'On bingo websites,' she said, pressing her knees into the backs of her hands until it hurt. But she determined to go on. To break this curse once and for all. 'And I lied to my parents to get them to give me money that I then gambled.'

'Hmm,' he said thoughtfully and was quiet for some time. 'The love of money is the root of all evil, Lucy.'

She frowned. 'I ... I don't do it for money. Not really.'

'What then?'

She thought hard for a few moments, fighting back tears. 'Escapism. I want to escape from my life, from being Lucy Irwin.'

'Oh, Lucy,' he said and leaned over and took her hand once more. 'You might hate yourself but G.o.d loves you. And He is ready to forgive you. You do know that, don't you?'

She nodded and sniffed as silent tears crept down her cheeks. 'Do you think less of me now that you know?'

He shook his head and said delightedly, 'Let the Lord Jesus Christ into your life, and believe me, it will get a whole lot better. There's hope for you yet, Lucy Irwin,' he beamed and she returned his smile with a hesitant one of her own. She believed him. He was her hope and her salvation.

He stared at her for some moments as if making his mind up about something. 'I think you and I are going to be seeing a lot more of each other.'

She bit her bottom lip. It was almost too good to be true. And yet she believed every single word that came out of this good, kind man's mouth. Her reply, slipping out easily, was the absolute truth. 'There's nothing I want more.'

Chapter 8.

Jennifer worked alone in the functional workroom at the back of the small property she rented on Pound Street. It wasn't so much a shop as an office, the place where she kept her sample books and portfolio to show prospective clients. She sat at the old but reliable Brother sewing machine, guiding burgundy fabric into the relentless path of the surgically sharp needle that rose and fell like a piston. Through the skylight, the October sky was grey and lifeless and she wore a thick woollen cardigan to ward off the chill.

So happily absorbed was she in her task, that she never heard Ben come in.

'So this is where it all happens,' said his Belfast voice behind her, slightly teasing, and Jennifer froze momentarily, horrified to be discovered by him, doing this.

She swore silently and expertly released the pressure on the foot pedal so that the fierce needle ground almost immediately to a halt, coming to rest inserted in the fabric. She gathered up the bundle of fabric on her knee, dumped it on the table, and stood up as she turned. She found Ben, in jeans, red t-shirt and a casual canvas jacket, standing in the doorway that led through to the front of the premises. His hands were in the front pockets of his jeans and he was grinning at her, dimples, like scars, in both cheeks.

Suddenly she realised why she was still wearing her reading gla.s.ses. Foolishly, she'd forgotten to slip them off at the sound of his voice. They were stylish, rectangular ones with funky green metallic frames, but she hated them. They were a constant, painful reminder to Jennifer that her youth had quietly, and unnoticed, slipped away.

Quickly, she whipped the gla.s.ses off and held them behind her back between both hands and smiled self-consciously.

'I didn't know you made the curtains yourself,' he observed, looking past her, and she felt her face redden.

She tried to position herself in front of the sewing machine, Alan Crawford's horrible put-down about her being a 'one-woman band' ringing in her ears. This was not the professional image she wanted to convey to any client, least of all Ben. 'Uhh, I don't normally,' she said, inching backwards and managing to deposit the gla.s.ses on the workbench. 'It's just that one of my sewers, Janice, has let me down. It's not her fault. Her husband's ill.'

He nodded approvingly and grinned. 'Good to know you're so versatile.'

'Well, needs must,' she said snippily, like a pair of scissors closing, not sure if he was laughing at her. 'Anyway,' she said, brushing past him and leading the way back into the cosy office, where she shut the frosted door into the workroom very firmly behind them both and shed the frumpy cardigan. 'What can I do for you, Ben?'

He followed her over to the small, gla.s.s-topped table squeezed into the corner of the room, the old varnished wooden floorboards creaking under his rubber-soled shoes. Deep shelves containing her unwieldy collection of sample books, all shapes and sizes, lined the wall facing the window. In front of a small gla.s.s coffee table sat two velvet wing-backed chairs she'd upholstered herself in a berry and green check from Designers Guild. The walls were painted in Farrow and Ball's Saxon Green and hung with a selection of stylish architectural prints in black frames.

