A Millionaire For Molly

CHAPTER FIVE

SO HALF an hour later Gregor came out of the yard to find a sodden Molly and Jackson trudging up to the house, their one horse walking easily between them. The frown on Gregor’s old face lightened. The mare had indeed come home, and the sight of her had shaken him badly. He hadn’t told Doreen-he hadn’t wanted to worry her-but he’d been about to get on the farm bike, regardless of his bad hip, and go and find out what the damage was.

However, there was apparently no damage at all. They were walking easily. The girl was laughing. Even the horse looked undamaged. But why weren’t they riding him…?

‘Did we scare you?’ Molly called, and his trouble receded even further. There was no problem behind that light, lovely laughter.

‘No, miss. Well, yes you did a bit. I didn’t like to see the mare come home without you. I thought you must have come off over a bump.’

‘No such thing. I didn’t tether her right.’

‘We stopped to rescue a joey that had fallen in the river,’ Jackson added, but his eyes were on Molly. She had him fascinated. She still looked crazy. Soaking and tumbled and sanded like the coating on a rissole. Cara would die if she was seen like this, he thought suddenly. Cara and every other woman who moved in his circles. But Molly seemed not to even notice.

‘Sam wasn’t worried?’ she asked, and the old man shook his head.

‘I didn’t tell him. No use spreading trouble before you need to.’

‘Very wise.’

‘The ’roo?’

‘Tried to cross the river on a bunch of leaf litter that wasn’t the least bit stable.’

‘Hell. I know where that’ll have happened.’ Gregor nodded. ‘It’s happened before. I lost a calf that way once. Things wedge in that bend in the river.’ He grimaced. ‘It ought to be checked every day.’ His face set, as if expecting a blow.

Molly knew what he was thinking. If Jackson bought the place Gregor would hardly have recommended himself as a future farm manager. But he didn’t try to absolve himself from responsibility. He braced himself and confessed all. ‘I didn’t do the rounds this morning, and I should have.’

‘You’re the only full-time man on the place?’ Jackson asked slowly, and Molly watched Gregor’s face fall even further. Here we go, she thought. Jackson’s going to suggest retirement.

‘Yes.’ Gregor took the bay’s rein and Molly saw his shoulders go back into brace position. Waiting for the inevitable.

It didn’t come.

‘According to the title there’s two smaller houses on the property.’ Jackson was still frowning. ‘I assume you and Doreen have one?’

‘Yes. The caretaker’s cottage.’

‘And the other?’

‘It’s empty.’

‘But it’s liveable?’

‘Oh, yes, sir,’ Gregor told him. ‘It’s a nice little place, overlooking the bay to the south of the river. Time was when the farm manager lived there.’

‘This place has a farm manager,’ Jackson said briefly. ‘You. But it needs more. A place of this size can’t prosper with casual labour. It needs permanents. What you need is a solid young man you could gradually train to take over as you ease back. Or a couple. What would you say to doing some training?’

‘You mean training them and then leaving?’

‘I don’t mean anything of the sort,’ Jackson said curtly. ‘If I buy I’ll need all the expertise I can get, and losing the people who know most about the place would be stupid. There’d be work here for you and Doreen for as long as you want, and even in retirement I’d want you to stay on as advisers.’

It was as if the sun had come out. ‘Do you mean it?’ Gregor sounded incredulous.

‘I haven’t bought the place yet,’ Jackson warned him. ‘But, yes. If I do buy then I mean it.’

The man’s breath came out in a rush as he heaved a great sigh of relief. ‘Then it’s up to me and Doreen to see you buy,’ he said simply. ‘You go inside and see what Doreen’s been cooking. Maybe that’ll push you into making the right choice.’

The sun had come out for Molly as well. It was as if it had been some sort of test-and Jackson had passed with flying colours.

If Jackson needed more persuasion, Doreen had just the means to persuade.

Pavlova. Swiss roll. Pikelets, fresh from the oven. Gem scones. Molly stopped at the kitchen door and blinked in astonishment as she took in the lavish spread.

‘Come and see what we’ve made.’ Sam beamed from the business side of a mixing bowl of truly gigantic proportions-a bowl that had been well and truly licked. ‘Mrs Gray’s the world’s bestest cook.’

