A black Labrador was slurping her bare leg but that was the least of her worries. The fake postman was standing on the landing, holding a wrench.

"How the hell did you get in here?" cried Lucy.

"Fiona let me in," said the man, with chilling calm.

"Fiona?"

He spoke slowly, as if she was an especially dim Big Brother housemate. "Yes. The woman who owns this cottage."

Involuntarily, Lucy raised her hand which was armed with a particularly noxious bottle of lavender bath soak.

"Fiona asked me to come over to fix the central heating pump," said the man, eyeing the bath soak with a mix of amusement and alarm.

Then Lucy noticed the canvas tool bag farther along the landing, spilling an array of deadly weapons such as pliers and screwdrivers onto the floorboards, which was quite a large clue to the fact that he was telling the truth.

"If you came to fix the heating, why didn't you say so earlier when I answered the door?" Lucy asked, reluctantly lowering the bath soak.

"You hardly gave me the chance."

"I thought you were a postman..."

"A postman? Why would you think I was a postman?"

"Fiona was expecting a package... oh, it doesn't matter. And after I realized you weren't a postman, I thought you might be a reporter."

He scratched his chin. "Right. OK. That makes everything crystal clear. Of course. Why would I be a reporter?"

How could she explain? She'd come down here precisely to disappear, it was no use blurting out the whole charade to the first stranger she met. "You had a camera and-"

"She's exhausted after the journey," cried Fiona thudding up the stairs after Hengist. "Hengist! Will you please leave poor Tally alone?"

Hengist had squeezed past the man and was giving the Labrador's tail a thorough sniff.

"Tally, lie down!"

Trotting to his side, Tally dropped to the floorboards and laid her nose on her paws. Hengist gave a mournful howl but kept his distance. Some use he was, thought Lucy in disgust. Then again, she hardly blamed him, confronted by six feet of thug.

"Lucy," said Fiona, "this is Josh Standring. He's come to mend the central heating."

Lucy clutched her towel tighter. Josh seemed unconcerned, as if he was introduced to wet girls in towels every day of the week.

"Pleased to meet you," he said sarcastically, holding out his free hand.

Lucy kept hold of the bath soak. "So you're the um... plumber."

"Plumber, electrician, builder, cleaner. Even do a bit of bird-watching and youth-club work in my spare time."

Lucy swallowed and felt her cheeks growing warm, remembering her taunts to him on the doorstep. Now she came to think of it, he was, she grudgingly admitted, far too good-looking to be a reporter. Most of the reporters who'd swarmed round her doorstep had been flabby specimens smelling of cigarettes or in need of a decent body spray. This guy looked like a physical training instructor in the marines. But he didn't look like a bird-watcher either.

"Actually, Josh owns Tresco Farmhouse," cut in Fiona. "Apart from Creekside, the rest of the cottages are part of his vacation rental business. It really is very good of him to drop by and help out."

"It's no trouble," said Josh, throwing Fiona a smile that was barely more than a grimace. Lucy could tell he was desperate for them to leave him alone to get on with the job. As she was desperate to leave too, that was absolutely fine.

"Of course," she said, finding it difficult to make small talk half naked. "Um... sorry about earlier by the way..."

"Don't mention it."

"I'd better get dressed."

"And I'd better get the central heating fixed. You look cold."

Lucy hoped the towel was stopping him from seeing just how cold she was. "I'll get you both a coffee," said Fiona hastily.

"Thanks, Fi. Um... excuse me," said Lucy, realizing that Josh and his wrench stood between her and the safety of the boxroom.

"Of course." He flattened himself against the wall. As she passed, his mouth twitched and Lucy thought he might be laughing at her but she couldn't be sure. Scuttling into the boxroom, her cheeks burning, she closed and latched the door. As she sank onto the bed, she heard Fiona twittering. "You'll have to make allowances for Lucy. She's from London and she's not been well."

Some time later, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, she headed downstairs to the kitchen where she found not only Fiona, but also Josh and a petite blond-haired girl drinking out of mugs. As she walked in, their faces turned in her direction and the conversation stopped. Anyone would think that the Bride of Dracula had just entered the room, she thought. She tried the smile she used when trying to get the partners to approve the budget for a marketing campaign.

"Hi, everyone."

Josh nodded curtly and took a slurp of his coffee. The blonde smirked. So that had gone well...

"Feeling better?" asked Fiona brightly, holding out a mug.

"Yes, thanks. Much."

