Janie looked at the receiver in disbelief.
'What do you mean, you can't come? You'll be late?' she added hopefully.
'No, love, we can't come at all today. Overbooked, see, an' the other small van's broke down comin' back from a job yesterday. Friday's the first we can manage.'
She took a deep breath. This couldn't be happening. It was a dream, a nightmare.
'But I have to be out of here by tomorrow at the latest. Tomorrow, Wednesday. You know that! I told him, your boss, when I booked you. And he promised! Put me through to the manager.'
'Sorry, love, he's drivin' one of the vans. Jack's off sick, see.'
For ten minutes she argued, pleaded, threatened, and almost cried, but it did no good. Friday was the earliest they could come, and the bulldozers would be here on Thursday.
Janie raked her fingers through her hair and grabbed the Yellow Pages. Thank goodness she hadn't packed that. Had it been a premonition? Tugging the belt of her bathrobe tighter, she abandoned the idea of a shower. She had more urgent things to do.
For sixty frustrating minutes during which she became even more desperate, she rang every removal company within a radius of thirty miles. None could help.
What on earth could she do? Who could help her move her big pieces of furniture? Most of her friends lived some distance away, and none of them had big enough cars anyway. Or they would be at work. That reminded her of Liz. Her sister temped, and as often as not had no job to go to. Hadn't she mentioned a new boyfriend with a big estate car? Even though Liz lived twenty miles away, north of Bristol, that would be better than nothing. It was a forlorn hope, but it was one.
She dialled, but there was no reply. Liz might be at work. She'd try her later in case she'd just been out shopping, but meanwhile she was cast back on her own resources. They were limited. If she hired a roof rack, could she get any of her furniture on it?
She went to the window to look at her tiny Corsa sitting outside the cottage, though she already knew it would not hold the larger pieces of furniture that were left. A roof rack would mean half a dozen separate trips, and in any case she doubted whether she could get the wardrobe or the bed downstairs on her own, and she certainly couldn't lift them on to a rack. She might, however, persuade a friend to help later that evening, when they were home from work. She'd leave messages with those who had answerphones, or get them on mobiles.
For a crazy, desperate moment she wondered whether to appeal to Brian. He worked for a big transport firm near Avonmouth docks, and no doubt had access to all sorts of vehicles, then dismissed the idea. He'd be busy, and even if he wasn't he'd delight in refusing to help her. The days when he'd tried to become more than a casual acquaintance were long past, and he'd taken her rejection of his overtures badly. They met occasionally, living in the same area, but had no closer relationship.
Once more she considered the possibilities of the Corsa. With the back seats down it was quite roomy. She'd already moved the boxes, the books and china and chairs. Even the armchair had gone into it. True, she'd had to leave the tail gate open when she took her kitchen table, and there was no way she could get her bed, the settee, or the wardrobe in even if she could haul them that far.
She was reaching for her address book when a loud, imperious voice caught her attention.
'Do be careful, man!'
'It's OK, keep your hair on.'
Janie glanced through the window and saw her neighbour, the rather superior Mrs Kemp, standing on the circular gravel drive in front of her house. She was gesticulating as two large men carried out something shrouded in grey blanket. Most of her stuff had gone yesterday in two huge pantechnicons, but she'd mentioned the last of it would be taken today. They had a small van parked in the drive, so close to the house Janie hadn't noticed it before. She felt a surge of hope. Perhaps, when they had moved Mrs Kemp's things, they would be able to do hers. She had very little left, only a few big items. They wouldn't take long.
She almost tripped over the doorstep in her haste, and saved herself by clutching at the door knob. The door swung to, the latch clicking, but Janie scarcely registered it as she ran down the path and along the grass verge towards her neighbour's house.
As she reached the van one of the furniture removers stepped back and collided with her.
'Oof!'
Janie, winded, came to an involuntary halt. She'd have fallen if he hadn't grabbed her round the waist.
'You OK?' He had a deep voice, with a slightly foreign intonation. It wasn't quite American, but she couldn't identify it.
Janie glanced up at him, struggling to regain her breath. His hair was black, his skin deeply tanned, and he had the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. She was tall, but she only came up to his shoulder. She wondered whether he had Mediterranean blood. He was dark enough. Was his accent Italian, or Spanish, perhaps?
Before she could decide Mrs Kemp's acid tones brought her back to the present.
'Janie, my dear child, is the house on fire?' Mrs Kemp demanded. ‛And aren't you dressed yet? You are always so impetuous. Tempest by name, and tempest by nature.'