He looked around. 'This place has a nice feel to it.'

'Thanks.' Jennifer clasped her hands behind her back, remembering the last time he'd held her hand. Had she imagined the chemistry between them?

She was attracted to Ben, but a relationship with him was, well, it was inconceivable. If he really had flirted with her before, it was just a harmless bit of fun. And there was nothing wrong with that. So long as she didn't read too much into it. Because the idea that he might be seriously interested in her seemed, frankly, a bit ridiculous.

'Ahem,' he said, clearing his throat and flicking absentmindedly through the thick, vibrant pages of a Roma wallpaper book that lay open on the desk. 'I was just pa.s.sing and thought I'd drop by and see how things were going.'

'Good. It's all going to plan,' she said, which wasn't exactly true. She was having difficulty sourcing just the right tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs for the window blinds and, though she'd been promised a delivery of upholstery fabric today, it hadn't yet turned up. 'The plumbing work's almost done. The new fittings went in today. We can get started on the actual decorating soon.'

'Yeah, I saw the bathrooms today. Very Philippe Starck,' he said, as if he didn't much care. She c.o.c.ked her head to one side, a bit perplexed by his att.i.tude to the restaurant, which seemed to blow hot one minute and cold the next. She found that she was slightly annoyed by his flippancy. He'd no idea the trouble she'd had getting the Duravit fittings at such short notice or persuading Danny, the best plumber in Ballyfergus, to fit the job into his busy schedule. That had cost her a bottle of Black Bush whiskey.

'I was also wondering if you'd like a lift to the meeting tonight?' he said, closing the sample book with a flick of his long fingers, and Jennifer's breathing quickened. Last time they'd spoken on the phone, she'd invited him along to tonight's meeting of the Ballyfergus Small Business a.s.sociation, of which she was a member, as a way of helping him get to know the local community. She was perfectly capable of driving herself there and she knew how it would look if she arrived with him. The members of the a.s.sociation were the biggest bunch of gossips in town.

'I don't much fancy going on my own,' he went on. 'It'd be nice to arrive with a friendly face.' He looked at her imploringly and Jennifer felt like a fool for reading too much into the invitation. He wasn't trying to chat her up he was simply looking for a companion to accompany him to the meeting.

'Well, why don't you pick me up at seven? The meeting starts at a quarter past and we always meet at The Marine Hotel.'

He smiled secretly at this and she said, 'What?'

'Oh, nothing. It's just that it's one of our hotels. It's part of the Crawford Group.'

She nodded, wondering what it must be like to be part of a famous business family.

'The members of the Small Business a.s.sociation won't mind me just turning up?'

Jennifer grinned, thinking about how they struggled for members and people willing to take on committee posts. 'Of course not! With the way businesses are closing these days, we need all the new blood we can get. I promise you, Ben, you'll be very welcome.'

Later, as she was putting the finishing touches to her make-up in the bathroom mirror, Jennifer examined her smile critically and decided it was time to whiten her teeth again. This involved three weeks of wearing a gum-shield in bed every night with peroxide gel on it, causing painfully sensitive, but fabulously white, teeth. Which, as every Hollywood movie star knew, knocked several years off. She frowned at the way the flesh under her eyebrows was starting to sag like her mother's and the only solution for that was surgery ...

She'd never thought of herself as vain but the truth was, she'd always taken her youth and relative good looks for granted. When she'd been younger, she could pa.s.s a mirror several times day without so much as glancing at her reflection. But, now that her looks were starting to fade, she scrutinised her face ceaselessly, paid attention to ads for anti-ageing cream on TV and drank water like a fish to keep her skin hydrated.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. She ran barefoot onto the landing and hollered down the stairs, 'Can you get that, Matt? It'll be Ben.'

Normally she wouldn't have bothered changing but she couldn't very well appear in the same clothes Ben had seen her in earlier. She pulled on opaque black tights, a knitted grey dress, black boots and a necklace and could not resist one last peek in the mirror. The woman that looked back was smart and stylish and, if her bloom was starting to fade, Jennifer reminded herself that there were a lot more important things in life. It was just a pity that, for women anyway, it counted for so much ...

