Thicker Than Water Read Free Page A

road was narrow and cobbled, but as he’d said, parking bays lined it on both sides, most of them empty this Saturday afternoon.
    ‘Go in this one,’ James instructed, ‘next to my car. It’s almost directly behind the flat, but there’s no rear access, so we have to go round the front.’
    He took her case from the boot, and they walked together in the warm autumn sunshine round the corner and into the market square. It was an attractive setting, with a small open-sided building in the centre, topped with a clock. Scattered around it, market stallholders were engaged in packing up and reloading their vans, while a few last-minute shoppers poked among the remaining wares. A selection of interesting-looking buildings surrounded the square; several accommodated shops, one was a pub, and a tall, gabled building looked like the Town Hall.
    ‘This is the oldest part,’ James said, with proprietary pride. ‘As you can see, there’s a T-junction at the far side. The right-hand leg leads to the new shopping centre, cinema, supermarket, and so on, and the left to the church, railway and bus stations. The town’s expanded a lot in the last few years, but thankfully the planners tried to harmonize with the original buildings.’
    He stopped in front of a smartly painted door with a brass knocker, sandwiched between what looked like an office, closed for the weekend, and a bakery-cum-café, from which enticing aromas emanated.
    James, turning the key in the lock, saw her appreciative sniff, and grinned. ‘That’s where my breakfast comes from – croissants, hot rolls, warm bread, even Danish if you can stomach it.’
    ‘My breakfast consists of yogurt and black coffee,’ Abigail told him.
    ‘What’s the betting I’ll convert you? Now, welcome to Markham Towers.’
    He flung open the door, which gave on to a flight of linoleumed stairs, and stood back for her to enter. She went slowly up them, and, emerging from the stairwell, found herself on a small landing. The door to her left stood open, displaying a wide room flooded with sunshine, through the windows of which lay a panorama of the square they’d just left.
    James deposited her case on the landing and took her elbow. ‘In you go.’
    Abigail, allowing herself to be led forward, looked about her with pleasure. The floor was polished wood, adorned with a couple of vibrantly coloured rugs, the walls pale and for the most part bare, but a striking abstract over the fireplace echoed the rugs’ vivid shades. Sofa and armchairs were in soft, honey leather, and on a low table was a tray bearing two champagne flutes. The general ambience was of comfort and welcome.
    James was watching her anxiously. ‘What do you think?’
    ‘It’s – great. Just great.’
    He breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Really? I’ve been wondering how my humble abode would appeal to an interior designer.’
    She laughed. ‘Now you know. And what a fabulous view.’
    She walked to the window, noting that beyond the busy little town lay encircling hills, gilded now by the late afternoon sun.
    James followed her, slipping an arm round her waist. ‘It’s wonderful, isn’t it? I often stand here, just people-watching. I love being the centre of things – a residue, perhaps, of two years in New York.’ His arm tightened. ‘Oh, Abigail, it’s so wonderful to have you here.’
    She turned her head to him, surrendering to his searching kiss before giving a little laugh. ‘We’re right in front of the window, remember! You might not be the only one who people-watches!’
    ‘True! Come on, I’ll show the rest of my domain. It’s just two large rooms, this and the bedroom, and what estate agents call “the usual offices” – a minute galley-kitchen, which I confess I use as little as possible, and an en suite off the bedroom.’
    ‘You mentioned a loft conversion?’ Abigail said tentatively.
    ‘That’s right.’ He gestured at a trap door in the hall ceiling. ‘We’ll have to organize