No More Secrets

Kate obeyed, glad often minutes’ breather in the staff room before she coped with the day.

Clare came in, eyebrows raised at Kate’s heavy-eyed pallor. ‘Hangover or flu?’

‘Disturbed night.’ Kate got up. ‘I’m fine. I just needed a shot of caffeine to get me going. I slept late this morning—no breakfast.’

‘Go easy on the dieting today—give your blood sugars a chance,’ advised Clare, with the confidence of someone who could eat three cream buns at once and never gain an ounce. She eyed Kate closely. ‘What disturbed you?’

Kate had no time to explain. ‘Long story. Tell you a lunch.’

Halfway through the morning Kate was called to the phone.

‘Miss Harker? Kate? Quinn Fletcher here—Cassie I’m coming down your way later. Perhaps we could have a sandwich lunch together—and I’ll sign that book for you.’

Kate went pink with pleasure. ‘How very nice of you I’d love to. I’m on late lunch today—where would you like to meet?’

‘How about that coffee-shop on the corner near you—the one with the gorgeous cakes?’

Kate returned to her fiction section, a smile on her face as she helped a customer find the latest offering from a favourite author. The woman bought two other books, thanked Kate for her help, then went to the cash desk to hand her money to Gail. Kate bit her lip, frowning. Gail!

She waited until the girl was free. ‘You’re taking early lunch today, Gail,’ she stated rather than asked.

The girl smiled warmly. ‘That’s right, Kate. Unless you want me to swap?’

‘No, no,’ said Kate in relief. ‘That’s fine.’ Having routed the spectre of running into Cassie’s husband flirting with Gail over lunch, Kate relaxed a little, and went off to join Clare for mid-morning coffee.

‘You look better,’ the other girl commented as she poured.

‘Quinn Fletcher’s asked me to lunch,’ said Kate. ‘I’ve got my copy of her book ready for her autograph.’ She eyed her jeans and navy jersey without pleasure. ‘I wish I’d worn something else.’

Harry popped his red head round the door, grinning. ‘Miss Kate Harker, you’re wanted.’

Kate shot to her feet and followed Harry’s lanky figure into the shop. ‘Who?’

Harry waved to a tall, familiar figure immersed in a book of modern paintings.

‘You asked for me?’ Kate enquired, and Ben Fletcher turned, putting down the book with care.

‘Good morning, Miss Harker. I had an appointment in town, so I volunteered to bring a message from Cassie. She’s running a bit late. Could you make it one-fifteen? ’

‘Yes, of course. I’ll wait for her in the coffee-shop.’

‘Keep an eye on her, will you?’ he asked soberly. ‘She tends to overdo things. Nag her to go home and have a nap.’

‘I can hardly do that, Mr Fletcher,’ said Kate stiffly.

‘It might come better from an outsider,’ he said gloomily, apparently unaware that Gail was smiling with rather frenzied animation at a group of young male students at the cash desk. Suddenly he grinned all over his face as a man strolled into the shop with a large bouquet of flowers. ‘Dan? What the hell are you doing here? Don’t tell me you can read!’

Kate swallowed hard as Dan Beaumont stared at her blankly for a moment, then marched up to her and presented her with the bouquet, ignoring Ben Fletcher.

‘With my apologies for last night,’ he said, eyeing Kate’s glasses and tightly coiled hair. ‘You look — different.’

‘So do you, old son,’ said Ben Fletcher. ‘I like the shiner. Someone’s husband caught up with you at last?’

‘Actually,’ drawled Dan Beaumont, ‘it was Miss Harker here who gave me the black eye. Totally undeserved, of course.’

Hideously aware that Harry, Clare and not least Gail were looking on with varying degrees of curiosity, Kate took the flowers, thanked Dan Beaumont punctiliously, said goodbye to both men and hurried off to the staff-room to put her unwanted tribute into water.

Fortunately the shop was too busy for some time for explanation, and it was only when Harry and Gail had gone out to lunch and she was helping Clare man the till that Kate was able to give her colleague a brief, edited version of the previous night’s adventures. Clare was fascinated.

‘You actually went downstairs and faced this man, thinking he was a burglar? You idiot, Kate. Anything could have happened.’

‘But it didn’t. Because Dan Beaumont wasn’t a burglar.’

‘True. Or things could have been a lot worse.’ Clare grinned. ‘His manly pride obviously wasn’t hurt by being felled by a pint-sized little thing like you. Those flowers were expensive.’

‘Unnecessary extravagance,’ said Kate, and smiled at a customer. ‘Biographies, sir? If you’ll just follow me...’

Kate was sitting with a cup of black coffee when Cassie Fletcher arrived for lunch. Her big brown eyes lit up as she spotted her lunch guest.

‘Sorry I’m a bit behind, Kate. My hospital appointment was a bit delayed.’

‘I’ve only just got here myself. Busy morning.’ Kate eyed her companion anxiously. ‘Was everything all right?’

‘Oh, yes. Emily and I are both in the pink.’

‘Emily?’

‘We know it’s a girl. My husband’s delighted, because he wants us to call it a day after this one.’ Cassie pulled a face. ‘He’s right, of course. I’m nearly thirty-nine. Not that motherhood in the forties is the danger it used to be.’ She picked up the menu. ‘Let me treat you to something sinful.’

Over smoked salmon sandwiches and some wicked French pastries Kate found it very easy to talk to Cassie Fletcher, confiding that the staff at Hardacres were easy to work with and her landlady was a dear.

‘But no boyfriend,’ said Cassie bluntly.

‘No. But in a way that’s oddly restful.’ Kate chuckled. ‘In London I shared a flat with three other girls and we all had boyfriends and there was never a moment’s peace. It was a madhouse.’

‘But don’t you miss that?’

‘I did at first. But now I can read as much as I like—which I need to for my job and my business course. I’ve got to do my homework. I go to the cinema with Clare, one of my colleagues at the shop. Her husband is away a lot with his job and she’s new here too and glad of an evening out. I like my life very much.’

Cassie looked thoughtful as she stirred her coffee. ‘It all sounds a bit, well, quiet for a girl of your age. How old are you?’

‘Twenty-seven.’

The brown eyes moved over Kate’s severely coiled hair and the plain navy jersey. ‘At least you’re not wearing those owlish glasses today.’

Kate’s lips twitched. ‘You mean I’m a bit of a turnoff in the appearance department.’

Cassie laughed. ‘How rude I am. Sorry. Only when I was young I used to scrape my hair back and try to look older too. I feel a certain kinship, I suppose.’