‘Yes. No, well…’ She couldn’t be one hundred percent sure. This morning she’d been thinking more about spending the day with Conor than anything else. Maybe she had ignored her usual routine.
Conor put down the bottle he’d just opened and strode into the lounge, then he went up to his room before coming down to say. ‘Nothing’s missing and I can’t see anything out of place in my room.’
Hannah felt like an idiot but she couldn’t rid herself of that creepy gut-instinct feeling. Someonehadbeen in her room.
Rather than come back into the kitchen, Conor opened the cottage door and went outside. A moment later he returned, grim-faced.
‘Well, someone’s been back. There are fresh footprints in the flowerbeds. And I…’ he paused, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t lock the cottage door when we left. Force of habit. Normally we leave the doors open during the day.’
Hannah nodded immediately and rather ironically felt reassured. At least she wasn’t imagining things.
‘I’m sorry, Hannah. This shouldn’t have happened. In future, I’ll make sure the door’s locked and if you’re here on your own, you must lock the door behind you. I’ll tell the staff to make sure everyone keeps an eye out for any strangers and I’m going to get Seamus and Peter to do some regular patrols. This isn’t on. We just don’t have that sort of trouble out here normally. I don’t like it all. I’m calling the guard as well.’
‘OK.’
He widened his eyes. ‘That’s it. OK.’
‘OK. I’m a little freaked but I’m trying my best to be cool about it and not turn into a damsel-in-distress who actually needs a hug.’
‘Hugs, I can do. Come here.’ He wrapped his arms around her. ‘You’re still amazingly calm. I can’t imagine any other woman taking things this much in her stride.’
She shrugged, desperately trying to be logical and sensible. ‘There’s no point having hysterics. The horse, or whoever it was, has bolted. I’m creeped out that they were here but they’ve gone now and it’s not like they’ve left a threat or stolen anything. They came in because they could. Might be kids or something. And like you say, I’ve got you here.’
‘God job I did karate in my youth.’
‘Did you?’
‘For three weeks,’ he admitted before adding more sombrely, ‘But Seamus and Peter won’t take any nonsense. They might look on the small side but you wouldn’t want to cross them.’
She managed a quick laugh, even though she didn’t feel like it. The thought of someone being in her bedroom made her feel a bit sick. Having Conor here definitely made her feel better. ‘We’ll keep the door locked then.’
‘You really are amazing,’ he said, walking forward and planting a kiss on her forehead. A warm glow spread inside her. She liked being amazing. He didn’t need to know she didn’t feel amazing inside.
‘Would you mind doing the honours?’ He nodded towards an open bottle on the kitchen table as he began to slice onions with his usual deft skill. She poured the velvety plum-coloured wine into two large fine glass goblets, admiring their elegant balloons. She’d never been fussy about glasses before but now, being with Conor, she thought he might have spoiled her for ever. Somehow the enjoyment of the wine was so much more in a nice glass.
‘Why is that?’ she mused holding up the glass to the light.
‘Why is what?’ Conor glanced up quickly.
‘Wine tastes better in proper glasses.’
‘It’s about being kind to yourself,’ he said, laying down his knife and picking up the second glass and chinking it against hers very gently. ‘Taking pleasure from those things is a way of celebrating the small things. It’s like taking time to cook a proper meal and using the best ingredients. People are prepared to spend a fortune on clothes, make-up, grooming products and yet they stuff all sorts of crap into their bodies.’ He lifted his shoulders. ‘It doesn’t make sense to me.’
‘I’d never thought about it before. Not before I came here.’ Food had always been fuel to her. A means to an end and, quite frankly, the quicker to prepare the better.
‘What’s on the menu this evening?’
‘A good old-fashioned Irish stew.’
She nodded, slightly surprised and a tiny bit disappointed that he was cooking something that didn’t sound that exciting and almost laughed at herself. Clearly she was getting too used to the good life. Once upon a time, someone else cooking for her would have been enough of a treat. But an Irish stew was probably just the thing, as it looked as if the clouds were gathering.
Almost as if he’d read her mind he said, ‘There’s a storm coming in.’
‘There is?’ She peered out of the window and saw that the sky had blackened, vanquishing the day’s earlier sunshine. That would put off any peeping Toms for the night, but even so she scanned all the areas outside before pulling the curtains. ‘Gosh, it’s changed quickly. We were lucky with the weather today.’ That explained why he’d lit the fire in here, she thought, settling into the little sofa and curling her feet around her, clutching the wide glass with both hands. The fire cast a warming golden glow as the flames coiled and curled in the glass window of the four-legged wood-burner. ‘Do you need any help?’
‘No, it’s an easy dish – the secret is in the cooking.’ He turned, his mouth twitching. ‘Long and slow.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I presume you’re talking about the cooking technique.’
