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Sarah's Secret
CATHERINE GEORGE
Jake Hogan, millionaire businessman and Pennington success story, knocked Sarah out…well, almost. But he was gentleman enough to escort her home, and so began an enthralling affair.Though she was incredibly attracted to Jake, Sarah struggled to keep her emotional distance. To his eyes, she was the proud, pretty single mother of a young child, and she was determined it should continue to appear that way. Getting physically involved with Jake would force her to share her secret that she'd never been made love to by any man–and would hurt the daughter she so adored….



“I had a very different plan in mind for you this evening.”
She sprang up, eyeing him in suspicion. “Plan?”
“Turn of phrase, nothing more,” he said, taken aback. “I just wanted to spend time getting to know you better.”
With a session in bed at the end of it? Sarah lifted her chin. “I think I will go home now, please.”
Jake rose to his feet, frowning. “Why so soon? If I swear not to lay a finger on you, Sarah, will you stay for a while?”
She shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes.
Imagine…a picturesque spa town and pretty villages that nestle deep in the heart of England…
Pennington Country…
In Pennington, the streets are filled with old-fashioned buildings, quaint tearooms and irresistible shops…. In the surrounding villages, elegant manor houses rub shoulders with cozy mellow stone cottages, and everybody’s gardens are ablaze with flowers….
Pennington Country…
Where the people are warm and charming, and falling in love brings with it tender flirtations and enchanting affairs…

Sarah’s Secret
Catherine George

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE
THE sky was ominous with the threat of approaching storm, but Sarah finally gave up trying to find a taxi during Friday rush hour and began hurrying at top speed through the dark, sultry afternoon. Hot and breathless, she was almost in sight of home when a curtain of rain poured from the heavens as though someone had thrown a switch. Lightning sizzled to earth almost at her feet, thunder cracked directly overhead, and with a scream she raced, panicking, through the alley that led to Campden Road. Drenched to the skin, she shot from the alley like a cork from a bottle and flew across the road through the downpour, straight into the path of a car. With a squeal of brakes the car slewed sharply to avoid her, but the front wing of the car caught her a light, glancing blow which sent her sprawling on hands and knees. Shaken and furious, she scrambled to her feet, shrugging off urgent hands which hauled her back on the pavement.
‘Are you all right? Where the hell did you spring from?’ yelled the stranger above another clap of thunder.
‘Of course I’m not all right, you stupid idiot!’ She glared up at a wet male face haggard with shock. ‘Can’t you look where you’re going?’
‘I was looking,’ he flung at her. ‘For which you can thank your lucky stars, lady. If my reactions had been slower things could have been a sight worse. You came out of nowhere!’
‘I did not. I was just crossing the road.’
‘You mean you shot across without looking.’
‘Look here, I’m the injured party,’ she retorted furiously, then bit back a scream, her teeth chattering as lightning forked down again close by, followed by another crack of thunder.
The man seized her arm. ‘You’re in shock. And soaked to the skin. Get in the car. I’ll drive you to the hospital—’
‘The way you drive? Not a chance!’ Sarah pulled free so viciously her head swam as she bent to retrieve her scattered belongings, and the man caught her by the shoulders to hold her steady for a moment before bending to help her. Their heads banged together, she recoiled with a yelp, and with a muttered apology he handed over a bunch of keys, frowning when she winced as she took them.
‘You are hurt.’ He seized one of her hands, where the rain was sluicing grit and blood from a scrape, but Sarah snatched it away, horribly conscious, now, of hair dripping round her face in rats’ tails, and blouse soaked to a transparency the man had obviously noticed. Colour flooded her face.
‘It’s only a scratch. I’ll live,’ she snapped. ‘Which is no thanks to you.’
‘If you won’t go to a hospital at least let me drive you home.’
‘No. I am home. I live over there,’ she shouted as thunder boomed around them.
‘Then I’ll get you there in one piece.’ Ignoring her protests, he took her briefcase, grasped her by the elbow and hurried her across the road through the sheeting rain.
‘I should take you to a hospital,’ he insisted, but Sarah shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes as he handed over the briefcase.
‘Unnecessary.’
‘Is there someone inside to take care of you?’
‘Yes, there is. You can go now.’ Sarah unlocked the front door of one of the tall Victorian houses lining the road, muttered a word of ungracious thanks, went inside, and slammed the door. She dumped her bags down in the gloomy hall, knees trembling as reaction hit her, but unmoved now when thunder cracked overhead. She was safe.
‘Good heavens, just look at you,’ said her grandmother, hurrying downstairs. ‘You’re soaked to the skin.’ She frowned as she saw Sarah’s knees. ‘What happened? Did you fall?’
Sarah made light of her wounds and went to the bathroom to get her sodden clothes off. She mopped at her grazes, then returned to the kitchen, wrapped in a towelling dressing gown. She sat down at the table, surprised but grateful to find tea waiting for her, and rubbed at her wet hair with a sleeve while she gave an account of her adventure.
‘You should go to the police!’ said Margaret Parker severely. ‘You could have been badly injured. I suppose it was the usual boy racer taking a shortcut to the town centre?’
‘Not this time. It was a very angry adult of the species, who insisted I was to blame.’
‘And were you?’
‘Certainly not!’ Sarah met her grandmother’s eyes, then shrugged. ‘Well, yes, I suppose I was, really. I was in my usual panic, so I didn’t look properly before crossing the road.’
‘You really must try to control your irrational fear of storms, you know.’
‘Not entirely irrational,’ said Sarah quietly.
Margaret Parker backed down at once. ‘Was the man objectionable?’
‘Not exactly. But he was steamingly angry. Once he knew I was in one piece he obviously wanted to shake the living daylights out of me.’
‘Typical male! What sort of age was he?’
‘No idea. We were both soaked to the skin, and I didn’t have my contacts in, so one way and another my powers of observation were on the blink.’ Sarah eyed the rain streaming down the window. ‘Good thing I don’t have to drive through this to collect Davy today.’
‘But you’re going to the theatre tonight,’ Margaret reminded her.
‘Heavens, so I am.’ Sarah groaned, then shook her head wearily. ‘I just can’t face it tonight, peeved though Brian will be. If I ring him now I’ll catch him before he leaves the office.’
‘Surely you’ll feel better by this evening?’ said her grandmother disapprovingly. ‘Brian won’t be happy if you let him down at the last minute.’
‘I’m sure he’ll understand if I explain.’ Sarah heaved herself up from the table to peer through the window. ‘The storm’s moving away a bit, so I think I’ll soak my wounds in a hot bath. I feel a bit shivery.’
‘Reaction. It will soon wear off. Was the man hurt, by the way?’
‘No idea. But serve him right if he was!’
Margaret raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you were to blame?’
‘I was.’ Sarah smiled wryly. ‘Which is so aggravating. I want someone else to blame. Preferably him.’
When Sarah rang Brian Collins his reaction was just as predicted.
‘Sarah, you do realise that I had the devil of a job to get tickets?’ he demanded irritably, then climbed down a little. ‘Though I’m sorry you’re feeling unwell, of course.’
‘And I’m sorry to cancel at the last minute. But there must be someone else you can take, Brian?’
He was silent for a moment. ‘Since Davina’s not there for once I could just return the tickets and spend the evening at home with you.’
Sarah blenched. ‘No—no, don’t do that, Brian. I’d hate you to miss the play on my account. I know you were looking forward to it.’
‘Very well, then,’ he said, resigned. ‘I’ll ring you next week.’
