Valentine Vendetta

She studied the finger that Sam had so softly circled, and swallowed. ‘You know, maybe this is the opportunity I need to make the break and get out of Ireland—’

‘I thought you loved it!’

‘I do. Just that Dublin is such a small city—’

‘And you keep running into Sholto and his new girlfriend, I suppose?’

Fran forced a smile. ‘Something like that.’ She stood up decisively. ‘Got any bleach?’

‘Bleach?’ Rosie blinked. ‘You aren’t planning to go blond, are you?’ she asked in horror.

Fran’s smile widened of its own accord. ‘Not that kind of bleach, stupid! I meant the kind that cleans floors!’

‘Oh, that!’ said Rosie gloomily, and went off to find some.

By the time Sam Lockhart rang her a week later, Fran had established a London base she could use whenever she needed. One of her mother’s many cousins was visiting her daughter in Australia for the winter, leaving a high-ceilinged flat vacant in Hampstead village—in a road which was apparently a burglar’s paradise.

‘She’d be delighted to have you keeping your eye on the place,’ Fran’s mother had said. ‘But I’d like to see you myself, darling. When are you coming up to Scotland?’

Fran prodded a neglected-looking plant which was badly in need of a gallon or two of water, and frowned. ‘I promise I’ll be there for Christmas.’

‘What—not until then?’

‘Mum, it’s only weeks away.’ Fran kept her voice patient.

‘Is Rosie any better?’

‘A bit. Still misses this man Sam Lockhart.’

‘Didn’t that all finish ages ago?’

‘Uh-huh. I guess some broken hearts just take longer to heal than others.’ But Fran deliberately omitted to mention the fact that Sam was one of her new clients. The information would be bound to set her mother thinking, and for some strange reason Fran was convinced that she would try to talk her out of getting involved in some kind of vendetta.

There was a long and loaded pause followed by a question which was studiedly casual. ‘So how’s Sholto?’

The pause from Fran’s end was equally loaded. ‘How should I know, Mum? I don’t have anything to do with Sholto anymore. Why would I, when we’re divorced now? Apparently, he’s got a new girlfriend—’

‘Well, that doesn’t surprise me—’