Ben, chatting in the hall with Matt, looked up and smiled when Jennifer appeared self-consciously at the top of the stairs, a green patent bag thrown over her right shoulder. She noticed that he too had changed into smart, black trousers and an open-necked pale blue shirt under a plain black pea-coat. Her stomach flipped at the sight of him and she pressed her nails into the palms of her hands, reminding herself that this was not a date.

'Me and the lads can show you round,' said Matt, capturing Ben's attention once more. Jennifer descended the stairs and stood looking up at the two men, the earthy smell of Ben's aftershave filling her nostrils. She said breezily, 'Sorry to keep you waiting. What're you two talking about?'

'I was just saying that Ben should come out for a few beers sometime with the lads.'

Jennifer tried to keep the smile on her face, hoping that her stunned expression didn't betray the stupid, irrational jealousy that took her by surprise. It was a nice gesture on Matt's part, and she ought to be pleased that he liked Ben well enough to ask him along on a night out. But where did that leave her and her friendship with Ben? If he was young enough to go out with Matt and his pals, did that mean he was too young to be her friend too?

Matt folded his arms comfortably across his broad chest and winked at Ben. 'If you're going to be living down this way, you need to start checking out the local talent.'

Jennifer pretended to look in her bag for something and Ben laughed. 'I'd love to, though I know from experience that I'll be living like a monk for the first few months.'

'Come out for a few beers anyway. You can stay the night here if you like, can't he, Mum?'

Jennifer, too embarra.s.sed to speak, nodded. She wasn't sure which she objected to more Matt calling her 'Mum' in front of Ben, which made her feel so old, or Matt treating Ben like one of his pals who he had invited to sleep over when she, well, she saw him in a different light altogether.

'I'd like that,' said Ben with a cautious glance at Jennifer. 'But let's wait till I move into my flat.'

'When'll that be?' said Matt.

'I get the keys at the end of November. Which reminds me,' he added thoughtfully, looking at Jennifer, 'I need to get some furniture sorted.'

'You'll get everything you need at Hilary's on Bank Road,' she offered. 'They're a family firm that's been in business for over thirty years. Ian Hilary's going to be there tonight. He'll see you right.'

'Thanks,' he said. 'But I don't even know where Bank Road is. Maybe you could show me.'

'Yeah, sure.'

'And help me pick some furniture.'

'Sure, I'd love to,' said Jennifer casually, while the blood pounded in her ears. Like tonight's offer of a lift, she didn't know how to interpret this invitation.

Ben looked at her from beneath lowered eyebrows. 'It's been a long time since I bought a double bed. We'll have to test it out.'

Jennifer was too embarra.s.sed to speak. Matt frowned and glanced sharply at Ben and then at Jennifer. He said, looking at his nails and sounding ever so slightly put out, 'Need a woman's touch then, does it, this flat?'

'Something like that,' replied Ben, without taking his eyes off Jennifer who could not get out the door fast enough. Pulling the latch closed behind them, she wished he wouldn't flirt with her, especially in front of Matt.

Ben's car, parked across the end of her drive, provided a welcome distraction from these thoughts. It was a two-tone cream and moss green saloon car from the fifties that wouldn't have looked out of place on Heartbeat. 'This is your car?'

'Yeah,' he said chirpily, pulling keys from his pocket. 'She's a 1955 Rover 90.'

'It's not what I expected,' she said over her shoulder as she led the way down the drive.

'What did you expect?'

'Well, to be honest,' she said, coming to a halt in front of the pa.s.senger door, 'I imagined you in a modern sports car. Something flashy. Expensive maybe.'

He walked round to the driver's side of the car and, pausing to look at her over the car roof, said, 'Then you don't know me.' And how she wished she did.

Eight members of the Ballyfergus Small Business a.s.sociation, plus Ben, met in a room at the front of The Marine Hotel, a handsome Victorian building which had been completely refurbished a few years ago. When everyone was seated around the circular table and had a drink in front of them, the bald-headed chairman, Ed O'Donaghue, called the meeting to order and introduced Ben, who received a subdued round of applause. His face coloured a little in embarra.s.sment unlike his father, he clearly did not relish being the centre of attention.

