Chapter Nine
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d be down this early. I hope my moving around didn’t wake you?’ Gage said apologetically.
He blinked at the sight of Tamara walking into the kitchen, clearly straight out of bed by the sight of her tousled hair.
It was a struggle to fix his gaze on her face rather than the rest of her.
A skimpy pink cami was stretched to its limits over her generous breasts and her loose, flowery shorts showed off long, toned legs.
‘I was about to say the same.’
The colour in her cheeks was a sign she was equally embarrassed, and rightly so. At least he’d remembered to pull his boxer shorts back on before getting out of bed, but that was it.
‘I usually shower before I come down for breakfast, but—’
‘It’s your house to do what you want in. I’ll leave you in peace.’ Gage shifted his crutches to turn around and retreat to the living room.
‘Don’t be silly. I’ll make us a cup of tea.’
‘Thanks, but at least let me put some more clothes on first.’
A smile played around her mouth. ‘Okay.’
He made a swift escape and exhaled noisily when he reached the safety of his temporary bedroom.
Since the disaster of his brief, unsatisfactory marriage and his accident, women and relationships had fallen off his radar.
He’d never been good at either in the first place, so it hadn’t bothered him.
Apart from when he’d worked alongside his comrades, Gage’s nature was suited to being solitary.
Until five minutes ago. Was it simply the reaction of a celibate man to a gorgeous woman? He didn’t think so.
Any thoughts he might’ve had of doing something about it went out the window as logic flooded back in.
After a rocky start, they’d only now arrived at some level of friendship.
She had generously opened her home to him and now they’d started working together.
One wrong move could destroy all that. Gage knew from bitter experience that was how his life tended to go.
It didn’t take long to tug on a shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He was back in control now.
* * *
‘If you’re ready, we’ll go,’ Tamara said, trying not to snap. Something had changed this morning between them, but then swung right around again to leave her confused and off-kilter.
When she’d strolled in to find him half-naked in her kitchen, she hadn’t known where to look.
Not strictly true, because she’d stared, maybe even ogled.
He’d done the exact same thing to her and although she was out of practice with men, Tamara still recognised admiration when she saw it.
Gage’s tight black boxers left little to the imagination and she had an excellent one of those, which filled in the gaps far too well.
The rest of him was pretty easy on the eye too.
Muscles like his, honed from years of tough living, were far more of a turn-on to her than the kind acquired in the gym.
But when he’d returned fully dressed, it had been as though someone had dropped him in an ice bath.
He’d been polite but distant, sharing breakfast with her and keeping conversation to his plans for the day.
‘Sounds good. Sorry I couldn’t manage to fold up the bed, but I’ve left everything as tidy as I could.’
‘That’s fine. I won’t be doing an inspection later. You’re out of the marines now.’
Gage looked shamefaced. ‘Sorry. Again. I’m still adjusting. I should be better than this by now — it’s been eighteen months, but—’
‘Who says so? Everyone’s different and we all cope with life challenges at our own pace.’
‘You’re a wise woman.’ By his heightened colour, that admission hadn’t been what he’d planned to say.
‘You’ll get there. But if we don’t go now, I’ll be late and then you won’t get the benefit of my help as early as I’d hoped.
’ Usually she walked to work, but she’d offered to drop Gage off at the bookshop first. Tamara glanced at his crutches.
‘Don’t you dare hurry outside, though, or you’ll be spreadeagled on my path and we’ll be calling Dr Judy again. ’
‘And you’ll be stuck with me even longer.’
‘Oh, God, please don’t say that.’ The back-and-forth teasing was something they’d slipped into the last few days, and she bit back a smile when he didn’t immediately shut down again.
Tamara gathered up her recipe book and handbag. Not saying another word on the subject struck her as smart.
* * *
Gage straightened his tie in the mirror and smoothed down his hair. He wouldn’t have changed out of his jeans and warm jumper, but a summons to Evelyn’s house seemed to demand a little more effort on his part, so he’d gone for a pair of dark-blue slacks and a crisp white shirt.