"Good. Lucy, meet Sara Pentire, from the sailing club," said Fiona. "She's Josh's girlfriend."

"Hi," said Lucy, holding out her hand, determined to make up for not shaking Josh's earlier, even if she had had a good excuse, clutching her towel and bath soak.

Sara smiled but didn't take her hand. "No need for formality here, Lucy. Tresco Creek is a laid-back kind of place. You can chill out here."

"Once you've realized the locals aren't going to hit you over the head with a wrench," said Josh.

"Doh," said Lucy, striking herself on the forehead as if she was highly amused, yet really quite pissed off.

"It's OK, really, Lucy," said Sara, patting Lucy's arm. "We understand. I'm sure Josh isn't offended, are you darling?"

Sara's expression was very like the look the nurses had on Casualty when they were telling someone they'd got something embarrassing and/or incurable. Josh didn't reply but Lucy noticed him glancing at his watch. Lucy, too, was longing for them to go so she could find out what Fiona had told them about her. Sara didn't sound Cornish either. Definitely more Cheltenham Ladies College than Penzance Comprehensive.

"More ginseng tea, Sara?" said Fiona.

"No. One's enough for me," said Sara, tossing back her blond ponytail. "Good stuff, though. Did you order it over the web?"

"No, it's from... some little shop near my flat in London."

"Organic?"

"Yes... you could say that," said Fiona. Lucy almost choked on her coffee. Fiona broke out in a rash at the mere thought of healthy eating. Josh downed the last of his drink. "Fiona, I'll have to shoot off. I need to do some work on Porthcurno before the visitors arrive."

"And I've got an RYA catamaran course to teach," trilled Sara.

"Oh, that sounds high-powered," said Lucy, impressed. Hearing the wind gusting outside she also thought it sounded too uncomfortable and dangerous by half.

"Oh, it's nothing, really. It's just a novice's course, but you do have to lay these courses on for beginners, no matter how boring. And I'm sure capsize drill is nothing compared to the sort of pressure you've been used to dealing with."

"I've explained to Josh and Sara that you're here for a little rest from your job in the City," said Fiona.

"My job in the City?" echoed Lucy.

"In merchant banking," said Josh, making it sound like a disease. He clicked his fingers to summon Tally.

"Oh, Josh, don't bother Lucy with that now. She's come to Tresco Creek to escape from all that," said Sara, beaming. "And you know, getting out on the water is one of the best stress relievers there is. Do you sail?"

"Er... not often."

"You should. I'd be happy to put you through your paces. You only have to ask."

"Thanks," said Lucy, smiling through gritted teeth.

"It's a pleasure. Anything I can do to help. You too, Fiona. I'm sure Josh would love to get you out on a board. We'll have you planing in no time, won't we, Josh, darling?"

Before he could reply, Fiona gave a broad smile. "Very kind of you, Sara, and I'd absolutely love to-if only I could swim."

Sara stared at Fiona in horror. Josh drained his coffee, by which Lucy guessed he was trying not to sneer. "You can't swim?" squeaked Sara.

"Not a stroke. Hengist, leave Tally's tail alone, please. She has to be off now."

Josh tugged his keys from his pocket by way of a hint.

Fiona led the way through the back garden and round to the gate at the front of the cottage. "Thanks for doing the heating. Put it on my bill," she said as Josh unlocked the pickup truck and Tally jumped into the cab.

"No problem," he said, hand already on the ignition key. Lucy thought he was going to rev up the engine and roar off, he seemed so eager to get away.

Sara climbed deftly into the passenger seat. "Lucy-hope to see you at the club soon. I presume you can swim?"

"Like a fish," said Fiona, closing the door before lowering her voice. "I'll make sure she digs out her swimsuit."

Lucy was sure she could hear them laughing as they bumped off down the road. When they were gone, she held her hands up to her head. "Swim like a fish? Job in the City? Stressed out?"

"It was the best I could do when Sara started asking me who you were. Would you rather I told them the truth? That you're a notorious celebrity bitch whose bare arse was spread all over the Sun last week?"

"It was not bare. I had my thong on!"

"Even better. If they do read the Sun, they won't recognize your face. But then again, I don't think Josh or Sara have time for the tabloids or morning news shows..."

Lucy thought back to Sara's tiny waist, brown legs, and toned arms. She looked like she'd stepped straight out of an O'Neill ad. Even Josh had a golden tan and biceps to die for. You didn't get that by an addiction to Desperate Housewives and frosted carrot cake.

