‘I don’t have kidsora dog. What are you missing?’
‘Furniture polish.’
He spins round and scans our surroundings, finding the stray can a few metres down the hill, caught in a fern growing at the base of the rough stone wall.
‘Thanks,’ I say again as he passes it over.
I throw it in the boot and slam it shut.
‘You can park on the drive, I don’t mind,’ he offers, shoving his hands into his pockets. He’s looking towards thehouse, but he meets my eyes again and once more I’m struck by their unusual maple-gold-brown colour.
‘Really?’ I ask uncertainly, gazing up at him.
He’s well spoken, but I wouldn’t describe him as posh. He’s polite. Well mannered. Perhaps not the giant git that I’d pegged him to be.
‘Of course. Where do you usually park?’ He scuffs the road with his shoe, looking uncomfortable.
‘Outside my friends’ house, up in the village.’
‘For the whole summer? That’s a pain.’
‘It is a bit.’
‘So park on the drive,’ he suggests simply, pulling his keys out of his pocket and backing away.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
He’s inside the house with the door closed by the time I drive away.
I think twice about taking Tom up on his offer. Actually, I go back and forth in my mind about ten times before deciding, sod it, it’ll make my life easier.
When I return, I pull up in front of the gates and climb out, jostling them open with more force than I usually need to use. I make a mental note to oil them before my next guests arrive in three weeks.
Driving through the open gates, I tuck the car around the corner so it’s as far out of sight from the downstairs apartment as possible. I’m not that successful because when I get out of the driver’s door, I can see straight through the kitchen-diner’s corner window to where Tom is sitting on the benchfacing outwards, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped between them. We lock eyes for a moment before I avert my gaze, flustered.
I hear the heavy glass patio doors sliding open with a low whoosh as I’m emptying the boot.
‘Do you need a hand carrying it in?’ he calls.
‘Oh, I’ll be okay,’ I call back, not wanting to put him out.
He ignores me and the next thing I know he’s by my side, lifting the cumbersome vacuum cleaner out as though it weighs nothing.
‘Thanks,’ I murmur.
‘Where do you want it?’ he asks, taking the bucket of cleaning supplies from my hand.
‘The front door would be great,’ I reply, slightly taken aback by his chivalry.
I follow him with only the mop and my tote bag as he walks out the gates and down to the door, waiting as I search through my bag for my keys.
‘How many other properties do you look after?’ he asks.
‘Three.’
‘And you’ve cleaned them all already?’
