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‘Not really.’
Rosie shook her head. ‘You used to lie much more efficiently. Oh…’ She closed her eyes. ‘Sorry, if that sounds rude.’
Ifthat sounds rude? How else could it sound? But he knew what she meant. Not so long ago, he’d been a master of the white lie.I’ll ring you tomorrow. You look amazing in that dress.
But that was before the only woman he’d ever truly loved deceived him with the biggest lie of all:Of course I love you.
Rosie was staring at him, biting her lip.
‘It’s fine,’ he told her. ‘So what are you planning to do in here first?’
‘I thought I’d paint the walls – I’ve already washed them down. A coat of paint should freshen things up straight away, don’t you think?’
She sounded desperate, surrounded by piles of furniture and pots of paint. She sounded like someone who’d bitten off more than she could chew, which meant the Eppings would win. Like they always did when money was involved. Affluent Charles and Cecilia Epping got richer by pushing up rents on local homes and business premises until people couldn’t cope. They didn’t care about the ordinary villagers of Heaven’s Cove at all.
‘What do you want me to do first?’ asked Liam, trying not to think about the rent rise on the fields that he leased from the Eppings. If his worries spiralled, he would only end up imagining his mum and dad having to sell up and move from Meadowsweet Farm.
Rosie wrinkled her nose. ‘Can you wave a magic wand and make this place into a perfect little guesthouse?’
‘I’m afraid magic is outside my remit, but if you’ve got any fields that need planting or courtyards that need hosing down, I’m your man. And I’m sure I can slap on some paint.’
Rosie’s face relaxed into a smile. ‘Are you sure you can spare the time?’
‘I can spare an hour or so. Tom’s helping out this morning and he’s brought his younger brother with him. Dad might give them a hand too if Mum can spare him.’
‘How are your parents these days?’
‘Fine.’
‘Really?’
Liam breathed out slowly. ‘Kind of fine. Dad’s getting more and more forgetful which can be… difficult at times.’
‘How’s your mum coping?’
‘She’s worried, like me, but OK. They get on pretty well, considering, and she likes that he’s home more these days, rather than being in the pub. Dad was a bit of a lad when he was younger.’
Rosie narrowed her eyes. She looked like she was about to say something but, instead, she thrust a paintbrush into his hand.
One hour helping out at Driftwood House soon became two. Not that Liam minded. The rhythmic strokes of the paintbrush were soothing and it was peaceful here, high above Heaven’s Cove, with only Rosie for company, although she hardly spoke.
She’d been painting the opposite wall for a while, but seemed distracted and kept abandoning her paint and switching to other tasks. A couple of times she opened the bureau and looked at the paperwork that she’d gathered up from the floor and shoved inside. When she did it for a third time, Liam paused from slapping on paint and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. She was never going to get Driftwood House up to scratch if she couldn’t concentrate.
‘Something interesting?’ he asked.
‘No. Not really.’ She turned over a photo she was holding. ‘Have you heard of someone called Morag MacIntyre?’
‘Sounds like a good Devon name.’
Rosie’s smile was half-hearted. ‘I just thought you might know her.’
‘Afraid not. Why?’
‘Nothing important. She’s in this photo that I found in the attic.’
He squinted at the picture she was waving at him. ‘Is that a baby?’
‘Yes, it’s me. Look!’
