‘Right again. My mistake was not stopping to pick up Gary on the way out. I’ll always regret that.’
‘I don’t imagine you were thinking very clearly,’ she said, untangling herself from his arms. ‘Come on,’ she said, standing up, picking up her shoes. ‘There’s grass to cut, doors to be washed...’
Darius caught her hand. ‘Thank you.’
There was nothing she could think of to say, so she stood on her toes and kissed him. It was supposed to be brief, sweet, over in a moment, but neither of them wanted it to stop. Even when the kiss was over they didn’t want to let go.
‘If we don’t go back soon, they’ll wonder where we are.’
‘You wanted to take a good look at the boathouse, check if it will have to be pulled down or whether it can be restored,’ he offered.
‘Right,’ she said, leaning her forehead against his chest before forcing herself to step away, get back to washing down paintwork. When she turned around her brother James was leaning on the wall of the boathouse, arms folded over the fishing rod he was holding. He’d clearly been there for some time.
ELEVEN
Darius was the first to recover. ‘Did you manage to catch supper?’ he asked.
‘With half a dozen children screaming and splashing about? They’ve scared away every fish within five miles so we thought we’d leave the women to sort out lunch while we walk down to the village and test the local ale. It’s a Sunday holiday tradition. There’ll be a pint waiting when you’ve finished checking out the structural integrity of the boathouse.’
He didn’t wait for an answer.
‘Did that sound like a friendly invitation,’ Darius asked, ‘or am I going to be pinned to the dartboard?’
‘The pre-Sunday lunch trip to the pub is a mysterious male tradition,’ she replied, ‘from which mothers, wives and sisters are excluded. All I can tell you with any certainty is that you’re the first man I’ve kissed who’s ever been invited by my brothers to join them.’
‘So that’s good?’
‘Probably, but if they do pin you to the dartboard by your ears I’ll give them all particularly noxious jobs tomorrow.’
‘I’ll want pictures,’ he said.
‘I’ll post them on Facebook,’ she promised. ‘When are you leaving?’
‘After lunch. I’ve got to do what I should have done on Friday before the foundry starts up on Monday morning. I can’t promise to be here on Saturday. Once we start, we don’t stop until it’s done.’
‘I didn’t expect you to come this weekend. It’s been...’
‘Fun, Natasha. It’s been fun.’
‘Even getting beaten by my mother at Scrabble?’ He said nothing. ‘You let her win? Go!’ she said, laughing, pushing him away. ‘Before your beer gets warm.’
Before she dragged him under the nearest bush.
* * *