Sarah rang off, her eyes thoughtful. Her association with Brian Collins, undemanding in most ways though it was, had definitely run its course. He was a nice, conventional man, pleasant enough company for an occasional evening out, but there were two major drawbacks to their relationship. One was an ongoing argument due to Sarah’s refusal to become physically involved. The other was that in theory Brian felt he should get on with children, but in practice found it so difficult Davy couldn’t stand him.
Not, thought Sarah, as she lay in a blissfully hot bath later, that Brian sees very much of her. Nor can I let Davy rule my life for ever. One day she’ll be up and away and I’ll be free to do as I like. Chilled by the idea of Davy grown up and independent, Sarah pulled the bathplug and concentrated on the episode in the storm instead. But, hard as she tried to bring her rescuer’s face into focus, it remained a dark, rainwashed blur. He’d been a lot taller than her, and strong, by the way he’d manhandled her. But otherwise she had only a general impression of broad shoulders outlined by a soaked white shirt, dark hair and eyes, and a face so haggard with shock that if she met him again in the street she probably wouldn’t recognise him. Which, all things considered, was probably just as well.
By the time Sarah was dressed the sky was clear, and she began to relax at last. And, though it was strange to be without Davy on a Friday evening, she wasn’t sorry to have this particular one to herself after her scary little adventure.
On her way out for her bridge evening Margaret Parker came down from her apartment upstairs to hand over a supermarket bag. ‘I forgot this in all the excitement—the shopping I did for you this morning.’
Sarah thanked her, handed over the money, then groaned as the buzzer sounded on the outer door. ‘I hope that’s not Brian on a flying visit before the theatre.’
‘Sarah, really!’ remonstrated her grandmother.
But when Sarah spoke into her receiver she found it was a florist’s delivery. ‘Are you sure it’s for Tracy?’ she asked, surprised.
‘No name, just the number of the house,’ said the disembodied voice.
Sarah hurried to open the front door, taken aback when she was handed an enormous bouquet of fragrant lilies.
‘How thoughtful,’ said her grandmother in approval. ‘Brian, of course?’
‘Actually no,’ said Sarah, not without satisfaction, and handed over a card which read, ‘With sincere apologies, J. Hogan.’
‘A courteous gesture,’ conceded Margaret reluctantly.
Sarah shrugged. ‘Just salving his conscience.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Hogan. The name’s familiar. I wonder if he’s on our firm’s database?’
‘Did he look familiar?’
‘Couldn’t tell. I doubt if I’d even know him again.’
Later, taking pleasure in having the entire house to herself, Sarah made herself some supper and settled down to enjoy it on the sofa in her sitting room, with the glass doors open to the garden at the back of the house.
‘Nice move,’ she told the striking arrangement of lilies.
During the evening a very excited Davina rang up to ask if they were doing anything special the next day.
‘No, darling. Why?’ asked Sarah.
‘Because Polly’s mummy says can I go bowling with them tomorrow and stay the night again? Can I? Please? Here’s Mrs Rogers,’ she added, before Sarah, astonished, could say another word.
Alison Rogers gave assurances that they would be delighted to keep Davy for another day. Sarah expressed grateful, rather bemused thanks, and, after a few instructions on behaviour to an ecstatic Davy, arranged to collect her on Sunday instead of the next day.
Sarah’s feelings were mixed when she returned to her book. It was the first time Davy had spent a night away from her, apart from school, and the child was obviously having such a good time with Polly she was even happy to skip part of her weekend at home. Suppressing a wry little pang at the thought, Sarah felt pleased that Davy was beginning to spread her wings at last. At nearly nine years old Davina Tracy was tall for her age, but an endearing mixture of maturity and little-girl dependence. To want to spend her precious weekend away from Sarah was a first in Davy Tracy’s young life.
Next morning Sarah felt no ill effects after her adventure in the storm, other than the discovery that Mr J. Hogan’s car had left a spectacular bruise on her thigh. Hoping she’d left a corresponding dent somewhere on its chassis, she went off to load the washing machine, then took her breakfast out to the table in the sunlit courtyard outside the sitting room windows. Sarah went through the Saturday morning paper while she ate, and had read it from cover to cover by the time her grandmother came outside in her gardening clothes.
‘You look fully recovered this morning, Sarah,’ Margaret commented.
‘I’m fine now. It seems funny without Davy on a Saturday morning, but I did enjoy the extra hour in bed. And I’ve read all my favourite bits of the paper in one go for once. By the way,’ Sarah added, pulling up the leg of her shorts, ‘take a look. My souvenir of yesterday’s adventure.’
‘Does it hurt?’
‘Only if I bump into something.’ Sarah stretched luxuriously. ‘It’s a lovely day. Once I’ve hung out my laundry I’m off into town for some shopping. Can I fetch you anything?’
Sarah’s Saturdays were always given over to Davy. And, much as she looked forward to spending them with her child, it was a pleasant change to be on her own for once, free to browse as long as she liked in the numerous bookshops in the town. After treating herself to a cut-price bestseller she made a preliminary foray through the summer sale in the town’s largest department store, then went up to the coffee shop on the top floor. While she enjoyed a peaceful sandwich Sarah couldn’t help comparing it with the pizza Davy invariably clamoured for, and hoped her child was enjoying something similar with the Rogers family.
Sarah lingered over coffee afterwards, looking down on a view of the Parade through the trees, and afterwards went down a couple of floors to find a dress in the sale. With regret she dismissed a rail of low-cut strappy little numbers. As usual, her aim was a dress for all seasons: office, prize day at school, even the odd evening out.
Eventually, after checking the price tags of every possibility in her size, Sarah found a dress in clinging almond-pink jersey. It draped slightly, sported a minor designer label, and displayed exactly the right length of long, suntanned leg she was rather vain about. She examined herself critically, checked on her back view, and decided she could do no better with the money she could afford.
When she got home Sarah went up to her grandmother’s flat to hand over the vitamin pills Margaret had asked her to buy, showed her the dress, then reported that she was off to read in the garden for a while before getting on with her homework.
Sarah went out with her new book to lie on an old steamer chair under an umbrella for a while, a brief interlude which did nothing at all, later, for her enthusiasm for the work she always brought home with her. Her job entailed a nine-to-three working day for a specialist recruitment firm, where she dealt with client liaison, database management, and the most urgent of the daily correspondence. The bulk of the latter she took home with her, to finish on a computer supplied by the firm for the purpose. It was an arrangement that suited both Sarah and her employers, and she was well aware that the job was as ideal as she was ever likely to find in her circumstances. The salary was generous for part-time work, and the hours were convenient for someone with a child. Her grandmother shared some of the responsibility for Davy, but Margaret Parker was an active member of her church, played bridge regularly, and served on the committees of several high-profile charities. She led such a busy social life Sarah asked her to look after Davy only in emergencies.
Later that evening, when Margaret Parker had gone off to the theatre with a friend, to see the play her granddaughter had missed out on, the doorbell rang just as Sarah was switching off the computer.
‘Ms Tracy?’ said a man’s voice through the intercom. ‘My name’s Hogan. Could you spare a moment to talk to me, please?’
Her eyebrows rose. What on earth did he want? But, eager to find out, Sarah asked him to wait a moment, exchanged her glasses for contact lenses, did some lightning work with a lipstick and hairbrush, then opened the front door to confront a tall man dressed in jeans and a plain white shirt. Now it was dry his hair wasn’t black but dark blond, tipped with gold at the ends. And the eyes she’d thought dark were the ultramarine blue of one of Davina’s crayons. Sarah liked the look of him now she could see him clearly. And suddenly wished she were wearing something more appealing.
