Letitia sighed dreamily. "I know, but the whole thing sounds so romantic, don't you think? All that Daphne du Maurierstyle swashbuckling?"

"Being carried off against your will by a brooding pirate in tight breeches." Charlie grinned.

"They wear wetsuits these days," said Fiona.

Charlie licked his lips. "I still wouldn't mind having my buckle swashed by a nice taut blond."

Lucy had a horrible feeling her face now matched the Zinfandel. "I'm going to be a housekeeper. I won't have a chance to be swashed or swept away by anyone."

Letitia smiled sympathetically. "Of course you won't, and I suppose there's an upside to a manual job. I must admit, you do look fit and you've done your hair purply again. I quite like it now."

"Yes, she's positively blooming," said Fi, eking out the dregs into her glass. "Charles, petal, can I have one of your vile French fags before we open another bottle?"

He handed over the packet but Lucy got there first. "No. You promised Hengist you'd give up," said Lucy, snatching the packet from Fiona's fingers before the flat was engulfed in a blue fog. She stood up, determined to be assertive.

"Guys, I have something to say. I love you all and I'm grateful for your advice, concern, and general barking madness over the years. But this time, I'm on my own. If I get things wrong, it's down to me. You can say I told you so when I slink back here with my tail between my legs."

As if on cue, Hengist gave a whimper.

"On Monday, I'm going to Cornwall, at least until the end of September, maybe for longer. I'm going to clean toilets and work on my tan. I might also eat my own weight in meat pies and sign up with a pilchard fishing crew."

Letitia looked horror-struck and Lucy treated them all to an indulgent smile.

"The point is, I won't have to do anything or be anyone. I won't be the marketing assistant, I won't be the girl who waters the plants, and I won't be that bitch from the telly who dumped Nick Laurentis. I can just be me."

Three pairs of eyes stared back at her, three tongues twitched but didn't move. Charlie ran his hands exaggeratedly through his hair and gave a knowing smile. Fiona sat back in her chair, her eyes narrowed like a cat's.

"But you always have been just Lucy," said Letitia, the only genuinely innocent one among the trio.

Lucy was sure that Fiona had been talking to Charlie about Josh. In fact, it would be a miracle if she hadn't been making up stories. Well, they could think what they liked. She knew why she was going back to Cornwall and it had nothing whatsoever to do with a man this time. She snatched up a tea towel.

"Thank you, Letty, but I'm still leaving. Now, anyone for some lamb tagine? It's a new recipe I got from a friend and I hope you'll like the taste."

Chapter 24.

A week later, Lucy was back in Cornwall, knocking on the door of Tresco Farmhouse, ready to run through the procedure for cleaning and preparing the cottages with Josh. She'd brought her car down this time, cramming every corner of it with her stuff. Having decided to move into the main bedroom at Creekside Cottage, after Fiona had returned to London, the solitary closet was stuffed full of clothes. Far more had been packed away and stored in the attic at her London flat. She guessed Charlie's student friends had already started trashing the place, but at least they were paying enough to cover the bills so that was all that mattered. After she'd got over the shock, Fiona had refused point-blank to accept a penny in rent but Lucy was determined to pay her back sometime, if only by keeping the cottage clean and cared for.

She banged on the door of the farmhouse again. Josh was taking a long time to answer, so she bent her head to the letterbox, pushed it open, and called in a chirpy, Cockney cleaning-lady voice: "Hell-oo, Mr. Standring, it's your new cleaning lady come to do for you! Can you let me in?"

She almost fell inside as the door was suddenly pulled open. When she straightened up, she found herself face to face with a woman in her late sixties, with her wrist in a blue sling and a blue-rinse hairdo to match. Opening the farmhouse door with a scowl, she could have passed for the forbidding Mrs. Danvers from Rebecca, except that she was wearing a pink velour tracksuit with "Party Babe" embroidered on the breast pocket.

"You must be the new woman," she said.

Lucy treated her to a chirpy cleaning-lady smile. "Yes, that's me. Just trying to make Josh hear. Sorry about rattling the letterbox."

"That letterbox has been here longer than you or me, young lady. And Mr. Standring has gone to Truro on business. He asked me to show you round, tell you what's what. I'm Hannah Sennen."

Lucy wondered if Josh had gone out to avoid her but couldn't think why. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Sennen."

Mrs. Sennen didn't ask Lucy to use her first name and instead, treated Lucy to a look that would have withered even the hardiest house plant. "Where's your tabard?"

Lucy had a vague idea that tabards were worn by medieval squires or Rainbow Brownies. She hadn't expected them to be essential for dusting knickknacks.

"Um... I don't seem to have one but these clothes are quite old."

The older woman eyed Lucy's shorts and T-shirt as if they were a see-through body stocking. "You should have a tabard. You'll have bleach, dust, and worse all over you in no time."

"Really, I'm fine."

"It's just not professional," said Mrs. Sennen sharply. "Here, you can have mine." She opened a closet under the stairs and pulled out a flowery tabard of the school-lunch lady variety. As she handed it over, her face suddenly crumpled and she let out a sob. To Lucy's dismay, a big fat tear rolled down her cheek.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I know I'm being silly, but, you see, I won't be needing this anymore, will I?" Mrs. Sennen said, screwing up the tabard in her reddened hands.

