Tess rocked on her feet, not knowing whether to back away, or take a step closer. Slowly, almost tiptoeing, she moved forwards. He was now six feet away and thankfully still engrossed in the ingredients on the can. Carefully, she passed behind him, holding an in-breath. She almost brushed against his arm. His hair was tousled as if he’d just got out of bed and, on closer inspection, she noticed that his clothes were splattered and smeared with paint. Perhaps he’d been decorating. She passed behind him but didn’t dare look back.
Around the next aisle she spotted sauce mixes and dried pasta. Having quickly snatched up a packet of linguine, she took it straight to the till. With a bit of luck she’d be out of there before he needed to pay. Tess placed the packet on the counter.
‘Hello, is that all?’ asked Mr Jackson.
‘Hi. Yes, thanks.’
‘Have you settled in?’
‘What? Oh yes, thank you. Just cooking?’
‘Anything special?’
‘Seafood linguine. I’m in a bit of a rush actually.’ Tess discreetly turned to see if the man with the dogs was in sight. Thankfully he wasn’t.
‘You youngsters are always in a rush. Do you need a mobile top up?’
‘Just the pasta, thanks.’
‘Stamps?’
‘Not today.’
‘How about a lottery ticket? Might be your lucky day.’
‘Believe me, it isn’t. Just the pasta, please.’
‘Okay. That’ll be one pound, ten pence, please.’
Tess lifted her bag onto the counter and felt for her purse. ‘Won’t be a sec. My purse is here somewhere.’ She searched manically through her cavernous handbag. Hot with embarrassment, she emptied the detritus of her bag bit by bit onto the counter. A packet of tissues, a lipstick, a mobile phone, a set of keys, a half-eaten Kit Kat, several out of date receipts, a packet of painkillers, three biros and some mints. No purse.
‘I’m really sorry. I must have left my purse at home. Can I bring in the money tomorrow?’
Mr Jackson leaned forwards, sniffed and furrowed his brow. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted.
‘Here, my treat.’
A paint-splattered hand placed a two pound coin on the counter. In front of them all lay the contents of her bag looking like a car boot sale. She knew without looking that the deep voice and tanned hand belonged to him. By now her face was on fire with shame as she piled everything back into her bag. She couldn’t ignore him, so she quickly glanced at him. Yes – he was gorgeous.
She looked away. ‘I couldn’t possibly, but thank you. I’m sure Mr Jackson wouldn’t mind if I called in tomorrow with the money.’ She gave the storeowner a wide-eyed look, trying to convey an urgent telepathic message to him. His mind obviously wasn’t receiving the signal, so she smiled through gritted teeth, daring him to say no with her glare.
Mr Jackson was oblivious to her embarrassment. His pale eyes were scrutinising her face. ‘I’m closing in ten minutes and I need to cash up and make the till balance. Could you owe this gentleman instead?’
Accepting defeat and wanting to escape this unbearable embarrassment as soon as possible, she accepted the coin without looking up again. ‘Thank you very much. I’ll get it back to you.’
‘Please, don’t worry. I’m happy to help.’
Tess held out her hand for the change, picked up the pasta, said a very quick goodbye to the two men then hurried out of the store.
Turning on the ignition, she reversed and sped home leaving a whirlwind of dust in the car park. She stopped outside Rose Cottage, turned off the engine and took a deep breath. What must she have looked like? As if to clarify her thoughts, Tess pulled down the mirror behind her sun visor and studied her reflection. As she peered at the crusty fish scales decorating her cheeks, the Black Land Rover roared past her car.
She groaned in despair.
Chapter Five
Blake shook hands with the glamorous owner of the house he had just valued. ‘Thanks for showing me around. I’ll get a letter in the post to you confirming my valuation.’
The woman seemed reluctant to release his hand. ‘I’m in most days.’
Blake smirked, used to lonely housewives flirting with him. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
The woman held his gaze while slowly closing her front door. He turned and walked down the garden path. Still got the old Snipes’ charm, he thought. He sneezed then muttered to himself as he opened the door. Sitting in the driver’s seat, he sniffed deeply.
‘Bloody pollen.’ He opened the two front windows, loosened his tie and stretched across the passenger seat for his cigarettes.
Blake was twenty-nine and had an air about him that swayed between self-confidence and arrogance. His cropped hair was fair and despite needing to lose a few pounds, he was an attractive man who made many a female vendor fall over their words in a fluster. He’d been working at Price and Finkle Estate Agency for nine years, having joined them after leaving college. He had slowly worked his way up the corporate ladder, from general dogsbody to associate director. A position he wished would impress Tess more than it seemed to.
Home was a small modern mews house in the centre of town and although he’d tried numerous times to persuade Tess to move in with him, she’d stubbornly decided to rent a tiny cottage out in the sticks, instead. You could dress it up all you liked by calling it Rose Cottage, he thought, but the fact was that the air smelt of cow shit and the village green was dotted with the stuff. To add insult to injury, the fields of floating pollen and exploding seeds made his hay fever worse. Tess called it nature’s loveliness. He called it nature’s slovenliness. Surely in his late twenties he should be at the peak of fitness and health? Instead, he usually felt drained and drowsy by coughing in the city or sneezing in the countryside.
An off-the-cuff remark by a colleague who’d mentioned smoking, coughing and cancer in one shocking sentence, had forced him to book a doctor’s appointment that evening, after work. His constant fatigue had been affecting his job and he had made several silly mistakes recently. It hadn’t helped his clients’ confidence in him when he’d posted house descriptions and valuation confirmation letters to the wrong addresses. That very morning, one couple had taken their business elsewhere after they’d received a letter describing their newly renovated barn conversion as, ‘tired and in need of extensive upgrading.’ He’d been in trouble at work for his mistake and knew it was time to visit his doctor.
But it wasn’t only his health that Blake had on his mind. He’d felt uneasy since eavesdropping on Tess and Holly’s conversation the previous week. His attempt to show her just how witty and professional he was, had backfired miserably in the local coffee shop. He’d tried to make her feel possessive with his talk of Amsterdam. He’d tried to make her laugh at silly remarks that would have had her giggling last year. He’d tried to make her see that he possessed sharp business acumen while on the telephone to the office. But nothing had worked. She’d stormed off and although he’d gone round to eat that same night, she’d been distant and her friend Holly had played gooseberry.
They hadn’t seen each other for the past few days and had only communicated through a couple of stilted phone conversations. Tess had continued to make excuses not to see him and it had surprised him just how much he’d missed her. He was beginning to wonder if she had dumped him without saying as much but to his great relief, Tess had phoned him that morning to invite him round for some seafood linguine. Surely that was a good sign? After all, you don’t go to the trouble of cooking dinner for someone you want to finish with, do you? Let alone choose to cook their favourite meal.