LITMIR.BIZ

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with French doors to give access to the back courtyards. Some of the flagstones out there were already in situ, and I found more in a reclamation yard. After a check with building regulations I removed the dividing walls between the kitchens and dining rooms. Fortunately they were neither party walls nor load bearing, so I achieved more space and light, and at the same time catered to the current preference for combined cooking/eating areas.’

      ‘Good move.’ He followed her upstairs to inspect the small bathroom Sarah had created by stealing a sliver of space from the main bedroom.

      ‘There were no bathrooms in the houses originally, of course, just the downstairs lavatory I replaced with a small cloakroom,’ she told him, finding his silence oppressive.

      ‘You’ve utilised all the space very cleverly,’ he said at last, ‘and installed high-end fittings. Very wise. Which firm did your plumbing?’

      ‘When I embarked on the project I made a conscious decision to use local craftsmen, and I had the most enormous stroke of luck when master builder Harry Sollers agreed to work with me. He knows all the local tradesmen. He recommended an electrician for the wiring, and introduced me to his friend, Fred Carter, a semi-retired plumber who installed the fittings. But I did all the tiling, and I installed the cupboards in the kitchens and bathrooms myself.’

      He shot her a startled look as they returned to the kitchen. ‘This is your work throughout?’

      She nodded. ‘I stripped and sealed the wood floors, and plastered all the inside walls, too, but I asked Harry to paint them because his finish is so superb.’

      ‘But you did the plastering?’ he repeated blankly.

      ‘Yes. Next I’m going to tackle the gardens.’

      ‘You found someone local to help you with those, too?’

      Sarah nodded. ‘But only to do the digging once all the building site gear is cleared away. I need advice on what to plant and where, but I’ll do the rest myself.’

      When they were outside in the lane Sarah could tell that Alex Merrick looked back at the row of cottages with new eyes.

      ‘So what do you think?’ she couldn’t help asking.

      ‘I’m impressed. Congratulations on your achievement.’ His manner suddenly changed. ‘So, Miss Carver, I repeat my offer. If your terms are realistic I’ll buy the lot, but I want the houses ready to inhabit on the day of completion, also cleared parking space at either end of the row. So name your figure.’

      Sarah shook her head. ‘Impossible right away. I can’t say to the day when the cottages will be completely ready, and costs may increase before I can get them valued.’ And, much more important than that, no way would she sell to a Merrick.

      ‘If you hang about too long, Miss Carver, the offer may no longer be on the table.’ His eyes, which had opalescent grey irises with dark rims, which gave them an unsettling intensity, held hers. ‘Have a chat about it with Oliver Moore. I assume he’s your financial backer?’

      Her jaw clenched. ‘No, he’s not, Mr Merrick. His sole involvement in my project is on legal matters.’

      He raised an eyebrow. ‘A bit minor league for a Queen’s Counsel!’

      ‘But not for the local solicitor Oliver found for me.’ She turned away. ‘Now, I’d like to get home, Mr Merrick. I’m tired and dirty—’

      ‘And hungry? In that case let’s discuss the deal in more detail later over dinner,’ he said promptly.

      ‘No, thank you.’

      ‘Another time, maybe? Contact me when the houses are finished.’ He reached for his wallet and took out a card. ‘Here’s my office address and my various phone numbers.’

      Sarah tucked it into a pocket without looking at it. ‘I’m surprised you came yourself, Mr Merrick. Surely you pay people to do this kind of thing for you?’

      ‘True. But after meeting you last night it seemed best to sort it myself.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘Though I confess I didn’t recognise you in the pub today.’

      ‘I could tell.’ She walked round the car and got in.

      His eyebrows rose as he glanced down at the passenger seat. ‘Do you always carry a lump hammer round with you?’

      ‘Only when I’m meeting strange men.’

      ‘Nothing strange about me,’ he assured her. ‘Where do you live?’

      ‘Medlar House,’ she said, and started the car. ‘Goodbye.’

      Sarah drove up the lane and out on to the main road, grinding her teeth in frustration when a look in the mirror confirmed that Alex Merrick was following her home. When he’d parked the Cherokee on the forecourt beside her car he jumped out, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

      ‘I come in peace! But seriously, Miss Carver,’ he added, ‘forget the deal for a minute. I would very much like to take you out to dinner. Unless Oliver Moore would object?’ he added, then cursed his mistake as her eyes flashed under the peak of her cap.

      ‘Nothing doing,’ Sarah said flatly.

      He frowned. ‘Why not?’

      ‘Last night, Mr Merrick, your thought processes were insultingly obvious, just because I was dining in an expensive restaurant with a man old enough to be my father.’ Her chin lifted. ‘But in the unlikely event that I did socialise with you Oliver would actually approve, because he knows you—or knows your family. I’m not Oliver Moore’s bit of fluff, Mr Merrick. He’s my godfather.’

      CHAPTER TWO

      ALEX cursed under his breath as he watched the small figure march into the building. He’d noticed her the moment she entered the restaurant last night. Big dark eyes, and a full-lipped mouth just a shade too wide for her face had attracted his attention early on. And not only because her companion was a barrister his father knew. The age gap between the pair had convinced the cynic in Alex that she was Oliver Moore’s trophy girlfriend, whereas in actual fact Sarah Carver was something of a surprise package. How she’d managed to pull a fast one with the sealed bid was still a mystery.

      Greg Harris’s useful girlfriend had soon learned who’d acquired the Medlar Cottages site, and passed on the information that the unknown Miss Carver intended renovating and restoring the cottages instead of demolishing them to build on the land. At which point Alex had instructed a manager in one of the group’s subsidiary firms to make an offer for the site and cottages as they were. When it was turned down flat Alex had decided to sit back and let Miss Carver do exactly what he’d intended for the houses in the first place. Regular checks would be made on their progress, and then, when they were nearing completion, he would simply step in and make his bid for the lot. Decision made, the small, relatively unimportant venture had been relegated to a back burner—until he’d run into Sarah with Oliver Moore at last night. At which point it had shot straight to the top of his priority list.

      At Easthope Court Sarah Carver had appealed to him strongly in that sexy black dress, yet today, minus make-up and plus a layer of dust, she’d somehow managed to look equally appealing in her working clothes. She’d made no attempt to tidy up to meet him tonight, not even to wash her dirty face. His mouth tightened. He was accustomed to women who polished themselves to a high gloss for him, while Sarah Carver obviously didn’t care a damn what he thought of her. Suddenly he felt an urge to strip those grubby overalls from her curvy little body and—His mind stopped dead as his hormones prodded him. Watch it, Merrick. Stick to the rules. Never mix business with pleasure.

      Alex strolled over to the imposing front door of the school he’d known quite well when he was a teenager. He’d come here for dances in the old days, and had fond memories of some hot and heavy necking in concealed corners when the chaperones weren’t looking. And, because the Merrick Group had converted the building into pricey flats, he was in a position to know that Miss Sarah Carver could hardly

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