‘I’m amazed he hasn’t asked you to be in his band,’ Paula said, rolling her eyes. The keys to the property she’d viewed earlier jingled in her pocket as she walked along, and suddenly the most outrageous idea popped into her head. Maybe her mum wasn’t the only one who could be a minx. ‘Hey, so you’re in town too,’ she said thoughtfully, remembering the thick, soft carpet in the living room of the gorgeous Georgian townhouse. Shag-pile by name . . . ‘Don’t suppose you fancy doing something a little bit naughty, do you?’

‘With you, always,’ he replied at once. ‘What are we talking?’

‘You buy that guitar,’ she told him, knowing how easily he could be sidetracked, ‘and then come and meet me.’ She gave him the address of the house, her fingers winding around the keys in her pocket. Now who was being awful? She could get sacked for this, if anyone found out. Ah, sod it. Sometimes you had to bend the rules for a bit of fun.

He gave a whistle. ‘Paula Brent, I never thought I’d see the day,’ he said. ‘You want me to serenade you in a posh empty house – is that what you’re saying?’

‘Something way filthier than that,’ she replied. She lowered her voice, making it breathily suggestive. ‘Hurry up now. I’ll be waiting.’ Then she quickened her step, feeling positively devilish. Oh my goodness. Was she really going to do this? Yes, she blooming well was.

Barely had she put the phone back in her bag, however, than it rang again. ‘Don’t tell me,’ she said, answering it with a laugh in her voice, ‘you’ve gone and bought yourself one as well.’

There was a pause, and then an unfamiliar voice spoke – a voice that wasn’t Matt at all. ‘Um . . . Is that Paula’s phone?’

Shit, and that was probably a client, and now she’d made a right tit of herself, she realized in the next moment. Not very professional. ‘Sorry, yes, this is Paula speaking,’ she said, trying to sound more sensible and businesslike.

‘Paula, hi,’ said the woman on the other end of the line. ‘This is Frankie.’

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

‘Oh, wow, Frankie, hello!’ came Paula’s voice, sounding very northern and very excited. ‘God, I’m so sorry I answered the phone like that. I thought you were my husband, about to go crazy in a music shop. But it’s you. Hello! Sorry for babbling! I don’t seem to be able to stop!’

Frankie laughed at the torrent of words pouring into her ear. Craig was giving Fergus his tea in the kitchen, and she’d seized the moment to escape into the bedroom with her phone. ‘That’s all right,’ she said, suddenly feeling rather shy, now that a connection had been made. ‘It’s not your typical phone call, I realize. Is this a good time by the way?’