One Hot Summer: A heartwarming summer read from the author of One Day in December. Kat French

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СКАЧАТЬ shook his head, taking the mug she held out and placing it on the table in front of him. Alice picked up the drink she’d been part way through and joined him, perching a safe distance away on the end of the banquette opposite.

      ‘So, Mr Duff. How was your first night in the manor?’ She successfully fought the urge to say ‘in my manor’, or even worse, ‘in my bed’.

      ‘It’s Robinson, please.’

      Alice frowned slightly, unsure she was happy to be on first name terms when her body had just acted in such an irresponsible fashion to his. Robinson Duff. Did something about his name ring a familiar bell? He must have sensed it in her, because he sighed a little and looked less comfortable than a moment ago.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ Alice said. ‘It’s just your name. I feel as if I’ve heard it before somewhere.’

      He picked up his mug and drank slowly then lowered his eyelids, staring into his coffee.

      ‘I doubt that.’

      He dismissed her words with a careless shrug.

      Alice frowned, unconvinced, her head on one side as she looked at him.

      ‘No … I’m pretty sure I have,’ she said, sensing his annoyance and not understanding where it came from.

      He sighed audibly.

      ‘Maybe you have, maybe you haven’t. It’s a pretty common name. Does it really matter?’ His carefully controlled look aimed for bland, but his eyes told a different story. They told her to back off. Alice received the message loud and clear and held her tongue, even though she wanted to point out that, actually, Robinson Duff wasn’t a very common name at all.

      ‘I used to be a singer, back home,’ he said, his tone flat, his eyes back on his coffee. ‘Next subject.’

      Alice wished he’d look up. It was hard to read his expression without the luxury of seeing his eyes, but the quiet melancholy in his voice spoke of a heavy heart.

      ‘Must be it,’ she said, privately planning to look him up later. She’d heard of him, she was certain.

      ‘Where is home, Robinson?’

      He didn’t reply for a few long beats.

      ‘Here, now,’ he said, finally glancing back up.

      He said it in a way that closed that line of enquiry down too, told her very clearly that he’d rather talk about something else. Alice didn’t push it; recent events in her own life had taught her that some things are difficult to say. If Robinson needed to keep his secrets, she was okay with that. She just hoped he wasn’t planning to keep them for ever in her house, because some time soon she was going to want it back again. It was clear from his testy attitude that although they were going to be neighbours, they weren’t going to be friends. Alice found she was fine with that, because something about Robinson Duff made her profoundly uncomfortable. He was too much of a man; all broad shoulders and vitality and charisma. Her body approved, but her head and her heart didn’t, which put him right at the top of her ‘best avoided’ list. Wiping her palms down her jeans, she donned her professional landlady hat. She could be that, at least. She could be his landlady.

      ‘Want me to give you a guided tour of the house? There’s a few eccentricities to the place you should know about.’

      His expression cleared back to neutral, as if he too found their professional relationship easier to navigate.

      ‘That might be a good idea, darlin’. I managed to find a bath and a bed without getting myself into too much trouble, but it sure is quite the house.’

      Robinson’s accent was pure cowboy, as Dallas as Bobby Ewing and the way he said darlin’ sent a second unexpected and unwelcome prickle of awareness down Alice’s spine. She wanted to ask him not to say it again but knew that to do so would make her sound gauche and mildly militant.

      ‘It’s yours, I take it?’

      She looked at him hard. What had they been talking about?

      ‘The house,’ he prompted. ‘You own it?’

      Back in the room. ‘Yes. Yes, the manor’s mine.’

      Robinson looked at her for a few silent seconds before he spoke again.

      ‘And will your family be joining you in the Airstream soon?’

      He loaded the question with just the right balance of sarcasm and innocence, but he didn’t fool Alice.

      Right. So that was how they were going to play it. She knew she’d read his fleeting expression of annoyance properly yesterday when she’d asked if his family would be coming to stay, and he was firing an answering shot across her bows.

      It was her turn to play her cards close to her chest. Robinson’s eyes were full of questions, and she chose not to answer any of them.

      ‘You’ll like the village,’ she said, deliberately changing the subject. ‘There’s everything you might need, and The Siren’s a decent local.’

      ‘Local?’ he said, frowning.

      ‘Pub,’ she explained. ‘If you fancy a drink, it’s usually fun in there … a good crowd …’ Alice trailed off, aware that it sounded quite a lot like she was asking him out, which she absolutely wasn’t.

      ‘I’m pretty private.’

      And that sounded quite a lot like a knock back.

      ‘I didn’t mean …’ he said, after a second, and then just shrugged and let his sentence hang in the air.

      ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, over bright and too quick, then pushed her cup away from her on the table and stood up decisively.

      ‘Come on. Let me show you around the manor.’

      Robinson followed Alice hurriedly across the lawns and in through the back door of the manor, pausing with her to shed his coat and wet boots.

      ‘Is it like this much?’ he asked, already disenchanted with the English weather.

      ‘April showers, I’m afraid. There’s talk of a hot summer though, if that’s any help.’ Alice smiled as she stepped out of her boots, hanging her wet parka up. ‘Come and warm up by the Aga.’

      She moved across the kitchen tiles, her feet once more bare.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, when he joined her by the stove. ‘I said that as if it’s my kitchen, didn’t I? Old habits.’

      ‘Change takes a while to get used to,’ he offered, wondering how the hell she’d wound up living in an Airstream in her own garden. Maybe in time she’d know him well enough to tell him. She was a very different kind of woman to those who’d filled Robinson’s life back home; there was a quietness about her, a self contained way that intrigued him despite his quest for privacy and peace. He hadn’t got the measure of her yet, but one thing was abundantly clear: she loved this house.

      After СКАЧАТЬ