‘I apologise for intruding on a Saturday night,’ he said, after a silence spent in gazing at her with an intensity she found rather unnerving, ‘but I wanted to make sure you came to no harm yesterday.’
Sarah hesitated, then opened the door wider. ‘Please come in.’ She led the way along the hall to the sitting room, opened the glass doors and took her visitor outside. She motioned him to one of the chairs at the garden table, and sat down.
‘Thank you for seeing me,’ he said at once, the blue eyes very direct. ‘I was worried last night after you refused to let me take you to a hospital.’
‘The fault was more mine than yours, Mr Hogan,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘And thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.’
‘My olive branch.’ He smiled a little. ‘Actually, this is my second visit of the day. I came round to see you this morning, but you were out.’
Sarah smiled back, then on impulse offered him a drink.
A flash of surprise lit the striking, dark-lashed eyes. ‘Are you sure I’m not keeping you from something?’
‘Not a thing,’ she admitted reluctantly, wishing she could say that some handsome escort was about to sweep her off to dine and dance the night away.
‘Then thank you. I’d like that very much. It’s thirsty weather.’
‘I’m afraid it’s just beer or a glass of wine.’
‘A beer sounds wonderful.’
Sarah hurried off to fetch one of the cans kept for the man who helped in the garden, filled a stein which had once belonged to her father, then half-filled a glass for herself and topped it up with Davy’s lemonade.
‘Time I introduced myself properly,’ said her visitor, rising to his feet when she got back. ‘Jacob Hogan.’
‘Sarah Tracy,’ she responded with a smile, and sat down, waving him back to his chair.
‘I kept thinking I should have insisted on taking you to the hospital yesterday,’ he said ruefully. ‘You were on my mind all evening.’
Sarah shrugged. ‘You needn’t have worried. My main problem was fright. Not just from the encounter with your car, either. I suffer from chronic cowardice in thunderstorms. Which is why I wasn’t paying attention to the traffic.’
‘Understandable.’ He leaned back in the chair as he sipped his beer, looking relaxed, as though he meant to stay for a while. Something Sarah, rather to her surprise, found she didn’t object to in the slightest.
She looked at him questioningly. ‘Your name’s familiar. The Hogan part.’
‘Tiles,’ he said, resigned.
Sarah smiled. ‘Oh, of course! Pentiles. We used them in the new bathroom. Imported, and very expensive.’
He shook his head. ‘Not all our lines. We provide for all tastes and pockets.’
‘I know. I read about your company in the local paper. Quite a success story.’
‘Then you probably know my father started it off with just one hardware shop?’
She nodded. ‘He obviously expanded big-time at some stage. Is it true that you now have retail outlets all over the country?’
‘Pretty much. The whole thing took off at amazing speed when I finally persuaded Dad that ceramic tiles were the way forward.’ He shrugged. ‘These days people expect more than one bathroom—power showers, bigger kitchens, conservatories—all good for our line of business.’
‘Is it entirely family-run?’
‘The only Hogans in Pentiles are my father and myself. My brother’s CV is more glamorous. Liam’s an investment banker, and lives in London.’ He smiled. ‘I distribute tiles and live here in Pennington. I was making a detour through Campden Road to my place yesterday, trying to dodge rush hour traffic in the town centre.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘At which point you gave me the worst fright of my entire life.’
‘I gave you a fright?’ Sarah said indignantly. ‘For a moment my life flashed past before my eyes. I’ve got the scars to prove it, too.’ She held out her grazed palms.
He leaned forward to inspect them, and for a wild moment Sarah thought he was going to kiss them better, but he sat back, giving her the straight blue look again.
‘I apologise. Again. So, Miss Tracy. You know about my tiles. May I ask what you do with your life?’
Wishing it was more interesting, Sarah described her job briefly, then offered him another drink. And wished she hadn’t when he took this as a signal to leave.
‘I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time,’ he said, getting to his feet, then smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘Thank you for seeing me. And for the beer.’
When Sarah led the way inside he paused, his attention caught by a photograph on a side table. On their one and only excursion as a threesome Brian, who prided himself on his skill with a camera, had snapped Sarah and Davy laughing together from their perch on a five-barred gate. The result was so happy Sarah had framed it. Bright sunshine gleamed on two heads of glossy nut-brown hair, and picked out gold flecks in identical brown eyes.
‘She’s yours, of course,’ commented her visitor. ‘The likeness is remarkable. How old is she?’
‘Davina will be nine soon.’
‘Nine?’ His eyes were incredulous as he turned to look at her. ‘You must have been very young when she was born!’
Sarah nodded. ‘Eighteen.’ She went ahead of him along the hall to open the front door, and held out her hand to her unexpected guest. ‘It was very kind of you to come round, Mr Hogan. And I assure you that my dignity was the worst casualty during our encounter. Not counting my temper,’ she added ruefully. ‘I’m sorry I screamed at you like a fishwife.’
‘Hardly surprising—you’d had a hell of a shock. I was shattered myself.’ He took her hand very carefully for a moment, mindful of the grazes, and gave her a look she couldn’t interpret. ‘I hope your wounds heal soon, Mrs Tracy.’
‘Actually, it’s Miss Tracy,’ she corrected casually, and smiled. ‘Thank you for coming, Mr Hogan.’
His sudden answering smile held a warmth Sarah responded to involuntarily. ‘It was my pleasure—a great pleasure,’ he assured her. ‘And I answer to Jake.’

CHAPTER TWO
SARAH was reading when her grandmother called in to report on the play. Margaret Parker’s eyebrows rose when she heard about the unexpected visitor.
‘Hogan? I’m sure I’ve heard that name somewhere quite recently.’
‘You probably read his success story in the local paper. He’s the brains behind Pentiles.’
‘The tiles we used in your bathroom? How impressive.’
‘He called this morning, too, while I was out. You were probably in the garden and didn’t hear the bell.’ Sarah gave her grandmother a challenging little smile. ‘Actually, I’m glad I was out. It meant I enjoyed a pleasant interlude in the garden with a very attractive stranger. Spiced up my Saturday evening no end.’
‘You’ve changed your tune since last night,’ said Margaret tartly. ‘Although you should be grateful to this Mr Hogan for making you miss the play.’ She looked down her nose. ‘The ex-soap star may have drawn the crowds in, but Oscar Wilde was probably spinning in his Paris grave at her interpretation of Lady Windermere.’
‘Oh, dear. You think Brian disapproved?’
‘Her costumes displayed so much cleavage I’m sure the male half of the audience were very happy.’
Sarah chuckled. ‘Brian’s not that sort.’
Margaret’s mouth tightened. ‘All men are that sort. As you very well know.’
Sarah took a while to get to sleep that night, trying to remember exactly what she’d read about Pentiles. She knew that Jacob Hogan had taken over the family business when quite young, and eventually turned it into its present success story. But to her annoyance she couldn’t remember if a wife had been mentioned in the article.
She sighed despondently. Not that it mattered. Men tended to lose interest in her once they found she came as a package with Davy. One look at her child’s photograph had probably killed all personal interest on Jake Hogan’s part. Brian, to his credit, had insisted that Sarah’s responsibilities as a single parent made no difference to their relationship. And in principle, she conceded, they probably hadn’t. Not that this had ever worried Sarah much because she had known from the beginning that, no matter how much her grandmother stressed Brian’s eligibility, there was no future in the relationship. Quite apart from the problem with Davy, he just didn’t appeal to Sarah in the normal male-female way.
