Brazilian Boss, Virgin Housekeeper. Maggie Cox

there are quite a few places of interest to visit in this quaint little town.’

      ‘True. It gets quite packed in the summer, believe it or not.’

      ‘I can believe it.’

      Now, to Marianne’s complete surprise, her companion did smile, and his eyes looked bright as stars for a moment. Something inside her reacted disturbingly strongly to the fact and she felt her skin tighten self-consciously.

      ‘Yes there are boat trips you can take on the river, and they’re always very popular with the tourists. Anyway…’

      Coming to the end of her coffee, Marianne stood the empty cup on the pavement behind her, then picked up the guitar that lay in its open black case on the ground beside it. Surprised that such an urbane, clearly wealthy man as Eduardo de Souza would even bother to introduce himself to a girl like her—particularly in such unusual circumstances—she couldn’t help but be cautious. But then, as she glanced at that movie-star-handsome face and the commanding physique the cashmere coat he wore hinted at, it seemed unlikely that his intent was anything other than to pass the time of day with her. Anything else would be preposterous. They’d had a bit of an exchange before, and he was merely being polite, she told herself.

      ‘I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to get back to what I’m here for.’ Removing her gloves, Marianne strummed a few chords to tune her guitar. A group of visiting French students passing by just then momentarily peered at her with interest. As for her handsome visitor, he stubbornly remained where he stood, apparently in no hurry to leave.

      ‘Next time…when I am in town…perhaps you would allow me to buy you lunch?’ he suggested.

      Marianne blinked. Even the idea of sitting in some smart little restaurant opposite this man for an hour or more made her go hot and cold. For a start, what would they possibly have in common to talk about? ‘Thank you, but no,’ she answered quickly. ‘I don’t really do lunch when I’m working’

      ‘You mean you do not take a break to eat?’ He sounded amused.

      ‘I do take a break, but only to have coffee and sometimes maybe a croissant or a muffin…I have my main meal in the evening…when I get home.’

      ‘Then how about I buy you coffee and cake instead?’

      No reason to refuse him coming helpfully to mind, Marianne nodded uncomfortably. ‘Okay. Now, I really have to get back to this.’

      ‘Then I will say goodbye, Marianne.’ He briefly inclined his head, his expression inscrutable. ‘Until next time.’

      ‘Next time’ turned out to be two days later. Having endured an icy shower of rain and sleet combined for the previous hour, huddled beneath an inadequate umbrella instead of playing her guitar, Marianne had seriously thought about packing up and calling it a day. But then the sun came out, the freezing cold shower subsided, and as if by magic Eduardo De Souza appeared. He was dressed in his stylish cashmere coat, with a matching scarf draped casually round his neck, and his attire seemed much more suitable for the premiere of a theatre production rather than a casual visit to town.

      ‘Hello.’ He smiled, his rich voice sounding a little huskier than she remembered. Realising that for the past two days she had subconsciously been looking out for him, her heart thudding with what felt ridiculously like excited anticipation whenever his image crossed her mind, Marianne struggled to make her response sound natural.

      ‘Hi…’ she mumbled, standing back to shake the drops from her umbrella, fold it, then lean it against the wall. ‘Not exactly the best day for coming into town,’ she quipped.

      ‘Fortunately I missed the downpour. I have spent the past hour under cover at the exhibition.’

      ‘The same exhibition you visited before?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘It must be quite compelling to make you want to visit it again. What’s it about?’

      ‘It’s a collection by a French photographer I particularly admire…a retrospective of his life in Paris just after the war, when the city was being rebuilt. He died recently, and I saw an article in the local newspaper advertising the exhibition.’

      ‘Oh.’ Collecting her guitar from its case, Marianne gave her visitor an awkward smile. ‘I should probably go and take a look at it myself before it ends. It sounds fascinating.’

      ‘You are interested in the subject?’

      ‘I’m always interested in creativity and art—whatever its form. It intrigues me to learn how other artists see the world…how they interpret what they see. Just goes to show we all see things so differently…not in the same way at all.’

      For a moment the man in front of her fell silent, as though he were seriously considering the opinion Marianne had just expressed, and with no small amount of surprise either.

      Then he glanced down at his watch—expensive-looking, but definitely not ostentatious. ‘How about going for that coffee now?’

      Again finding no immediate reason to decline, and feeling chilled to the bone after that hour of relentless sleet and rain, Marianne found herself agreeing. ‘Okay. Now’s as good a time as any, I suppose.’

      In the familiar café, with its cheerful red and white checked curtains and matching tablecloths, the aromatic smell of brewing coffee mingling with the steam arising from the damp coats of customers gratefully seeking warmth, shelter and sustenance after their tussle with the elements, Marianne was mildly surprised to find it as busy as it was. Luckily she found a small table close to the woodstove, and the waitress appeared almost straight away to take their order. She didn’t doubt it was because Eduardo did not look like your average everyday customer—his almost regal bearing and sheer physicality alone commanded instant attention.

      Goodness knew what the poor girl made of Marianne as his companion! As it was, she saw her look slightly askance at her guitar in its battered case, as if it was something almost distasteful. Eduardo gave her their order, and Marianne suddenly found herself alone with him. Resting his hands atop the checked tablecloth, he studied her without speaking. What was he thinking? Marianne wondered nervously. She cleared her throat and forced a shaky smile, feeling ill at ease and somehow graceless in her jumble of ill-fitting clothing beneath his intense examination.

      ‘This is a nice place. It makes a change from the local coffee chain I usually use. The coffee’s very good, and the pastries aren’t bad either.’

      ‘I am glad you chose a table near the fire…you look half frozen!’

      ‘I’m not any more. I’m quite warm, actually.’ Undoing several buttons on her coat, Marianne flashed him a smile, genuinely touched by the concern in his voice.

      ‘I have to ask you—’ the disturbing glance seemed to intensify ‘—are your parents happy about you singing at the side of the road?’ he questioned, frowning.

      She could tell by his tone that he disapproved.

      ‘They’re not around any more to have an opinion,’ she answered instantly, without thinking, and then a splinter of indignant anger pierced her that he should disapprove of people he didn’t even know. ‘Anyway…I don’t mean to be rude…it’s really none of your business.’

      ‘How old are you? Seventeen…eighteen?’

      Marianne stopped fiddling with the sugar bowl on the table and stared at him with the hardest gaze she could muster. ‘For your information, I’m twenty-four—and quite capable of looking after myself and making my own decisions without the interference or permission of anyone else, including parents if they were around!’

      ‘It is just that you appear much younger…’ Eduardo murmured, his returning gaze completely unapologetic.

      ‘It’s hardly my fault if genetics or fate has made me look younger than I am!’

      ‘I