In the third shop she tried, she found the perfect thing. And when Luke came back from a meeting, there was a box on his desk tied with blue ribbon.

'What's this?' he asked.

'For you,' she said, leaning back in her chair. 'Just to say thanks for the weekend.'

'You didn't have to buy me anything.'

'I wanted to.'

He untied the ribbon and removed the protective crumpled tissue paper, and simply stared.

'It's Swedish art gla.s.s,' she told him. 'A paperweight.' Two dolphins, sculpted from gla.s.s, encased in a wave of lead crystal.

'It's beautiful. You really didn't have to, but I appreciate it.'

He walked over to her desk, leaned over and kissed her. His kiss was warm and sweet; this was definitely more than just s.e.xual attraction, Sara thought. And, although she didn't say it out loud, it felt a lot like love.

'I thought the dolphins might remind you of Ikaria. Though the island isn't just linked to Icarus, you know,' she said.

'Sounds as if someone's been doing some research,' he teased.

'I did. It's supposed to be the birthplace of Dionysus-and that's why it's linked to dolphins. When Dionysus was young, some pirates kidnapped him on his way to Naxos, so he stopped the ship and made vines grow over the sails. Then some beasts appeared as if by magic on the deck; the pirates jumped overboard in terror and they were changed into dolphins.'

'I'll think of you and your pirate fantasy whenever I look at it,' he said.

Luke asked her to stay over for two more nights that week; it convinced Sara that he was definitely letting down his barriers. So maybe, just maybe, if she asked him, he'd say yes...

'It's my niece's birthday on Sunday. I was wondering if you'd like to come with me?' she asked on the Friday morning. 'It's nothing elaborate because she's going to be two-just the usual family high tea and a birthday cake.'

'Family high tea.'

There was reservation in his tone, though when she looked at him his face was unreadable.

Clearly she'd pushed him too far, too fast. And hadn't he told her straight that he didn't like children? 'Look, you don't have to. It was just a thought. If you're not doing anything already.'

'It's nice of you to ask.'

She could hear the but. And she knew exactly what he was going to say because he always took refuge in work. Which meant she'd gone ten steps back instead of what she'd thought of as one tiny step forward.

'I...' He blew out a breath. 'OK. Sunday's fine.'

It was the last thing she'd expected him to say. So she just stared at him, stunned.

'But I don't exactly come across a lot of children in my line of work,' he added. 'You'll have to help me choose a present for her.'

'Present?'

'Even I know that you don't go to a party without a present for the birthday girl.' His tone was light, but his expression was still unreadable. She didn't have a clue what he was thinking, and it unsettled her.

He logged on to the Internet and typed in the name of the biggest toy shop in London-a name that was familiar even to people who didn't have children. 'What kind of things does she like?'

Then she realised. He was treating this as business; she knew this was his way of coping with things. She almost-almost-wrapped her arms round him and told him that everything was going to be fine, that all he had to do was tell her why families made him nervous, and she'd help him...but she didn't want to push him even further away. 'Look, I was going to hit the toy shop this evening. Why don't you come with me?'

'To the toy shop.' It was a statement rather than a question.

'Look, I know you've got something in your diary for late afternoon. Why don't I lock up here and we can meet at the corner of Regent Street and Oxford Circus at...say...six?'

He nodded and turned back to his desk. 'I'll call you if I'm running late.'

She couldn't leave it like this. 'Luke.'

'Mmm?' He looked up from the computer screen.

She laid her hand against his cheek. 'Thank you. I know this isn't really your kind of thing. I appreciate it.'

'No worries.' He made light of it, but his colour deepened. And her heart ached for him. What would it take to show him that he could trust her with himself? With his heart?

At precisely six o'clock, Luke met Sara in Regent Street and walked with her to the toy shop. It was full of families, parents choosing gifts for their children with love. How long had it been since he'd last set foot in a shop like this?

He pushed the thought away. Treat it like business, he told himself. Your goal is to choose a birthday gift for a small child. It's not difficult.

Though it felt difficult.

'Look at this.' Sara stood beside a carved wooden rocking horse with a mane and tail made of real hair. 'I always wanted something like this when I was little.'