‘I can see that she is,’ Molly said, and looked sideways at Jackson. If ever there was a sales pitch that would work, this was it. It had been ages since lunch, the swim had sharpened their appetite, and the smells were just…

‘Fantastic,’ Jackson said, and he grinned at Doreen and then at Sam. ‘Did you help make all of this?’

He was seeming nicer and nicer, Molly thought happily, and had to catch herself. She was moving too fast here, and in the wrong direction. This man was a client. Nothing more.

‘I rolled up the Swiss roll,’ Sam said importantly. ‘And I dropped the batter for the pikelets into the pan all by myself.’ Then he paused in his bowl-licking and stared at the pair of them, noting their discreditable appearance for the first time. ‘Have you been swimming?’

‘Yes,’ Molly said swiftly, with a warning glance at Jackson.

Sam’s face fell. ‘Without me?’

‘You don’t like swimming.’ She’d tried him once before and it had been a disaster.

But… ‘I might,’ Sam said cautiously. ‘With Mr Baird.’

So Sam was being sucked into this man’s charismatic presence as well. Well, it was dangerous territory for Sam as well as Molly! ‘Mr Baird has business to keep him occupied, Sam.’

‘Mr Baird?’ Sam turned pleading eyes to Jackson. Swimming could hardly be any fun without him, his eyes said. And who could resist an appeal like that?

Jackson grinned and capitulated, tugging Molly’s heartstrings even further from their rightful position. ‘Of course I’ll take you swimming,’ he told him. ‘But not until I’ve done justice to what’s in front of me.’ He sat and hauled over the plate of gem scones. ‘I haven’t had a gem scone since I was six. Mrs Gray, you’re a gem yourself.’

‘Get on with you,’ the woman said, beaming, and for some inexplicable reason Molly suddenly felt like weeping. She didn’t feel like a realtor here. She felt like an angel of fate, putting this farm together with the man who was meant to call it home. And putting Jackson alongside…alongside Sam? And her?

The thought made her catch her breath in sudden panic. Jackson looked up from his gem scone and his eyes met Molly’s. And held…

‘We’ve found a friend for Lionel,’ Sam announced, unaware of the emotional currents running deep between man and woman.

Molly tried to move her gaze, but couldn’t. It was like a magnetic pull. A vast magnetic pull. ‘For…for Lionel?’ The words had to be dragged out.

‘My frog,’ Sam said with patience, and Molly nodded. Of course. She knew that.

It was just that she was being temporarily distracted, she thought wildly. Jackson was munching his gem scone as he watched her. His shirt was undone down to the fourth button, there was dark hair wisping on his chest, his grey eyes were deep and fathomless and faintly questioning-as if he didn’t know what was going on either-and the sight of him…

Lionel. Right. Lionel. Concentrate on the frog!

‘You’ve found a friend for Lionel?’ She lifted a slice of Swiss roll to hide her confusion, took a bite and promptly choked. Jackson grinned, rose, and came around to thump her on the back-which did exactly nothing for her equilibrium. The rat! It was as if he knew how much he was unsettling her.

‘Mr Gray took me down to the dam at the back of the house,’ Sam told her, his small-boy patience tested to the limit by these stupid adults. ‘Mr Gray says Lionel’s a green tree frog or a lit…litoria something and he’s a boy. And we searched and searched and we found a girl frog! A girl green tree frog! Mr Gray says we should keep the lady frog until Lionel’s better, so he won’t be lonely, and then we should bring them both back here. So they can have tadpoles and live happily ever after.’

‘That’s…’ All at once Molly was close to tears again. This man! This place! The whole damned package! ‘That’s wonderful. But…’

‘But what?’

Somehow she made herself think it through. And found a flaw. ‘I don’t think you’ll be coming here again,’ she said gently, and watched a mulish expression settle on her nephew’s face.

‘Of course I will. Mr and Mrs Gray are my friends, and Mr Baird will buy the farm and he’s my friend, too.’

‘Sam-’

‘I tell you what,’ Jackson said, watching the interplay between woman and child with interest. Dispassionate interest, he told himself. But he was starting to wonder if he knew what the word dispassionate meant. ‘If you don’t come back, what if I make a special trip to release Mr and Mrs Frog?’

Molly’s jaw dropped about a foot. ‘You’d make a special trip-to release two frogs?’ Her voice was about an octave too high.

