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said after a few minutes.

      ‘Good heavens no,’ I said. ‘I suppose that makes me a bit of a hypocrite. Selling books crammed with love and happy couples when I don’t believe a word of it. Pretending there is a Mr Right out there. That perfect someone. If you just think about it the chances are unlikely and the divorce statistics speak for themselves.’

      He blinked a bit and looked away for a moment. Then he grinned. ‘So you haven’t met Mr Right?’

      ‘Not a chance,’ I said, realising with a surprise that it was true.

      The funny thing was as I said all this I knew I didn’t believe it. Deep down I wanted there to be a particular, special, wonderful person.

      Benedict was nice-looking, well spoken, educated and clever with what my mother would have called ‘good prospects’. He had a lot of positive points. There wasn’t any one thing about him I could violently object to. Even after two years there was nothing terrible. However, recently there had been lots of little things, which were adding up to a series of arguments that got less and less reasoned and more and more heated as I released my irritation about his bike, his hypochondria and his inability to load or unload the dishwasher. And then I’d caught him with a half-dressed woman in my kitchen. I think anyone would find that off-putting.

      ‘This meal is fantastic,’ I said, hoping to change the subject, ‘and this place is everyone’s dream of a country pub. The décor, the look of it. You’d never get anywhere like this in London. It’s all chrome and spindly bar stools and meals served on blocks of wood or bits of slate.’

      ‘I told you it was a nice place. And they brew their own beer in the basement. The building is at least four hundred years old, maybe more. There was a rumour one of the big chains wanted to buy it only recently. There was uproar.’

      ‘I bet.’

      We carried on eating and chatting until eventually I had to concede defeat; in the battle of woman versus food, food had won.

      ‘So, I didn’t think you’d be in tonight, Joe?’

      I looked up as a young woman stopped at our table, one hand on Joe’s shoulder. She watched me with narrow, suspicious eyes.

      Oh heck! The girlfriend? The wife?

      Joe looked up unconcerned.

      ‘Hello, Ellie, how are you?’

      ‘Oh fine, had to get the vet out to Maggie the night before last.’

      ‘Is she okay?’

      ‘I think so. Got the sheep sorted? They say the weather is going to turn.’

      ‘Yes Jim and Ken did that yesterday.’

      Ellie stood looking at me.

      ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me?’

      ‘Of course. This is Louisa. She’s staying in Barracane House for a few weeks. She’s a writer. You might have heard of her.’

      ‘Have I heard of you?’ She looked at me with flinty grey eyes, her antagonism obvious.

      ‘Lulu Darling, I usually write romances. But occasionally some medical or family saga.’

      Too much information; I was prattling.

      Ellie screwed her face up in thought. Even then she was remarkably pretty. She had a thick, blonde plait that hung down over one shoulder and she took hold of the end of it and stroked it against her cheek.

      ‘Nope I don’t think so. Oh hang on I think I might have tried to read one once. It wasn’t quite my thing. I prefer real books.’

       No, I expected you to say something like that.

      ‘Ah well, you can’t please everyone,’ I said cheerfully.

      She gave me a sweet, nose-crinkling smile, pulled out the chair next to mine and sat down.

      ‘You don’t mind do you?’ She leaned across a little bit, just enough to block my view of Joe, and put her pint on the table. ‘How did you get that black eye? Been fighting?’

      I touched my cheekbone defensively. ‘Oh it’s nothing – just a little bump.’

      Ellie turned away to speak to Joe. ‘I was hoping to talk to you about Ivy.’

      ‘Yes, go on,’ Joe said.

      ‘You don’t mind?’ She shot me a look.

      ‘Well …’ Joe said.

      ‘Good. I was talking to Isobel the other day. She says Penny Barron has a grey. Lovely temperament. She wondered if you’d be interested.’

      ‘Yes I might be, but I’ll talk to her about it. After all it’s up to Ivy in the long run.’

      Ellie took a pull at her cider. ‘If you like I’ll go with her one day next week – she could have a look. Have a trial?’

      ‘Look, Ellie, I’ll ring Penny and have a chat, okay. And thanks.’

      ‘It’s no trouble, honestly.’

      Joe leaned forward to look at me. ‘Sorry about this.’

      ‘I’m fine,’ I said, wondering if it was acceptable to accidentally tip the remains of my meal over Ellie’s feet. And who was Ivy? And Penny?

      Pete returned with his tea towel tucked into his belt.

      ‘All done are we? Didn’t finish, eh? Looks like the little lady doesn’t have much of an appetite. Not for my cottage pie anyway! Them cottages takes a lot of catching too I don’t mind telling you. Ha ha ha!’

      ‘Delicious, Pete, as always.’

      ‘Dessert menus is it?’ Pete said, wiping his nose on his tea towel.

      There should be a hygiene certificate somewhere. I wondered what it said.

      ‘Um not for me thanks,’ I said.

      ‘Well it’s your loss, me duck. There’s toffee apple crumble on too. Betty’s best I call it.’

      ‘So what shall I say to Penny?’ Ellie said. ‘I’ll be seeing her next week. She’s bound to ask.’

      ‘No toffee apple crumble for you?’ Pete said. ‘You knows you likes it.’

      Joe stood up. ‘No, not this evening thanks; in fact I think we’ve got to go. I’ve got to be back by nine.’

      I looked at the clock. It was only eight twenty-five. He’d had enough.

      ‘Oh yes,’ Ellie said, darting me another look, ‘of course.’

      Joe paid the bill. I followed him outside and he walked me over to my car. I’d parked it ready for a swift getaway, facing the exit in case the evening turned into a disaster. Of course it hadn’t been a disaster; Joe was a lovely man. Easy to talk to, good company in fact. But—

      ‘I’m sorry about Ellie,’ he said at last as we came to a stop beside my car.

      Other vehicles surrounded it now that the car park had filled up. Most of them were massive four by fours. They made my little sports car look like a baby trying to join in with the adults.

      I shook my head. ‘You don’t have to apologise. I’ve had a lovely evening.’

      I just wondered who Ivy was. And what was Ellie to him?

      ‘Good, I just wanted to find out more about you. You’re a one-off.’

      I reached into my bag to find my car keys. ‘Is that a good thing?’

      Joe laughed. ‘Oh yes. Are you all right?’

      ‘Of course.’ I felt silly and brittle.

      I opened the car door and slung my bag into the passenger seat.

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