A Cottage in the Country: Escape to the cosiest little cottage in the country. Linn Halton B.

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СКАЧАТЬ people in the community. He probably won't tell you that, though. He's a bit of a mystery to most people, very private. Maybe his van has broken down; he doesn't have any family locally and that's a real disadvantage in the Forest. I'd say hang on for a bit. If he's not going to turn up I'm sure he'd call to let you know."

      She sounds positive, which is reassuring.

      When he eventually turns up, he's driving a beaten-up old van. And a white van, at that. On the side there's a huge decal, 'The Man Who Can', and written underneath in smaller letters it says, 'renovations and maintenance'. The moment I spot him, I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. I don't know quite what I was expecting after our rather abrupt conversation, but he looks a darned sight more cheerful in the flesh than he sounded on the other end of a phone.

      His clothes, though, are even more surprising. He's wearing an old tee-shirt advertising a 1987 Metallica tour. It's been washed to within an inch of its life and would be perfect for cleaning windows. You know, when the cotton is so limp it flies over the glass like a dream. His jeans have the knees hanging out and he probably considers them to be a walking advertisement. I can see virtually every colour of paint, what looks like traces of white filler and a splattering of something the colour of concrete. Maybe he doesn't fold the jeans up at night; they just stand to attention at the foot of his bed. I realise I'm staring at him and he's walking past my car without acknowledgement, already heading down the path leading to Ash Cottage.

      "Mr Hart?" I call after him, quickening my pace to catch up with him.

      He barely takes the time to glance around, shrugging his shoulders and continuing to stride out. Each movement is purposeful and powerful; the man is all muscle. His head is shaven; from this vantage point I can see that's because he's lost most of the hair on the top. That tell-tale clean stripe down the centre is bordered by a fuzz of new growth. His face isn't clean-shaven either, but it also couldn't be described as a beard, more designer stubble. I don't think that's intentional, I just think he probably spends more time in the gym than he does looking in the mirror. His age is hard to determine. He has the physique of a man used to lifting heavy things – huge, muscular arms; lean, and a neck I probably couldn't get my hands around at full stretch. The question in my mind is will I feel comfortable having this man in my home? He looks more like a bouncer than a kitchen-fitter, but there's a magnetism about him that just made something inside me turn to jelly. What on earth? I take a very deep breath and assume it's merely hunger. Clearly, I'm in need of a quick sugar-fix. He isn't my type – too rough around the edges and very little in the way of manners, it would appear.

      "I'm late," he throws the words over his shoulder with no hint of an apology whatsoever.

      "Well, erm…thank you for coming. Let me just open the door…"

      He doesn't move aside, but stands directly in my way, so I have to scoot around him. He's about my height, five foot eight, and as I swing open the door and spin back around, we're standing eye to eye. He raises his eyebrows at me and my knees start to cave. How ridiculous! I'm a grown woman, not some love-sick teenager!

      "You're older than I expected." His voice is casual, but I'm rendered speechless and now I'm fuming. Suddenly those wobbly legs stand firm. How rude! Keep calm, keep calm – you need this guy more than he needs you. Ooh, that didn't help … the thought of needing a man like him inspires a totally different chain of thought.

      "I was thinking the same thing." I throw the words back with a casual air, to indicate that he's going to have to do better than that to offend me.

      "I can see why you were sounding so stressed out. On your own, are you?"

      If this is his normal mode of conversation, I'm not sure I can put up with it. He's here to look at the kitchen, not make small talk.

      "I'm in need of someone to rip out the old kitchen and put in the new one. All the goods and materials are on order, but the kitchen units won't be arriving until the twenty-third of December. If work starts on the day after I move in, that would give you three days to strip it out and lay the new floor, first. I have a plasterer coming in to make good the walls. I'm assuming you could at least get the basics in by Christmas Eve? Can you handle that?"

      It strikes me that I'm being unnecessarily abrupt, but he's beginning to unnerve me. Mr Hart follows me into the kitchen and stands with his arms folded, muscles rather ridiculously popping out of the arms of his seen-better-days tee-shirt.

      "I've already put you in my little book." His face doesn't give me a clue what that means and I wait, assuming he will explain. As the seconds stretch out I realise that's it.

      "Which means?"

      He looks directly at me and his forehead wrinkles up into a puzzled frown.

      "I'll be here on the twentieth, early."

      Another silence begins to stretch out rather awkwardly and I find myself being out-stared.

      "Don't you want to write anything down or look at the kitchen plan? Can you cope with re-plumbing the sink, or do I need to get someone in to do that? I'm not sure what your skills are exactly, Mr Hart."

      Another frown and I get the distinct impression that I'm bothering him.

      "I can re-fit a kitchen, Miss Brooks. In fact, I can do just about everything. And I don't need to write anything down. I know this place inside and out. I was Aggie's maintenance man."

      I'm not sure that gives me a lot of confidence, considering the state of the cottage. I have to make a quick decision here. I'm in his book, which means I have a contractor, but can I put up with his rather bizarre and surly attitude?

      "Right…um, good. Um…so what is the purpose of today's visit?"

      "I thought I'd check you out first. I like to be left alone to get on with a job and not have someone peering over my shoulder every two minutes, changing their mind about what they want. It happens."

      That makes my eyebrows shoot up into my fringe. Is he purposely trying to wind me up?

      "I know exactly what I want, Mr Hart. Here is the new layout and on the second page you will find a breakdown of all of the items that are on order. I'm assuming you will provide things like plumbing fittings, filler, caulk and any additional timber you might need. If there's anything not on that list that you want me to purchase, just let me know. If I can have a price for the entire job, including connecting the cooker and the plumbing work, that would be very helpful. I have rather a tight budget."

      We both know price isn't really relevant. There's no one else available at such short notice, as Mr Chappell didn't have any luck finding me someone. It does worry me slightly as to why Mr Hart is free when everyone else is rushed off their feet. I figure that that's information I'm probably better off not knowing. If Aggie used him and Terence is prepared to recommend him, too, then I have to trust that he will do a good job. Even Sarah, at the estate agents, seemed to think highly of him.

      "Your budget is your business, Miss Brooks. The price is the price. I'll text it to you later today. See you on the twentieth. I'll be here by seven. I'm also Gas Safe registered, which means I can fit cookers. This one is dual fuel; Calor gas hob and electric oven. If you're replacing it, make sure you order a conversion kit. But I expect you knew that." There's a hint of sarcasm in his voice and I feel myself reddening. Of course I realised it was dual fuel, but no one mentioned a conversion kit when I placed the order.

      We've been inside for less than five minutes and he's out of the door before I have a chance to ask any more questions. I spin around, taking in СКАЧАТЬ