‘They’re special frogs,’ Jackson said equitably. ‘And didn’t you know the frog population is endangered worldwide? Any small mite I can do to help their numbers rise…’

‘You know, you stand in real danger of losing your reputation,’ she retorted, and his eyes quizzed hers with mocking laughter.

‘What-as a womaniser?’

She frowned him down on that one. ‘I mean as a ruthless businessman.’

He was still laughing. ‘So I can keep being a womaniser?’

‘You can keep being whatever you want.’ She pushed herself to her feet. There were undercurrents here that she didn’t understand in the least, and she was almost being swept out of her depth. Those laughing eyes were dangerous. Womaniser? Yes and yes and yes. She had to preserve her dignity-and sanity-at all costs.

‘I’m taking a bath,’ she told him.

He rose as well, and grinned. ‘Me, too.’

Heck, she was feeling so darn crowded she didn’t know what to think. ‘I dare say there are two bathrooms.’

‘There are four,’ Doreen said promptly, and Molly managed a smile.

‘There you go, then.’ She managed to smile sweetly at him, businesswoman dismissing client nicely. ‘And I dare say you need to spend some time with Gregor and the farm books before dinner.’

He did. Damnably, he did.

‘I thought you might like to take a barbecue to the beach for dinner,’ Doreen volunteered. ‘Being as it’s such a lovely evening.’

‘I’m sure Mr Baird will be far too busy-’

‘Too busy for a barbecue on the beach?’ Jackson interrupted, and shook his head, his eyes glinting a challenge at her. ‘Never. Shall we meet here again in…?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘In two hours, Miss Farr?’

It was as if he was asking her for a date. His eyes were challenging, gently mocking, and it took all her self-control to keep a straight face.

‘Fine.’

‘You don’t sound excited.’

‘I’m excited,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘I’m so excited I can hardly speak.’

‘Very good.’ He reached out and touched her cheek with his finger-a feather touch-a tease and no more-and it had no business to pack the electric charge that it did. ‘You stay excited, then, Miss Farr. Until dinner.’

Yeah, right. What else was she supposed to do?

Time out. That was what this was, Molly thought as she lay neck-deep in bath suds. Sam had no intention of being dislodged from the kitchen-he’d decided the elderly Grays were the nearest thing to heaven that a small boy could imagine, and they in turn thought Sam was the cat’s pyjamas. For Sam and the Grays it had been love at first sight, Molly thought reflectively. She wiped a soap bubble off her nose and thought, What about her?

Love at first sight?

Hardly. What was she thinking of? She’d only known the man for two days.

Oh, for heaven’s sake-she wasn’t in love. She wasn’t! Sure, he was drop-dead gorgeous, and he certainly seemed to be turning on the charm-turning it up to full throttle!-but the man was an international jetsetter and he’d been seen with more gorgeous women than she could count.

But he was kind. And people could change. Just because he’d dated some of the world’s most glamorous women it didn’t mean that he had to marry someone like that.

Hold on just a second, she told herself abruptly. Where was she going here?

Marry?

She was living in a soap bubble, she told herself and grinned, held her nose and sank right under the water. And don’t come up ’til you’ve seen sense, she told herself-only to emerge spluttering thirty seconds later knowing that she wasn’t seeing sense at all.

This might be a soap bubble she was indulging in, but it was a very nice soap bubble.

You’re being stupid. He’s dangerous, she warned herself.

He could be fun, and heaven knows you need a bit of fun. After Sarah’s death and Michael’s treachery… Life’s been too bleak lately, the more daring part of her argued.

And if he breaks your heart? questioned the cautious part.

He can only break your heart if you give it to him for the breaking. And you’re not a fool. Enjoy this, Molly Farr, and then move on.

Hmm.

It’d be walking a very fine line, she thought, to let herself enjoy his company and relax and have fun, then walk away at the end heart-whole and fancy-free. But she must. The man was a client. ‘Yes, and it’s back to business from now on,’ she muttered. ‘One kiss does not a relationship make.’

But one kiss did make for interest-and she was definitely interested.

And Jackson? He sat with Gregor and went through the farm figures, but only half his mind was on what he was doing-which was very unusual for him. Usually where business was concerned his mind was like a steel trap, letting nothing escape. Now… The figures looked good, he thought. Very good. He knew he could do what he wanted with this farm, but if Gregor had wanted to pull the wool over his eyes then maybe he’d have let it happen.

Because half his mind was on Molly. Half? Well, maybe more than half.