Of course Sara would know exactly what a little girl would like. She'd been one herself. But he checked anyway. 'Do you think Maisie would like it?'

Her eyes widened. 'Luke, this costs a small fortune!'

He shrugged. 'It's only money.'

She looked away. 'It's nice of you, but...'

He read the answer in her face. 'Not appropriate for a two-year-old? OK. I'm in your hands. You know what kind of things she'd like.' He just hoped that Sara wouldn't drag it out too long. This wasn't his idea of fun.

Eventually, they chose a bright pink easel, several non-spill pots of paint, chunky brushes that would be easy for small hands to hold and lots of paper.

'We're not taking this on the Tube,' he said as they left the shop. 'It's too bulky.' He hailed a taxi and gave the cab driver Justin's address.

'You're coming with me?' she asked, looking surprised, when he slid into the back beside her.

'I'm hardly going to make you carry that lot up the stairs on your own,' he said mildly. 'Give me some credit.'

'I didn't mean that.' She bit her lip and took his hand. 'Just that I've already taken up a chunk of your evening.'

And she felt guilty about it? Ah, h.e.l.l. Time to make a concession. 'I wasn't doing anything special. And if Justin's home, maybe we can get a takeaway.'

Her smile was reward enough in itself. And sharing a curry and a beer with Sara, Justin and his new girlfriend, Zoe-a simple evening of good food, good music and a lot of affectionate teasing and laughter-Luke was shocked to find that he actually enjoyed it. Much, much more than he'd enjoyed the celebrity parties he used to attend.

Though his gut tightened on Sunday morning as they drew nearer to her family home. Nearer to being involved with a family again. Even though he was pretty sure that Sara's family was nothing like his own-he'd already met and liked Justin, and the rest of the Fleets were likely to be the same-the whole thing made him uneasy. It brought back memories he'd rather keep buried.

The driveway to the house was long and lined with trees. And the house at the end of it was stunning, a mix of honey-and rose-coloured bricks with well-proportioned sash windows. Two dormer windows nestled in the steeply pitched roof and there was a huge chimney at either end with a bowl-shaped top. No wonder Sara loved it here.

'How old is the house?' he asked.

'It's Queen Anne-so about three hundred years,' Sara said.

She directed him round the side of the house; there was a large gravelled area with several cars parked there, plus what looked like a stable block, an oast house and a huge barn. And, although the house hadn't looked that big from the front-three windows on the first floor and one either side of the front door-it went back a long way.

'n.o.body ever uses the front door,' Sara said. 'Everyone always goes straight into the kitchen-it's the heart of the house.'

Remembering how much she enjoyed pottering around in his kitchen, he could well believe it. But, all the same, he was glad he was carrying the bulky presents for Maisie-presents that Sara had wrapped in sparkly paper and dressed up with a huge pink bow. Right at that moment, he felt that he could do with a little armour-plating.

Sara opened the door and four dogs-the ones in the photographs in her flat-erupted. Two black Labradors, a Springer spaniel carrying a shoe and a Westie. Sara crouched down and they were all bouncing round her and licking her; she was laughing and not trying in the slightest to calm them down.

Then the spaniel spotted him and barked.

'Hey, it's OK. Luke's a friend,' she soothed.

Luke propped the presents against the wall, crouched down and put his hand out. The dog sniffed him and then licked his hand, before hunting round for the shoe he'd dropped earlier and dumping it at Luke's feet.

'Imelda, I presume?' he asked, laughing and retrieving the shoe before handing it to Sara.

'Yes. The Labradors are Russet and Pippin, and the Westie's Lamborne-Imelda was originally Bramley, until we discovered his shoe habit.'

'They're all named after varieties of apple?'

'What else would you expect, round here?' she teased back.

As she straightened up, an older woman joined them. Her resemblance to Sara was marked; seeing her was like seeing what Sara would be like in thirty years' time, Luke thought. Sara gave her mother a huge hug, then stepped back, grabbed Luke's hand and tugged him towards them. 'Luke, this is my mother, Nina Fleet-Mum, this is Luke Holloway.'

