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‘Hey,’ he said softly, but at that moment there was a clattering sound coming from the direction of the dining room and she quickly moved away from him.
‘Oh, look—the kettle’s boiling!’ she said brightly.
Fran was glad to have the breakfast things to clear away—it gave her something to do while Mrs. Lockhart and her daughters were preparing to leave. And whatever Sam said the situation certainly felt delicate. His mother might be the most unshockable, liberated and tolerant septuagenarian on the planet but it didn’t alter the fact that Fran didn’t feel right about openly cavorting with her son.
Sam came into the kitchen just as she was finishing loading the dishwasher and resisted the urge to cup his palms around those delicious, high buttocks. He cleared his throat instead. ‘We’re going, Fran.’
‘I’ll come and say goodbye.’
Mrs. Lockhart kissed her on both cheeks. ‘I hope we see you again, Fran,’ she smiled.
Maddy, who was sporting yellow ribbons in among the russet curls, gave Fran a questioning look, full of mischief. ‘I rather think we will, don’t you?’
‘Well, if ever you need an event planned, I’d be happy to organise it for you.’ Fran returned the cheeky look with a smile. ‘Like a wedding or engagement party, for instance?’
Maddy went pink. ‘We’ll see.’
‘Bye,’ said Merry, giving Fran a quick, unexpected and very welcome hug. ‘Look after my big brother for me.’
‘He doesn’t need any looking after,’ answered Fran truthfully.
‘Nonsense!’ Mrs. Lockhart shook her head vehemently. ‘All men need looking after!’
‘Does the man in question get any say in all this?’ asked Sam, with a grin. ‘Because I have to say that I’m firmly on the side of my mother on this one!’ He picked up his car keys from the hall table. ‘Bye, Fran,’ he said softly, his eyes luminous with promise. ‘See you soon.’
‘Bye,’ she whispered back.
Fran stood on the doorway waving them off, and wondered just what would happen when Sam came home. Well, she had a pretty good idea of what might happen in the s
hort-term, and she felt the slow unfurling of excitement as her mind painted erotic pictures inside her head.
But where did they go from here as a couple? He had made it clear that he wasn’t promiscuous, but it would be wrong to read too much into that. And just because he had taken her to bed didn’t mean that he was about to start proposing they move in together. Did it?
She calculated that it would take fifteen minutes to reach the station, and Sam would wait until he had seen them safely boarded on the train. Which probably left her with enough time for the bath she hadn’t had time for this morning….
She was just unpacking bubble bath from her bag when there was a sudden loud ringing on the doorbell, and Fran looked with surprise at her watch. Surely that couldn’t be Sam back already? No, impossible. And anyway, Sam had a key.
She opened the door without using the peep-hole and was slightly startled to see an unfamiliar broad-shouldered figure standing on the step, his dark-featured face scowling and angry.
‘Don’t you women ever use a peep-hole for security reasons?’ he stormed.
With the sound of the musical Irish voice came recognition. ‘Cormack!’ cried Fran delightedly. ‘Cormack Casey—the world-famous Irish screenwriter—as I live and breathe! What on earth are you doing here at this time in the morning?’
Cormack looked strained, Fran thought, but then the last time she had seen him had been at his son’s baptism, which she had arranged, when he hadn’t appeared to have had a care in the world.
‘Can I come in?’ he asked.
‘Of course you can come in! I’ll even make you some coffee, if you’re lucky! Or breakfast. Have you eaten?’
But Cormack shook his head. ‘Not now. I need to talk to Sam. Is he here?’
‘No, but he won’t be long. He’s taken his mother and sisters to the station. He should be back in, say, half an hour.’
The lines of tension round the Irishman’s mouth seemed to ease. ‘Helen and the girls have been staying here?’
‘Just for the one night.’
He looked watchful again. ‘And how long have you been here, Fran?’
