Liza eyed them nervously as they slithered across the tiles. “Are they going to take revenge on me for calling the police?”

“More likely to lick you to death or slide into you. They hate these tiles.” He snapped his fingers and the dogs skidded to a halt, tongues lolling as they looked at him stupidly. “Sit.”

They sat, one with more reluctance than the others.

Liza looked at the rows of sharp teeth. “I’m starting to understand why you don’t need bodyguards.”

“These boys are a deterrent, that’s for sure.” He crouched down and made a fuss of the dogs and she did the same, although a little more cautiously.

One of them rolled over, exposing his tummy, and she rubbed it gently. “They’re gorgeous. What are they called? Not that I’m going to be able to tell them apart.”

“One, Two and Three. Seemed a simple way of naming them at the time. Don’t be fooled by the size of them. They’re terrified of Popeye.” He rose to his feet and so did she.

“We’re all a little terrified of Popeye. He’s the most judgmental cat I’ve ever met. And very emotionally distant.” Like her mother. “And talking of meeting, how did you get to know my mother?”

“Long story. We need food for that.” He washed his hands, then opened the bag she’d handed him and explored the contents. “I haven’t had a lemon meringue pie since I was a kid. I’ll cut us both a slice and we can take it onto the terrace.”

“I made it for you.”

“I believe in indulgence at all times, but even I can’t eat an entire pie myself.”

“You’re on your own here? I assumed you’d have lots of staff.”

“I’m the only permanent resident, although I am subject to a regular invasion from London. My long-suffering housekeeper occasionally visits and rescues me from the depths of my own mess. Her husband does the gardens and the pool. They live in the cottage five-minutes walk from here. They’re around, but not around if that makes sense. They treat me like a son, which is lucky for me.” He cut large slices. “This looks incredible.” His accent was somewhere between an American drawl and a soft Irish lilt. She decided she could listen to him talk all day.

“The eggs are organic. They’re from the Anderson farm.” Why on earth had she told him that? He probably couldn’t be less interested.

“I never eat eggs from anywhere else.” The laughter in his eyes made her flustered.

“You’re teasing me.”