"And no company car, either, but I could loan you a board and sail." He smiled. "Where are you going to stay?"

"In Creekside, if Fi will have me."

"What about your place in London? Your job?"

"I've got it sorted," replied Lucy, which wasn't strictly true, but it was a very skinny fib compared to previous big fat lies. "There's no need to feel guilty for having suggested I stay here, if that's what's worrying you," she added.

"I'm not worried. You seem like a woman who knows her own mind. I can't imagine you dithering over any decision."

"Dither? Me? I don't know the meaning of the word."

"You know, I have to be honest. When we first met I thought you were a bit, um... dippy, but since you've been here, I've seen you change. Become more determined. Oh shit, tell me to mind my own business."

"Josh, it's fine. I appreciate it. After all, I'm hardly a domestic goddess."

He hesitated and seemed to be looking her up and down as if trying to work out whether she bore any resemblance to Nigella Lawson. I should be so lucky, she thought, her cheeks heating gently under his appraisal.

"I'm glad about that, because I don't need a goddess, just a cleaner and someone to be friendly to the guests. I'm not doing you a favor, Lucy, you're doing me one. Now I can concentrate on getting the place into shape and making it pay. It's high time I took it seriously, for Marnie's sake."

He stepped forward into a beam of soft light. He held out his hand and she took it. It wasn't a Gideon handshake, her fingers weren't being crushed, yet it was thrillingly firm, all the same. The air in the kitchen was hot and still, dust motes dancing in the beam of light as Josh gently relinquished her hand. "There's one more thing I need to say before we start," he said, rather too ominously for her liking.

"Oh gosh, that sounds serious."

He gave her that look, and she knew exactly what he was going to say and that it would sound really nice but would, actually, be something quite humiliating. He was going to say something about them being friends, that he was only doing this to help her out because he felt sorry for her. If he did, she thought, she was off back to London in a flash.

"Yes, what is it?" she said.

"Just..." He raked a hand over his head. "I wouldn't want you to think that I meant... anything by offering you the job. I wouldn't want you to think I'm trying to make you beholden to me, or that I'd try to take advantage or anything."

"Josh, I know you've just offered me a job and I should be polite, but please, just shut up. I needed a job, you needed a cleaner. That's it," she said.

"Yeah. Sure. Sorry. I'm better if I keep my mouth shut."

"On this occasion, yes, you are." She hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. "I'm going to London to sort out a few-um, minor details, but shall I see you next weekend?"

"Yes. Yes, of course."

She crossed to the door.

"Lucy, could you hold on a minute. There's just one more thing..."

Just one more thing? Lucy's blood ran, if not cold, then less than lukewarm. Because that's just what TV detectives always said. Just as the villain had his or her handle on the door, congratulating themselves that they'd got away after all. Just before the detective moved with the killer question that was going to get them sent down for good.

She turned with a smile. "Yes, Josh?"

"I'll need all that boring crap for the tax. Your personal details..."

"My personal details?"

"I'm afraid so. You know, address, NI number-for the paperwork."

"You already know my name."

"Yes, but I need you to fill in some forms. I'm a clean-living lad these days and I want to make it all official with the tax."

Bugger, bugger, bugger. Why hadn't she thought of that before? He'd have to know her real name, of course, and if he did he might recognize it, Google her, anything, or even tell Sara.

"I know it would be more money for you if I just gave you cash in hand but I play by the rules, even if they are a load of crap."

"Of course you must do everything by the book. I wouldn't expect anything else. You're self-employed and there are rules and... oh, Josh, can't we do all of this another time? I've only just got used to the idea of changing my entire life and I need to go back to the cottage and make Fiona speechless for the first time in her life."

"I'd like to see that, and you're right. The boring crap can wait. Let me know when you're ready to start and I'll show you the ropes."

"You've done what?"

Fiona wasn't speechless when Lucy told her she was staying on in Tresco Creek, but she did spill half a glass of red wine over herself. A ruby stain started spreading over the crotch of her diamond-white skinny jeans. "Hell's bells, these jeans cost a fortune!"

