‘I think this might be someone wanting to speak to you,’ Rob said, and he gave him the same quizzical look that he’d just received from Erin. ‘If I’m not mistaken, it’s your Charlotte.’

His Charlotte…

Once more he had that sensation of entrapment-the sensation he’d had since he was about thirteen and Charlotte had told the district he was the man she intended marrying. Of course it was Charlotte, driving her smart little red BMW and pulling to a halt as Rob steered Matt’s truck to a halt on the grass verge. Then she was out of the car and darting across the road toward them.

Charlotte was looking immaculate. Of course. When had she not? She was wearing her signature, beautifully cut, white slacks and white silk blouse, her long, blonde hair was carefully braided into a chignon, and she looked all ready for their intimate dinner.

Except she was no longer expecting her special dinner. Bay Beach had a very effective communication system, and it hadn’t let Charlotte down. She’d heard of the fire. Hauling the truck door open before Matt could do it himself, she practically threw herself into his arms in relief.

‘Matthew… Oh, love, you could have been killed.’ But emotion or not, her eyes were taking everything in, including Rob-and including the red velvet box lying forgotten in the map compartment. Sensibly, she ignored it. Almost.

‘Sally rang and she said you dived into that burning building and pulled out the orphans all by yourself. She said you were burned!’ She stepped back and saw the nasty red blister on his forehead and the grime of smoke all over him-and then, instinctively, she looked down at herself.

Whoops. Her pure white ensemble was now smudged grey.

House fires, however, required courage. Matt had been brave and she could be, too.

‘It’ll wash off,’ she told her beloved. ‘Not to worry. But, Matt, Sally said the doctor said you’re not to stay alone.’ She turned to Rob. ‘Bring him to my place.’