Forty Things To Do Before You're Forty. Alice Ross

sill.

      ‘Okay,’ muttered Sophie, still intent on her colouring-in.

      Annie hesitated for a moment. Should she ask the child to seek help if she wasn’t back in five minutes? No. She didn’t want to alarm her. After all, it was probably nothing. Nothing at all. Still, perhaps she’d better take her mobile, just in case. She snatched that up from the sill, too. Shoving the phone and key into her shorts’ pocket, she sprinted over the lawn which separated the gatehouse from its lofty relative. She headed directly to the open windows of the drawing room. Standing on tip-toes, she peeped inside. To her immense relief there was no sign of any burglars. And it certainly didn’t look like anything had been moved. Pinkington-Smythe family portraits still lined the walls. And the Chinese vase – which was worth more than her annual income – still had pride of place on the mantelpiece. Hmm. Maybe thieves had a system. Maybe they started from the top and worked their way down. Should she go and confront them? Or should she call Sid, the local policeman? Or was she overreacting? Perhaps the windows had blown open with a sudden gust of wind. From inside the house. Okay, so that scenario wasn’t particularly likely, but she didn’t relish the thought of making a fool of herself again in front of Sid. She still hadn’t recovered from the embarrassment of last year’s incident when she’d been convinced there was an intruder. She’d been so scared she’d locked herself in the loo. After a chaotic couple of hours searching, it turned out to be a pigeon. She wouldn’t have blamed Sid if he’d fined her for wasting police time. No, this time she should at least ascertain whether or not someone was inside before summoning the law. She tugged her mobile out of her pocket and scrolled down to the number for the police station. Now, if she did find herself in a compromising position, all she had to do was press the green button and help would arrive in minutes. Relatively assured, she ran round to the front of the manor and up the steps to the front door. She turned the large iron handle. It was locked. Of course it was. If the thieves had a key they wouldn’t have climbed in through the window. Her heart began to race. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead. She fished the key out of her pocket, unlocked the door and slipped into the stone-flagged entrance hall. Closing the door, she pressed her back against it and listened for a noise – voices, furniture being moved, anything. There was nothing. Right. Well, maybe it was one guy working alone. That was much more manageable. Even so, perhaps it would be sensible to protect herself. Her gaze scanned the hall, landing on a suit of armour. She tiptoed over to it, slipped off the helmet and, with some wiggling, placed it over her own head. Then she moved over to the wall and unhooked a sword and shield. Right. Good. She was fully protected now. So where should she start her search? Upstairs. Yes, that was probably the best place. Summoning every ounce of courage, she placed one foot on the bottom step. And froze. She could hear footsteps. In the corridor to the right. Approaching footsteps. Her blood ran cold, her heart hammered and her legs turned to jelly. Unable to move, she watched in horror as a tall shadowy figure came into view. Oh my God! This was definitely no pigeon. This was a real-life burglar. She should press the green button on her mobile. But that would mean dropping the sword and the shield. Which she might need if he decided to attack her. Well, as she was holding the weapons, she might as well make use of them.

      ‘St-stay right where you are,’ she stammered, turning towards him brandishing the sword and shield. ‘I’m calling the police.’

      ‘I, er, really don’t think there’s any need for that,’ came a deep male voice.

      ‘Oh yes, there is,’ countered Annie, flourishing the sword in what she hoped was a threatening manner. ‘And if you’ve got a gun, put it on the floor and kick it over here.’

      She held her breath as he bent down and kicked something towards her. Ah ha! So he did have a gun. Thank goodness she’d had the foresight to relieve him of that. She’d known that watching all those American cop shows would prove useful at some point. Good move, Annie. Very good move. But, to her amazement, it wasn’t a loaded pistol that landed at her feet, but a packet of digestive biscuits. Biscuits? Annie furrowed her brow. Who on earth would break into a manor and steal a packet of biscuits? Was nothing sacred where this criminal was concerned?

      ‘Where’s your weapon?’ she demanded.

      ‘I don’t have one.’

      Hmm. Annie squinted her eyes against the light. He definitely had something else in his hand. She cleared her throat, ‘Wh-what else are you holding?’

      ‘A carton of blackcurrant juice.’

      Huh. So he considered himself some kind of joker, did he? Well, Annie wasn’t in the mood for jokes. This was no laughing matter.

      ‘Breaking and entering is no laughing matter,’ she huffed.

      ‘I couldn’t agree more. But I had a key.’ He stepped forward, into the pool of sunlight streaming in through one of the windows.

      Annie could see him clearly now. And what she saw caused the breath to whoosh from her lungs, the sword and shield to flop to her side, and all her blood to rush to her head. Bathed in the golden sunlight he looked like some kind of Greek god; a tall, muscular, broad-shouldered Adonis in faded blue jeans and a navy V-necked T-shirt. For a few brief seconds she was rendered speechless. And senseless. And a lot of other things ending in –less that she really couldn’t think of at that particular moment. His jet-black hair, with just the hint of a wave, was dripping wet. He was obviously fresh from the shower. An image of him in the shower crashed into her mind, causing her already shaking legs to almost cave beneath her. She made a grab for the bannister in order to steady herself as she attempted to eradicate the image. His actual presence was unsettling enough. To add fantasy to the equation was really not helpful. He did, though, look vaguely familiar. Was this the man who’d asked her for directions earlier? So intent had she been on her running, she’d paid him scant attention. Which now seemed completely ludicrous. She must need her eyes testing. Badly. How else could she not have noticed those sculpted cheekbones, that strong stubble-covered jaw, and those twinkling dark eyes? Oh my God! She was practically salivating. Which was pathetic. And besides, he might have a key but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a burglar.

      ‘Are you a burglar?’ she asked. The question came out more like a strangled squeak.

      He snorted with laughter. ‘No. Are you?’

      ‘Of course not,’ she snapped. ‘I’m the caretaker.’

      ‘I thought so.’ He nodded pensively, one side of his deliciously sensuous mouth curling upwards. ‘The uniform gives it away.’

      Uniform? What uniform?

      ‘Would you, er, like a hand with your helmet?’ he continued, pointing to her head whilst plainly doing his utmost not to laugh.

      Confusion engulfed Annie. ‘Wh-what?’

      ‘Your helmet.’

      What on earth was he-? Oh no. She was still wearing the helmet from the suit of armour. As if she didn’t look ridiculous enough.

      ‘No thank you,’ she huffed. Swamped in mortification, she put down the sword and shield, placed a hand either side of the helmet and attempted to tug it off. It didn’t move.

      ‘Here, let me help.’

      Before Annie had a chance to protest, he set down the carton of juice, and his long legs took the few strides necessary to bring him directly in front of her. He was so close she could smell his citrusy shower gel mixed with his own masculine scent. Through the gap in her helmet her eyes were directly level with the V of his T-shirt from which a few dark hairs were visible. She watched, mesmerised, as a drop of water fell from his head and landed on the bare skin at the V, before trickling down under the T-shirt. To her dismay, she had to summon every ounce of willpower not to slide her hands under the T-shirt to explore exactly where the drop had gone.

      ‘Ready?’ he asked.

      Ready? For what? Surely he didn’t know what she was thinking. He couldn’t possibly mean-

      Before she knew what was happening, in one deft movement he pulled the helmet from her head.

      ‘There