Jake Hogan, on the other hand, appealed to her a lot. In every way. A fright and a graze or two were a small price to pay for meeting the most attractive man to enter her life to date, even if it was just a one-off experience.
Next morning Sarah drove out of town for a couple of miles to make for the Rogers home, where screams of laughter could be heard coming from the depths of its vast, wild garden when she arrived. Alison Rogers welcomed her into the house and took her straight to a big, comfortably untidy kitchen, where it was pleasant to sit for a while and chat over coffee while Don Rogers went to collect Polly and Davina.
‘Thank you so much for having Davy,’ Sarah said gratefully. ‘This was quite a big step for her. She’s never wanted a sleepover before, let alone a whole extra day away from home.’
‘She told me that,’ said Alison, pleased. ‘We’re flattered. And as far as we’re concerned Davy can make a return visit any time. It was far less trouble for us than keeping Polly entertained on her own. Now she’s a weekly boarder our daughter demands our undivided attention every minute of the day at weekends. I expect it’s the same with Davy.’
‘Absolutely!’
‘But you have to cope on your own, which must be hard.’ Alison bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t mean to get personal. But Davy told us she’s never had a daddy.’
‘That’s right,’ said Sarah cheerfully. ‘Men don’t feature in Davy’s life, so I hope your husband didn’t find her too much of a nuisance.’
‘Don took to her on sight—as you can see.’ Alison got up to point through the window, where her large husband was tearing towards the house in mock terror, with two little girls chasing after him, screaming in delight.
Sarah laughed as she watched Don Rogers capture a little girl under each arm and run with them into the house.
‘Right,’ he panted as he set them down. ‘Which one would you like, Sarah?’
‘Mummy!’ Davy launched herself at Sarah to hug her, looking flushed and grubby and thoroughly pleased with herself. ‘We went bowling and had pizzas and we talked all night.’
‘Most of it, anyway,’ said Alison indulgently.
‘You’ve obviously had a marvellous time,’ said Sarah, ruffling Davy’s hair.
‘Mummy says Davy can come every weekend,’ said Polly hopefully.
Her father chuckled. ‘We might like that, but I think Sarah would miss her.’
‘How about coming to stay with Davy and me some time, instead, Polly?’ suggested Sarah. ‘Our garden’s not as big as yours, but we could go swimming, and to the cinema, maybe.’
Polly clamoured at once for permission, a date was set for two weeks later, and Alison suggested Sarah drove Polly back afterwards. ‘Join us for Sunday lunch that day. Davy too, of course. We’ll invite some of the neighbours in, make it a party.’
Sarah made no attempt to hide her pleasure. This was the kind of invitation which never came her way. ‘That’s so kind of you, I’d love to.’
On the way home Davy chattered incessantly, giving Sarah every detail of her stay with Polly. ‘Mr Rogers is lovely,’ she said with enthusiasm. ‘Mrs Rogers, too,’ she added hastily, ‘but she couldn’t play with us all the time, because she had to do cooking and stuff.’
‘A woman’s lot,’ said Sarah with a dramatic sigh, and Davy giggled.
‘You don’t cook all the time.’
‘True. Grandma’s making Sunday lunch at this very moment.’
‘What are we having?’ said Davy, eyes sparkling.
‘I know about lots of vegetables, because I did them for her before I came out. And I’m sure Grandma’s rustling up something yummy to go with them.’
When they hurried upstairs in Campden Road, delicious scents of roast chicken came wafting from Margaret’s kitchen. She came down to meet them, smiling with a warmth she never showed Sarah as she opened her arms for Davy to fling herself into them and give a second account of her activities over the weekend.
‘Goodness, what an exciting time you’ve had,’ said Margaret fondly. ‘Now, go and wash in my bathroom, Davina Tracy. Lunch is nearly ready.’ She exchanged a look with Sarah as the little girl raced off. ‘She obviously enjoyed herself.’
‘She certainly did. But brace yourself, because we’ve got Polly on a return visit in a fortnight.’ Sarah’s lips twitched. ‘You could always take off on holiday a few days sooner than scheduled.’
‘Certainly not,’ said Margaret briskly. ‘I shall be here as usual. But the Rogers child will be your responsibility, Sarah, not mine.’
The rest of the day went by in a flash, with only time for the cake Margaret always made for Davy’s tea before Sarah drove the child back to school. This was a task she never looked forward to, though it was easier these days, now Davy had made friends. During her first term Davy had hated going back to school on Sunday evenings, and had been so tearful the journey had been purgatory for Sarah.
Given her own choice of education Sarah would have kept Davy at home and sent her to a local day school. But Margaret Parker had contributed to the money Sarah’s parents had put in trust for school fees at Davy’s birth, and had made sure that when the time came the child was sent to Roedale. And if Sarah suspected that Margaret had chosen the school for its social cachet, rather than its excellent academic record, she kept her thoughts to herself.
So, although Anne and David Tracy had died on holiday when Davina was only five, Sarah had kept her promise and eventually sent the child as a weekly boarder to the girls’ school Margaret Parker had persuaded them to choose. But Sarah had never imagined beforehand how painful it would be to part with Davy every term-time Sunday evening.

When Brian rang after the weekend, with a belated enquiry after Sarah’s health, she agreed readily when he suggested they had dinner together the following evening, glad of the opportunity to tell him it was over between them.
Over dinner at Brian’s favourite restaurant Sarah listened patiently while he gave her a detailed account of the play she’d missed.
‘The actress who played Lady Windermere was particularly good,’ he informed her. ‘Beautiful creature.’
‘So I’ve heard,’ murmured Sarah absently, her mind on the kindest way to tell him it was over between them. In the end Brian gave up on her, openly relieved when she refused pudding and coffee. He walked her back to the car at such a pace she assumed he was in a hurry to get home, then sat silent for a moment, making no move to switch on the ignition.
‘Sarah, there’s something I need to tell you,’ he informed her heavily.
Because he’d taken the exact words out of her mouth she eyed him in surprise. ‘Talk away, then, Brian.’
‘I’m sorry I was poor company tonight,’ he began, staring through the windscreen. ‘Because, well—oh, dammit, there’s no easy way to say this.’
‘Are you by any chance giving me the push, Brian?’ asked Sarah unsteadily, desperate to laugh.
‘I wouldn’t have put it quite like that,’ he protested, and shot a hunted look at her. ‘Look, my dear, I hate to do this to you in your particular situation.’
She stiffened. ‘My situation?’
‘Don’t be offended,’ he implored her. ‘I think you do a wonderful job as a single parent. But—well—the truth is, Sarah, I’m just not cut out to be a stepfather,’ he added in a rush.
Since Sarah, in her wildest dreams, had never cast him in the role, she agreed readily. ‘No, Brian, I don’t think you are.’
‘But I must be honest. That’s not the only reason,’ he went on doggedly, and took a deep breath. ‘It’s been obvious to me for some time that a physical relationship between us is never going to happen, Sarah. And, contrary to the impression I may give, I’m a pretty normal kind of man, with the usual male needs, you know.’
‘Oh, Brian, of course you are,’ said Sarah in remorse. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t fulfil them for you. I never meant to hurt you.’
‘I know that, my dear.’ He patted her hand. ‘So I’ll be straight with you, Sarah. I’ve met someone else. Amanda’s just joined the firm. I took her to the theatre when you cancelled, and we found we were—well—instantly compatible in that way. Highly compatible. In fact I spent most of the weekend with her. Something which was never possible with you, because of Davina. Amanda knows I’m with you tonight, of course,’ he added. ‘But she was very sporting about it.’
