‘I know, I can hardly wait to get in it!’ Her eyes brightwith laughter, the woman said, ‘And it’s going to drive my children demented.’

‘Why?’

‘Ha! If you met them you wouldn’t need to ask. I have three,’ said the woman, counting them off on fingers weighed down with glittering rings. ‘A bank manager, a Tory MP and a perfect-wife-andmother who lives in Surrey. I don’t know where I went wrong. They’re dreadfully ashamed of me. I’m the bane of their lives, poor darlings. Oh well, can’t win ‘em all I suppose. Jake, would you be an angel and pop it into the truck? I want to show it off to my friends.’

Jake effortlessly loaded the casket into the back of the woman’s muddy Land Rover. Reaching up, she kissed him on both cheeks, leaving scarlet lipstick marks, then hopped into the driver’s seat and with a toot and a wave roared off.

Norris was by this time flat out on the dusty ground, snoring peacefully in the sun like a drunk.

‘Business or pleasure?’ said Jake.

‘Sorry?’

‘Are you here to buy a coffin?’

Kate suppressed a shudder. ‘No.’

He smiled briefly. ‘So, pleasure then.’

Hardly. ‘Not that either. Your mother asked me to tell you to take the lamb chops out of the freezer.’

Jake laughed. ‘Sounds like one of those coded messages. You say, "Take the lamb chops out of the freezer," then I nod and say, "Lamb chops are excellent with mint sauce." Are you sure you aren’t a secret agent?’

She hadn’t expected him to sound so normal, friendly even. Stiffly, Kate said, ‘And she also said not to forget about Sophie’s party.’

‘Ah yes, the party.’ Still nodding in a spy-like manner, Jake said, ‘Five o’clock, in ze village hall.

Zat is when ze party begins. I haff ze situation under control – oh bugger, actually I don’t.’ He looked at Kate then, quizzically, at Norris. ‘Where did the dog come from?’

‘We’re looking after him for a friend of my mother’s. Just for a few weeks. Actually, it was your mother’s idea,’ said Kate.

‘Tell me about it.’ Jake’s greenish-yellow eyes narrowed with amusement. ‘Ideas are my mother’s speciality.’

‘She thought a dog would get me out of the house.’

‘And here you are, so she was right. Would you be on your way to the shop, by any chance?’

‘Yes.’ Kate eyed him warily. ‘Why?’

‘Ze party at five o’clock. I haff ze present, but no paper in vich to wrap it.’

‘OK,’ sighed Kate; was this where her future lay, as some kind of lowly gofer? She jiggled Norris’s lead and he opened a baleful eye. ‘Norris, come on, get up.’

‘ Leave him with me,’ Jake said easily. ‘You’d only have to tie him up outside the shop.’ Taking the end of the lead, he looped it over the gatepost, then dug a pound coin out of his jeans pocket.

‘There you go. Actually, I’m holding him hostage to stop you running off with my money. Bring me the wrapping paper and you’ll get the dog back.’

‘You’re assuming I want him back,’ said Kate.

‘And von more zing,’ Jake called after her as she headed along Main Street.

She turned. ‘What?’

‘Ze wrapping paper. No Barbies. No pink.’

The general store, a kind of mini supermarket-cum-tardis, was owned by a garrulous old spinster called Theresa who had run the place for the last forty years and knew everything that went on in Ashcombe. Kate couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

‘Hello, dear, heard you were back, look at your poor old face, eh? What a shame, what a thing to happen, that’s America for you though, isn’t it, everyone drives like maniacs over there, rushing around, I’ve seen ‘em doin’ it on the telly, what I always say is take your time and get somewhere safely, better than goin’ too fast and not getting there at all .. . What’re you doin’ buying dog food then?’

Beadily she eyed Kate’s basket, as if suspicious that the cans of Pedigree Chum might be lunch. ‘You

‘aven’t got a dog.’

‘Just ring them up on the till and stop yabbering, you nosy cow.’