'Sorry,' Janie gasped. She felt guilty of all sorts of unmentionable sins, and blushed furiously. The belt of her robe had worked loose and she was barely decent. And what was she doing, admiring the good looks of a furniture removal man and trying to identify an accent when she had far more important things to think about?
Mrs Kemp sniffed. 'You never think before you act.'
She was the widow of a Colonel, prim and proper. If there were any good works to be done Mrs Kemp would be at the front of the queue, Janie often thought, especially if these voluntary jobs entailed telling everyone else what to do. She treated everyone, but especially Janie, as though they were raw, incompetent squaddies. However much Janie tried, the woman always had this demoralising effect on her, and being half naked as well as crashing into the handsome furniture man didn't help. Nor did the grin on the broad, red face of the other man, who was wiping sweat off his brow.
'My removal firm have let me down, they say they can't come till Friday, and I can't find anyone else. I wondered, that is, I hoped, that these men could fit in a small extra job. I haven't got much,' she added, turning to the men with a nervous smile.
She realised, seeing his face in close-up, that the good-looking one still had his arm round her waist, and wriggled in embarrassment. He grinned at her and let her go, and she suppressed the desire to slap the smile from his handsome face. No doubt he considered his film star looks gave him all sorts of advantages with women. He was being too familiar, and she didn't permit familiarities from strangers. On the other hand she was desperate, and she needed him.
'But that's not possible,' Mrs Kemp began, and Janie swung round to face her.
'Please, I don't know what else to do. If I'm not out of here by tomorrow they'll bulldoze the furniture as well. I'll pay overtime, double rates, anything!' she added, looking at the men.
'Janie, you don't understand,' Mrs Kemp said, but the dark haired one spoke over her.
'Sure, we can do it. OK with you, Tim?'
The other man nodded, and Janie sighed deeply.
'I'm so grateful.'
'But Janie – ‛
Once more he interrupted. 'This afternoon, we'll come back after we've settled Mrs Kemp's job.'
Janie practically gibbered with relief. 'Thank you so much! I just didn't know what to do. I'll take all my small last-minute stuff round now. It's only a couple of miles away. See you later.'
She walked towards her own front door, not heeding the muttering from Mrs Kemp. She could do without a lecture about decorum, proper modes of dress, and being too forward. If she permitted Mrs Kemp to start, all these topics would be mentioned. The woman had brought all of them, and more, into the conversation the day after Janie's house-warming party. On the whole she was kind-hearted, but Janie had only been there for a couple of years, and they were too different in age and outlook to have made friends.
Cash. She'd need more, they'd want paying in cash. A visit to the bank, then. And she'd do some shopping, stock up at the supermarket. Luckily she'd already taken her fridge to the new house. She could put away her shopping, take the clothes and bedding she'd needed until today, maybe start to sort out her new kitchen.
She sighed. She'd loved this cottage, ever since she'd spent holidays with Aunt Jane as a child. It was like the fairy tale cottage in her books. There were windows either side of the front door, and small ones above peeping out from under the thatch. Inside it was all dark beams and stone walls, the rooms leading into each other, full of antiques. Outside roses climbed round the door, and the garden was full of old-fashioned plants, mostly perfumed such as lavender, verbena, honeysuckle and mock orange. They gave off delicious scents in summer, and the garden had been Aunt Jane's delight. Janie suspected it had taken the place of her only son, who had died years ago in a boating accident.
She wasn't a real aunt, but she was Janie's godmother, and it had been a total surprise when she had left Janie the cottage, one she had never expected but which had thrilled her. Even Brian's fury at being cut out of the will had not spoiled her joy at this wonderful gift. He'd had no claim on Aunt Jane in any case. It had taken the planners to ruin the idyllic life she'd planned.
The door wouldn't open. Janie suddenly realised she had been standing on the step, daydreaming, for ages, twisting the unresponsive knob.
Janie swore inwardly. In her haste she hadn't slipped the catch, and the lock had clicked to behind her. Were any of the windows open? It was a cold day, typical February weather, and her bedroom window was open, but none of the ground floor windows. She shivered suddenly. She'd rushed out without thinking, and her bathrobe wasn't keeping out the biting wind.
She'd have to break in. At least she wouldn't need to repair the window. But she'd do it round at the back, where no one could see what she was doing. And, she admitted with a wry smile, where Mrs Kemp and her removal men would not witness another example of her idiocy.
Glancing round to make sure they weren't observing her discomfort, she chose a moment when they all disappeared into the house and slid hastily round to the back of her cottage.
