The Rinucci Brothers. Lucy Gordon

else came to view the place, and she was able to relish her temporary reprieve.

      They went exploring, and Mark listened, entranced, to the tales of pirates. When they actually found a pirate museum he was in seventh heaven. Evie bought him a book called Black Simeon’s Revenge, which he read in the car all the way home. After supper he fell asleep over it.

      The next day Justin found a fisherman with a boat big enough for them all, and they went out to sea. After a day in the salty air they were all sleepy, and Mark actually made the journey back fast asleep with a smile on his face.

      Evie watched all this with delight, but she was also puzzled by Justin. He was pleasant, and on the surface all was well between him and his son. But sometimes she happened to glance at him when he thought nobody was looking, and then his smile would be replaced by a look that was distant, almost haggard.

      Mark had spoken of a darkness inside his father, and Evie began to sense an air of unreality. Justin was doing his best, but he was following rules that he didn’t understand.

      Once or twice he came close to losing his temper—about nothing, as far as she could see. He controlled himself quickly and apologised, but she was disturbed by how trivial were the things that triggered his outbursts. He was living on his nerves, and the strain was pulling him apart. She often caught him watching her with Mark, as though desperately trying to discover something.

      Then she told herself that she was being fanciful. He worked long hours at night to keep up with his business, and he was simply very tired. When she found Mark asleep over his book, Justin was also fighting not to nod off.

      ‘Go to bed,’ she told him, laughing and yawning.

      She was about to say that she too fancied an early night, when the cottage telephone rang.

      The other two watched her pick up the receiver and announce herself cheerfully. Then they saw the smile fade from her face. After that she said very little before hanging up and turning to face them.

      ‘That was Uncle Joe’s executor,’ she said. ‘The Nicholsons have upped their offer, and he’s accepted it. They want to push the deal through fast, so that they can take possession as soon as possible.’

      Dawn was just beginning to glow across the sea when Justin came quietly downstairs, meaning to slip out for an early swim. He was dressed in shorts and his shirt was open, for the day was already growing warm.

      He headed for the door, eager to get outside and plunge into the water, but then he stopped, realising that he was not alone.

      The figure on the couch was so still and silent that at first he hadn’t seen her. Now he moved closer, uncertain what to do next. He supposed he ought to leave and not invade her privacy. Instead he dropped to his knees beside her.

      She looked as though she’d been crying, but that might have been a trick of the poor light. Last night she’d been near to tears, following the phone call, but she had brightened up at once, insisting that everything was fine.

      But it wasn’t fine, he thought, as he leaned a little closer, noticing how her usual elfin cheekiness had drained away. Now he saw the tension beneath the laughter, and realised that she no more let the world see inside her heart than he did himself.

      Without warning she opened her eyes, looking straight at him. For a moment he was transfixed, more startled than she.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said at last, softly. ‘I was worried about you.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘You’re not happy.’

      ‘I’m all right.’

      ‘Are you?’

      She shook her head. Then she rubbed her eyes.

      ‘What am I doing down here?’ she asked, looking around.

      ‘You don’t remember?’

      ‘Oh, yes, I stayed up late and fell asleep. I started looking around, and remembering everything about this place. It still looks almost exactly as it did when I first came here.’

      She rose to her feet, but her limbs were cramped and she moved awkwardly. He put out both hands to help her and she clung to him.

      ‘What was it like then?’ he asked.

      ‘I thought it was magic—flagstones, open fireplace, little old-fashioned windows. When Mark walked into this room for the first time, it was like seeing myself again, full of a child’s wonder.

      ‘And it went on being wonderful when I grew up. I loved coming back here and being with Uncle Joe—all the happiest times of my life—and I wanted to keep it for ever, just as he kept it—’

      Her voice had grown more and more husky until at last it ran out, and she passed a hand over her eyes.

      ‘Look, we’ll do something about it,’ he said. ‘Don’t cry—’

      ‘I’m not crying,’ she flashed. ‘I never cry.’

      ‘So I see,’ he murmured.

      ‘It’s just that—that dreadful woman will change everything. I don’t want her to, but I can’t stop her because it’ll be hers and—it’s all wrong.’

      This time she buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders shook.

      ‘I think perhaps you’re crying,’ he said kindly.

      ‘No, I’m not—yes, I am—oh, hell!’

      ‘Yes, that’s usually the best thing to do,’ he said, putting his arms about her so that her head fell naturally against his shoulder.

      She left it there. She didn’t want to argue any more. She just wanted to release all the tears she’d been holding back ever since she’d understood the extent of her loss.

      He surprised her by being the perfect comforter, holding her patiently against the warm, strong column of his body while she wept. And she, a woman who prized her independence and detachment, clung to him as though he were her last hope.

      But at last she began to feel self-conscious, and moved to disengage herself.

      ‘I don’t know what came over me,’ she said awkwardly. ‘I don’t usually do that.’

      ‘Perhaps you should do it more often.’

      ‘Not me. I’m not the type,’ she said firmly.

      ‘Of course you’re not. But you shouldn’t try to do everything alone. Isn’t there someone to help you?’

      ‘I don’t have any other family.’

      ‘Then what about Andrew? Isn’t he an accountant?’

      ‘Yes, but—’

      ‘Then why can’t he think up some brilliant financial scheme—a tax dodge or something? What’s the point of knowing an accountant if he can’t fiddle the books for you?’

      ‘I don’t want him to fiddle anything.’

      ‘But he should at least have offered.’

      She remembered telling Andrew about the cottage. He’d advised her to hold out for the best price, but he hadn’t thought of a way to help her keep it.

      ‘Why not ask him?’ Justin urged.

      ‘I suppose I could. He’ll be here any day.’

      ‘Any day? How much time do you have?’

      ‘None. You’re right. I’ll call him now. At this hour he’ll be asleep.’

      And it was the perfect excuse to call him and ask him when he was coming down. Seizing the phone, she dialled Andrew’s London apartment. It rang for some time before he answered, sounding slightly muffled.

      ‘Hallo, sleepyhead,’ she teased.

      She