Kate smiled blandly and wondered how Theresa would react if she’d actually said the words aloud instead of just thinking them.

‘We’re looking after one for a friend. And I’ll have a sheet of that wrapping paper. The dark blue one.’

‘Blue? Not your dad’s birthday, is it? Although if it is, we’ve got some nice boxed hankies, or maybe he’d prefer—’

‘It’s not his birthday,’ interrupted Kate.

‘Thought it wasn’t.’ Theresa looked relieved to have been proved right. ‘He’s January, isn’t he?

Your poor mum and dad, must’ve been a terrible shock for them, seein’ you with your face like that and

—’

‘How much do I owe you?’ said Kate.

‘In and out of Theresa’s in under twenty minutes.’ Jake shook his head in admiration. ‘Better contact the Guinness Book of Records.’

‘ What an old witch. She was bursting to know who the wrapping paper was for.’ Kate felt her mood lighten, like the sun coming out. The last time she’d properly known Jake, he’d been Maddy Harvey’s irritating little brother, a skinny ten-year-old covered in grazes, with a much prized dried worm collection. Now, all grown up, he was ... well, all grown up. For some local girl there was no denying he’d be quite a catch.

‘Are you looking at my chest?’ said Jake.

‘No!’

‘Oh. Just wondered. Actually, you could give me a hand with the wrapping if you like.’

Kate followed him into the cool gloom of the workshop. Bemused, she said, ‘A gun?’

‘ Don’t sound so shocked, it’s not a real one.’ Spreading out the sheet of cobalt blue paper on the workbench, Jake picked up the imitation pistol. ‘Fires potato pellets. Here, you make a start with the Sellotape.’

‘I thought it was a birthday party for a girl.’

‘It is, but Sophie chose this. She’s already got one, so now she and Charlotte can have shootouts. Or murder other girls’ Barbies. Sophie thinks dolls are feeble,’ said Jake. ‘She wants to be a police officer when she grows up. Last week I caught her and Tiff aiming a hairdryer at passing motorists. When I asked what she was doing she said, "Being a speed-trap."‘

Together they managed to wrap up the potato gun, although the end result was secure rather than stylish.

‘I’d better get back,’ said Kate.

‘Before they send out the search parties.’ Jake picked up the unused rectangle of paper. ‘Do you think I should wrap up a potato too?’

He was teasing her. Realising she had to say something, Kate began awkwardly, ‘Look, thanks for ... you know, talking to me. Being ... um, normal.’

‘That’s OK.’ Jake clearly found this amusing. ‘I am actually quite a normal person. Plus, I always do as I’m told.’

‘Told?’

‘By Marcella, anyway. Life wouldn’t be worth living otherwise.’

Suspicion crawled over Kate’s skin like ants. ‘You mean ... ?’

Smiling, Jake said, ‘She told me to be nice to you.’

‘When?’ She could barely get the word out.

‘Two minutes before you got here, I imagine.’ He patted the phone lying on the bench. ‘Hey, it’s OK.’

‘It’s not OK. It’s humiliating. I don’t need to be patronised—’

‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist.’ Jake’s green eyes were by this time bright with laughter. ‘I was going to be nice to you anyway.’

But then he would say that, wouldn’t he? For just a few brief minutes, Kate realised, her mood had magically lifted and she’d almost forgotten about her scarred face.

Now everything was spoiled.

Nuala Stratton, having slipped away from her barmaiding duties for five minutes, was observing the exchange between Jake and Kate with a mixture of intrigue and indignation. From her bedroom window above the pub she had a clear view into his workshop. She knew, of course, that Jake was an habitual charmer who flirted effortlessly and always made you feel extra-special, even when all he was doing was ordering a pint of Guinness and a packet of crisps, but why on earth was he doing it now with Kate Taylor-Trent?

Maddy would go mental when she found out.