"I'll fetch a cloth."

"No, that'll make it worse. Lucy, what in the name of the saints has possessed you to do this? Chuck in a perfectly good job?"

"A perfectly boring job, Fiona."

"A perfectly boring job that kept you in clean knickers and takeouts. And what about the flat?"

"They have knickers and takeouts down here too, and what's more they're a lot cheaper. I've got a strategy... oh, and keep on raising your eyebrows like that and you'll end up like Joan Rivers."

"B-but-"

"No goldfish impressions either, please, Fi. I have made a decision," said Lucy dramatically, half enjoying Fiona's stunned reaction. "Everything is sorted. Well, kind of sorted. I phoned Charlie tonight. He knows a couple of Australian students who want a place for the summer so I can sublet the flat."

"Students? Holy Mary, the place will need an exterminator when you get back."

"That's very narrow-minded of you, not to mention 'studentist,'" said Lucy, following Fiona into the kitchen. She opened the door of the fridge and fetched out a bottle of white wine.

Fiona's eyes narrowed. "Don't try and put me off the scent by plying me with alcohol. I want to know how living a lie really has finally driven you bonkers."

"The wine is for your jeans. And I'm not bonkers. In fact, I think I just made the most rational decision ever. It's time I did something slightly reckless for a change."

"Slightly reckless? Jesus, shacking up with a megalomaniac and turning down his offer of marriage on live telly wasn't reckless? I'd hate to see you do something completely reckless. What about Nick? Does he know?"

"It's none of his business and I don't think he'll be giving me a second chance."

"Do you want one?"

"I don't know what I want. All I know is that for the first time in my life I need to take a risk."

Fiona shimmied out of her jeans, laid them on the tiles, and started pouring white wine on them. "What about your job? What will Able & Lawson say?"

"I've left a message and I'm going up next week to hand in my resignation."

"Can't they sue you if you don't work out your notice?"

"I'll have to see what they say, but I'll call in sick if I have to. I've made up my mind, Fiona, and if you or anyone else doesn't like my decision, I'm afraid it's tough."

Hengist wedged himself between them and started licking the wine off the jeans. Fiona snatched them up off the floor. "Hengist, I don't mind you having the odd curry, but I draw the line at sampling my D&Gs."

She opened the door of the washing machine and shoved them inside, then turned to Lucy. "OK. I know I should mind my own business, it's your life, and I love you to bits, Luce, but how are you going to keep yourself? Have you any idea where you're going to stay?"

Lucy grabbed the half-empty wine bottle. "That's what I've got to talk to you about. Come into the lounge, I think you should sit down."

Chapter 23.

"Lucy, you can't be serious?"

Oh dear, thought Lucy, that was exactly what Fiona had said when she'd asked if she could move into Creekside Cottage for the summer. Now Letitia, sitting opposite her in the flat in London, was staring at her with saucer eyes. The tiny table had been dragged into the sitting room and an assortment of chairs laid round it.

"I am serious, Letitia, I went in to see Mr. Lawson this afternoon and explained that I'm leaving," said Lucy.

"But I thought this was a 'welcome home' dinner. You can't actually go! I'll be bereft! Who'll fetch my carrot cake? They're doing a low-carb version now, you know, for fatties like moi."

Letitia patted her almost nonexistent tummy. After giving birth to little Crispin, Lucy thought she was as slender as if she'd never been pregnant at all.

"I'm sure you'll find someone else to visit the deli-or you could go yourself?"

"Lord, no. I can't be seen in there myself. Oh, Lucy, the plants have suffered since you left, you know. Your spike wilted and we had to throw it out."

"Perhaps that was for the best," murmured Lucy.

Letitia tried her most winning smile. "We'll miss you so much. We've got a temp, you know, and she tries terribly hard but all she talks about is EastEnders and her vacations with the RV club. Can you believe it?"

