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His response was neutral. ‘Rain is good. Cleansing.’ He put one case down and closed the boot.
Annabelle retrieved a couple of rucksacks from the rear seat and he guessed they belonged to her kids.
‘The forecast is better for tomorrow. Sunshine with a bit of cloud,’ he added.
Her smile was tight. ‘That’s good to know.’
She locked the car and he followed her inside, admiring the view. She almost caught him staring at her when she glanced over her shoulder, and he hastily looked away. Annabelle might be an attractive woman, but she was off limits. In fact, every woman was off limits, because who in their right mind would want to get involved with a homeless guy?
‘Where do you want these?’ Ron called to Beverley, and it didn’t surprise him to see her trundle down the stairs so she could show him personally.
‘In the room Helen was in,’ she said.
‘Wasin?’ Ron raised his eyebrows, wondering if Helen was happy about the move. Or whether she actually knew about it.
‘It’s a twin, so I thought Annabelle and Izzie could share. You can’t expect them to squash together in a single bed when Helen’s room has two perfectly good twin beds. I’ve put her in the single next to yours.’
It did make more sense for Annabelle and her daughter to have the room Helen had originally chosen for herself, as it was larger, but he’d bet his last penny that Helen hadn’t agreed to the move, and when she found out she wouldn’t be pleased.
The twinkle in Beverley’s eyes told Ron that she was well aware how Helen would react.
The elderly ladies were like chalk and cheese, and from what he’d been able to determine, there had been animosity between them from the very first time they’d met, and it hadn’t abated over the years. Last Christmas their squabbling, as well as the typically teenage behaviour of Kate and Brett’s daughters, had actually led to Kate disappearing to the south coast for a few days to get away from them.
The family seemed much calmer now and everyone was on their best behaviour. Mind you, Ron thought, it was early days yet and the holiday had only just begun. Time would tell if the good behaviour would continue, and with Beverley moving Helen to another bedroom and taking great delight in doing so, the cracks may already be starting to show.
Ron put both cases in the room Annabelle would be sharing with her daughter – her son was going to sleep in Sam’s room because there were bunk beds – and he beat a hasty retreat. For some reason an image of Annabelle’s long fair hair splayed across the pillow on one of the twin beds had leapt into his mind, and it made him feel quite peculiar. He should not be having thoughts like that about anyone, and especially not about his benefactor’s niece.
It also didn’t help his equilibrium when he realised Annabelle was standing directly behind him as he backed out of the door, and when he bumped into her his breath caught in his throat at the unexpected contact.
‘Sorry,’ he muttered, making a dash for it, feeling the weight of Beverley’s curious gaze on his back as he hot-footed it along the hall, heading for the stairs.
Voices coming from beyond the front door told him that Brett and his mother were home.
Brett, he liked; Helen, he wasn’t so sure of. Ron didn’t think she liked him very much, and whenever she saw him she looked as though she’d caught a faint whiff of a nasty smell. To be fair, the first time she’d met him her expression and distaste probablyhadbeen due to him having not washed for several days, but with lack of personal hygiene no longer an issue thanks to him having at least one shower a day, Ron could only conclude that Helen simply didn’t like him.
He didn’t blame her – he often didn’t like himself very much, either. But he had a feeling her dislike wasn’t so much to do with him as a person, but more to do with the fact that he was still technically homeless. He got the impression Helen thought he was sponging off Beverley, and Helen’s mistrust was only thinly veiled.
Annabelle’s mother, May, didn’t like him much either, probably for the same reason, although her father didn’t seem to mind him: though Terence might change his mind if he knew Ron had been ogling his daughter.
Brett gave Ron a wide smile when he spotted him at the foot of the stairs, and his open and friendly face was in direct contrast to the tight jaw and flattening of the lips which was Helen’s version of a smile. Although, Ron conceded, she was such a sour lemon of a woman that she tended to wear that expression a lot. The only exception was when she was looking at, or speaking to, Brett: she thought the sun shone out of her son’s backside.
‘Have you begun preparing dinner?’ Helen asked sharply, seeing him halfway up the stairs.
Ron shrugged. ‘It’s only five o’clock,’ he said.
‘Nonsense! The others will be back soon, and anyway, Brett is hungry, aren’t you, Brett?’
Brett made a face. ‘Not particularly,’ he said, and Ron could tell he was trying to be diplomatic.
Helen tutted. ‘I suppose it’s down to me to do the cooking, if no one else can be bothered.’ By “no one else”, Ron assumed Helen was referring to him.
Ron wasn’t averse to doing his share of the chores – in fact, he thought it only fair he did as much as he could to repay Beverley’s kindness – but he didn’t appreciate Helen’s attitude. Whenever he was in her presence he felt very much like a servant.
Beverley, who had followed along behind him, caught his eye and smirked. ‘Helen, my dear, I’ve moved you into the spare room,’ she said. ‘I know it’s only a single, but it’s perfectly adequate. Annabelle and Izzie will be sharing the twin.’
Helen shot her an incredulous look. ‘You’ve touched my things?’ she spluttered.
‘Only to move them to your new room. I didn’t know how long you’d be on the golf course, and I wanted Annabelle to settle in.’
