Damn. A sudden buzz of attraction shot through me and I swallowed a hefty slug of coffee to chase it away.
‘Yes, you. I can’t take him back to the home. And Claire’s got enough on her plate. The company will do you good.’
‘But he’s someone else’s dog. I can’t just take him home. Besides, I don’t want a dog.’
Hilda laughed. ‘Of course you do.’
Ash frowned but before he could deny it again, she added, ‘But like you say, he might just be lost. If we take him to the rescue centre, Melanie there will check him over. Scan him to see if he has a chip.’
‘We?’ Those eyes flashed again and I crossed my legs. Nothing to see here, I told my libido firmly.
‘You have got a car, haven’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well then. Just look at him. He’s your dog.’
I bit back a smile because it was true. The dog, it appeared, had taken ownership of Ash. Having given up on the possibility of more toast, he had sidled up to Ash’s leg and was leaning so hard against it that if Ash moved his leg the dog would topple right over.
And just out of sight, Ash’s hand was surreptitiously rubbing the dog’s chest.
‘You take the dog home, feed him, and pick me up at Sunnyside in an hour and a half, and we’ll go to the rescue place,’ said Hilda. ‘Claire, do you want to come too?’
‘She can’t,’ said Ash. ‘I’ve got a Porsche. Not much room in the back, not with a dog as well.’
‘A Porsche? Oh, well. Claire looks quite bendy; I’m sure she can squeeze in the back.’
‘I’m sure she’s got better things to be doing.’ Bitterness ground into the lines around his mouth.
‘No, she hasn’t. Claire’s been signed off with stress for the rest of the month.’
Hilda’s chatty confidence made me blush a brilliant scarlet. I could have killed her. It was the last thing I wanted Ash to know. I waited for some sarcastic response and when it didn’t come, I dared to glance his way. He studied me with an impassive expression that was totally unreadable.
‘She needs something to do, don’t you, dear?’
Chapter Ten
Being in the back of a Porsche 911 with a hairy dog breathing down my neck did not rank high on my needing-something-to-do list. Clambering in had been an exercise in contortion to start with, especially as the dog was already taking up most of the miniscule back seat. As soon as I’d nestled my bum into the soft cream leather seat, the dog began to fidget; one minute he was sprawled on my lap, the next leaning against me, his wet nose on my neck and a second later he was trying to climb over the gear stick to the front seat.
‘Sit,’ said Ash, gruff and deep, after the dog’s third attempt to scramble into the front. ‘Can you at least try and hold him?’ he snapped.
‘Yeah, right,’ I said, wrapping both arms around him and hauling the dog back. Without warning, he flopped onto me, knocking me sideways, snuggled in, and laid his head on my lap, gazing up with those quizzical, warm brown eyes. ‘Stupid dog,’ I whispered, as I stroked the baby punk-rocker Mohican on his head, my fingers working into the soft fur around his floppy ears. I felt the reassuring beat of his heart, slow and steady against my leg.
‘He really likes you, Claire.’ Hilda’s head bobbed around the head rest.
‘No,’ I said.
She pretended innocence and turned back to Ash, who was programming the sat nav.
‘You won’t need that,’ she said. ‘I’ll direct you. You need to head down Church Road and then at the bottom take a left out towards Hookleigh. The rescue place is in Lower Hookleigh.’
‘How do you know about it?’ I asked.
‘The rescue centre sometimes brings dogs to the old folks’ home to cheer us up. I have to say, it does wonders for some of the old dears. Proper perks them up, it does.’
It amused me, the way she refused to identify herself with the other residents.
With a throaty roar, the engine burst into life and with my hand on the dog’s head, stroking his soft ears, I leaned back and tried to get as comfortable as I could while squished in with my knees almost touching my chin.
Behind the wheel, Ash had regained some of that old Ashwin Laghari confidence and drove with flashy style, handling the car with obvious skill – not that I appreciated it that much from the position I was in, wedged up against the back of his seat.
‘Hilda,’ Ash’s voice cut in. ‘The signpost says Hookleigh is to the right.’
‘Oh, yes, sorry dear. I never was very good at left and right. Caused the occasional problem when I was on surveillance duties in MI6.’
Ash caught my eye in the mirror and raised an eyebrow but neither of us said anything. At that moment, the dog let out an enormous fart.
‘Dear me,’ said Hilda. ‘I’ve been saying for ages that marmalade wasn’t any good for us. No wonder all the old fellas are trumping left, right, and centre. I’ll have to have a word with the management.’
‘Thanks, dog,’ I said trying to hold my breath as Ash wound down the windows.
Ash chuckled but when I met his eyes again in the mirror, they suddenly went serious and held mine long enough to make my heart do a funny flip in my chest. He looked as if he were trying to figure something out about me and I had to turn away. He’d had his chance; he wasn’t getting another one.
Melanie at the rescue centre bounded over to us with button-bright eyes and the smiliest face I’d ever seen. In her grey overalls and bright red wellies, she could have doubled as a member of some futuristic militia. Without bothering to address any of us, she immediately dropped to her knees in front of the dog.
‘Aren’t you a gorgeous lad, then?’ she said in a broad Yorkshire accent as she held out her hand and ruffled the fur around his neck. The dog sniffed and whined, poking his nose at her hand. ‘And hungry. He can smell food on me.’
‘I’ve just fed him a couple of cooked organic chicken fillets,’ protested Ash.
‘If he hasn’t eaten for a few days, you need to go slowly.’ Melanie rubbed his ears and I swear the dog let out a sigh of contentment. ‘Where’s he come from?’
‘We found him in the park,’ said Hilda. ‘He’s been there a couple of days we think.’
‘Hmm, no collar and if he’s had a bath or been groomed in the last month, I’m a flaming Christmas tree fairy… which,’ she brushed a hand over her lumpy overalls, ‘I’m clearly not.’ She lifted the pads of his feet to examine them, shaking her wiry deep-auburn curls. ‘Abandoned, I’m guessing. Bloody folk, don’t deserve to have dogs. How hard is it? Feed ’em, walk ’em, love ’em. Piece of piss, you’d o’ thought.’
She hauled a small handheld device from one of her deep, utilitarian pockets, very like the scanners you get in supermarkets. ‘I can check him for a chip but I’m not holding out much hope.’
She ran the scanner over the dog’s neck, shoulders and upper bag. ‘Thought as much. People who are likely to abandon a dog rather than try to rehome it aren’t going to go to the trouble and expense of getting it chipped.’