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The look he gave her wasn’t amused.
‘I’m sure she would,’ he agreed coolly.
He was blocking her path to her car, inadvertently she was sure, but suddenly, looking up at him—and she had quite a long way to look up, Charlotte realised warily—for the first time in her life she suddenly felt very, very vulnerable and fragile.
How ridiculous. He wasn’t threatening her in any way. Any fool could see that he was a totally non-violent man, for all the powerful strength of his body. Whatever else she might consider him capable of doing, she couldn’t deny that there was something about him that suggested he was the kind of man who would always be protective of those weaker than himself. There was almost a gentleness about him…
As she stared up at him, confused by her own feelings, by her awareness that in other circumstances this was a man she would very much have liked to have as a friend…or a lover…she felt her skin grow hot and, without thinking, heard herself saying breathlessly, ‘I’m sorry if I misjudged your…your motives. I expect I did rather over-react, but things haven’t been easy for Sophy. She was widowed some months ago. She desperately wants to keep her house and her independence. She was considering selling, but it wasn’t something she wanted to do.’
She saw that he was frowning.
‘I’m sorry to hear that. Is there no one who can help her…family?’
‘She has parents, but—’ Realising suddenly just how far she had dropped her guard, she said quickly, ‘This is what happens, you see, when you get a property boom. Those at the lowest end of the market lose out. If Sophy sold her house, what chance would she have of ever rebuying, once the influx of London yuppies had pushed up local prices? Those with properties think only of the profit they’re going to make. They don’t think of the people who haven’t yet got their feet on the first rung of the ladder…young couples, often with very low wages.’
‘That isn’t the fault of the agents,’ Oliver told her quietly.
‘No,’ Charlotte agreed. ‘It’s the effect of market forces. We all know that, but you can’t deny that there are unscrupulous, greedy agents.’
‘Just as there are unscrupulous and greedy buyers and sellers,’ Oliver agreed evenly, and then almost abruptly he added, ‘Look, I know you don’t like the fact that I’m opening up here, but I honestly believe that there is enough business for both of us. It isn’t my intention to force your agency to close.’
His assumption that should it be his intention he could do so infuriated Charlotte, her anger overwhelming her earlier softening awareness of the man behind the image she had mentally created for him.
Not trusting herself to speak, she wheeled round sharply on her heel and unlocked her car door.
Mercifully this time it started at the first turn of the key, although Charlotte knew that her hands were shaking when she drove carefully away, her body intensely aware of the man standing on the pavement watching her, although she didn’t betray by a single sideways glance her knowledge that he was there.
Why was this happening? she wondered miserably as she drove back to her office. She didn’t want to feel like this about any man; she had got to an age where she had believed that she never would. She liked her placid, safe life; the fear of being hurt, of being found wanting, of being rejected had successfully protected her from the dangers of any potential involvement.
So why on earth now, when she should be safely past all this kind of nonsense, was she suffering these pangs of emotion and sensation, and for Oliver Tennant of all men?
It was a question she couldn’t answer.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘WELL, I think this shade would be perfect, especially with the wood you’ve chosen for the units.’
‘Mm. I like this brighter yellow,’ Sheila argued.
Sophy had started work with them on Monday morning, and now the three of them were sitting round the desk in the upper room studying paint-shade charts.
As good as her word, Sheila had produced the names and addresses of three painters and a couple of joiners. Choosing the wood for the kitchen units had been relatively easy. Charlotte had fallen immediately and heavily in love with the satin sheen of a pretty cherrywood, but choosing the paint for the walls was proving to be more of a problem.
Now, rather hesitantly, she produced a magazine and said quietly, ‘I was wondering about this wallpaper…but I’m not sure.’
When she showed them the photograph the other two women instantly approved.
‘It’s perfect,’ Sheila pronounced, ‘and fun too. What is it?’
‘It’s Kaffe Fassett-style,’ Charlotte told her. ‘I’ve read about his work, and I saw this article mentioning the wallpapers he’s designed. I thought this yellow one, with the pottery motifs.’
‘It will be perfect,’ Sophy agreed. ‘And with some of those lovely old terracotta floor tiles. You’ve got to have an Aga, of course.’
Charlotte laughed. ‘Well, as a matter of fact I am rather tempted. Vanessa has one, but she doesn’t use it for cooking.’
Sheila clucked disapprovingly. ‘What a waste. My mother had one years ago. She swore by it.’
‘Well, most of the local farms still have them.’
