The Rinucci Brothers. Lucy Gordon
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slander, she thought, looking at him stretched out on the sand in negligent ease. She had seen him from a distance, but close up he was even more impressive.
She considered this matter entirely dispassionately. Her own preference was for a man like Andrew, built on less spectacular lines, but with a mind that met hers.
And a man’s mind was important, she mused. Andrew was intelligent, literary, with fine, sensitive fibres. Justin Dane was undoubtedly intelligent. Or rather, where his own interests were concerned he was shrewd and cunning. He certainly wasn’t literary, and she suspected that his fibres resembled thick canvas.
It was just annoying that he had a body designed to send an easily provoked female into a frenzy. Luckily for her, she wasn’t easily provoked.
Mark came running up the beach with a little crab which he displayed proudly.
‘Look what I’ve got.’
‘Very nice,’ Justin said, regarding the object askance.
‘Isn’t he beautiful?’ Evie said, taking the little crab in her hand. ‘I used to look for these on this beach when I was a child.’
‘What did you do with them?’ Mark wanted to know.
‘I used to look for someone whose shirt I could drop it down.’
‘Really!’ Justin said in a voice heavy with significance. ‘Let me advise both of you to forget any such idea.’
Then Mark delighted her by asking, ‘Not scared, are you, Dad?’
And Justin pleased her even more by grinning and saying, ‘Terrified. So remember that, and beware!’
They all laughed. It was the happiest and most relaxed moment that the three of them had shared.
Her phone rang again. Her heart leapt at the thought that it might be Andrew, yet she knew a brief flash of regret that the moment was over.
But it wasn’t Andrew. An unfamiliar female voice asked if that was Miss Wharton, then went on to explain that a couple would like to look over the cottage.
‘This afternoon, if possible.’
‘Yes—yes, of course,’ Evie said. ‘Do you need directions?’
As she described the way, Justin began to pack up their things, quietly explaining to Mark what was happening. When Evie hung up they were ready to go.
‘That was the estate agent,’ she said. ‘A Mr and Mrs Nicholson will be here to view the cottage in a couple of hours.’
Then she turned away quickly so that her face shouldn’t betray how wretched she suddenly felt.
‘I suppose a potential buyer is good news,’ Justin mused.
‘Yes,’ she said, trying to convince herself. ‘I should go and tidy up.’
They had all left early that morning, not stopping to make beds and do washing-up, in their eagerness to get to the beach. Now they helped her, going around the cottage at speed, shoving things into drawers and hurrying dusters over every spare surface.
The Nicholsons arrived half an hour early and walked in as though they already owned the place. They were rich, middle-aged and insensitive.
‘Isn’t this just wonderful?’ Mrs Nicholson demanded of her husband, standing in the middle of the downstairs room. ‘Look at those flagstones. How romantic! And a real open fire! How beautiful! Of course, it’ll have to come out.’
‘But why, if it’s beautiful?’ Evie couldn’t help asking.
‘Unhygienic. All that smoke.’
‘It goes up the chimney,’ Justin observed.
‘But it’s still unhygienic,’ Mrs Nicholson said firmly. She was plainly a woman who grabbed an idea and hung on to it.
She and her mostly silent husband went through the whole cottage like that, criticising while pronouncing everything beautiful, wonderful, magnificent.
Justin’s brow was getting darker, as though this behaviour upset him too, and at last he came up behind Evie, putting his warm hands firmly on her shoulders and murmuring into her ear, ‘It’s perfect, but it’s all got to be changed. To hell with them!’
She growled agreement. His hands vanished from her shoulders, leaving behind a warm imprint that stayed with her for several minutes.
‘We just love it,’ Mrs Nicholson proclaimed at last. Mr Nicholson nodded without speaking.
‘Of course, it’s very over-priced,’ she charged on. ‘We’d expect you to come down.’
‘I’m afraid that’s not possible.’
For a moment Evie wondered who had spoken. All she knew for certain was that it wasn’t herself. Then she saw Justin’s face. He was giving Mrs Nicholson the kind of resolute look that she imagined he’d used to close profitable deals in the past. Evie stared at him, past speech.
‘You see,’ he went on, ‘Miss Wharton can’t make any agreement. You have to deal with her uncle’s executor, who is obliged, by law, to get the best possible deal. So I’m afraid he won’t be in favour of an ‘‘agreement’’—’
‘But I’m sure you realise—’
‘And I’m sure that you realise that he would be very displeased with her if she agreed a lower price with you.’
‘But surely a private arrangement first—’
‘Miss Wharton will give you the executor’s number, and he’ll expect your call.’
Sulkily the woman took the number and made a grand exit, her husband trailing meekly in her wake. Through the window, the three of them watched the couple get into a car whose size and luxury left no doubt of their ability to meet the price.
Evie turned awed eyes on Justin, and found him regarding her with less than his usual confidence.
‘Did I go too far?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she said. ‘You were terrific. But how—?’
‘She was trying to steamroller you and I wasn’t going to let it happen. I’m an old hand in the art of not getting steamrollered.’
‘I’ll bet you are. Thank you.’ Then she sighed. ‘But I’ll have to sell in the end.’
‘Yes, but you’ve got a little more time.’
‘Don’t you want to sell?’ Mark asked her. He’d been listening intently.
She could only shake her head.
The call from the lawyer came an hour later. The Nicholsons had made an offer, but it was below the market price.
‘I’ve refused and we’re playing a waiting game,’ he said. ‘I think they’ll go higher if we wait. Or do you think I should make the deal now?’
‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘We should wait.’
‘What happened?’ Justin asked as soon as she hung up.
‘They’ve made an offer below the price. I’m not taking it.’
‘Good for you.’
‘Does that mean we can stay here?’ Mark asked eagerly.
‘Yes, we don’t have to go for a bit,’ she told him, smiling.
‘Yippee!’ he crowed. ‘We’re going to have a wonderful time.’
She hugged him. ‘That’s right. We’re going to have a wonderful time.’
Chapter Six
EVIE had expected Mark to grow quickly bored with an old-fashioned seaside holiday, but it didn’t