man decides to wash your foot…’
Who knew?
‘No glass, it’s just a nasty little cut,’ he said, patting the heel dry before working the towel through her toes. She was really regretting the lack of nail polish… ‘If you’ll hand me a dressing?’ he prompted.
She tore the cover off a big square dressing and handed it to him, shivering slightly as his fingers brushed against hers.
‘You’re cold. Drink your tea,’ he said, as he placed the dressing over the cut, smoothed it into place and continued to hold her foot.
‘It’s too sweet,’ she said, shuddering as she took a sip.
‘Think of it as medicine,’ he said as the phone in his pocket began to ring. He glanced at it. ‘I have to go,’ he said, without bothering to answer it, transferring her foot from his knee to the chair as he stood up. ‘Keep an eye on that. Any redness, don’t hang about, straight to the surgery for some antibiotics.’
‘Yes, doc.’
He picked up the bowl, emptied it in the sink, dried his hands and was gone.
‘Thank you, doc,’ she said to herself, and the sound of his footsteps crunching on the gravel grew fainter and the silence returned.
She didn’t move.
While she hadn’t used her imagination in a long while, it was, apparently, still in full working order and if she kept still, concentrated very hard, she could still feel his hands on her foot, the sensual slide of his fingers between her toes.
* * *
Claire had just stepped out of the shower when a rap at the door sent her heart racing.
‘Claire? It’s Pen.’
Not Hal with her bike, her shoe, but a neighbour. She opened the window and called down, ‘Hold on, Penny, I’ll be right there.’
She threw on a sweatshirt, wincing as her shoulder reminded her that it, too, had been in the wars, and a pair of comfortable jeans.
‘Are you all right?’ Pen watched her limp across to the kettle and switch it on. ‘I was in the village shop and Mrs Judd said she saw some man helping you home.’
Life in Cranbrook might have changed out of all recognition in the last decade but the impossibility of doing anything without everyone knowing in ten minutes flat remained a constant. Which meant that Hal North couldn’t be living in the village. He wasn’t a man you would miss when he pitched up in your neighbourhood and Penny, who was always urging her to get out and find someone, would have been full of it.
‘Earth to Claire…’
‘Sorry, Pen. I fell off my bike.’
‘I wonder who he was?’ Penny said, ten minutes later when, hands clutched tightly around a warm mug, she’d heard the severely edited highlights of her accident.
‘You haven’t taken on anyone new?’ Claire asked. ‘I hear the estate has been sold.’
‘Who told you that?’ she demanded. ‘It’s not being announced until Monday.’
‘So who’s bought the place? Don’t worry, I won’t say a word before it’s official. I just want a chance to dig up some background details.’
Something to add a bit of sparkle to the two-page spread of the history of the house and the Cranbrook family that she’d been working on since it was evident that the estate would have to be sold. Without some background on the new owners, it was just that. History.
‘Well…’ Penny stretched the word like a piece of elastic as she helped herself to a chocolate-chip cookie and propped her elbows on the table. ‘According to the solicitors’ clerk it’s been bought by a millionaire businessman.’
‘Well, yes. Obviously.’ Who else could afford it? ‘He’ll need millions if he’s going to live there.’ Spend millions to bring it up to modern specifications. That had to be good news for the local economy. ‘What kind of business, do you know? Is he married? Does he have children?’ They were the details that the Observer readers would want.
‘Sorry, but I did have a call from a Ms Beatrice Webb this morning, who wants to discuss my future with the estate on Monday.’
A woman? Well, why not…
‘I should have asked for more information but to be honest I was too shocked to do anything other than say I’d be there.’
Claire curbed her impatience. ‘That sounds hopeful.’
‘Does it? With Steve on short time and Gary without a hope of a job, my few hours in the estate office and the money you give me for taking care of Ally after school is all that’s keeping us afloat at the moment.’
‘The estate will still need managing, Penny. The new owner, whoever he or she is, is going to need you.’ She didn’t mention her appeal to Hal on Gary’s behalf. No point in raising false hopes.
Penny pulled a face. ‘Ms Webb sounded capable of running the whole shebang with one hand tied behind her back.’
‘She’s probably got more than enough work to keep her busy in