"Somehow, I don't think they have couch potatoes in Tresco Creek," she said. "But, Fiona, do I look like I've a job in the City? Look at my nails, look at my hair. How many merchant bankers buy their jeans from H&M?"

"Ones who've flipped at work and been sent on gardening leave."

"Oh, Fiona."

"It's for the best, Lucy. If they think you're slightly bonkers and you've come here to get away from the rat race, you can behave as oddly as you like. It makes sense, you know. They say the only difference between a lunatic and an eccentric is a million or two in the bank."

"The trouble is, Fiona, that even if I actually enjoyed pretending to be a stressed-out City exec, I'm totally crap at lying. You know I won't be able to keep it up if people start asking questions and then I'll just look even more bonkers..."

Fiona was unrepentant. "Shall I go and put an ad in the Porthstow Mercury, then, announcing the arrival of Lucy Gibson in Tresco Creek?"

"You know that's ridiculous, but I hate all this deception. It's just not me."

Fiona pushed open the gate to the cottage. "Be realistic. They'll leave you alone now. I told them you can't face talking about your past life. It's part of your therapy: Tresco Creek; the simple life, the fresh air, the sea."

Lucy groaned. "I don't think a year at drama school would help me carry this off!"

Fiona patted her arm. "Stop worrying. Aunty Fi will help you. Now, come in and have an almond croissant, Miss Hyde."

Lucy stopped by the door, hardly able to believe her own ears. "Miss Hyde? Oh please. You haven't, have you? Please say you haven't told them that?"

Fiona came the closest to blushing Lucy had ever seen. "I know, I know. Bit pathetic, but hey, it was the best I could think of on the spur of the moment and I'd just been reading an old Robert Louis Stevenson in the loo and..."

That topped it all, thought Lucy, stalking off into the house in disgust and shame. She was now named after a sinister madman with hairy knuckles and it probably served her right.

Chapter 14.

Lucy was halfway through Hanging by a Thread, Fiona's fourth book, when she knew she had to get out of the cottage or go mad. There wasn't anything wrong with the novel; it was gripping. But then again, so had been books one, two, and three. Continuous poisonings, stabbings, and stranglings took their toll eventually.

Lolling on the sofa or in the little garden with a coffee and a book had, for about a day, seemed like exactly the therapy she needed. Yet the problem with hiding was that because no one could see you, in a sense, you ceased to exist. She hadn't been forced to run away, she could have taken her leave of absence in the flat. The press interest would have died down eventually. Everyone became yesterday's news at some point; maybe her backside was wrapped around some french fries by now.

Fiona had been locked away in her room until late into the night, having been visited by the muse, or rather, by a pretty nasty conversation with her editor. Lucy had taken her bagels and coffee at regular intervals and Fiona had waved a hand in thanks, rolled her eyes apologetically, and started typing again.

Lucy had taken the hint. She had been too scared to go out for the first few days in case she met anyone who recognized her, but she was beginning to think that was ridiculous. After all, Josh and Sara hadn't shrieked and pointed their fingers when they met her. Well, Josh almost had but not because he recognized her from the TV. In fact, why should anyone recognize her down here? She'd changed her hair. Hot Shots had only had ten million viewers-how many of them had come to Tresco Creek on vacation? Very few, she guessed, and on that basis Lucy felt she wasn't likely to bump into any of them in the immediate surroundings of the cottage.

"This is no good, Hengist," she said to the snoring dinosaur spread over the patio. She could see his lead hanging off the peg on the back door. Through the open window of Fiona's room, she could hear the clatter of a printer as she ran off her latest chapter. Scribbling a note on the back of a council tax demand, she unhooked his lead and prepared to be flattened by 140 pounds of canine exuberance.

Five minutes later, she was heading along the green lane which (according to the wooden signpost) led down to Tresco Creek. The sun was shining between white clouds scurrying across the sky. Blown by the breeze, they seemed to be bounding along almost as joyously as Hengist.

Several meters ahead of her, he nuzzled the banked-up hedgerows, panting, snorting, and snuffling, reveling in the doggy equivalent of an all-you-can-eat buffet. Lucy didn't have to have a snout and a tail to enjoy the scents. She recognized some of them from her childhood, the times when, before they'd split up, her parents had taken her to visit her gran in Shropshire. She had been so young then, she reflected, as she spotted wild garlic, honeysuckle, and hawthorn in the hedges.