Quiet as the Grave. Kathleen O'Brien

amaze you. They’ll do anything to get on television. Even sleep alone.’ She swallowed hard as he took her arm and headed for Martha’s Kitchen. Apparently satisfied with the impression he had made, he handed her a menu. ‘What can I offer you?’

      Kate had not needed to look at the menu, using it only as a shield to recover her composure. ‘A scone, please with fresh cream and raspberry jam.’

      ‘Is that all?

      ‘For the purposes of market research, Mr Warwick, it will do well enough.’ The waitress brought their tea. ‘I’ll pour, shall I? I don’t imagine you’ve had much experience with all those willing ladies eager to pander to your every whim.’

      He bared his teeth at her as she poured two cups of tea. The waitress returned with their scones and Kate considered the offering.

      Jay took the cup she handed to him and raised an enquiring brow as she broke the scone open, sniffed it, then pushed the plate away. ‘Well?’ he asked, slightly startled by this performance.

      ‘This is a mass-produced scone. It could be purchased in a packet in any supermarket and will last for days.’

      ‘Isn’t that good?’

      Kate propped her elbows on the table and leaned her face on her hands. ‘That is a matter of opinion, Mr Warwick. But it isn’t what Tisha has in mind, and if this is the kind of stuff you’re prepared to offer your customers you certainly don’t need me.’

      Jay Warwick regarded her over the edge of his teacup. ‘I thought we’d already established that.’

      Kate stiffened. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’ she said, furious with herself for being lulled into a false sense of security. If she was the one to crack, his aunt could hardly blame him.

      He produced a note and, dropping it on the table, rose to his feet. ‘How long do you think you will be able to stand it?’

      ‘As long as you can dish it out,’ she retorted.

      His smile was grudging. ‘Have you seen enough? Or should we check up on the Copper Kettle?’

      ‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Mr Warwick. At Fullerton Hall, as I’m sure you already know since you seem to be quite bright, you’ll have a captive audience. And this place, at least, offers no incentive to escape.’

      ‘That was nearly another compliment,’ he said, a little brusquely, opening the car door for her. ‘Aren’t you afraid it will go to my head?’

      Kate glanced up at him as she tucked her seatbelt into place. ‘I’m sure an ego as large as yours can handle it.’

      His eyes darkened and she saw with a sudden shock that she had made him angry. ‘Damn you,’ he said, and shut the door with rather more force than was necessary and turned away.

      ‘Jay!’

      He narrowed his eyes against the slanting sun and cursed softly under his breath. ‘Hello, Mike.’

      ‘I didn’t realise you were home.’ A man, a little above average in height and with soft brown hair, hurried across the square towards them. He glanced in the car at Kate and then, pointedly, at Jay.

      Jay performed perfunctory introductions. ‘Kate Thornley, Mike Howard.’

      Mike offered Kate his hand through the window. ‘Hello, Kate,’ he said warmly, his eyes riveted on her face.

      She took the proffered hand and found it held firmly. ‘Hello, Mike,’ she said and swallowed a smile as a warning shadow crossed Jay Warwick’s face.

      ‘Miss Thornley is organising the catering at the house,’ he said coolly. ‘We’re opening in a couple of weeks.’

      ‘You’ve decided to go ahead, then?’ Admiration lit the other man’s eyes as he regarded Kate. ‘Quite an undertaking. When’s the big day? I shall certainly make an effort to be there.’ He had addressed himself to Kate, but it was Jay who answered.

      ‘It will be advertised.’ He made an impatient move and Mike Howard reluctantly surrendered Kate’s hand.

      ‘I’d better let you get on, then. I’m sure you’ve a lot to do. I’ll see you again soon, Kate.’

      She smiled rather more warmly than she might normally have done as he waved and walked away across the square.

      ‘He’s the estate agent for the National Trust in this area,’ Jay told her, as he climbed into the driving seat. ‘In case you wanted to make a note.’ There was something about the way he said it that made her look up.

      ‘I might,’ she said.