‘Good for her,’ managed Sarah, trying to get her head round the idea of Brian involved in a hot, passionate relationship.
‘I hope this isn’t too upsetting for you,’ he said, tugging at his tie. ‘I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.’
Sarah took a deep, steadying breath. ‘Brian, I’m not upset and I’m not hurt. Truly. In fact I’m very happy for you. Now, drive me home.’
When she got in Sarah went straight upstairs to break the news she knew very well would annoy Margaret Parker. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Grandma, but I thought you should know right away that Brian doesn’t want to see me any more.’
Margaret stared in horror. ‘Why ever not?’ Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘What did you do to offend him, you silly girl? Brian Collins is such a good catch. His father owns half of Pennington—’
‘It’s more a case of what I didn’t do,’ interrupted Sarah.
‘I don’t understand.’
Sarah met her grandmother’s eyes squarely. ‘Oh, I think you do. I know you dislike the word, but sex was to blame.’
Margaret stiffened. ‘Then you have only yourself to blame. You, of all people, know what happens when a woman drops into a man’s arms like a ripe plum!’
Sarah’s eyes flashed coldly. ‘You’ve got it all wrong, Grandma. Lack of sex was the problem. I never cared for Brian in that way. So he’s found someone who does. And good luck to him.’
Margaret Parker’s face was a study. ‘I—I see. I apologise,’ she added with difficulty.
‘Apology accepted.’ Sarah turned at the door for her parting shot. ‘And to top it all Brian came clean and admitted he couldn’t see himself as Davy’s stepfather.’

Feeling liberated after the departure of Brian from her life, Sarah rushed home from work the next afternoon to sit out in the garden and make the most of the heat wave. Not bothering to cook, she ate salad, and left the firm’s daily quota of mail until the evening, when it was cooler. Margaret Parker, in conciliatory mood after the misunderstanding over Brian, had added extra salad vegetables to the shopping she’d offered to undertake for Sarah, and never mentioned the subject again, adhering to the rule of non-interference kept to on both sides from the day Sarah had taken Davy to live in the house in Campden Road.
To achieve privacy and independence for both Sarah and herself, Margaret Parker had divided her home into two separate, self-contained apartments before they’d set up house together. Though she would have infinitely preferred a place of her own for herself and Davy, Sarah knew this wasn’t practical, and never forgot that she was a lot better off than many in her situation as a single parent. She had the huge advantage of a low-rent home, a steady, if not lavish, income from her job, and the knowledge that Davy’s education was financially secure at a reputable school. Even if it wasn’t the school of Sarah’s choice. And now Davy had started boarding Sarah enjoyed evenings out with friends made through her job—if she were honest, she enjoyed herself more with Esther and Maggie from the agency than dining out with Brian.
Although Sarah was happy enough with her life she was human enough to yearn sometimes for an extra dimension to it, a feeling which intensified the next morning, when she received a long-expected wedding invitation from Nick Morrell, her closest friend from college days. He enclosed a note, urging her to bring her current man with her and stay for the dance afterwards, and emphasised that the old crowd were all looking forward to seeing her again.
Sarah’s own standing within their group had been unique from the first. She had been afraid beforehand that her fatherless baby would be a handicap where friendships were concerned. But to her surprise and gratitude Davy’s existence had been accepted as part of life by the kindred spirits met at university, both male and female. Nick Morrell had been one of the friends close enough to invite home, to meet her parents and play with Davy, and they had kept in close touch ever since. But now Nick was acquiring a wife things would be a lot different.
Sarah mulled over the invitation as she walked to work, very much aware that if she went to the wedding she would be the only one of her group without a partner. Though even if they’d still been on that kind of footing Brian wouldn’t have served the purpose. Unless they’d undergone a sea change lately, her crowd were a flippant, wise-cracking bunch. Sober Brian, anything but, just wouldn’t have fitted in. But she had a new dress, she reminded herself. And the wedding was mid-week, so no problem with Davy. She was due some time off. All she needed were some shoes and a place to stay overnight. A wedding present was an essential expense whether she went or not. She decided to book a room right away at the hotel Nick had recommended. It could always be cancelled if she changed her mind.
After an even busier day than usual Sarah was glad to escape at last, and, hoisting her bulging briefcase, set off through the crowds thronging the pavements in the afternoon sunshine. Sarah rarely took the car into work in summer, relying on her walk to and from the town centre for her daily quota of exercise. She was hurrying for home, her thoughts on tea in the garden, when a car stopped a little way ahead and a familiar male figure leaned out, formal in a dark suit.
‘Hello, there. Can I give you a lift?’ Jake Hogan asked, smiling.
Oh, yes, please, thought Sarah, and returned the smile warmly as he reached over to open the passenger door for her. ‘How nice of you. Though I shouldn’t, really.’
‘You don’t accept lifts from strange men?’
‘Never!’ Her eyes danced. ‘Though I really meant that the walk is my daily gesture at keeping fit.’
He cast a comprehensive glance at her as they left the busiest part of town behind. ‘It won’t affect you much to skip it for once. You were hurrying,’ he added. ‘Do you need to get home urgently?’
‘Only for tea in the garden.’
‘Pleasant prospect,’ he sighed. ‘I’m on my way to a meeting.’
‘In this neighbourhood?’ she said, surprised.
‘No, not really.’ When he pulled up in Campden Road he switched off the ignition and turned to give her the smile she’d been thinking of rather a lot since the previous Saturday. ‘Actually, my meeting’s in town. But I spotted you hurrying down the street, so I did a quick U-turn to drive you home.’
Sarah felt a rush of secret pleasure. ‘I might not have been going home,’ she pointed out.
‘In which case I would have driven you wherever you wanted to go.’ His eyes crinkled. ‘Or you could have refused politely and waved me on before I got nicked for kerb-crawling.’
Sarah laughed. ‘I was very grateful for the ride. And now I’ll let you get to your meeting,’ she added, undoing the seatbelt.
‘Don’t go for a moment, Sarah,’ he said quickly, and fixed her with the familiar straight blue look. ‘I’m glad we met again, because this is the type of question I couldn’t ask over the phone. You’re not obliged to answer, of course, but there’s something I’d like to know.’
Sarah eyed him warily. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s personal,’ he warned.
‘Go on.’
‘Does your little girl’s father share your life?’
She shook her head. ‘No. He never has.’
His eyes lit with gratifying relief. ‘In that case, Sarah Tracy, will you have dinner with me?’
Oh, yes, please, she thought, for the second time in minutes, then gave him an equally straight look. ‘If you’ll answer a personal question yourself.’
‘As many as you like.’
‘Just one. Are you married?’
He shook his head, laughing. ‘No, Sarah, I’m not. So say yes.’
‘Yes, then,’ she said, and smiled. ‘When did you have in mind?’
‘Tonight?’
Sarah stared at him, surprised, and for a moment considered saying she had other plans, just to sound less eager. But only for a split second. ‘Yes. Tonight would be fine.’
‘Good. I’ll call for you at eight.’
Sarah waved as he drove off, then went indoors to find her grandmother coming downstairs, frowning.
‘I saw you getting out of a strange car, Sarah. Who brought you home?’
‘Jake Hogan.’ Sarah looked her grandmother in the eye. ‘He asked me out to dinner tonight.’
Margaret’s face hardened. ‘Are you going? You hardly know the man.’
‘I’m going out for a meal, Grandma, not a dirty weekend.’
‘Don’t be coarse!’ Margaret turned to go back upstairs, but Sarah called after her.
