Joss got up and stretched, looking large and rather overpowering in a bulky sweater and heavy cords. He shivered and bent to put more logs on the fire. 'You were right about the weather. I do feel the cold these days after my wanderings in hotter climates. It was enough to congeal the blood in your house tonight, Lucy. A fine old mess, one way and another.'
More mess than he knew, thought Lucy drearily, as she stared into the flames. What she needed was a magic lamp, complete with genie, to solve her problems. She started as she realised Joss was speaking to her.
'A drink, Lucy,' he repeated. 'You look as though you could do with one.'
He was right, she found. She badly needed something to give her courage, even if it were only of the Dutch variety. 'Scotch and soda, please,' she said absently, and Joss's teeth showed white in his dark face.
'A surprisingly masculine taste, Lucy.'
She shrugged. 'It's the only thing Dad ever kept in the house, so I used to have one now and then with him, to keep him company, and make sure he didn't indulge too much. His blood-pressure was a problem for the last year or so.' She accepted her drink with thanks and downed half of it in one swallow, to Joss's obvious amusement, glad of the spirit's warmth as it percolated through her. Suddenly she was struck by the improbability of the situation.
She was in a house she'd sworn never to enter again, in company with a man she'd vowed never to speak to again in her entire life, and yet here they were, like a couple of old fogies, together by the fire as though it were something they did every night. Lucy smiled, and Joss eyed her quizzically.
'A real smile, Lucy? I was beginning to think you'd forgotten how.'
'It suddenly struck me how—how odd this is.'
'Breaking bread with the enemy?' Joss's eyes narrowed to a blue gleam. 'Perhaps you remembered too late you'd forgotten your long-handled spoon.'
'To sup with the devil!' Lucy laughed. 'Perhaps it isn't necessary just for sandwiches.'
'Bring it along tomorrow night and dine with me properly,' he said, taking her by surprise.
The laughter faded from her eyes. 'I don't think that's wise.'
'Where does wisdom come into it? I've been granted a God-sent chance tonight, by kind courtesy of the weather, to extend yet again my ever-ready olive branch.'
She looked at him steadily, trying to read his expression, but without success. 'I wish I could believe that this olive branch was tendered in good faith, Joss—or even that it was tendered to me. If you're honest, you'll admit it's Tom you're aiming at, not me.'
Joss shook his head, then finished his drink. 'Not,' he said carefully, 'that I wouldn't like to see more of Tom, naturally.'
'Why?'
'Because I'm very fond of him. Who wouldn't be?' Joss's face hardened. 'But you've always been very careful to keep us apart, Lucy, haven't you? To deny me any relationship with him beyond the odd hour or two once in a blue
moon.'
Lucy's eyes were cold. 'But you were the one who denied the relationship, Joss. When you learned I was pregnant you made it crystal-clear I was never to name Simon as the father of my son. And I never have. Ever. You didn't want to be Tom's uncle eleven years ago, Joss. Do you honestly expect me to feel any sympathy for the fact that somewhere along the way you changed your mind? You said some pretty foul things to me. Unforgettable things.'
The colour receded from Joss's face, the look in his eyes touching some deep buried chord inside Lucy, despite herself.
'I was off my head with grief and shock,' he said. 'Caroline had run off with her Argentinian lover only days before Simon was killed, remember. My pride was still smarting from her defection on that God-awful afternoon when you rang from the aerodrome.'
'It was three weeks, in actual fact,' said Lucy.
He frowned at her. 'Three weeks? What are you talking about?'
'Caroline left you exactly three weeks before Simon was killed.'
'You remember it so clearly, then?'
'Oh, yes. You weren't exactly quiet and dignified about it. You were a drunken monster, in fact. One tends to remember things like that very clearly.'
'Does one, indeed?' Joss jumped up and made for the whisky decanter. 'Have another drink?'
Lucy opened her mouth to refuse, then shut it again and held out her glass.
'Couldn't we come to some amicable arrangement, Lucy?' Joss turned back to the drinks tray. 'Since your father died, Tom must surely be lacking in male companionship at home, if not in school. Is an hour or two with me now and then too much to ask?'
'Why don't you get married and have a son of your own?' she demanded. To her surprise, Joss's face darkened.
'I have my reasons,' he said stiffly, 'none of which I imagine would interest you in the slightest.'
Lucy stared at him, affronted, but he met her eyes levelly.
'Well?' he prompted. 'Are you going to let me see more of Tom in future, or not?'
She looked down at her hands as though she'd never seen them before, examining each fingernail with minute care for a long time. 'If Tom wants to,' she said at last, 'I won't prevent him from coming to visit you. But it's up to Tom.'
Joss rose to his feet and pulled her up from her chair, looking down at her intently. 'You mean it, Lucy?'
She nodded, and very gently he bent to touch his lips to her forehead.
'Thank you,' he said. 'It means a great deal to me. Almost as though Simon were back with me again.'
'You felt very differently once.' Which sounded petty, Lucy knew, but the hurt had cut too deep all those years ago to be forgotten so easily. 'If my father hadn't taken Tom fishing one day near your place you might never have come to know him at all.'
'One look, at him was enough, Lucy.' Joss turned to lean a hand on the chimney piece, and stared down into the fire. 'Can you believe that I just like Tom? Even if he weren't Simon's son, I'd still feel exactly the same.'
'He doesn't look much like Simon,' Lucy pointed out. 'He's like Dad—and me.'
'Except for his eyes.' Joss turned to face her. 'Is it totally beyond your power to forgive me, Lucy?'
She regarded him thoughtfully. 'You ask a lot. I've conceded as far as Tom's concerned. Why should my forgiveness be so important?'
'Until tonight, I can't honestly say I thought it was.' Joss frowned, a look almost like surprise in his eyes. 'It all happened a long time ago, Lucy. Yet when I saw your car in the ditch tonight I felt as though someone had punched me in the stomach.'
'You mean, you thought Tom was with me?'
'No. That never even occurred to me. My only reaction was fear that you were hurt, and I drove like a bat out of hell to Holly Lodge—only to get mugged for my pains.'
'I thought you were an intruder. Besides, a chunk of ceiling had just fallen on me; you can't expect someone to behave perfectly rationally under those
circumstances.' Lucy's gaze was serene. 'So. You had a fit of remorse and came round to play the good Samaritan, Joss. Well done, and thanks. And now I think I'll retire to that very charming room Mrs Benson gave me. It's Monday tomorrow—not my favourite day of the week at any time. Tomorrow it's likely to be worse than usual, worrying about things at the lodge.'
'Leave the keys with me and I'll chase up the plumber and the electrician.'
Lucy eyed him doubtfully. 'I don't want to put you to any trouble.'
Joss's smile lacked mirth. 'The least I can do, under the circumstances. God knows, you could do with some help.'
'Isn't that the truth!' Lucy smiled wryly and fished in her handbag for the keys. 'There. Now I'll say goodnight—and thank you again.'
Joss insisted on escorting her up to her room, and Lucy felt oddly awkward as he switched on the lights in the guest room and asked her if she had everything she needed.
'Everything,' she assured him hastily. 'Mrs Benson turned on the electric blanket earlier on, so what more can I ask?'
'Sleep well then, Lucy.' Joss hesitated, then bent and kissed her mouth. Lucy shot back as though he'd hit her.
'Droit du seigneur?' she asked, eyes glittering.
Joss's face darkened. 'Just a token of comfort, Lucy. Besides, to be pedantic, you're not precisely eligible for the droit du seigneur bit, are you? If you remember, when the lord of the manor exercised his right to take first turn in his underling's nuptial couch, the bride was expected to be a maiden.'