‘My gran was a close friend. She said Ted had made her feel welcome when she first moved here.’
‘How long ago was that?’
‘About twenty years, not long after my granddad died. She wanted a fresh start, somewhere new, to avoid constant memories, I suppose.’
‘How are you finding Treweham?’ Nick smiled, his head tilted to one side. He brushed his long, brown fringe away from his face. Megan noticed how blue his eyes were, and how they seemed to hold a touch of humour, as if he suspected this little village wouldn’t be enough for her. He rested his elbows on the wrought-iron table. His arms were brown and very muscular. His chest would be too, she suspected, judging by the tight white T-shirt. Megan swallowed.
‘In truth, it feels like I’m meant to be here somehow, like… well, like home.’ Then stopping, she changed the subject completely, ‘Nick, who was driving the car? You said “he’s” an idiot.’
‘There’s only one person it could be with the car registration TOB 1,’ Nick replied in a voice dripping with scorn. Realisation hit her.
‘Tobi? Tobias Cavendish-Blake?’
Nick nodded his head slowly, his face showing complete distaste. ‘Got it in one.’