The kitchen window, a casement, was the biggest, and if she broke the pane nearest the catch she could reach in to open it. Then, with the help of a few bricks, those left over from some repairs years ago, she could clamber in.
A small platform was soon constructed, and Janie took the topmost brick, smashed the glass, and leant in to grasp the handle. It was stiff, and at an awkward angle, but she eventually yanked it down and pulled the window open.
She hitched up the skirts of her robe, wishing again she'd stopped to pull on some proper clothes, and had her knee on the sill when she heard footsteps pounding on the gravel path. Strong hands seized her round the waist and dragged her backwards. For a few moments she lay against a warm, well-muscled body, then she struggled to release herself.
'What do you think you're doing?' she demanded, twisting round and looking up into blue eyes, which were crinkling in amusement.
'That's my question. Are you mad, or just a dizzy blonde? You could injure yourself badly if you fell down inside, or cut yourself on the glass. And you might be lying there for hours until I came back.'
She gritted her teeth and swallowed her hasty retort. Just because she had feathery blonde curls people had always assumed her brains beneath were fluffy. But she couldn't afford to antagonise him, he was going to do her an enormous favour.
'The front door slammed shut, and I didn't have my key. And I'm quite capable of climbing through a window.'
'Not in skirts which will trip you up any minute. I'll do it.'
To her fury he picked her up as though she weighed no more than a child, swung her round, and deposited her a yard away. Before she could regain her breath he had one leg over the windowsill and was easing his bulk through the narrow gap. Moments later the kitchen door opened.
'At your service, Ma'am!'
'Thank you!' She was shaking, but didn't know if it was from cold, fury, or the disturbing closeness of this hunk of a man. A man who was far too fond of touching her, she thought, resentful, and ignoring the reasons for this. 'Now, hadn't you better get back to the job Mrs Kemp's paying you for?'
He chuckled. 'Sure thing. See you later.'
For the rest of that day Janie was unable to concentrate. She dithered at the bank, unable to decide how much cash she would need.
At the supermarket checkout she stared in dismay at the best brand of Columbian coffee beans and a dozen packets of chocolate biscuits in her trolley. Where were the cornflakes and the sliced bread she'd meant to get, and why had she bought cream instead of skimmed milk? And expensive wine rather than the usual plonk?
She was off her trolley, she told herself, grinning ruefully, but she hadn't the nerve to admit to her absent-mindedness and put them all back. She'd look such a fool and Tracey, the checkout girl, who knew her well because Tracey's mum came in to do her cleaning once a week, would comment.
Tracey commented anyway. ‛Having a house-warming?' she asked. ‛It's today you move, isn't it?'
'Yes,' Janie said, unloading the biscuits. She was about to tell Tracey about the removal company letting her down, then paused. Tracy would want to know every detail about the rescue, and Janie for some reason didn't want to have her exclaiming over it, telling her mum, and then Tracey's mum wanting her own account next time they met.
'Such a pity about your lovely old cottage. And Mrs Kemp's house, though that was only a hundred years old, wasn't it? Odd, I always thought, the two being so close together, yet lots of space all round.'
'The cottage was the original farmhouse, then they built a new one. When Mrs Kemp bought them, she wanted to knock the cottage down, but they wouldn't let her, so she sold it to Aunt Jane.'
'And now they're knocking both down just for a new industrial park,' Tracey said. 'Makes you think, doesn't it?'
'They could hardly have built round us.'
'You'll be better off in the flats.'
Janie wasn't so sure about the flat, but she'd had little choice. She'd had to find somewhere in a hurry, and the flat, a mere small two-room affair though it was, had been the best available. She was renting while looking for somewhere else to buy with the compensation she had received from the council when the cottage had been compulsorily purchased. At least it was on the ground floor, and she had a small patch of private garden.
'I hope so.'
She hurried back home. But it wouldn't be home for much longer, she thought sadly as she drove. It wouldn't exist in a couple of days. She'd sold some of Aunt Jane's furniture a week ago, the antiques had gone into store until Janie had a permanent home for them, and from that day it had been alien to her. Briskly she told herself to stop regretting what couldn't be helped. There were more jobs to do. She still had the bedroom curtains to take down. The van had gone, and so had Mrs Kemp's car. Janie felt a wave of relief sweep over her. She'd sensed Mrs Kemp's annoyance when her removal men had come to the rescue, and didn't want to hear any caustic comments. And Mrs Kemp had a bitter tongue at times.
