* * *
It was a frenetic scene as they tried to tame the leaping, crackling flames glowing orange against the background of a midnight-blue sky, a scene also of choking smoke pouring from the kitchen and a stifling charred smell.
And by the time the fire brigade arrived Harriet was blackened and soaked to the skin.
‘Don’t.’ Damien loomed up in front of her and removed her hose from her hand. ‘Don’t do any more; you’ve done enough. It’s under control now.’
‘But...’
‘Just do as I tell you, Harriet Livingstone,’ he said and, without further ado, kissed her full on the lips. ‘Be a good girl and go and get cleaned up.’
CHAPTER FIVE
HARRIET WENT, WITH the tips of her fingers pressed to her lips.
And she grimaced at the sight of herself as she went to take her third shower of the day. She dressed in jeans and a track top and concentrated on clearing away her dinner and putting a fresh pot of coffee on to perk.
Sounds of all the activity were starting to scale down as she worked, and finally she heard the fire engine drive away and an almost unnatural silence overtake Heathcote.
Not much later Damien and Tottie turned up, Damien also showered and in clean clothes, a grey track top and khaki cargo pants, and bearing a bottle of brandy.
Harriet reached for glasses. ‘You must be a mind-reader.’
He grimaced. ‘Nothing like a good fire to provoke the need for some Dutch courage.’ He splashed two generous tots into the glasses.
‘How bad is it?’
‘The kitchen—cheers,’ he said and touched his glass to hers, ‘the kitchen will have to be rebuilt. Thankfully, it didn’t go any further.’
‘How’s the cook?’
Damien shook his head. ‘A sodden wreck. Stan’s looking after him. He’s full of remorse and petrified he’s going to lose his job.’
Harriet paused with her glass halfway to her mouth. ‘He expects to keep it after nearly burning the place down?’
Damien shrugged and his lips twisted. ‘According to Isabel, he’s got six kids stashed away in Queensland so I’ll get her to find him a position closer to home.’
Harriet looked surprised.
He looked wry. ‘You didn’t expect that?’
‘Well, no,’ she said. ‘Sorry.’
‘That’s OK. I’m used to being in your bad books or, if not that, then suspected of some kind of dodginess or another.’ He drained some of his brandy. ‘Incidentally, we’re going to have to use this kitchen until we get the house kitchen fixed.’ He looked around.
‘Oh. Of course.’ She got up and poured the coffee and brought it back to the table. ‘I don’t suspect you of dodginess, whatever that means precisely.’ She pushed his mug over to him and sat down with hers.
He drank some more brandy. ‘You obviously suspect me of something, Miss Livingstone.’