It’d been a confusing day and he’d been left in an awkward limbo where Tamara was concerned.
He sensed her relief when he kept things friendly but businesslike while they worked together, and could only suppose she was as mixed up as he was.
A quiet evening to sort out his thoughts would have been very welcome.
Evelyn’s invitation to dinner and to see her Daphne du Maurier collection had come during a brief phone call at lunchtime. He and Tamara had been taking a break to eat some sandwiches she’d brought home from the pub.
‘I’ll pick you up at six,’ Evelyn had said. ‘And take you home when you’ve had enough of our company.’
What could he say other than thank her and assure her he’d look forward to the evening? Tamara had joked that he could be their spy in the camp because she and her friends were intrigued to find out how things stood with the sisters.
The doorbell rang and he levered up from the chair to tuck his crutches under his arms. He made his way to the front door and smiled at Evelyn’s opening salvo.
‘I assume you don’t need help out to the car?’
He assured her he’d be fine and carefully manoeuvred out of the house.
It only took a few minutes to drive down to the village and along Church Street, where they stopped outside a neat white bungalow.
Tamara told him it was a long-standing source of amusement that Evelyn named her home Shangri-La after an imaginary location in one of her favourite books, Lost Horizon by James Hilton.
Supposedly a remote, peaceful, idyllic paradise, it seemed like a wildly inappropriate choice for the plain, unpretentious house built in the architecturally challenged 1960s.
‘Oh, mon Dieu, you poor man.’ A glossy, svelte woman with incredibly high cheekbones and a tight, immobile face stood in the front doorway, posed like a catwalk model. ‘For heaven’s sake, bring him in, Evelyn, dear.’
Evelyn snorted and turned back to Gage. ‘In case you were wondering, this is my sister, Ophelia.’ She shooed the woman out of the way and led their little procession inside. ‘Do come through to the lounge. Ophelia can entertain you while I put the finishing touches to our meal.’
The long, narrow room was tastefully furnished, if slightly old-fashioned, but his eyes were drawn to the wall of glass-fronted bookcases at the far end, the dark wood gleaming from regular polishing.
‘You shall have your fill after dinner, Mr Bennet,’ Evelyn said with an amused lilt to her voice.
He dismissed the idea of sitting on the deviously soft-looking burgundy velvet sofa, with its multitude of plump cushions, and eased himself into a tan leather button-backed chair, which looked relatively easy to get out of again. Gage dropped the crutches beside him onto the carpet.
‘Seats you sink into can be a nightmare. I had a hip replacement last year, so I do have some idea.’ Ophelia’s unexpected sympathy threw him.
‘Yeah, that’s true. You’ve recovered well, though.’
‘I have from that, it’s true.’
Gage studied her more closely and he realised that, underneath her very static features, Ophelia had the creamy-grey bruised look people acquired when they were swamped in pain and exhaustion.
All the plastic surgery and make-up in the world couldn’t hide that.
Was her health the reason she’d returned to Cornwall so abruptly?
‘Does Evelyn know?’ He knew he shouldn’t have asked when the shutters came down and she turned away. What had prompted him to say that out loud? It was a monstrous invasion of her privacy. ‘I’m sorry, please forget I spoke.’
Ophelia’s head drooped and her blood-red talons clutched the arm of the sofa. Before he could apologise again, she flung her head up. ‘What I don’t understand is how you caught on like that?’ She snapped her fingers. ‘But she hasn’t.’ Her anger was overlaid with frustration.
‘I’ve seen a lot of suffering over the years, Ophelia, in all kinds of people. It’s toughened me on the outside, but—’
‘Scratch the surface and you’re a marshmallow.’
‘Pretty much.’ His admission brought the faintest smile to her thin lips.
‘Books are your painkillers, aren’t they?’
Gage’s jaw dropped. He’d never thought of it that way. Instead of self-medicating with drugs or alcohol, like so many others, he lost himself in words. ‘You’re smart.’
