Chapter Three
Rick Lucas had been everything my twenty-seven-year-old heart had ever desired – which just goes to show what a rotten judge of character one’s heart can be.
Instead of listening to my heart, I should have paid attention to my brain. At the time, my grey matter had been screaming louder than the defunct smoke alarm in my flat.
Rick had been the drop-dead-gorgeous electrician who’d answered my emergency telephone call. He’d also been the one to come out and fix it.
‘Thank goodness that racket has finally stopped,’ I’d said gratefully, taking my fingers out of my ears.
‘It’s a common complaint with this particular brand,’ Rick had said. He’d tossed the faulty alarm to one side and then set about collapsing his stepladder. ‘If any dust or dirt lands on the photocell, the sensor gets triggered.’ He’d paused. Glanced around my light and airy apartment. ‘This is a nice place.’ His eyes had rested briefly on the view beyond the lounge window. The River Thames had glistened like a strip of silver steel. ‘Have you lived here long?’ he asked conversationally.
‘About a month.’
‘Lucky you. Your hubby must earn well to have bought one of these.’
I’d reddened. Partly out of indignation at this guy’s assumption that I needed a man to pay for the roof over my head. Also, partly from the insinuation that I had a husband who was loaded.
‘There is no husband and I bought this myself,’ I’d retorted frostily.
‘Ah, in which case you’re either a high-flier’ – his eyes had mocked me – ‘a lottery winner or, let me guess, you’ve blown an inheritance.’ At those last words, he’d caught the look of surprise on my face. ‘Bingo. Wow, lucky you. So, who snuffed it? Don’t tell me. Your ancient great-aunt Matilda? The one who had a penchant for blue rinses, lavender perfume and loved to suck – careful, Rick – the occasional pear drop?’ He’d given me an impish grin. No doubt he’d believed himself to be a cheeky chappie, instead of an outspoken Cockney with a glaring lack of tact.
My eyes had momentarily brimmed. Furiously, I’d blinked back the tears, aware of two pink spots staining my cheeks.
‘Actually, it was my parents who – as you so eloquently put it – snuffed it . One from cancer. The other from a heart attack six months later. I’d much prefer to have them back in this world with me, instead of living in this lap of waterside luxury. Money doesn’t buy happiness, you know.’
There’d been a horrible, tense silence.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he’d eventually said. ‘I’ve offended you.’ He’d put down the ladder. ‘Sorry,’ he’d repeated. For a moment he’d held his arms wide, then let them drop back at his sides. A gesture of helplessness. ‘My mates are always saying I speak without thinking. Please accept my condolences too.’
‘Okay,’ I’d said stiffly. ‘Meanwhile, how much do I owe you?’
He’d backed away, hands gesturing wildly.
‘Nothing.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ I’d protested. ‘You responded to an emergency callout.’
‘Yes, but it’s not like it was the middle of the night, or a weekend and out of hours. Anyway, as I said, I’m mortified for putting my foot in it over your parents.’ He’d made to pick up the ladder. ‘So, no charge.’
‘Look, we all have a living to earn. Despite you thinking I’m some sort of rich bitch, I do go to work. After all, bills don’t pay themselves. So could we please park that previous conversation to one side, and you tell me what I owe?’
‘Let me see.’ He’d leaned on the ladder and pretended to consider. ‘It’s half past six on a Friday. This is a very civilised time to be caught out by a faulty smoke alarm. It means you’re my last client of the day. Ordinarily I would now slip off my overalls and enjoy a drink, like at that trendy place just around the corner.’
‘Good for you. So can I now settle your invoice before you head off?’
‘Well, if you’re absolutely adamant-’
‘I am.’
‘Then my fee is’ – he’d stroked his chin thoughtfully – ‘half a lager.’
‘Pardon?’ I’d frowned.
‘You heard. Buy me a drink. But there’s one condition. You must have a drink with me too.’ He’d winked. ‘That’s the fee.’
And that was how it had started.