“I want adventure!”

It was almost as though she could hear her own voice, high and excited, carried to her by the winds of time. What an eager, happy child she had been. And Verity had been a role model—a woman whose entire life seemed one big adventure, who, after a long army service commitment, had set up her own highly successful explosives and demolitions business. Even now that she was semiretired, Verity was still much in demand for her expertise, hence her current trip to Australia, where she was consulting on a mining operation in New South Wales.

Lucy took a deep, bracing breath. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t give in to self-pity. She had achieved her own adventure in her own way and it had been brilliant even if that journey had now been cut short. Like Verity she would move on to something new. Except that it felt too soon; she didn’t want to think about that now, about the blankness of the future. But she did know that she wasn’t going to stay here too long. She’d find a fresh purpose. She didn’t want to become one of Cleo’s lost causes, like a rescue kitten in need of rehoming or a dead cactus that her sister would insist was only wilting. This was a strictly temporary stay.

A cool breath of breeze from the Downs tiptoed along her spine. In contrast to the now-chilly garden, the lamplit room inside the cottage looked warm and inviting. It had been thoughtful of Verity to arrange for someone to leave some lights on to welcome her. Evidently someone was keeping an eye on the cottage whilst it was empty.

Lucy dug in her bag, her fingers closing around the front door key. It should have been a big iron antique to fit the appearance of the cottage, but Verity wasn’t old-fashioned when it came to security. There were two keys, a mortice and a latch. Lucy took them out with a jingle of metal.

The door opened before she could insert either key into a lock. Light spilled across the step, mingling with the dusk of the garden. A black Labrador rushed past Lucy and cocked his leg against the apple tree. Lucy dropped the keys with a clatter on the step. The dog turned his head at the sound and stared at her, his eyes shadowed and dark in the night garden. He wasn’t young; gray hairs were beginning to show around his muzzle, but he was very handsome all the same.

The dog gave a little yelp of excitement to see her and dashed back across the garden, wagging his tail madly, beating it against Lucy’s leg in an orgy of delight.

“Hello,” she said weakly, crouching down to pat him whilst he stared at her with his big soulful brown eyes. “You’re very friendly, but what are you doing here?”

The dog pressed closer to her, his big body warm and reassuring. He smelled of a familiar dog smell, which gave her a pang of longing. It was years since she had had any sort of pet—her lifestyle hadn’t allowed for it—but when she and Cleo had been children there had been a succession of dogs of many shapes and sizes. Their parents currently owned a Welsh terrier called Tal, short for Taliesin. This dog, she saw from the tag glinting in the faint light, was named Geoffrey.