‘I can guarantee that it’ll be better than beans on toast,’ she promised. ‘Thank you for trusting me, George.’
‘Who said I trusted you?’ He looked at her as if he was going to say more, but let it go. ‘Save your thanks and put that out of sight,’ he said, pointing at the pile of notes lying on the kitchen table. Then, as she made a move to stuff it back in her bra, ‘No! I didn’t mean…’ He took a deep breath. ‘Just wait until I’ve gone.’
She blushed furiously. ‘Sorry.’
‘So am I,’ he muttered as he left the kitchen. ‘So am I.’
CHAPTER FOUR
ANNIE hadn’t been aware of holding her breath, but the minute the back door closed she covered her hot cheeks with her hands and let out something very close to a, ‘Whew.’
That had been intense.
She appeared to have got away with it, though. For now, at any rate. And she hadn’t told any outright lies, just left George to answer his own questions. A bit of a grey area, no doubt, but she was sure he’d rather not know the truth and twenty-four hours from now she’d be miles away from Maybridge with no harm done.
The cat leapt from the chair as she crossed to the fridge, chirruping hopefully as it nuzzled its head against her ankle.
‘Hello, puss. Are you hungry too?’
She poured a little milk into a bowl, then sat back on her heels, watching the cat lap it up.
‘Trouble,’ she said, grinning in spite of everything that had happened. ‘He said I was trouble. Do you know, puss, that’s the very first time anyone has ever looked at me and thought “trouble”.’ The cat looked up, milk clinging to its muzzle, and responded with a purr. ‘I know,’ Annie said. ‘It is immensely cheering. Almost worth wrecking Lydia’s car for.’ Then, since the cat made a very good listener, ‘Tell me, would you describe George Saxon as a likely beach bum?’