Page 71 of A Cosy Christmas with the Village Vet

‘Good.’ She treated him to a wide smile. ‘Come to the house.’

‘The house? But I thought, I mean, won’t Aaron be there?’

‘No. It’ll just be you and me.’ Her expression faltered for a second but she recovered quickly.

Why did her words sound so ominous? he wondered, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck, an idea forming in his mind. If he went to the house, he’d at least be able to get the rest of his stuff, save her turning up like this again.

‘Don’t look so worried, I’m not going to bite you.’ Loretta leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek; he felt her breath on his ear. ‘Mmm. I love the way that cologne smells on you, it’s why I bought it.’ She gave his arm a proprietorial squeeze, her eyes locking on his for a second too long. He felt suddenly very wary.

* * *

A background thrumof dread troubled Nick all afternoon, his mind going over what Loretta could possibly want to discuss with him. It couldn’t be the house; as far as he was aware the sale was proceeding smoothly. Whatever it was, he had a bad feeling about it. He didn’t feel comfortable discussing his private life in front of the rest of the staff, so he’d waited until he and Brogan were alone to tell her what Loretta had said. It had been awful seeing the anxious expression Brogan had worn since the visit and it didn’t lift once he’d spoken to her.

‘I don’t intend to stay long,’ he said, hoping to reassure her, ‘but the sooner it’s over and done with, the better as far as I’m concerned. I can kill two birds with one stone and pick up the last of my stuff. There’ll be no need for me to go back again.’ The worry in her eyes was killing him.

‘Okay. Just promise me you’ll keep an eye out for the weather, there’s more snow forecast later this evening. You don’t want to get stranded on the rigg road.’

‘I promise. Now stop worrying. Everything’ll be fine and I’ll be home before you know it.’ Nick kissed her tenderly, glad that he’d finally managed to elicit a smile from her.

* * *

Nick pulledup outside his former home, trepidation making his chest feel tight. The weather conditions were far better in Middleton-le-Moors than they were back in Great Stangdale and Danskelfe dale, with most of the snow having been turned to slush in the market town. Before he had chance to get out of the car, the door to the house was flung open and Loretta appeared. She was wearing an inordinately wide smile and a sheer, floaty dress that draped over her slender frame. The garment seemed more appropriate for summer than a wintry evening in December, not that he knew much about these things. Her long blonde hair was styled in what she used to call an “artfully messy” up-do. Anyone would think she was going to a party.

On the step, she leaned towards him as if to kiss him on the mouth, but he quickly turned his head to one side, ensuring their lips didn’t make contact. She pretended not to notice.

He followed her down the long hallway to the large kitchen, the white wall-to-floor units gleaming in the light. It looked almost clinical in contrast to the rustic kitchen at Pond Farm. Perching herself on a black leather bar stool, Loretta slid a large glass of red wine across the island to him. ‘It’s Merlot; your favourite.’ A flirtatious smile played over her lips.

‘I’m driving,’ he said. He got the impression she expected him to pull out a chair and sit down, but he remained standing.

‘Oh, don’t be such a boring old fart.’ She reached up and undid her hair so it tumbled over her shoulders, all golden and silky soft. She shook it out with her fingers so it hung around her face. ‘You can at least have a little drink with me.’

The glass of wine was anything but little; it looked to be almost half a bottle’s worth. And why the hell was she flirting with him? ‘I’d rather not. And anyway, I don’t have long. So what did you want to talk to me about?’

‘Hey, what’s the rush? I thought you’d be keen to have a catch up.’ She tipped her head to one side and peered up at him from beneath her sooty lashes.

That look might have worked on him not so long ago, but today it felt like she was trying to manipulate him.

‘The rush is that I need to get back home.’

‘Home?’ She pouted her glossy lips and swirled the wine around her glass. ‘Is that how you’re referring to that little dump you’ve been staying at?’ She drew in a deep breath, leaning forward and flashing her cleavage. ‘Some would argue that this is your home.’ She treated him to another coquettish look.

Nick snorted. Was she for real? ‘Well, not me, that’s for sure. You made it perfectly plain that it was no longer my home when you packed my stuff into boxes and went on to tell me you didn’t want to marry me, that you didn’t love me anymore, that you’d been sleeping with my best mate, and that you wanted me out of the house.’ He counted the reasons off on his fingers, using every ounce of his strength to stay calm.

She flinched. ‘People can make mistakes, you know.’ She lowered her eyes, her bottom lip wobbling.

Ahh. So that’s what this is all about.‘Not that I’m interested, but I’m guessing things aren’t going the way you expected with Aaron.’

She shook her head. ‘He spent the whole of Saturday night at the function ignoring me and flirting with the new girl from accounts. Had the nerve to tell me I was being paranoid when I challenged him about it. I’m not sure how getting upset about your boyfriend dirty dancing with another woman can be construed as paranoid,’ she said bitterly.

This wasn’t news to Nick. His ex-best mate had a reputation for womanising; Loretta knew that. But hearing all this still didn’t explain why he had to come back to the house. ‘Your relationship with Aaron is nothing to do with me. I’m sure you’ll make up. So if that’s all you’ve dragged me over here for, then I’m afraid I’m leaving.’

‘What if I don’t want to make up with him?’ She arched a questioning eyebrow.

Nick sighed and rolled his eyes.

Loretta took a large slug of wine. ‘What would you say if I told you I was wearing those sexy knickers you used to love, you know the ones with—’

‘That’s enough, Loretta. What do you think you’re playing at? Last week you were making my life hell about a pair of bloody shoes, and tonight you’re coming on to me. Just quit with the mental gymnastics and tell me what this crap is really all about.’

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