‘You think I’ll make a good impression then? On your family?’
Ava turned to see where Pa had disappeared to. Mr Jane had given him a tray of cups and saucers, and now her father was just standing with them, unmoving – which surely was not the point.
‘Oliver’s easier to please than Pa,’ she said. ‘Although I wouldn’t take anything either of them say personally, if I were you.’
‘Ava!’ Mrs Moss slammed open the kitchen door at the back. ‘The prizes, my dear. They need organizing!’ She gestured manically to the table, as though if Ava didn’t get over therethat very secondit might spontaneously catch fire.
‘Here, let me help you,’ Damien said, standing. ‘Although you’ll have to tell me what to do. I’m not sure I’ve ever been to a tombola.’
‘It’s simple really,’ she said, walking with him to the table. ‘Each prize just needs a number. You can write them on these—’ She pointed to a set of brown parcel tags, each onewith a little loop of string threaded through it. ‘And then attach it to the prize. Then we need to—’
The words died on her lips when she glanced up, and saw how he watched her – as though she were a riddle he might try and solve. As though if he looked long enough, or hard enough, he might find his answer.
‘Which would you choose?’ Damien asked, plucking up the tea cosy and examining it. ‘If you won?’
‘I hope you’re not planning on cheating the tombola,’ she said, eyebrow tweaking upwards.
‘Oh, it will be conducted with the utmost honesty.’ He drew a finger across his heart, as though to prove it. ‘I’m merely curious.’
Ava studied the table for a moment before plucking up a promising-looking almanac – although upon closer inspection it was two years old, so likely only the moon phases would still be correct. The jam would only get devoured by her father, and the elaborate fans perched on the corner of the table were a mite too showy for her.
Eventually, she selected a small basket of lavender sachets, each pouch tied neatly with string.
‘These,’ she said. ‘They’re good for keeping the moths away.’
Damien’s lip tweaked up a little at the edge. ‘You use those already, don’t you? I could smell them in your mother’s dressing room.’
She ran her finger along one of the pouches, feeling the bumps of the lavender stems through the muslin, a smile tugging at the edge of her lips. She hadn’t imagined he would remember that.
‘What would you choose?’ she asked.
Damien looked at her, green eyes sparking. ‘Guess,’ he said, and the way he looked at her made her heart stutter in her chest.
‘What happens if I get it right?’
‘You can ask me anything you wish,’ he said. ‘And I shall answer.’
‘And if I get it wrong?’
His eyes didn’t leave hers. ‘I get to ask something.’
She plucked up one of the candlesticks, testing the weight of it in the palm of her hand. While itlookedlike silver, it felt as light as tin, and she placed it back down again. She considered the gloves – though they looked as though they’d sooner suit a woman than a man – and the brown socks that were neatly paired together looked far too small.
Then her eyes snagged on one of Oliver’s pies. ‘There’s nothing of worth here,’ she said. ‘So I think you’d choose the next best thing.’
‘And what’s that?’
She nodded towards the pie. ‘Food.’
Damien laughed a little, reaching to rub at the back of his neck. ‘Unfortunately,’ he said. ‘You’re wrong.’
‘Wrong? Why, what would you choose?’
Damien nudged a knuckle against the muslin pouches she’d chosen earlier. ‘You said nothing on this table has worth,’ he said. ‘But these do, now that I know you want them.’
She swallowed, feeling how her heart had begun to tick a little faster. ‘Well, a deal’s a deal,’ she said. ‘You may ask me whatever you’d like.’
He stepped a little closer, lowering his voice between them. ‘Ava, I want to know—’
