‘According to Sheila he did ever so well for himself,’ Mam said. ‘Went to university, got a degree, had his own business. She was so proud of him, wasn’t she, Stan? Photos of him all over that house. I know cos I used to pop by when she was poorly, just to see if she needed anything. Still doesn’t make it right, though. I mean, Stella did all right, too, and there were no photos ofher– well, not recent ones any road. And what I want to know is, what will happen to Watersmeet now?’
‘It will be sold, I expect,’ Christopher said. ‘It’s a terrible shame. It’s a lovely property, but I can’t see Ian wanting to come back after all this time to live here, can you?’
‘But what about her animals?’ Rosie demanded.
‘Oh crikey, yes,’ Alison gasped. Sheila was well known for rescuing waifs and strays over the years. ‘Please tell me someone’s been feeding and watering them all.’
‘Stella’s been popping by when she can to check everything’s okay, but as soon as her mother passed, she paid the Fosters at Carr Farm to see to the animals’ physical needs. That’s what I mean,’ Elaine said primly, ‘about it not being fair. I can imagine?—’
But what she imagined was something she never revealed, as she let out a yelp and glared at her sister-in-law. ‘Did you just bloody kick me?’ she demanded, forgetting her rule about swearing in public.
Alison watched in surprise as her mother frantically nodded her head towards the bar. Everyone’s gaze turned in that direction and Alison saw a man in jeans and a wax jacket standing at the counter, chatting to Seb’s lad Sam.
‘What?’ she asked, seeing her mam’s expression. She looked fit to burst.
‘It’s him!’ she whispered dramatically. ‘That bloke over there. It’s Ian MacMillan!’
Alison frowned. ‘Don’t be daft. It looks nothing like him.’ If it was, he’d certainly changed a lot since primary school. Mind you, she’d no doubt he’d say the same about her. It would be a bit worrying if theyhadn’tchanged, wouldn’t it?
‘Of course it is. I’d know him anywhere. I told you, Sheila’s walls were covered in framed photos of him. Aw, he’s still bonny, isn’t he?’
Rosie stifled a giggle. ‘Has he got his satchel with him?’
‘What’s he doing?’ Elaine whispered, not daring to look towards him.
‘Well, since he’s at the bar, I should imagine he’s ordering a drink,’ Dad said. ‘This chicken and mushroom pie’s bloody lovely, you know. Can’t you ask Sam for the recipe, Cherry?’
‘Hey, he’s not getting a drink,’ Rosie said, making no attempt to hide the fact that she was staring intently at the poor man. ‘Ooh, look! Sam’s passing him some foil tubs. Do you reckon he does takeaways now?’
Alison’s dad brightened instantly. ‘Takeaways? You mean I could order this pie any night of the week?’
‘Will you shut up about that bloody pie?’ Mam snapped. ‘Honestly, you’re a – oh! Hello, Ian!’ She waved as the man at the bar turned to face them, as if she expected him to recognise her after all those years.
Alison watched, mesmerised, as he straightened and seemed to stare straight at her. He was dressed very casually in jeans and heavy boots, and his short brown hair was peppered with grey. If he reallywasIan his face was thinner than she remembered, and of course the smooth baby skin was now lined. Had his eyes always been that startlingly blue? Surely she’d have remembered that.
For a moment she thought he was going to come over and speak to them, but then he seemed to have second thoughts. He nodded at them, then muttered something to Sam, who leaned over and said something back. The-man-who-might-be-Ian straightened, then headed out of the pub with his foil tubs.
‘What a shame,’ Elaine said. ‘I’d love to have talked to him.’
‘I’ll bet you would,’ Rosie mumbled.
‘I expect he had to hurry home before his food went cold,’ Christopher said.
‘I must ask Sam if he does deliveries,’ Dad mused.
Alison said nothing. Just when, she wondered, had Ian MacMillan got so – well –hot? It was impossible. Itcouldn’tbe him.
Rosie nudged her. ‘You never know your luck. Maybe he still fancies you and he was so overcome at seeing you again that he had to flee before he gave himself away.’
‘You missed your vocation,’ her mother told her. ‘You should have been writing films for the Hallmark Channel.’
Rosie cheerfully cut a roast potato in half. ‘You can mock,’ she said. ‘I’m right about this. You just wait and see.’
4
Mac had fed Robert Carne that morning, but no one would have believed it if they’d observed the hungry way the Jack Russell watched him as he dished out his takeaway meal of roast beef with all the trimmings and carried his plate over to the table.
‘You only get breakfast and dinner, not lunch,’ he told the little dog, trying not to feel guilty. ‘I have written proof,’ he added, nodding at the handwritten list stuck to the fridge door with a magnet from Millensea. Instructions for the feeding of each one of the animals he was now responsible for. He wasn’t about to deviate from them. He wouldn’t dare.
