Modern Romance October 2018 Books 5-8. Trish Morey

to share one. I know Rob over there has a tent that’s as big as a house and I’m sure he’d be delighted to share his space with a fellow protestor.’

      Art tried not to recoil with horror. ‘That,’ he all but choked, ‘won’t do.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Because I have some savings and I will dip into them to stay somewhere...er...locally...’

      ‘But why? Honestly, the site is really very comfortable. Everyone enjoys staying there.’

      ‘And I applaud them, but that’s not for me.’

      ‘It’s stupid to use your savings to rent somewhere for a week. Or however long you plan on staying. Besides, in case you haven’t noticed, this is an extremely touristy part of the country. Dead in winter but the hotels around here are expensive and almost all of them will be fully booked in summer.’ She stood back and looked at him narrowly.

      ‘I believe you when you say that you don’t have criminal tendencies.’ She folded her arms and inclined her head to one side.

      ‘I’m breathing a sigh of relief as I stand here.’

      ‘And I think it’s ridiculous for you to waste your money trying to find somewhere around here to rent. You’ll be broke by the end of a week. Trust me.’ She said nothing for a few minutes, giving him ample time to try to figure out where this was heading.

      But she didn’t expand, instead choosing to begin walking back to the Land Rover, which was a longwinded exercise because she was stopped by someone every couple of steps. On the way she collected an offering of several files, which she promised to look at later.

      ‘Nothing to do with the land,’ she confided to Art when they were finally back in the muddy four-wheel drive and she was swinging away from the land, back out to the open road. ‘George is having issues with one of his employees. Wants some advice. Normally it’s the other way round for me, but I promised I’d have a look at the file.’

      ‘Generous of you. I can see how popular you are with everyone there.’

      Rose laughed, a musical sound of amusement that did the same thing to Art as her smile did, rousing him in ways that were unexpected and surprisingly intense.

      He did know that there were pertinent questions he should be asking to further his understanding of how he could win this war without losing the battle but he couldn’t seem to get his head in the right place to ask the right questions. Instead, he found himself staring at her from under his lashes, vaguely wondering what it was about her that was so compelling.

      ‘Now that you’ve turned down my dinner invitation,’ he drawled, ‘perhaps you could drive me to the nearest, cheapest B&B. I’m touched at your concern for the level of my savings, but I’ll manage.’

      ‘There’s no reason why you can’t stay at my place.’

      ‘Your place?’

      Rose laughed, caught his eye sideways and forced a grin out of him. ‘It’s big and you can pay your way doing things around the house while you’re there. Two of the rooms need painting, which is a job I never seem to get round to doing, and there’s a stubborn leak in the tap. A constant drip, drip, drip.’

      ‘You want me to fix leaks and paint your house?’ DIY and Art had never crossed paths. Paint a room? Fix a leak? He couldn’t have flung himself further out of his comfort zone if he’d tried.

      ‘In return for free board and lodging. Oh, how good are you at cooking?’

      ‘It’s something I’ve always tried to avoid.’

      ‘Do we have a deal?’

      ‘Why do you live in such a big house if you can’t afford to?’

      ‘Long story.’

      ‘I’m a very good listener. There’s nothing I enjoy more than a long story. I guess we can get to that in due course because I would love to accept your generous offer.’ He wondered what other skills she thought he possessed. There was a chance they would both end up in Casualty if he tried his hand at cooking, so he disabused her straight away on that count and she laughed and shrugged and laughed again and told him that it had been worth a shot.

      ‘I can cook and when I put my mind to it I actually enjoy it, but I’m so busy all of the time that it always feels like a chore.’

      ‘You might regret asking me to paint a room,’ Art said seriously as she bumped along the narrow lanes, driving past clusters of picturesque houses with neat box hedges before the open fields swallowed them up again, only to disgorge them into yet another picturesque village. ‘I’m very happy to try my hand at it, but one thing I do insist on doing is paying you for my accommodation.’

      ‘Don’t be stupid.’

      ‘If you don’t agree to this then you can dump me off right here and I’ll sort myself out, whatever the cost.’

      Rose clicked her tongue impatiently.

      ‘You obviously need the money,’ Art continued almost gently, as the outskirts of the village loomed into view. ‘You rent rooms out and the place, from all accounts, is falling apart at the seams...’

      ‘Very well.’ She kept her eyes firmly focused on the road ahead. ‘In which case, I’ll accept your dinner invitation on the proviso that I cook dinner for you.’

      ‘Deal,’ Art drawled, relaxing back into the passenger seat. Could he have hoped for a better outcome than this? No.

      He was looking forward to this evening. The thorny business of going undercover to talk some sense into his opposition wasn’t going to be the annoying uphill trek he had originally foreseen after all...

      In fact...hand on heart, Art could honestly say that he was looking forward to this little break in his routine.

       CHAPTER THREE

      BY THE TIME they were back at the house the clatter of people had been replaced by the peace of silence. The gardening club crew had departed, as had whoever else was renting one of the downstairs rooms. Phil popped out and Art watched as he and Rose huddled in a brief discussion.

      While they talked in low voices, he took the opportunity to look around him.

      It was a big house but crying out for attention. The paint was tired, the carpet on the stairs threadbare and the woodwork, in places, cracked or missing altogether.

      He made himself at home peering into the now empty rooms and saw that they were sizeable and cluttered with hastily packed away bits and pieces.

      It was impossible to get any real idea of what the house might once have looked like in grander times because every nook and cranny had been put to use. Work desks fitted into spaces where once sofas and chaises longues might have resided, and in the office where she worked books lined the walls from floor to ceiling.

      ‘Finished looking around?’

      Art turned to find that she had broken off from talking to Phil, who was heading out of the front door, briefcase in hand and a crumpled linen jacket shoved under his arm.

      ‘Which of the rooms needs the paint job?’ was his response.

      ‘It’s actually upstairs,’ Rose said, steering him away from the hall and back towards the kitchen where, he noted, no one had seen fit to tidy the paraphernalia of protest. ‘Now—’ she stood, arms folded, head tilted to one side ‘—tell me what you thought of our little band of insurgents.’

      ‘Well organised.’ Art strolled towards one of the kitchen chairs and sat down. ‘But I’m curious—how long do they intend to stay there and what is the end objective?’

      ‘That’s an odd question,’ Rose mused thoughtfully. ‘Does