The Secret Cove in Croatia. Julie Caplin

was so close to the door and he actually had his hand on the doorknob when Dan suddenly crowed, ‘It’s one of those London photo women, isn’t it? You’ve been up on Starbridge Fell all day. You sly devil. You asked one of them out.’

      Jonathon laughed and stepped back to block the door. ‘What? And they said yes?’

      Nick froze. ‘Why shouldn’t they?’ he asked, regretting the sudden stiffness in his voice.

      ‘Punching above your weight, aren’t you?’ teased Dan. ‘Which one is it? One of the wardrobe ladies? The blonde one. What’s her name … Georgina?’

      Nick shook his head.

      ‘What, the darker one?’

      ‘Neither of them,’ he said, trying to keep his expression pleasant.

      ‘Well, who then?’ asked Jonathon, screwing his face up in perplexed confusion. ‘The stylist woman is married and so is the PA and Creative Director.’

      ‘Bloody hell, you didn’t pull a model, did you?’ gasped Dan, pretending to reel back, bumping into a chair, which screeched across the tiled floor in protest.

      Gail and Cath shook their heads in mutual mock despair at Dan’s theatrics and then Gail said, with a naughty grin, ‘And why not? Let’s face it, he’s the best-looking one out of all of you.’

      Dan clutched his chest. ‘I’m hurt, dear wife. I thought I was.’

      ‘You’re the best-looking of my husbands,’ she teased, winking at Nick, who was grateful for the brief diversion in conversation. Sadly, Jonathon wasn’t about to let it go.

      ‘Seriously? Which one?’

      Nick sighed, knowing if he were going to get out of here in time to wash and change, capitulation was the only solution. ‘I’m going out with Tara. We got chatting. We fancied dinner together. For God’s sake, it’s not as if I’m going to ask her to bloody marry me or anything. She’ll be gone by the end of the week. And I’ll still be here.’ His voice rose. Realising that he’d made a bit of a tit of himself, he grasped the door handle and yanked it open, leaving behind a collective gasp and a telling silence.

      ‘Gosh, this place is really rather nice,’ said Tara, taking in the expensive wallpaper, which reputedly cost over two hundred pounds a roll, the stylish furniture and the retro designed lighting. ‘We could almost be in London,’ she added in a conspiratorial whisper behind one hand.

      Nick lifted his wine glass and took a sip. ‘We’re not all heathens up here, you know.’

      ‘I think I can see that,’ said Tara, giving his body a rather blatant once-over.

      From the minute he’d picked her up from the George, she’d been flirtatious and forthright, which was a huge relief. If he were honest, as he was driving to collect her he’d had a sudden last-minute panic. What on earth was he going to talk to her about all evening?

      He needn’t have worried; as he’d helped hoist her tiny frame into his truck, she’d murmured, ‘Oh, this is very masculine,’ as she’d settled herself into the seat. ‘I don’t think I know anyone who drives a truck,’ she’d said, drifting her hands across the dashboard as he’d started the engine up. Within a few miles one hand had drifted to his thigh and he drove the rest of the way trying not to wriggle like an overexcited teenager.

      She wore a floaty chiffon pantsuit thing with tiny straps that dipped so low it made it obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her legs in skyscraper heels, so high you surely needed a health and safety certificate to walk in them, looked endless and made his heart bump uncomfortably in his chest. She was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Her glorious hair was bundled in a big messy updo of some sort, with lots of tendrils curling around the white alabaster column of her throat.

       For God’s sake, get a grip, man – she’s a flesh and blood woman, not a flaming Greek statue.

      ‘How long have you been modelling?’ he asked, forcing himself to make sensible conversation instead of staring at her like a lovesick puppy.

      ‘For ten years.’ She pulled a self-deprecating face. ‘I’m old.’

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He laughed. ‘What, you’re twenty-six, twenty-seven?’

      ‘Twenty-seven,’ she whispered, looking around the room, ‘but don’t tell anyone. That’s quite old in this business. Although I’m ready to move on now. Do something a bit more meaningful, you know? I’d like to be an ambassador for something worthwhile. You know, saving the planet. Eradicating plastic. Something like that.’

      ‘Sounds noble,’ he teased.

      For a moment her nostrils flared and he saw the tendons in her neck tense.

      ‘I’m serious. I feel very passionate about some of the issues facing our planet. The amount of plastic in the sea is a terrible thing. It’s a big issue. Animals are dying.’ She fixed him with a rather intense stare.

      ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to belittle your ambition. I was teasing. I’m used to brotherly banter.’

      She dipped her head with gracious acquiescence. ‘We have to save our planet.’

      ‘You’re right,’ he concurred, realising that this was a big deal to her. ‘Although I tend to get worked up about issues closer to home, I guess.’ He gave a self-deprecating smile. ‘Bit selfish, really. We’re already seeing the effects of climate change on the seasons.’ Last year’s hot dry summer had had a major impact on the grasslands where the sheep grazed. ‘So what will you do?’

      She shrugged. ‘I’ll be an ambassador. You know, do photoshoots highlighting the issues. Be the face of a campaign. I’m just waiting for the right offer.’

      Nick nodded, feeling a little out of his depth. He had no idea how these things worked. They lapsed into silence for a minute, until the waiter came to take their order.

      ‘I’ll have the medallion of beef,’ said Tara before adding, to Nick’s surprise, ‘and can I have chips with it?’

      ‘We do pommes frites,’ said the waiter in a slightly stuffy accent, which made Nick want to laugh. They played five-a-side together on Thursdays and he was light years from stuffy.

      ‘Perfect,’ said Tara.

      Nick grinned as soon as the waiter departed, taking his own order for confit of duck and seasonal vegetables. ‘And there you’ve blown the preconception that models never eat anything but salad and carrot sticks.’

      Tara tossed her hair over her shoulder. ‘I have a fabulous metabolism. I can eat what I like.’ She almost sounded defiant.

      Nick smiled. ‘That’s good to hear as the food here is excellent.’

      Tara nodded and picked at the tines of her fork, before rearranging her cutlery several times.

      ‘So, do you have any brothers or sisters?’ Nick asked to fill the silence.

      She shook her head, pulling her mouth into a sad little moue. ‘Just little old me. Mummy and Daddy had me very late in life. Poor Mummy nearly died, so Daddy put his foot down and said no more children. Mummy said that I was such a beautiful child, she was glad she couldn’t have any more children because she couldn’t bear risking having another child in case they were a disappointment.’ Tara gave a tinkling laugh and tilted her head on one side, looking up at him. ‘Isn’t that the sweetest thing? Of course, utter nonsense. All parents think their babies are perfect.’

      Nick laughed. ‘You should speak to my mother. She doesn’t have any illusions about her children, but then she had five of us.’

      ‘Five! Good lord.’ Tara’s eyes widened dramatically and she put her hand on her stomach. ‘Gosh. That’s a lot. Your poor mother. That must have wrecked her figure.’

      Nick’s