Why?

And that was the major question. He didn’t know. Sure, she was attractive. Sure, she had a gorgeous chuckle-but he’d been with some of the most beautiful women in the world and beside them Molly didn’t rate.

Or didn’t she? She certainly had something, and when he’d kissed her that something had nearly blown him apart.

But he’d been blown apart before. Almost. And he had no intention of letting it happen again, he told himself determinedly. He had the life he wanted-and he had no room in that life for a frog-loving realtor and her kid. They’d need things he had no intention-no capability-of giving.

‘Mr Gray? Mr Baird?’ Sam stood in the doorway, his frog box clutched to his stomach, and both men looked around.

‘Yes?’ said Gregor, and smiled-an old man smile that made Sam relax a bit and edge into the room. He talked to Gregor but his eyes slid sideways to Jackson.

‘If Mr Baird buys the farm, will he keep the frogs here safe?’

‘Of course I will,’ Jackson said, nettled, and Sam cast him a doubtful look, as if there was no of course about it.

‘Mrs Gray says the prettiest place on the farm is the frog dam-but she said the last people Mrs Copeland thought about selling the farm to wanted to make the dam a whole lot bigger. They had surveyors and everything, and Miss Copeland got so angry she decided not to sell. Mrs Gray said she was so relieved that she cried.’ He fixed Jackson with a look. ‘But that was five years ago now, so me and Mrs Gray want to know…’

So Hannah had thought about selling the place before, had she? Jackson thought, trying to make sense of this. A gap of five years between tries, though, meant she was hardly rushing her sale. And enlarging the dam? That made sense, too. The house dam was small, and if there was a hot summer then water would have to be pumped from the lower levels. That’d be expensive.

But he’d been thrown a challenge and Sam was still watching.

‘Do you think Miss Copeland wouldn’t want me to buy the farm if I want to enlarge the dam?’

‘Mrs Gray says the frogs would die. She said the bulldozer would take out all the reeds and without the reeds they couldn’t breed.’

They were measuring each other up-Jackson and Sam-with Gregor a spectator at the side.

‘Do you think I should buy the farm?’ Jackson asked, and Sam considered.

‘Yes. Mrs Gray thinks you’d be good. But we’re both worried about the frogs.’

‘So?’

‘So make us a promise about the frogs and buy the farm.’

And he made a decision. Figures or not. Sense or not. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I will.’

‘He says he’s going to buy the farm!’ Molly was still nose-deep in bath suds but Sam wasn’t waiting. This news was too important, and he burst into the bathroom almost shouting. ‘He’s going to save the frogs and live here for ever and ever!’

‘Did he say that?’ Molly sat up and grabbed her towel. The bath suds were making her decent, but only just. Luckily Sam had no concept of her as a woman-he thought of her only as his Aunty Molly. He didn’t even notice that, apart from suds, she was stark naked.

‘Yes.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘He definitely promised.’ Sam was standing in the doorway, still clutching his frog box, and now he raised his voice to call someone in the distance. To Molly’s horror, it was Jackson. ‘Mr Baird, come and tell Aunty Molly that you’re buying the farm.’

‘No! Sam, no!’ Molly gasped, and tried to tell him to close the door-but it was too late. Jackson must have been walking down the passage as Sam had called. Now he appeared above Sam, so man and child were framed in the bathroom door, both gazing at her with very different levels of interest.

Jackson’s gaze found her under the soap suds and his grey eyes glinted with wicked laughter. But his voice, when he finally spoke, was deadpan.

‘Miss Farr, I believe I’d like to formally let it be known that I’d like to buy the farm,’ he said.

Molly took a deep breath and took a firmer grasp on her towel. It was covering the important bits-just-which left her free to concentrate on what had to be the major issue here. A sale. ‘You mean it?’

‘Why wouldn’t I mean it?’

‘You agree to the asking price?’ She wasn’t letting a bit of false modesty get in the way of a sale, and Jackson’s laughter deepened.

‘Yes. You want to stand up and shake on it?’

‘In your dreams.’ She glared at him. ‘You realise I don’t have Miss Copeland’s conditions yet?’

‘Neither do I, and of course it’s dependent on those, but I gather there are frogs.’

She looked uncertainly at Jackson, and then at Sam. ‘Do you know what he’s talking about?’ she demanded of her nephew.

