Thinking of You by Jill Mansell Page B

now and sorted everything out. I really hope you’ll come and work here. Please give me a ring.
    â€œWhat is it?” Carla was peering through the open window. “What does it say? God, what’s that?” As a door suddenly slammed across the yard, she jumped and whacked her head on the window frame. “Ow, that hurts.”
    â€œIt’s him.” Reading Evie’s words was all very well, but Ginny still had an overwhelming urge to stick her foot down and, tires squealing, make a high-speed Steve McQueen–style getaway.
    Except it wouldn’t only be the tires squealing if she ran over the damn cat. Stuck where she was, Ginny watched warily as Finn Penhaligon made his way across the courtyard. He was wearing a white shirt and dark trousers, and she didn’t trust him an inch.
    â€œOn the bright side,” said Carla, “he isn’t carrying a gun.”
    â€œUnless there’s one in his pocket.” Ginny gave a nervous hiccup of laughter. “Although I can’t say he looks pleased to see us.”
    â€œDamn, he’s good-looking though.”
    Carla hadn’t said it loudly but noise evidently traveled across an otherwise empty courtyard.
    â€œThank you.” Gravely, Finn nodded at her, then turned his attention to Ginny. “Have you read Evie’s note?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œAnd she’s right.” With a surge of reckless bravery Ginny said, “You are a grumpy bugger.”
    The look in his eyes told her he hadn’t read the note himself, hadn’t realized that this was what Evie had said about him. The next moment, to his credit, he smiled briefly.
    â€œWell, maybe that’s true. But I wouldn’t necessarily call that a bad thing. What else did she say?”
    â€œThat she’d spoken to you and everything was sorted out.” Ginny still couldn’t quite believe this was happening, that she was here, in the early hours of the morning, sitting in her car, having this conversation. “And she still wants me to come and work in the restaurant. Well, officially, I’d be working in the restaurant. Unofficially, of course, I’d be fiddling the bills, pocketing all the tips, and cloning people’s credit cards.”
    â€œI may have overreacted,” said Finn. “When you’re in this line of business, believe me, shoplifters are the bane of your life.”
    Furiously, Carla hissed, “Excuse me, she’s not a—”
    â€œOK, OK.” Finn held up his hands. “Let’s not get into all that again.” Addressing Ginny, he said evenly, “Look, if you want the job, it’s yours.”
    Ginny could hear her pulse thud-thudding in her ears. On the one hand it would be gloriously satisfying to be able to tell him to stick his magnanimous offer and his lousy rotten restaurant up his bum.
    On the other hand it wasn’t a lousy rotten restaurant, was it? And despite everything that had happened, she did still want the job.
    Finally, Ginny said, “What did Evie say to make you change your mind?”
    His eyes glittered. “Truthfully?”
    â€œTruthfully.”
    â€œI told her about the first time we met in that shop in Portsilver.” Finn paused. “And Evie told me that she’d once walked out of a department store holding a Christian Dior mascara. She didn’t realize until she’d reached her car; she took it back to the store, and the saleswoman said not to worry, that she’d once left a shop carrying two bath mats and a toilet brush.”
    Ginny looked at him. “Is your cat under my car?”
    He shook his head. “No, she shot past me into the flat when I came out. So how about this job then? What shall I tell Evie?”
    Revving the car’s engine, Ginny said cheerily, “Tell her I’ll think it over.” Then, because it wasn’t often she felt quite this in control, she flashed Finn