he’d placed nearby.
Jacqui lay sprawled on the grass. His sudden move had knocked her off balance; she was lucky not to have slipped down into the water. ‘You bloody fool,’ she told him, ‘charging about like that.’ She spoke quietly and intensely; her face drained of all its colour.
He ignored her, intent on fishing out a second worm. Jacqui, still on her back and still furious, flexed her leg. It was patently obvious what she was about to do. One gentle nudge with her foot would be sufficient to topple Rodney Smith into the stream among the worms.
Matt touched her arm. ‘No,’ he told her softly.
She ganced at him and he witnessed the anger melting from her face. Her expression became mischievous; her eyes twinkled, exploring his.
‘Chuck some more meat in, will you?’ Rodney Smith called over his shoulder. ‘Bit nearer the edge.’
‘If you’d only get out of the bloody way – you’re ruining the shot!’ Pete snapped at him.
‘Never mind.’ Matt tossed a handful of offal into the water. The worms were in turmoil in their eagerness to get at it. ‘Can you take him fishing the things out?’
Pete widened his shot. Again the motor whirred as Rodney Smith bent over the narrow stream at the foot of the ditch. Then he grunted, a quick sharp grunt, and pulled back.
‘
U-uh, u-uh
,’ he moaned in a mixture of fear and pain.
This time the worms had won. One had bitten deeply into the ball of flesh where his thumb joined his hand.
‘One all,’ came Jacqui’s voice calmly.
9
When he got home Matt found a note from Fran saying she was coming up to London to see him. Business was flourishing and she’d already received more orders than she could handle. It seemed everyone in the fashion world was fascinated by the luminous quality of the worm skins and their subtle changes of colour triggered off by variations in the light. But it was time, she suggested, they drew up a more formal agreement. She’d already had a word with a solicitor.
Helen stiffened defensively when she saw who the note was from. She read it without comment, then handed it back to him. ‘You’d better meet her,’ she said drily.
‘Come with me?’ he coaxed her. ‘Darling, this could be the opening we’ve been waiting for. We’ll be able to afford things for the cottage, and take Jenny to France, and…’
‘You go by yourself,’ Helen told him wearily. ‘She’s your partner. Your … business associate.’
‘That’s all she is!’ he replied warmly.
Helen looked at him, her eyes puckering into an expression of doubt. But she said nothing.
They met at the solicitor’s office near Wigmore Street. He was her cousin, it seemed: a fair young man, very formally dressed, with blue eyes and a slightly turned-up nose. After a few preliminaries he read out a draft agreement he’d drawn up. Fran was a tough negotiator. She hammered away at every clause, not giving an inch of ground until forced to. Matt tried to control his rising irritation. Without his worms, he reminded her, she’d get nowhere. Then she’d smile her sudden acceptance of the point, her nose would wrinkle and the tip of her tongue would appear for a split second between her lips.
In the end, when all the details were settled, she invited him to lunch in a nearby restaurant while the agreement was beingtyped. She’d already booked a table, she said.
‘Champagne? To celebrate?’ She turned over the pages of the wine-list. ‘Matt, our business is really taking off, do you realize that? And so far we’ve no competitors.’
She began to tell him about some of the people she’d met from the top fashion houses. Then, when the
sole meunière
came and she tasted it, she launched into an enthusiastic account of how she always bought fish straight off the boat at Westport, how she prepared it, and the fish parties she sometimes gave.
‘I’m glad you like fish too.’ Her eyes seemed to be exploring his face. ‘My husband didn’t. But then he
Jacqui lay sprawled on the grass. His sudden move had knocked her off balance; she was lucky not to have slipped down into the water. ‘You bloody fool,’ she told him, ‘charging about like that.’ She spoke quietly and intensely; her face drained of all its colour.
He ignored her, intent on fishing out a second worm. Jacqui, still on her back and still furious, flexed her leg. It was patently obvious what she was about to do. One gentle nudge with her foot would be sufficient to topple Rodney Smith into the stream among the worms.
Matt touched her arm. ‘No,’ he told her softly.
She ganced at him and he witnessed the anger melting from her face. Her expression became mischievous; her eyes twinkled, exploring his.
‘Chuck some more meat in, will you?’ Rodney Smith called over his shoulder. ‘Bit nearer the edge.’
‘If you’d only get out of the bloody way – you’re ruining the shot!’ Pete snapped at him.
‘Never mind.’ Matt tossed a handful of offal into the water. The worms were in turmoil in their eagerness to get at it. ‘Can you take him fishing the things out?’
Pete widened his shot. Again the motor whirred as Rodney Smith bent over the narrow stream at the foot of the ditch. Then he grunted, a quick sharp grunt, and pulled back.
‘
U-uh, u-uh
,’ he moaned in a mixture of fear and pain.
This time the worms had won. One had bitten deeply into the ball of flesh where his thumb joined his hand.
‘One all,’ came Jacqui’s voice calmly.
9
When he got home Matt found a note from Fran saying she was coming up to London to see him. Business was flourishing and she’d already received more orders than she could handle. It seemed everyone in the fashion world was fascinated by the luminous quality of the worm skins and their subtle changes of colour triggered off by variations in the light. But it was time, she suggested, they drew up a more formal agreement. She’d already had a word with a solicitor.
Helen stiffened defensively when she saw who the note was from. She read it without comment, then handed it back to him. ‘You’d better meet her,’ she said drily.
‘Come with me?’ he coaxed her. ‘Darling, this could be the opening we’ve been waiting for. We’ll be able to afford things for the cottage, and take Jenny to France, and…’
‘You go by yourself,’ Helen told him wearily. ‘She’s your partner. Your … business associate.’
‘That’s all she is!’ he replied warmly.
Helen looked at him, her eyes puckering into an expression of doubt. But she said nothing.
They met at the solicitor’s office near Wigmore Street. He was her cousin, it seemed: a fair young man, very formally dressed, with blue eyes and a slightly turned-up nose. After a few preliminaries he read out a draft agreement he’d drawn up. Fran was a tough negotiator. She hammered away at every clause, not giving an inch of ground until forced to. Matt tried to control his rising irritation. Without his worms, he reminded her, she’d get nowhere. Then she’d smile her sudden acceptance of the point, her nose would wrinkle and the tip of her tongue would appear for a split second between her lips.
In the end, when all the details were settled, she invited him to lunch in a nearby restaurant while the agreement was beingtyped. She’d already booked a table, she said.
‘Champagne? To celebrate?’ She turned over the pages of the wine-list. ‘Matt, our business is really taking off, do you realize that? And so far we’ve no competitors.’
She began to tell him about some of the people she’d met from the top fashion houses. Then, when the
sole meunière
came and she tasted it, she launched into an enthusiastic account of how she always bought fish straight off the boat at Westport, how she prepared it, and the fish parties she sometimes gave.
‘I’m glad you like fish too.’ Her eyes seemed to be exploring his face. ‘My husband didn’t. But then he
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