Carmichael's Return

Withdrawing from her position at the window, she returned to the task of arranging her watercolours, hanging on convenient picture hooks those already framed.

As swift footsteps took the stairs she stood back, heartbeats racing, pretending to admire her own handiwork. The door swung open and Brett stood there, a light in his eyes.

‘You’ve seen my new possession?’

She nodded. ‘Oh, wow,’ she said, her voice coming out low-key in spite of her doing her best to sound as excited as he was. ‘It’s great. But—? Oh, of course— you’ve got it on hire.’

‘Nope. It’s mine. It’s OK—’ he smiled at her bewilderment ‘—I didn’t have to rob a bank to buy it.’

Which surely meant that he might be a stranger come in from the cold—or rather, the heat, judging by his tan—but he certainly wasn’t poverty-stricken.

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