‘Do you want me to come in?’ said the man. ‘I don’t think we’ll both fit, but I can try… Poor Steve, is he all right? If I just shift you over a bit…’
I felt him grasp my feet and gave a little squeal. I peered back to see his worried face somewhere near my ankles.
‘No, no, it’s all right! I was talking to the dog, to, er, Steve. No need to come in!’
Handsome he may have been, but the three of us in this bush would have been a little too cosy. I pushed myself forward a little more, reaching to feel for the dog’s back legs, one of which was tangled in a long, flexible twig.
‘Ah, got you!’ I said and, with a thrill of triumph, gently extricated it. My plan, such as it was, was to edge myself slowly out of the bush, with as much dignity as I could muster, the dogsedately following me. He had other ideas. He lurched towards me and I lost my grip on his collar, falling flat on my face as Steve, no longer stuck or hindered in any way, other than by his own lack of common sense, clambered over my head and back, along my legs and out to his master, barking with happiness. As I pushed myself back onto all fours and reversed out, pausing to free a strand of hair from a twig, I could hear the joyful reunion between man and his best friend behind me and I comforted myself with the supposition that the handsome stranger would be too busy embracing Steve to watch my ungainly exit from the bush. I was right. Even when I was all the way out, and upright, he was still fussing over the dog.
‘Silly boy, what were you thinking? Come on, we need to get you back for some breakfast.’
Steve was capering about delightedly and, when he saw me, it appeared that his pleasure was heightened, as he bounded over and leapt up at me, promptly sending me right back down to the freezing, hard ground I had just scrambled up from, licking my face which, again, I scrubbed at with my filthy hands.
‘Oh dear, let me help you,’ said the man, finally remembering my existence. He put out a hand, which I grabbed, and heaved me to my feet. ‘Thank you so much. You’ve got a friend for life now in Steve, but you’re a bit muddy, and your hair…’
He moved closer and started plucking bits of twig out of my hopelessly tangled mane, pulled from its neat bun. This was not the calm, efficient – not to mention hygienic – first impression I usually liked to give when I started a new job. I glanced at my watch. I was due at the house two minutes ago.
‘I must go,’ I said, stepping back reluctantly. It wasn’t unpleasant having this man so close, wafting a light scent of nutmeg and all but running his fingers through my hair. But I hadn’t been so close to a man since my late husband, Paulo, and my senses were overwhelmed and confused.
‘What are you doing here, anyway?’ he asked, then laughed. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself.’ He flicked away a soggy-looking piece of moss, which was his latest find on my head, and held out his hand. ‘I’m Nick, I own Lyonscroft.’
I shook his hand.
‘I’m Laura – Nurse Wilde. I’ve come to work with Marilise.’
‘Of course, Angela did say you were coming today. How amazing that she managed to find you at such short notice. My grandmother is a very special woman – I’m sure you’ll love her.’
I nodded.
‘Yes, but I must get to the house, I don’t want to be late – well, any later than I already am – on my first day.’
‘Don’t worry about that, I’ll explain everything.’
We started walking.
‘I met a friend of yours yesterday,’ I said, remembering the awful craft evening I had suffered at the hands of my bride-to-be sister, Steph. ‘Araminta. She wasn’t sure if you were in the country at the moment.’
‘You met Minty? I’ve known her for years, terrific fun. I’ve only been back a couple of days – I must give her a call. Are these yours?’
We were walking past my car, and he indicated the abandoned bags.
‘Oh, yes, I’ll just…’
I went to retrieve them, but before I could get close, he had collected them up and continued striding towards the house, hefting one onto his hip so that he could fish a key out and unlock the door. As he did, the horse and rider I had seen earlier passed by the end of the garden path.
‘Nick!’ called a voice. ‘Have I missed breakfast?’
He grinned.
‘Only by about two hours, although I’m sure Angela will find you something.’
‘I lose track of time when I’m riding,’ said the girl, smiling back. She looked young – in her mid-teens, maybe – with her dark hair drawn back into a neat bun at the back of her head below her helmet. She looked at me. ‘Hello, I’m India.’
Ah, Nick’s stepsister, horse crazy; I remembered her being mentioned at my interview.
‘Hi there, I’m Laura, I’ve come to work with Marilise.’
‘Oh, great, I see. I thought…’