Letitia made EastEnders sound like hardcore porn and the RV club like a demonic sect and Lucy, unable to stop smiling, realized she was going to miss Able & Lawson more than she thought.

"She has that awful Ross Kemp pinned on the filing cabinet and she is nowhere near as good at managing the website as you. Oh, do say you'll stay!"

It was almost tempting but Lucy was prepared. "No, I've promised to take this housekeeping job now. I want a fresh start after all the"-she thought of Mr. Lawson's face when she had handed in her resignation-"unpleasantness."

"Wasn't Hugo very disappointed to lose you?"

In truth, Lucy wasn't sure Hugo Lawson had been disappointed or just plain annoyed when she'd asked to be let go from her job without working her notice. She suspected he was the type of man who'd go a long way to avoid confrontation of any kind.

"I wasn't in there long, but he did mutter something about 'the situation being damned inconvenient.'"

Letitia's mouth opened wide. "Oh gosh, he must be devastated. Hugo never uses profanities. Didn't he try and persuade you to stay?"

"He said they'd be happy to have me back when I'd got over this particular episode of my life."

"Well, that's something..."

"If there was a vacancy."

The door buzzed and Lucy jumped to her feet with a degree of relief. She wasn't enjoying having to justify her move to a chorus of largely skeptical friends, not to mention her mother. "That'll be Charlie and Fi." A small earth tremor also appeared to be shaking the building. "And Hengist too."

After kisses all round, Hengist was settled in the corner with a bumper pack of dog biscuits and Charlie handed over a miniature Elvis suit for baby Crispin which had Letitia in ecstasy for a full five minutes. Lucy went to check on dinner. When she got back, Fiona had opened a bottle of Blush Zinfandel and serious glugging had begun. She'd barely taken a sip when three pairs of eyes were focused on her like cats staring at a goldfish bowl. What was coming next was as predictable as rain on a bank holiday.

"OK. What? Have I got spinach in my teeth or something?"

Charlie shot a glance at Fiona. Fiona slurped her wine. Letitia reached out and patted her hand as if she were a patient in a rest home. "We're only thinking of you. We don't want you to go, you see."

"Thanks, but I've made my decision. I know it seems like I'm bonkers."

Fiona snorted but Lucy ignored her. "I guess you think I'm nuts to give up my job, but like I told Mr. Lawson, you have to take risks sometime in life. This thing with, well, with Nick has made me think about what I really want from life."

"But is cleaning cottages what you really want?" asked Letitia.

"I only do the changeovers part of the week. I'm hoping to build up a small marketing business in my spare time."

Charlie took a drag of his Gauloise and puffed out smoke in a perfect ring. "But why Cornwall, darling? You could set up your own empire here and get a better-paid job."

Lucy felt uncomfortably warm. "I don't want an empire and a fresh start means just that. Totally fresh."

"Very fresh," said Fiona with what she obviously thought was an enigmatic leer.

Lucy aimed a kick at her leg under the table.

"Have you heard from Nick yet?" said Letitia.

Lucy kept her voice level. "No. Not yet. I tried to phone him while I was in Tresco but his PA answered so I hung up."

"Coward," said Charlie then leaned over and kissed Lucy's cheek to show he didn't mean it. "Actually, I saw him in the Standard last week. The bugger must be making a fortune. He's already won a contract for his catering thing from a bank. All those Hooray hedge-fund managers getting shit-faced at Wimbledon while Nick plies them with strawberries at a grand a pop. They all deserve each other."

"That's very bitter, Charlie," said Lucy. "Making lots of money isn't necessarily evil."

"My Henry's a hedge-fund manager," said Letitia, obviously miffed.

"Partners of present company excepted," said Charlie, flashing her a generous smile. "So there's no new man in Cornwall? No rugged surfer or wickedly handsome smuggler?" he offered, stubbing out his cigarette.

Lucy smiled. "Smuggling ended a couple of hundred years ago, Charlie."