removed, letting light flood straight through the house, and in the rear, French doors opened onto the garden.
âOh,â she said, on a breath of involuntary surprise. âItâs lovely. Small, but lovely.â
Doug nodded, flushing again with obvious pleasure at her response. âThereâs a full bath upstairs, and Iâll use one room for the bedroom and another for an office. The kitchen needs new cupboards and worktops. And in hereââhe waved a proprietary hand at the living areasââa new carpet, and a bit of paint, of course.â
âNot going to stick with magnolia, then?â Melody asked, teasing. The walls were the color of curdled cream, with lighter patches where pictures had hung. Both sitting and dining room had fireplace surrounds that looked original, but the interiors had been boarded over.
Doug shuddered. âNo. And definitely not gray. Iâve had enough gray to last a lifetime.â
âYou could use the colors in the stained glass,â Melody said, considering. âWith this light, it would be lovely. And youâll have to put in some gas fires.â Melody walked to the back door and looked out. Steps led down to an oval of broken paving stones. Beyond that was a weedy patch of lawn surrounded on three sides by neglected beds.
Melody, who could live anywhere she chose if she accepted more of her fatherâs help, felt a stir of envy. Not that there was anything wrong with her mansion flat in Notting Hill, except that it felt nothing like a home. It was also on the top floor of her building, its only access to the outdoors a tiny balcony. And lately she had developed an unexpected urge to get her hands in the dirt, to smell growing things.
âI could help with the garden, if you like,â she offered, a bit hesitantly, turning back to him. âIn the spring.â
âHave you ever in your life worked in a garden?â There was a hint of mockery in Dougâs voice.
âI suspect I know more about gardening than you do about painting and plumbing,â she said, equably enough. âI used to follow my grandparentsâ gardener in Bucks around like a shadow. How hard can it be, compost and bulbs and things?â She studied him. âWhat about you? You grew up in St. Albanâs, didnât you? Suburban mecca. Surely you must have had a garden.â
He shrugged. âI was at school except for hols from the time I was eight. My dad mowed the lawn with a rotary mower. It was his Sunday relaxation and he wasnât inclined to share.â
Melody knew that Doug was also an only child, and that his father was a barrister from a well-off family that had put Doug down for Eton before he was born. But although Melodyâs father could be autocratic, stubborn, and infuriating, he and her mother had always been generous with their time and attention.
She had a sudden vision of Doug as a lonely and awkward boy, with a father who couldnât bring himself to give his little son the pleasure of learning to push a lawn mower.
Not wanting him to see compassion in her expression, she studied the fireplace surround, wiping dust from the mantel with a fingertip. âYouâll have to give a dinner party, once youâre settled,â she said.
âNo table. And probably not much else for a while. The only things Iâm bringing from the Euston flat are the bed and my audio stuff.â
Several comments sprang to Melodyâs mind, but none of them seemed appropriate, and all made her feel the color start to rise in her face. God forbid she should start blushing as badly as Doug. âFresh start?â she asked, instead, keeping her gaze averted.
âTotally. Only thing is, Iâve no idea where to begin.â He gazed round the room, looking a little lost, as if just now contemplating the enormity of the undertaking. Then he shoved his wire-framed glasses up on his nose and glared at her, as if
Jessica Fletcher
Humans (v1.1)
Lola Carson
Sam Crescent
Sherry Gammon
Kit Tunstall, R.E. Saxton
Stephanie Rowe
Sally O'Brien
Morag Joss
James Hadley Chase