The older woman had bought a house in a village several miles away, but she hadn't given Janie the address. They had been no more than polite neighbours. Being the only houses in the lane they'd had to be. Janie had fed her cat when she'd been away, she had taken in parcels when Janie was at work, but nothing more. They moved in different circles. Mrs Kemp had her good works, bridge evenings and cocktail parties. Janie had her friends at the hospital and the health centre.
Janie made some tea. The men would be ages, no doubt. She took the mug into the sitting room, kicked off her shoes, and sank onto the big settee, sipping slowly. She had loved it here, the place had so many memories, but it was a long drive into Bath, where she worked, especially at night. Maybe she ought to look for something there if she could afford it.
She was half asleep, and jumped when there was a sudden knock at the door. The men must be back already. Stumbling to her feet she tripped over her shoes and dropped the mug. Tea splashed over the ancient carpet. As she cursed her clumsiness, hastily scooping up the two halves of the broken mug, another thing the wretched man would despise her for, she had time to be relieved she wasn't intending to take the carpet with her. Aunt Jane's money would stretch to new ones when she knew where she was going.
'You're back early,' she said, and the dark haired one raised his eyebrows, then laughed.
'I thought you'd be pleased to see me.'
His tone was provocative, and Janie blushed as she saw him eyeing her dishevelled state.
'Would you like some tea?' she asked, more to divert his attention than because she wanted to prolong the business.
'No thanks, we'd prefer to get straight on. Tim has a date tonight. Everything's to go, I presume? Can you show us what there is?'
Janie had believed that all removal men drank copious amounts of tea. The ones who had brought her own things here and those who had packed Aunt Jane's antiques for storage had all seemed to stop for a cup between every trip to and from the van. But this way she'd be spared the chit chat.
The two men worked silently, scarcely even talking to one another. There were not even the usual 'Your way a bit' or 'Ready now' comments. But they worked together well, just the occasional word from the one whose name she didn't know. Tim was totally silent, and Janie found herself wondering how on earth he managed on a date if he was always so taciturn.
Very soon they were done, everything loaded. Janie came into the sitting room to find them rolling up the carpet.
'I'm not taking that old thing,' she said quickly.
'This old thing is probably worth a few pounds. Kashmiri, I'd guess. What do you think, Tim?'
Tim nodded, and muttered something indistinguishable.
'Tim knows his carpets. You ought to take it. I – we can store it for you if it's a nuisance in your new place. Could arrange to sell it, if you like.'
'I really don't mind. Take it if you like.'
'Of course, it would fetch more without mug handles caught in it,' the wretched man said, grinning, handing Janie a bit she'd missed.
She almost snatched it from him, and slung it into a corner of the room. 'The bulldozers can have it.'
He laughed. 'What's the address? Best if we have it, but we'll follow you, OK?'
Sooner than she'd imagined, Janie's furniture was set up in the new flat. It looked rather crowded now, but at least her own stuff made it feel more like home. She reached for her purse. 'Thanks a lot. What do I owe you?'
He didn't reply for a moment. 'Tell you what, I'll sell the carpet, and let you know whether we owe you, or the other way round. OK, Tim?'
Tim nodded. 'So long,' he said, and walked out.
'Are – aren't you going too?' Janie asked, a slight feeling of panic creeping into her mind. Where was the nearest weapon? Had she unpacked her kitchen knives? Could she get to them? She began to edge towards the door into the kitchen.
'I live just round the corner, only a couple of minutes away, but I wondered whether you had a Band-Aid?'
'Band-Aid?' What was he talking about?
He held out his hand, and Janie could see a trickle of blood seeping from beneath a dirty strip of sticking plaster on his left wrist.
'You'd better let me wash that before it gets infected.' Janie reached for her first aid box. 'How did it happen?'
'I cut myself on your broken bit of mug, wasn't expecting it.'
Janie felt horribly guilty. 'I'm sorry! I thought I'd picked it all up, really I did. But why is it still bleeding?'
'I knocked it again just now. I thought perhaps a nurse might be able to do something about it.'
'How did you know I'm a nurse?'
'My – Mrs Kemp mentioned it. After you'd gone back in your cottage.'
Janie frowned, tinglingly aware as she remembered the feel of his body when he'd pulled her from the window. As she bathed the wound, put on some salve, and covered it, she couldn't help noticing how smooth and well-shaped his hands were, not at all rough as she'd imagined a removal man's hands to be.
'There, that should do. But change it once a day, until the cut closes.'
'Yes, nurse! Now, you won't want to bother cooking tonight. There's a good restaurant just round the corner. I'll nip home to have a shower, and call for you in half an hour.'
***