'Pleased to meet you, Luke,' Nina said politely.

'And you,' Luke said, holding out his hand.

To his shock, she didn't shake his hand; instead, she tutted, said, 'Oh, come here' and gave him a hug, too.

How many years had it been since he'd had a motherly hug?

Something inside him felt as if it had just cracked.

Part of him wanted to run. But the more sensible part of him knew that if he backed away it would hurt Sara. Nina Fleet was obviously the warm earth-mother type who greeted everyone with a hug. She was warm and plump and smelled of baking.

And, despite his reservations, Luke found himself returning her hug.

'Come in and have some coffee. Lamborne, get down. Pippin and Russet, stop pushing-there isn't room enough for both of you to get through the door at the same time as everyone else. And, Imelda, don't you even think about it,' Nina warned. 'Sara did tell you about not leaving your shoes anywhere, Luke?'

'Because Imelda will steal one and add it to his pile. Yes.' He laughed, picked up the presents again and followed Nina and Sara into the kitchen.

It was a proper farmhouse kitchen, with handmade cupboards painted cream, a scrubbed pine table and dresser, equally scrubbed red tiles on the floor, two large wicker dog beds near the Aga and a large butler's sink by the window with a view of the orchard.

Luke fell in love with it instantly.

'There's a stack of presents in the living room-leave those there, if you like, then come back and have a seat,' Nina said, gesturing to the table. 'I'm afraid it's a scratch lunch-jacket potatoes and a ca.s.serole-because I've been baking all morning and there just wasn't time to sort out a proper Sunday roast. But welcome, anyway. Can I get you a mug of tea or would you prefer coffee?'

'Coffee would be lovely, thanks.'

Sara led him through to the living room-a large, airy room with a huge open fireplace, comfortable sofas that were clearly well used and just the right side of shabby and overfull bookcases. There was a piano in the corner-the piano Sara had learned to play as a child? he wondered-and there were framed photographs everywhere. Weddings, babies, graduations, family get-togethers: they were all celebrated here.

A world away from what he was used to.

But at least Sara didn't push him to talk. She merely helped him put the presents with the rest, then ushered him back to the kitchen.

He noticed how Sara and her mother worked automatically as a team; Sara fetched the cream-and-white-striped mugs and matching sugar bowl while Nina shook grounds into a cafetiere. The next thing he knew, there was a steaming mug of coffee in front of him, along with a plate containing a thick slice of warm apple cake. 'Just to keep you going until lunch,' Nina added.

What a welcome. The Fleets were warm and trusting and accepting, right from the start; from what he remembered of his own childhood, everyone was suspect until proven and kept very firmly on the outside.

Probably one of the reasons why he was so suspicious of people in his personal life. It was inbred.

The dogs, who had been lying in their baskets, suddenly erupted again as a middle-aged man walked in, wearing faded jeans, muddy green wellington boots and a T-shirt with a faded slogan about apples.

This, Luke thought, must be Sara's father.

He removed the wellies and left them on the mat by the door. 'Imelda, leave,' he said firmly. The spaniel wagged his tail, as if to ask how anyone could possibly think he'd be naughty enough to run off with a single green wellie. Then the man enveloped his daughter in a huge hug, kissing her soundly. 'And how many pairs of shoes have you bought this week, darling?'

'section_insertedcopyright--num_1--seq_23. I'm not that bad.'

'No?' he teased.

'No.' Sara laughed and hugged him back. 'Dad, this is Luke.'

He strode over to the table and held out his hand. 'Nice to meet you. I'm James.'

'Luke.'

The older man's handshake was firm and dry, and Luke's gut feeling told him that James Fleet was one of the good guys.

This was going to be all right.

The house filled up before lunch-which was a fabulous meal, and very far from being the 'scratch lunch' Nina had described it as-and then, just as Nina was shooing them from the kitchen, Louisa arrived with her husband, Bryan, and his parents.

'And here's the birthday girl,' Nina cooed.

The little girl toddled in and hugged everyone in turn; clearly she was as tactile as the rest of the Fleets, Luke thought.

But she stopped dead in front of Luke and looked up at him, eyes wide.

Of course. He was a stranger.