‘By the way, I had an invitation to Nick Morrell’s wedding this morning.’
‘Really? If it’s when I’m away in Italy I won’t be able to look after Davy for you,’ was the instant response.
‘Actually it’s mid-week, when she’s in school,’ said Sarah, swallowing the angry retort she longed to make. ‘I must go. I’ve got homework to do before I’m free to enjoy myself,’ she added deliberately, and gained the hollow victory of knowing her arrow had found its target, by the look on Margaret Parker’s face.
But Sarah refused to let the incident affect her buoyant mood as she hurried off to deal with the contents of her briefcase. She could sit in the garden tomorrow. Tonight she was dining out with Jake Hogan.
Work done in record time, Sarah went off to shower in the small bathroom lined with Jake Hogan’s Pentiles. After a prolonged session with a hotbrush and all the cosmetic aids at her disposal, she dressed, and, as a gesture of conciliation, went up to her grandmother’s sitting room to say she was about to leave. ‘Will I do?’
Margaret eyed the linen trousers and amber sleeveless top with surprise. ‘You wear that to work.’
‘I’m keeping the new dress for Nick’s wedding.’
‘So you’re definitely going, then?’
‘Of course I am. You know I’m fond of Nick. I booked a room this morning. Anyway, I haven’t a clue where I’m being taken tonight so I thought this rig would do for most places.’ She looked her grandmother in the eye. ‘And in case you’re worried about the expanse of bare flesh I shall wear my jacket all evening even if I fry.’
Although Margaret Parker had been too offended by Sarah’s parting shot to wish her a good time, from the moment Sarah opened the door to Jake Hogan she knew the evening would be a success. His fawn linen jacket was creased just enough to look good, and his smile filled her with an anticipation she had never felt before sharing a meal with Brian.
‘You look wonderful, Sarah,’ Jake informed her.
So did he, but she kept that to herself in case he took it as a come-on. ‘Thank you.’
‘In this heat I thought you might like a meal in a pub garden tonight,’ he said, handing her into his car. ‘But if not we could eat at that place near the Pump Rooms in town.’
‘I’ve been there just recently,’ she said quickly. For the farewell meal with Brian. ‘Eating al fresco sounds wonderful.’
And it was. Jake drove her deep into the Gloucestershire countryside to the Trout Inn, a pretty, unpretentious pub with a stream actually flowing through the garden.
‘This is so lovely,’ said Sarah, looking round her with pleasure as he led her to the table he’d reserved. ‘You knew how I’d choose, then.’
He gave her an outrageously smug smile. ‘I booked at the other restaurant, too. I’m a belt and braces kind of guy.’
She laughed. ‘What happens when you don’t turn up there?’
‘I told them to free the table if we hadn’t made it by eight-thirty.’ He shrugged. ‘They were happy. I’m a good customer.’
‘You dine there a lot?’ she asked, picturing a succession of glamorous companions.
‘Lunch mainly, with clients.’
Sarah sat back in her chair while Jake went off to get drinks, putting on mental brakes. She’d only just met the man. Who Jake Hogan entertained to lunch, dinner or breakfast—especially breakfast—was none of her business. Nevertheless, she liked the idea of business clients better than other women. She grinned at her own absurdity, the smile still in her eyes when Jake came back with drinks and a menu.
‘You look happy. I’m glad you like it here.’
‘It’s the kind of place Davy would love, too,’ she said, deliberately bringing her child into the conversation.
Jake gave her a questioning look over his glass of beer. ‘Did you have to pay someone to stay with her this evening?’
Well done, thought Sarah. Some men changed the subject the moment she mentioned Davy. ‘No. She’s a weekly boarder at Roedale.’
‘Your old school?’
She shook her head. ‘At her age I went to the school in the village where I was born. How about you?’
‘Liam and I are also products of state education.’ He smiled wryly. ‘But with differing results. Liam’s were uniformly spectacular, mine less so. I joined the family business straight after fairly respectable A-levels. But Liam can boast an Oxford degree, plus an MBA from that high-powered place in France.’
‘Impressive,’ said Sarah, not sure she liked the sound of Liam Hogan and his credentials.
‘Would you mind if I took my jacket off?’ Jake asked.
‘Not in the least. I’m too warm in mine, too,’ she said, ignoring her promise to Margaret.
Jake helped her out of her jacket, eyeing her bare brown shoulders with appreciation. ‘You’ve obviously been on holiday recently.’
She shook her head, smiling. ‘Part of it is natural skin tone, the rest fresh air. We’ve had a heatwave, and I finish work at three. A short session in the garden after work every day is a lot cheaper than a foreign holiday.’
‘You obviously never burn.’
‘I keep under an umbrella and use sunscreen. After my day in the office I yearn for fresh air.’ She leaned back in her chair, relaxed. ‘Where do you get your tan? Golf?’
‘No, genetics. My mother’s Italian. We get our skin tone from her.’
‘Unusual with fair hair.’ And very, very appealing to Sarah.
Jake waved a menu at her. ‘What do you fancy? Obviously the trout’s good.’
‘I’ll pass on that,’ she said hastily. ‘My father used to fish for trout when I was young. With far too much success for my liking.’
He laughed. ‘Does he still do it?’
‘No.’ She hesitated. ‘Both my parents are dead.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Jake reached across to touch her hand fleetingly. ‘That must be doubly tough on you with a little girl to look after.’
Not a man to shirk sensitive issues, approved Sarah. ‘It was at first. Davy was so inconsolable I had to bottle up my own grief to try and help her through it. But don’t let’s talk of sad things,’ she said briskly. ‘I don’t want to spoil your evening.’
‘There’s no way you could do that,’ he assured her, and tapped the menu. ‘So what would you like to start?’
Sarah cast an eye down the list. ‘These all sound so tempting. I adore this kind of thing, but if I order one I never get through a main course.’
‘Then don’t have a main course. I vote we choose two or three starters each, then share the lot.’
‘Can we do that?’ she said, smiling in delight.
‘You can do anything you like,’ he assured her softly, with no smile at all.

CHAPTER THREE
PREPARED from the first to enjoy the evening, Sarah found her pleasure increased by the minute as they worked their way through baby asparagus wrapped in parma ham, crab cakes, a millefeuille of goat’s cheese with roasted red peppers, spicy chorizo sausage, fettucine with smoked salmon, and a platter of home-baked bread. And she was well aware that not all her enjoyment came from the food. The intimate process of dipping into each other’s plates was an ice-breaker which rapidly created a rapport between them new to Sarah since her student days.
‘Have some bread to fill up the corners,’ said Jake, buttering a slice for her.
‘This was a brilliant idea,’ she assured him indistinctly. ‘Are you sure you won’t have more corners to fill? This is a pretty light meal by average male standards.’
‘I object to the label of average male,’ he retorted, grinning. ‘Anyway, I ate a large lunch. How about you?’
‘I eat a sandwich at my desk every day.’ She shrugged. ‘As I said, I finish work at three, so I never take a lunch break.’
He frowned as he speared a slice of chorizo. ‘Don’t you get tired without a proper break?’
‘I’ve been doing it for years. I’m used to it.’
‘So, besides work, what else do you do?’
‘Cinema, theatre, and so on. Usually with women-friends.’ She hesitated. ‘And until recently I went out with a man on a more or less regular basis.’
‘What happened?’
‘He jilted me last Tuesday.’
‘Good God, why?’ demanded Jake blankly.
Sarah’s eyes danced. ‘He found someone else. Besides, he felt he wasn’t cut out to be a stepfather.’
