Page 27 of Love Letters on Hazel Lane

‘I work in television. In Manchester.’

‘Must be exciting. All that filming.’

Jo bit her lip. She’d hardly ever been filming, but it sounded dull to admit she was always stuck in the office. ‘How about you?’ she said. ‘What do you do?’

‘I’m in property.’

A developer probably, she thought. That would explain the fancy clothes and the fancy car. He was obviously doing well for himself.

He turned into the pub car park and swung into the only available space. It was reserved for disabled badge holders, but he didn’t seem to notice and was out of the car before Jo could point it out. She followed him into the pub.

She found a table whilst Tarquin went up to the bar to order. He was wearing a brown jacket this time, with pink trousers. Pink! Not bright pink, more of a salmon colour, but even so, it was a bold statement. He was obviously aiming for the country squire look again and Jo decided that she rather liked it.

‘Here you go,’ he said. ‘One Pinot Noir.’ He placed a glass in front of her. She’d asked for Pinot Grigio but not to worry. He sat down opposite her and raised his half pint. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome. You look beautiful this evening.’

Jo fought the urge to turn round to see who he was talking to. She wasn’t used to receiving compliments.

‘You look great yourself. The clothes… well, I love your style.’

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Everyone dresses like everyone else these days. Like bloody clones.’ He laughed and Jo found herself glancing down at her completely unoriginal outfit of jeans and T-shirt and wondering if he thought she looked like a clone.

‘So what kinds of things are you into…’ he began, then paused.

She realised he’d forgotten her name. ‘Jo,’ she prompted.

‘I knew that.’

‘I couldn’t forget your name. Tarquin. So unusual.’

And so high-scoring.

‘Latin, apparently.’ Tarquin took a sip of his low-alcohol beer. ‘It means ruler.’

‘Are you good at measuring?’

‘Ha-ha. Very good.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Believe it or not, there were two Tarquins in my year at boarding school. The other one was an absolute hoot.’

Jo hoped he wasn’t about to ask about her school experiences – the less said about those, the better – but he launched into a long-winded story of some prank he and the other Tarquin had once pulled.

As he spoke, she studied his face. Those eyes. And his cheekbones – she hadn’t noticed those at the pub quiz. A hint of stubble. And soft, full lips. Well, they looked soft anyway. It was hard to tell without touching them. What would it be like to kiss him?

She realised suddenly that he’d reached the end of his story and was waiting for an answer. ‘Hilarious,’ she said, hoping it was the right response.

It clearly was as Tarquin nodded, happy.

‘Where do you live, Jo?’ he said.

‘Hebbleswick.’

‘Nice little place. Lived there long, have you?’

‘No, I moved quite recently. It was hard to find somewhere – every other house is an Airbnb.’

Tarquin looked thoughtful. ‘So there’s a shortage of housing there, is there? Interesting. Might have to go and have a look round sometime. See if there’s any opportunities.’ He paused and had a sip of his beer, still looking deep in thought. ‘And what do you like getting up to?’