Sucking in her stomach – something she found herself doing almost instinctively whenever she looked at Jake – Nuala watched him saunter over to the bulldog, unhook its lead from the fencepost and cajole the overweight animal to its feet. Then he said something else to Kate, handed the dog over to her and gave her forearm a reassuring squeeze.

What a traitor. So much for family loyalty. Didn’t Jake realise that some people didn’t deserve to be smiled at like that?

‘Nuala?’ Dexter’s voice bellowed up the stairs. ‘Get a bloody move on, will you? If you’ve fallen asleep up there, you’re sacked.’

Not that she was jealous of the attention Jake was paying Kate. Not properly jealous anyway. She had Dexter – she and Dexter lived together – and he was all she wanted. It was just that you could be perfectly happy with one man and still harbour a teeny crush on another. If they were honest, probably every woman who met Jake had a teeny crush on him. It must be quite strange to be Maddy, having Jake as a brother and not secretly fancying him.

‘ Nuala! Get your backside down here this minute.’

Hastily, Nuala kicked her discarded four-inch turquoise stilettos under the bed and slipped her feet into less exotic but far comfier two-inch heels. She had Dexter and she was happy with Dexter, but he did like to see her dressed like a glamour girl and, being a man, he simply had no idea how excruciating four-inch stilettos could be. God knows, she’d never make it as a Playboy Bunny. Two hours of crippling pain was as much as she could bear in one shift. Tonight she would put the turquoise ones on again, but for now the low-heeled suede mules would just have to do. Quickly checking in the wardrobe mirror that her reddish-brown hair wasn’t too messy, that her cream top was still free of drink stains and that her new caramel skirt didn’t make her bum look vast, Nuala exhaled with disappointment. Failed on all three counts, and the wet patch of lager was situated directly over her left breast. Hastily she brushed her hair, slicked ohanother layer of glossy toffee lipstick and jacked the belt round her waist in by another notch.

Dexter wasn’t what you’d call an easygoing character. She loved him to bits but there was no denying that sometimes he could be tricky to live with. Volatile and impatient, he could teach Basil Fawlty a thing or two about being temperamental. Living and working with Dexter was like standing too close to a pyromaniac with a box of fireworks – at any moment the whole lot could go off.

‘We need another crate of Cokes from the cellar,’ said Dexter when Nuala arrived downstairs.

His gaze dropped to her feet. ‘Got your granny shoes on, I see.’

He wanted her to be Liz Hurley, Rita Hayworth and Jessica Rabbit all rolled into one. Nuala’s only comfort was in knowing that, with his receding hairline, expanding paunch and waspish put-downs, Liz Hurley wouldn’t look twice at Dexter.

Besides, it wasn’t as if she was the only one he insulted – anyone was fair game. And he was actually a lot nicer in private, when it was just the two of them together. Rolling his eyes in despair and mocking her shortcomings was his way of entertaining the customers; she knew he didn’t mean it, deep down.

‘My feet were hurting. It’s either these or my furry slippers,’ said Nuala.

‘God save us,’ Dexter roared, to his audience. ‘She’s turning into Nora Batty.’ Shaking his head in disgust at Nuala he said, ‘You are such a frump.’

Nuala smiled; she knew she wasn’t a frump.

‘I’ve just seen Jake chatting to Kate Taylor-Trent.’ Then, because he was looking blank, ‘The one who called me fat the other night.’

‘So? You are fat.’

He didn’t mean it. All for show.

Chapter 10

The lamb chops were sizzling under the grill when Maddy arrived home from work. Foil-wrapped potatoes were baking in the oven and a bowl of salad sat on top of the fridge. With Sophie out at her party, the house was silent apart from the hiss of the shower running upstairs.

By the time Jake appeared, wearing a red and white striped towel around his waist, Maddy had boiled the kettle and made two mugs of tea.

‘Thanks.’ Taking a mouthful, Jake froze then spat it back into the mug. ‘Jesus, what did you put in that?’

‘Tabasco. And salt. And mustard,’ Maddy added serenely, because Jake particularly loathed mustard.