Jake eyed her searchingly. ‘Was there any likelihood of that?’
‘Not the remotest chance! It wasn’t that kind of relationship. Besides, Davy didn’t like him. Though my grandmother did.’
‘Is your grandmother’s approval vital to you?’
‘Fortunately, no, because it’s hard to come by where I’m concerned. Her soft spot is reserved for Davy.’
He pushed the asparagus towards her. ‘You have that; I’m not keen on it.’
‘Really? I love it. I’ll swap for the chorizo.’ Sarah eyed the plates with respect. ‘These are all very generous for starters.’ She looked up in sudden suspicion. ‘Wait a minute. Did you—?’
‘I told them to be generous,’ he said, unrepentant. ‘At lunch today I was given allegedly king prawns the size of my thumbnail for a first course, so it seemed best to be on the safe side tonight.’
Sarah shook her head, laughing, and applied herself with relish to the asparagus.
‘Do you see much of your grandmother?’
‘We live with her.’ Sarah explained the arrangement in Campden Road.
His lips twitched. ‘Did you tell her how we met?’
Sarah laughed. ‘I could hardly avoid it. She was there when I arrived looking like a drowned rat.’
His eyes locked on hers. ‘I’m sorry I knocked you over. But on the plus side, if I hadn’t I wouldn’t have met you. And, as must be perfectly obvious to you, Sarah Tracy, I’m very glad I have.’
‘So am I.’
Their eyes held for a couple of heartbeats, then Jake said abruptly, ‘How about some pudding? They do a great one here with pecans and honey ice-cream. But you must eat a whole one yourself, or you don’t get coffee.’
‘I don’t want coffee, but I will eat the pudding,’ she assured him, because ordering it and waiting for it, and eating it, meant more time spent alone with Jake Hogan in the pretty garden which was empty now, as the evening grew cool. And she had other plans for coffee.
‘We could go inside if you’re cold,’ he offered, as their plates were cleared away.
‘I’d much rather stay here.’
‘Good. So would I.’ He gave the order for their puddings, then moved his chair closer. ‘Sarah, maybe it’s too soon to ask this, but when you know me better—as I fully intend you shall—you’ll find I tend to go straight for what I want.’
Sarah raised an eyebrow. ‘That sounds ominous.’
He smiled, his teeth showing white in the dusk. ‘Not really. I just want to repeat this kind of evening as soon as possible. Are you by any miracle free this Saturday?’
She shook her head regretfully. ‘I’m afraid not.’
Jake leaned closer, his eyes probing. ‘You mean you really are tied up, or am I rushing things, taking too much for granted?’
‘No,’ she said candidly. ‘You’re not. But this is where problems always arise with my social life. I’m never free at weekends because of Davy.’
‘Where was she last Saturday?’
‘Enjoying her very first sleepover with a school-friend.’
Jake eyed her thoughtfully. ‘But if you live with your grandmother wouldn’t she look after Davy for one night?’
‘I never leave Davy on the only two nights she spends at home.’ Sarah touched her hand to his to emphasise her regret. ‘Otherwise, Jake, I’d be only too happy.’
His hand captured hers and held it. ‘That’s some comfort. But I’m disappointed. Now I shan’t know what to do with myself on Saturday.’
‘What do you normally do?’ she asked, looking at their clasped hands.
‘Like you, I also had someone in my life until recently.’
‘Just the one?’
‘Absolutely. Though there were others in the past before her.’ He gave her one of his straight blue looks. ‘But just for the record, Sarah, I’m strictly a one woman at a time type.’
She returned the look steadily. ‘So what happened with your lady?’
‘Like your friend, she preferred someone else—ah, here comes pudding.’ Jake released her hand without hurry, but remained close as they ate, chuckling at Sarah’s unashamed sounds of appreciation.
‘That was wonderful,’ she sighed, scraping up the last smear of sauce. ‘All of it. In fact I enjoyed this meal more than any I’ve had in the most expensive hotel in town.’
And not just because of the food.
‘So have I.’ He leaned closer. ‘Did the idiot who jilted you take you to the Chesterton a lot, then?’
‘No,’ she said, and gave him a demure little smile. ‘Brian liked the one near the Pump Rooms.’
‘Ah! So that’s why you turned it down tonight.’
‘Partly. Though when you mentioned eating in a garden it was no contest.’
At last, with a reluctance Sarah shared, Jake got up. ‘It’s getting cool. Would you like to go inside?’
‘Not really. It looks very hot and crowded in there.’ She turned to look up at him as he helped her on with her jacket. ‘Would you like some coffee at my place instead?’
His smile was answer enough. ‘Just give me a minute to settle the bill.’
Sarah’s mind worked at top speed while she chatted on the short journey home with Jake. The leap of heat in his eyes at her suggestion warned her to make it clear, without offending him, that coffee meant just coffee. It was not a habit of hers to invite anyone back to share it. Sarah had always met Brian in town, and rarely asked him back to Campden Road to avoid encounters with the all too obviously approving Margaret. Oliver Bryce, the man she’d known before that, had always been in a hurry to get home to the babysitter after their evenings out, so the coffee situation had never arisen with him, either. Not counting visits from college friends, Jake Hogan, if he only knew it, was being granted a rare privilege.
When they arrived Sarah led the way to the sitting room, for the first time that evening ill at ease. ‘Do sit down. I shan’t be long—’
‘Sarah, don’t bother with coffee.’ Jake caught her by the hand, his eyes very serious. ‘Which doesn’t mean I’m about to leap on you. I meant I’d sooner have a glass of water.’
She flushed, feeling ridiculous. ‘Right. Water it is.’
When she got back with it Jake turned away from the photograph, looked at her closely for a moment, then turned back to study Davy again. ‘Exactly the same tortoiseshell eyes and shiny brown hair. Something in the expression, too. The resemblance is remarkable,’ he added.
‘Would you like to take off your jacket?’ she asked, to attract his attention away from Davina.
Jake put his glass on the table near the lilies he’d sent her, and removed his jacket, his eyes teasing as he grinned at Sarah. ‘Relax,’ he ordered. ‘I never ravish a lady on a first date, I swear.’
Sarah laughed awkwardly, feeling her colour rise. ‘I’m glad to hear it. Won’t you sit down?’
‘Yes,’ he said promptly. ‘If you will, too.’ He took her hand and drew her down beside him on her sofa. ‘Now, tell me why you’re on edge, Sarah. Bad experiences in this situation before?’
‘No, not at all.’ She braced herself. ‘I’ve never asked anyone back here before.’
He gave her an incredulous look. ‘Never? How long have you lived here?’
‘Nearly four years.’
‘Is this because your grandmother shares the house?’
‘Not really. She converted the house into separate flats for the express purpose of privacy for both of us.’
Jake took her hand. ‘I’m hoping against hope I know the answer, Sarah, but why me?’
Sarah shrugged. ‘I was enjoying the evening, and it’s not very late, so it just seemed the natural thing to do.’
His grasp tightened. ‘Actually, you pre-empted me. I was just about to suggest coffee at my place. Would you have come?’
She smiled a little. ‘You didn’t ask so we’ll never know.’
‘I’ll ask next time,’ he warned.
‘Is there going to be a next time?’
‘Damn right there is,’ he said, and kissed her. Then stared in astonishment as she immediately scrambled out of reach, her face flaming at the blank surprise on his face as he promptly removed himself to the other end of the sofa.
‘I meant what I said,’ Jake assured her. ‘No ravishing on the first date, Sarah. Just a kiss, I swear.’ He drew in a deep, unsteady breath. ‘Though from my point of view it was a rash move to share our meal in that particular way.’
