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Yeah, she'd been having fun. He'd turned out to be enough fun to distract her completely. But he cared about her. Isn't that what she had secretly hoped, yesterday? Could it mean there was some hope for them? What if he wanted to continue seeing her, after this? Not just a fling while they worked together, but a real relationship. What would life be like with a man like Sebastian, a man who'd turned out to be a dream date and a rollicking adventure, all rolled into one?
"Amy, what is it that you are looking for?" he said, when she didn't respond.
Happiness, fun and love, a family one day, she supposed, then shook her head. What a philosophical thing to have asked her, and in a shop of all places. She stared at him, unable to fathom his intentions. He glanced around the shelves expectantly, then looked back at her.
"Oh, I see." She blushed when she realized he thought she was looking for something in the shop, because of the way she was standing there in the middle of the aisle. She pressed her hand to her temple. The chaos of the morning was making her dizzy.
"Painkillers," she blurted. "I'm liable to need them."
His head disappeared and reappeared, then he reached over, offering her the requisite packet over the top of the stack.
"Thank you." She took the packet off him. He was so gallant, charming and sexy. She felt light-headed. The fisherman was rapping on the window, then she saw his hand wave at a passing cyclist. The cyclist waved back. Was that what he'd been waiting for?
"Ok I admit it," she whispered. "I have been having a lot of fun."
He smiled.
She shot him a warning glance. "But what about Quentin Edwards, what about the trail and the feature I am supposed to be working on?"
The sound of Wellington boots slapping along the linoleum floor drew their attention. The fisherman was ambling up to the till. So, he could move. Amy had been wondering if he was rooted to the spot.
"Normandy Brie" It was the fisherman who had spoken.
Amy frowned and looked at Sebastian. Sebastian shrugged. She stepped quickly over to the counter, unfolding the sheets of paper in her hand.
"I'll write the fax number down for you. It's a London code."
The shopkeeper stared past her as if she hadn't spoken, while he lifted the pages she'd set down on the counter. She pulled a pen out of her bag and began to scribble the number on the back of a discarded till receipt.
"A nice lump of imported Normandy Brie, a box of posh water biscuits, and the best drop of port I could muster. That's what Mr. Edwards likes."
Amy's head shot up.
The shopkeeper looked at them, making eye contact for the first time, his expression amused.
Amy reached out to clutch at the counter. "You know him, Quentin Edwards?"
"Oh yes, Mr. Ghost Hunter himself." He gave a hearty laugh, licked one stubby finger and began to count the pages she'd handed over.
Amy looked at Sebastian, who was observing the shopkeeper with a speculative gaze.
"Have you seen much of him recently?" Sebastian asked.
"I saw him just yesterday." He chortled again. "Ran out of petrol he did, so I had to do a mercy dash out to the cottage with a can and supplies."
Could it be true, had they inadvertently picked up the trail?
"Is he on the phone? It's just that we've got an important message from his work place," Amy mumbled, wondering if the man knew his best customer was AWOL from his life in London.
"Oh no. No phone, no electricity, nothing." More chortling. "That's why they've been living on port and cheese I reckon, them city slicker types soon get bored stoking up the old pot boiler to make their supper of a night."
They? One look at Sebastian assured Amy he'd spotted the remark too. Quentin was here, and he was not alone.
"I don't think we'll be sending the fax after all," Sebastian said, taking it from the man's hand.
"Sebastian, the deadline."
"Think about it, you can give the whole story next week, facts and all." He emphasized the word 'facts', reminding her of her earlier comments.