‘I know Miss Copeland cares about frogs,’ Sam told her. ‘And Mr Baird says he’ll save the frogs.’

Oh, for heaven’s sake! She was trying to keep a grip on the situation and they were discussing frogs! She was trying to sound businesslike, which for a girl who was depending on soap suds was rather tricky. ‘Right. But let’s assume there are to be other stipulations. I need to find out.’ She chanced another uncertain look at Jackson. She was very much at a disadvantage here-realtor in bathtub.

Realtor stark naked!

But if she was out of control Jackson was very much in control-and enjoying himself hugely. ‘So what are you waiting for?’ He was cordiality itself. He folded his arms and leaned against the doorjamb, his eyes gleaming. ‘Sitting round in bathtubs when you could be wrapping up a sale…’

‘Go away!’

‘Go away?’ His eyebrows hit his hairline. ‘You want me to tell Trevor that when I asked to sign a contract you told me to go away?’

‘I don’t have the contract in the bathroom with me.’ She was fighting for her dignity for all she was worth.

‘You sure you don’t have it hidden on your person?’

That was a bit much. The man had no shame! ‘It’d be pretty soggy if it was,’ she retorted, and he grinned-and kept right on grinning. He put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. They stood, man and boy, laughing down at her, and Molly’s insides twisted as they hadn’t been twisted for a long, long time.

Sam was leaning back into the man behind him, and the little boy seemed to be relishing the hand on his shoulder-the intimacy of his aunt in the bath and this man taking a proprietary role. This man was exactly what Sam needed, Molly thought, and then she thought, This man is exactly what I need…

‘You know, those suds are disappearing,’ Jackson said kindly. ‘You must have been using soap. Bath foam always disappears when you use soap.’

Molly gave a squeak of indignation and clutched at her towel as if her life depended on it. She could use another six inches of towelling here. Badly. ‘Sam, take Mr Baird out and close the door after you.’

‘We’re comfortable here,’ Sam said. He grinned and his aunt moaned.

‘Sam, don’t you dare turn into another machiavellian male before my eyes. I depend on you.’

‘That’s why we’re staying.’ Jackson grinned. ‘Because you depend on us.’

‘I don’t depend on you.’

‘You hear that, Sam? And that’s about a man she’s hoping to make a sale to.’

‘Get out.’ Molly was caught between laughter and exasperation. And something else. Jackson was engendering a feeling she hadn’t known she was capable of. The way he held Sam. The way he laughed down at her…

‘Get out,’ she said again, and her eyes locked on his and held.

A message passed between them.

A message?

No. It was more than that. It was a forging of a link, Molly thought faintly, and that link she didn’t fully understand, but it was a link for all that. Strong and warm and…

‘Get out,’ she said again, but this time it was more than that. Get out-and she wasn’t just talking about leaving the bathroom.

This man was starting to alarm her.

Starting? Ha!

And Jackson? He stood staring down at her for a long minute, and very gradually the laughter died from his eyes. Finally he nodded, and it was as if he’d come to a decision.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘We know when we’re not wanted.’ And he turned and walked back down the passage without a backward glance.

By the time she’d dressed and dried her hair she almost had herself under control. Almost. Molly was badly flustered and it showed. She blew dry her hair and didn’t concentrate, so she had to do it again-it was that or wear an unruly mop for dinner. Even when she wet and reblew it, her curls still flew everywhere.

No matter. It didn’t matter. Did it?

No. She dressed in jeans and a clean shirt, then changed her mind and donned a skirt-then went back to jeans. By the time she finished she was thoroughly disconcerted, and Sam was asking questions.

‘Why is it taking you so long? Don’t you know Mr Baird is waiting?’

It was exactly because Mr Baird was waiting that she was taking so long, Molly thought. She gave her curls a last despairing brush and headed for the kitchen, Sam skipping by her side.

Because, yes, Mr Baird was waiting.

To her dismay Doreen and Gregor had no intention of joining them for their barbecue.

‘Gregor hates sand,’ Doreen told them, casting an affectionate glance at her husband. ‘You’d think after forty years of living at the beach he’d grow accustomed to it.’

‘I’ll never get accustomed to sand,’ Gregor said morosely. ‘Foul stuff gets everywhere. You even find it between your toes!’

‘Don’t you like sand between your toes?’ Sam asked, his eyes falling to Gregor’s severely laced boots. The vision of Gregor’s old toes was somehow fascinating and repelling all at once.