The content of the meeting was the usual humdrum stuff; a loyalty compet.i.tion to encourage people to shop locally; new safety legislation that jeopardised the Christmas lights; and a lengthy, heated debate about all-day parking on the high street by some shop owners to the detriment of shoppers.

At long last, Ed O'Donaghue closed the meeting. Jennifer's stomach growled: she'd not eaten since lunchtime.

Everyone stood up to go and Ed came over and shook Ben firmly by the hand. 'We're very excited about the new restaurant, Ben. The town could do with a bit of a culinary boost.' With an eye on the backs of the people leaving the room, he lowered his voice so only Ben and Jennifer could hear, and said, conspiratorially, 'Since The Highways closed last year there's nowhere decent to eat. No offence meant to other eateries in the town, but unless you want Indian or Chinese or chips with everything, there's not much choice.'

Ben laughed good-humouredly. 'Well, I hope we can put that situation right. Why don't you come to the opening night in December? I'll make sure you get an invitation.'

'That's very kind of you. Now, I hear that you've done a lot to raise funds for the Sick Kids' Hospital in Belfast.'

Ben pulled his jacket off the back of the chair and slipped it on. 'I've done a bit.'

'Ah, now, you've done more than that. I heard you're personally responsible for raising over two hundred thousand in the last two years.'

Jennifer, stuffing a folder into her bag, gasped and glanced up at a red-faced Ben. This news suggested caring and maturity beyond his years and put her charitable and volunteering efforts on behalf of local good causes rather in the shade.

'That,' said Ben with a quick, uncomfortable glance at Jennifer, 'was a joint effort. My mother was involved. She knows lots of influential people with deep pockets.'

'But you were the driving force behind the fundraising, weren't you?' persisted Ed.

Ben pulled at his bottom lip and frowned, neither admitting nor denying the claim. 'Why do you ask?'

'Well, you see, I'm on the board of Glenvale, the special school here in Ballyfergus, and we're trying to raise money for a hydrotherapy pool. At the minute we can't get funding for it cutbacks, you know. The kids come from all over East Antrim. Some of them have severe learning difficulties. I was wondering if I could pick your brains about the best way to go about raising funds.'

Ben's face suddenly broke into a smile. 'You can do more than pick my brains. I'd be delighted to get involved, especially as it's for kids. Tell you what. I was planning on donating all the proceeds from our opening night to a local charity. Why don't we kick-start the fundraising effort by making it Glenvale?'

Ed beamed and the two of them walked out together, heads bent in conversation, while Jennifer followed behind. In the car park, Ed said goodnight and got into his car, leaving Jennifer and Ben standing alone.

'Well, that was quite an initiation into the business world of Ballyfergus,' he said with a wry expression, car keys dangling from his hand. 'I thought that argument over car parking was going to end in fisticuffs.'

Jennifer giggled and Ben said, 'Look, I haven't had anything to eat yet.'

'Neither have I,' said Jennifer, a little too eagerly.

'Why don't we talk over dinner, then?' he said tossing the keys in the air as if he'd just won something.

'Chinese or Indian?' said Jennifer.

'Or chips with everything?' said Ben and they both burst out laughing again.

When they'd finished eating curry and rice, downed half a bottle of Pinot Grigio and exhausted the subjects of Carnegie's and the Ballyfergus Small Business a.s.sociation, there was a pause. Jennifer, who'd been holding her curiosity in check since they'd left The Marine Hotel, asked, 'What's it like being part of Ulster's high society?'

He ran a hand through his thick wavy hair and shrugged. 'I don't know.'

She said, 'But you are, aren't you? I bet you went to private school.'

'Campbell College,' he conceded, and though his cheeks coloured a little, he smiled.

'And played rugger,' she said, putting special, posh emphasis on 'rugger'.

'Rugby,' he corrected.

'And went to university.'

'Of course. Queen's.'

'What'd you study?'

'English Lit.'