‘Not the brainless, shallow, sharp-tongued bitch I pretend to be?’
A hot flush raced up his neck.
‘I don’t mind saying it for you. I know what people think and that’s okay.’ She puffed out a sigh. ‘If they’re thinking that, they aren’t feeling sorry for me.’ Ophelia’s chin tilted. ‘That’s what I absolutely can’t bear. Dislike. Hatred, even. I can cope with those.’
‘I get it.’ Gage touched his knee. ‘When this happened, I shut people out. Doctors. Friends. Comrades in arms. In my mind I saw pity as the absolute worst word. Now I’m coming to see it’s not. Indifference beats it every time.’ Penworthal was starting to change him and hopefully for the better.
‘Perhaps.’ She gave a cat-like smile. ‘Tell me about the mysterious Quinten. I’ve heard his name mentioned and accidentally interrupted a couple of surreptitious phone calls.
I can’t imagine my uptight sister having an illicit lover, but, if there’s nothing dodgy about him, why’s she keeping him out of sight now I’m here? ’
He dithered over how to answer. For a start, he’d only met the man once and talking about the couple behind their backs felt wrong.
‘Ophelia, did you not think to offer Mr Bennet a sherry?’ Evelyn strode in, tutting.
‘Pardonnez moi, I shall do it immediately.’ Ophelia might as well have saluted her sister.
He realised that Ophelia’s French accent had virtually disappeared when they’d been talking privately, but had returned full force when her sister had appeared. Another piece of armour used to hold people at bay?
‘You’ll find the new bottle in the kitchen.
’ That was a dismissal if ever he heard one.
Evelyn’s sharp gaze narrowed on him as Ophelia left them alone.
It must be clear they’d been discussing something important, but he took a guess she’d refuse to ask what it was about.
‘The beef is taking a little longer to cook than I expected, so we could take a quick look at my books now if you like?’ She picked up his crutches and held them out.
‘Of course. I’d be delighted.’ Gage levered out of the chair and steadied himself before following her. ‘I’m afraid I’ve never read any du Maurier, so you’ll have to guide me where to start.’
Evelyn opened one of the glass doors and studied the books on the top shelf before selecting one.
She handed it to him with a reverent look on her face.
‘Some might consider this an unusual choice because Rebecca and My Cousin Rachel are more well-known, but I think The King’s General will suit you better for now.
It’s set in Cornwall during the English Civil War, and, for me, Honor Harris is her most independent and adventurous heroine.
I suspect you admire that sort of woman. ’
He felt his cheeks heat and saw a distinct twinkle in Evelyn’s observant eyes. It wouldn’t surprise him if this astute woman had an inkling of something that he was fighting against — the draw towards Tamara that simply wouldn’t go away.
‘I’ll get a copy with the next order I place for the shop.’
‘Not necessary. You can borrow this one.’
‘I couldn’t possibly.’ Gage didn’t have a clue how much the first edition was worth, but, from Melissa and Nathan’s comments in the pub, he guessed it was extremely valuable.
‘Of course you can.’ She bristled. ‘I recognise a fellow booklover when I see one and I’m sure you will take great care of it.’ The spark returned to her piercing gaze. ‘You wouldn’t fold pages to mark your place, read it in the bath or bend the spine back to set it down.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ He risked a smile, something that felt increasingly familiar these days. ‘Hanging, drawing and quartering is too good for book desecrators.’
They were laughing when Ophelia returned and he received a sharp look that was eerily similar to her sister’s. Gage hoped she didn’t think he’d been sharing what they’d spoken of earlier. He held up the book and gently explained what had amused them so heartily.
‘My sister values her books above everything.’ The tartness was unmistakable and Evelyn’s previously warm expression tightened. Ophelia held a silver tray out to him. ‘Sherry?’
‘I hardly think he can manage to take a glass until he sits down, do you?’
‘Silly me. Thoughtless as ever.’
Gage suppressed a sigh. This would be a long evening.