She turned to the espresso machine. ‘We can meet here, in The Public.’ Carola gestured towards the doorway that led to the next room. She used to host the meetings and committees she involved herself in at her home on the Bankside Estate. Now she’d come to work at The Angel she found it good for business to hold them here.

‘Daisy Grove’s volunteered to be involved,’ he told her, paying for his drink, then picking up the thick cup and saucer.

Carola beamed. ‘Tess Arnott-Rattenbury’s happy to help with the Christmas scene for the village hall.’

‘Tess? Great to have a professional illustrator on board.’ Tess was his landlord Ratty’s wife. Middledip was getting quite the community of art professionals. As if to reinforce that thought, as he turned away to pick a table he noticed Laurel Hill seated by herself on a brown leather sofa at the back of the room. A lone coffee mug stood on the low table by her knees and a multi-coloured coat that Joseph would have been proud of was folded on the sofa beside her. The pretty girl he’d known had grown up into a gorgeous, lush woman.

His steps faltered. There were several unoccupied tables … but in a few seconds he found himself standing before her, leaving the coffee table as a barrier between them. ‘OK if I join you for a minute? If sharing a sofa in a public place isn’t against your alone-with-a-man code.’

Her gaze flicked up to focus on him. Apparently, she’d been so lost in thought she hadn’t noticed his approach. She blinked, then smiled faintly. ‘Help yourself.’ She eased along the cushions to make space.

Settling down his brimming cup, he said, ‘Welcome back to the village. Daisy tells me you’re here for a while.’

She shrugged. Her dark, foxy hair was shorter than when she’d been a teenager, cut in one of those sharp bobs that came to points at the front and a deep fringe above eyes the same startling blue he remembered. ‘Thanks. For some months, I expect.’

OK. Guarded, but not unfriendly. It was enough encouragement for him to say, ‘I thought I ought to warn you about Daisy.’

Fear flashed in her eyes. ‘What? Is she OK? What do you mean?’

He lifted his hands hastily. ‘Sorry! She’s fine. She’s great. I only meant that she’s volunteered to help with Art December and the art wall at the Christmas Fair. I think she’s going to ask you to contribute work. I don’t want you to feel obliged. She showed me your paintings on her phone and she’s obviously super-proud but you’re a professional and the art wall’s a fundraiser for the village hall. Be aware there’s an eighty-twenty split of proceeds, in case you want to have your excuses ready. Nobody’s under pressure to participate.’