Afraid to trust her voice for a moment, Sarah raised a questioning eyebrow, and Jake smiled wryly.
‘I meant, Miss Tracy, that for me the entire meal was a subtle form of foreplay. Couldn’t you tell?’
‘No. I thought we were just getting on well together.’ She hesitated. ‘So if you had asked me back to your place, and I’d agreed, you would have taken it for granted I was saying yes to a whole lot more than coffee?’
‘No, Sarah, absolutely not.’ Jake stood up, holding out a hand to help her to her feet. ‘Like you, I simply wanted to prolong our time together.’
She looked up into his eyes. And believed him.
‘So when can I see you again?’ he went on, as though the awkward little incident had never happened. ‘You said Saturday’s out, but how about Sunday evening?’
Sarah felt an overwhelming rush of relief. She had been so sure Jake would give up on her after her embarrassing little rejection. She couldn’t tell him that if she’d followed her instincts she would have let him kiss her as much as he wanted. Because with him she wanted it too. But that way danger lay. As she knew better than most, instincts had to be reined in, not followed blindly. Yet even on such short acquaintance she was sure that Jake would never force her to anything. And she wanted to see him again. She always felt a bit down after taking Davy back to school. Time spent with Jake Hogan would be the perfect antidote to her usual Sunday evening blues.
‘Yes. I’d like that,’ she said at last.
‘That took a long time,’ he said dryly. ‘What shall we do?’
She smiled at him. ‘If it’s fine I’d like a drive to somewhere pleasant with a view, then a long, leisurely walk.’
‘That’s a first,’ said Jake, laughing. ‘No lady in my past ever asked to go hiking before.’
‘No hiking—just a Sunday evening stroll, please!’
‘Whatever you want. What time do you get back from Davy’s school?’
‘About six.’
‘I’ll be here soon after, then.’ He looked down at her for a moment, then bent and kissed her forehead. ‘Goodnight, Sarah Tracy.’
‘Goodnight, Jake Hogan.’ She stepped back, her eyes suddenly serious. ‘Thank you for this evening. I enjoyed it very much.’
‘So did I.’ Jake followed her to the front door. ‘Next time you can introduce me to your grandmother,’ he said with a grin, and crossed the pavement to his car.
Sarah watched him get in, raised her hand in response to his wave as he drove off, then went back in the house and closed the door, her eyes wistful. The man was a charmer. Unlike comfortable, friendly Oliver, or staid, unimpassioned Brian, it would be all too easy to fall in love with Jake Hogan.

CHAPTER FOUR
SARAH was about to leave the office on Friday afternoon to collect Davy, when Alison Rogers rang her cellphone number.
‘Sarah, I’m in a fix. My car won’t start, and Don’s in London until tonight—’
‘No problem, I’ll pick Polly up,’ said Sarah promptly. ‘You just caught me; I’m on my way right now.’
‘You’re an angel! I’ll ring the school and let them know. See you soon—I’ll have tea and buns waiting.’
When Sarah collected them later Polly and Davina were in tearing spirits to be going home together, and full of their practice for sports day. They piled into the car, straw boaters askew, gingham dresses rumpled, both of them excited because Davy had beaten everyone in her class in the sprint.
‘But Polly came second at skipping,’ added Davy.
‘Well done, both of you!’
Polly smiled at Sarah expectantly. ‘Are you staying to tea? Mummy always bakes stuff on Friday, ready for when I come home.’
‘Please can we?’ urged Davy, hovering as Sarah stowed their belongings away.
‘Yes, but we won’t stay long. I’m sure Polly’s mummy saw quite enough of you last weekend. Now, tell me what else you two have been up to this week, besides races. How about boring stuff like sums, and so on?’
When they arrived at the Rogers house, Alison came running out to greet them. ‘You saved my life,’ she said gratefully, after embracing her daughter. ‘Take Davy off to wash hands, Polly. Sit down, Sarah,’ she added, ‘you look tired. Hard day?’
‘No more than usual. It’s just a rush on Fridays to get off on time to drive to Roedale.’
‘Davy told me you work at home in the evenings as well.’
‘Part of the deal with my employers. It only takes up an hour or so.’ Sarah shrugged, smiling. ‘In my circumstances the arrangement’s very convenient. When Davy’s home I work after she’s gone to bed.’
‘Hard graft just the same.’ Alison put plates of cupcakes and cookies on the table, went to call the girls, then sat down to pour tea.
‘Thank you,’ said Sarah, accepting her cup. ‘I rang my grandmother before I left to tell her we’d be later today.’
‘I’ve heard a lot about Grandma. Though I thought she was your mother.’
‘No, she dotes on Davy, but she’s actually my grandmother.’
Davina came running in with Polly, very much at home in her friend’s house. The girls polished off several cakes and cookies, swallowed down large glasses of the milk Davy always objected to at home, then rushed out to play in the garden.
‘Peace at last,’ said Alison with satisfaction, and refilled Sarah’s cup. ‘Have another cookie to assuage my guilt.’
‘Why guilt?’ said Sarah, amused.
‘It suddenly struck me that you’ll be picking Polly up next week as well.’
‘I don’t mind in the least. But I’ll have that cookie. They’re delicious.’
‘With the life you lead I don’t suppose you get much time for baking,’ said Alison with sympathy.
Sarah shook her head, laughing. ‘Actually, I do. Since Davy started boarding I have a lot more time to myself, socially and otherwise. But no baking. I’m hopeless at it. Lucky for us, my grandmother’s an expert. She also makes Sunday lunch for the three of us.’ Sarah smiled. ‘But during the week I fend for myself, or go out. Something I do a lot more than I used to now Davy’s in school. Beforehand I hated the thought of parting with her, even on a weekly basis, but now she’s settled in I confess I’m rather enjoying my new freedom.’
When she was finally able to tear Davy away Sarah drove home to find a message on her machine, but she sent Davy off to find Margaret before she allowed herself to listen to it.
‘Jake, Sarah,’ said familiar tones. ‘Just reminding you about Sunday.’
As if she needed reminding! But she played the message again twice, just to listen to his voice. Like a schoolgirl with a first crush, she thought sheepishly.
Margaret came down with Davy to announce that she was going out shortly, and had taken the liberty of making the sauce for their pasta supper.
Davy’s eyes lit up. ‘With lots of tomato in it? Goody.’
‘Thank you, Grandma,’ said Sarah shortly. ‘But I could have managed.’
‘Out of a jar, no doubt,’ said Margaret, after Davy rushed off to change. ‘By the way,’ she added coldly, ‘more flowers came for you today. I put them in water in the kitchen.’
‘Who are they from?’ said Sarah, surprised.
‘I’ve no idea. The card was addressed to you.’
Sarah hurried to the kitchen to take a card from the envelope propped beside an enormous bunch of brilliantly coloured zinnias. ‘They’re from Jake Hogan,’ she told her grandmother, who had followed behind to find out.
‘Again,’ commented Margaret. ‘He obviously enjoyed the evening with you.’
‘We both did. I asked him in when he drove me home.’
‘You’ve never done that before,’ said Margaret accusingly.
‘Don’t worry. He didn’t stay long.’
‘I know. I heard him leave.’
‘Then you know exactly how long he stayed,’ said Sarah evenly.
Margaret’s mouth tightened. ‘I don’t mean to be hard on you, Sarah, but you’re obviously attracted to this man, so do please be careful. Try to look at things from my point of view.’

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