‘Don’t tell me you do?’ Gregor demanded. ‘Well! There’s no accounting for taste. But that’s why Doreen’s packed you a hamper of everything you might fancy to eat on sand while I eat my dinner at the kitchen table like a gentleman.’

And that was that. They were, it seemed, dining on the beach alone. Just Molly and Jackson and Sam.

Great, thought Molly, and…help?

But the setting itself was magic. At any other time Molly would have loved it. The sun was sinking over the mountains, the surf was rolling in long, low swells onto the wide ribbon of beach, and the sand was still warm from the heat of the day. Gregor had been down before them and had lit a fire.

‘Main course is a nice piece of beef I’ve buried in the coals, and there’s spuds down there as well,’ he told them. ‘Just dig when you get hungry.’

Or eat the rest of their food? They could certainly do that. The appetisers alone would have satisfied even the hungriest of diners. Doreen had done them proud. They unpacked onto the picnic rug and discovered prawns on ice, and scallops and oysters in their shells. There were tiny sausage rolls, still warm. Delicate sandwiches, asparagus, chicken and avocado, smoked salmon…

And the sweets…

‘And this after morning tea, lunch and afternoon tea… The Grays must think we starve in our other lives,’ Molly said, awed, and Jackson grinned and reached for a prawn.

‘Who’s complaining? Sausage roll, Sam? Lemonade? Champagne, Miss Farr?’

‘There’s four different types of wine.’ Molly was practically dumbfounded. ‘How did they do this?’

‘Mrs Gray rang up some people while you were out today,’ Sam told her. ‘They delivered stuff.’

They certainly must have. ‘You’ll have to push me home in a wheelbarrow if I wrap myself round this lot.’ She shook her head as Jackson offered her wine. ‘I’ll have lemonade, please.’

‘You’re not scared things might get out of control?’ he asked, gently teasing, and she flushed.

‘No. But I’m careful.’

‘Because of my reputation?’

‘I hardly think you’ll try a spot of seduction with Sam here,’ Molly snapped, and she got what she asked for.

‘What’s seduction?’ asked Sam.

‘Making ladies kiss you when they should know better,’ she told him. Her response was out before she could stop herself, and there was a crack of laughter from Jackson.

‘That means your Aunty Molly would really, really like to kiss me but she thinks she’s too respectable.’

‘Is that why she changed three times before she decided what to wear tonight?’ Sam asked, interested in this weird adult behaviour, and Molly was torn between embarrassment and laughter.

Suddenly laughter won. Well, why not? It was either laugh or blush to the roots of her hair, and Jackson had the upper hand already.

‘Hand me a sausage roll,’ she told Sam. ‘I’m missing out on valuable eating time talking about stupid things like kissing.’

‘I thought girls liked kissing.’ Sam was looking from Jackson to Molly and back again, trying to figure things out for himself. ‘You mean you don’t want to kiss each other?’

‘What, kiss Mr Baird? Why on earth would I want to kiss Mr Baird?’

Sam thought that one through and found it a reasonable question.

‘Well, I wouldn’t want to. But some people might.’

‘Kissing’s dangerous. You’ve read your fairy stories. Jackson could turn into a frog.’

‘Or a prince.’

‘Not a prince,’ Molly said decisively. ‘Millionaires don’t turn into princes. They always turn into frogs. It’s in the rules.’

‘But we like frogs.’

‘A frog called Jackson? I don’t think so. And besides, it’d be a toad.’

‘Thanks very much,’ Jackson said drily.

‘You’re welcome.’ Molly gave him her sweetest smile. ‘Now, Sam, I suggest we shut up and eat. Otherwise we might go hungry.’

‘What, with all this?’

‘And afternoon tea was so puny,’ Molly agreed mournfully. ‘I’m starving to my socks.’

Sam gave up the kissing issue as a bad job and giggled, a cheerful small boy sound that added to the impression of magic that was all around them. He’d laughed so little since his parents died, and here he was wolfing down sausage rolls and spreading his toes in the sand-and leaning back against Jackson, for heaven’s sake, almost as if he belonged there.

‘Me, too,’ he said cheerfully, munching his fourth sausage roll and giving a direct lie to his statement. ‘Mr Baird, are you starving to your socks?’

‘Deeper,’ Jackson said with aplomb. ‘I’m starving to my toenails.’