Lucy was horrified. "Don't cry, Mrs. Sennen. I'm sorry you've had to give up your job," she said, guiding her into the sitting room.

"I ought to be hardened to it but I shall miss the cottages and working for Josh. He's a good lad." Lucy smiled at the very grown-up, tough-looking Josh being described as a lad. "He hasn't always been, of course, but what's done is done. I don't think he'll mind me telling you he was heading straight for a spell at Her Majesty's Pleasure for a while, but he sorted himself out and pulled himself up by his bootstraps."

Lucy handed over a clean piece of loo roll, wondering what a boot strap looked like.

"And he was golden to Marnie. Gol-den. Not many youngsters would have looked after a woman as ill as Marnie Trewellan. No, most young lads I know would have run a country mile from sickness but Josh stayed with her to the end."

"What did she die of?"

Mrs. Sennen lowered her voice as if imparting a great secret. "Cancer. You know," she murmured, pointing at her chest.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Lucy, realizing it was no help saying sorry to Mrs. Sennen. It was Josh who deserved the sympathy, although she suspected he'd rather die himself than accept it.

Mrs. Sennen blew her nose noisily. "So I shouldn't complain because I've got my health."

Lucy nodded, feeling slightly guilty that she had ever coveted more-like a fortnight in Barbados or a glimpse of Josh completely naked.

"I should have retired ages ago, but I'm a stubborn old bird and I made Josh keep me on long after I should have stopped. He made me cut my hours but wouldn't hear of cutting my wages, the daft young devil."

"I'm sure he thinks very highly of you," said Lucy, trying to be reassuring while bracing herself to wear the tabard. After what Josh and his mum had gone through, wearing a tabard didn't seem that bad.

Mrs. Sennen's face brightened. "Like I said, I mustn't grumble and," she added proudly, "I'm off to that Faliraki place in Rhodes with Irma Wycliffe next week."

"Is that the Mrs. Wycliffe who works in the pharmacy in Porthstow?"

"Worked, dear. She's retiring too. Poor old thing can't read the packets these days. Nearly gave some woman nipple shields instead of Durex."

"Faliraki should be fun," said Lucy, hiding a giggle while picturing the two ladies at a topless foam party.

"Yes. Irma says she's hoping to spot some talent but I hope it won't be too hot, because my ankles swell up something terrible in the sun. But this won't do. I'm keeping you from the toilets."

Two hours later, after cleaning her third bathroom and kitchen, Lucy was ready to drop. Having persuaded Mrs. Sennen to go home, she wondered how she'd ever coped with the cleaning by herself. She suspected Josh had been secretly running around afterward.

"Still, mustn't grumble, only one more toilet to go," she murmured, hauling her bucket into the downstairs cloakroom at Porthcurno Cottage. As she squirted green bleach into the bowl, the front door opened. It was Sara and her eyes lit up at the sight of Lucy's yellow Marigolds and flowery apron. "My, haven't you been a busy bee?" she said.

"Actually, I've nearly finished," said Lucy cheerfully. "If I don't get high on pine disinfectant fumes first."

"Hmm. I suppose it's a bit of a comedown after London, but then again, Josh tells me you're going back there at the end of the season."

"Probably. I haven't decided yet but I'll let Josh know in good time."

"You know, I think I can hear the boss now," said Sara.

Lucy heard the pickup grinding to a halt outside. "He's not my boss, Sara. He's a customer. I'm self-employed now."

There was a difference, she wanted to add, and setting up a vacation services business had, she thought, been one of her better decisions of late. Webs & Dusters (cringe-worthy but the best she could come up with at short notice) had its own bank account in its own name. The money went straight into W&D from Josh's business account. More importantly, the fact that Josh wasn't her boss, but a customer, made her feel far better about the arrangement. She was independent, free to take on new customers, expand if she wanted to, or end the arrangement any time she liked.

Sara's eyes narrowed. "You're still his cleaner."

"I don't mind," said Lucy, determined not to get drawn into Sara's spiteful game. "I'm doing what I want and I'm planning to branch out."

"Well, in that case, maybe you'll have time to come and do the farmhouse. It will need a good clean before I move in. You'll find this hard to believe, but I'm a bit of a control freak. I like everything perfect, you see, and Tresco is just that bit too authentic for me."

Move in. Well, it was inevitable, thought Lucy.

"Ah, Josh! Lucy's doing a marvelous job, isn't she? Quite indispensable."

Josh's face was impassive. "Quite."

Sara giggled and Lucy's fingers tightened around the loo brush in her hand. She was on the edge of doing something very childish involving heads down toilets.

"If she doesn't mind, I need her help elsewhere too."

Sara's eyes shone in delight. "Cleaning the farmhouse?"

"No. I want some business advice."

Sara's face fell. "But she's far too busy here, aren't you, Lucy?"

"I'll be finished up in half an hour," said Lucy mutinously. "But I'm not sure how I can help you, Josh."

"I thought you'd been a business manager," said Sara sharply.

"More on the marketing side," she replied, aware that the toilet brush in her hand wasn't adding to her image.

"Good, because that's exactly what I need. And Sara, I want a word with you as well."

"You go ahead. I'll be along in a moment."

"Suit yourself, but if you don't come now I'll be tied up with Lucy for the rest of the morning."

His tone left neither Sara nor Lucy in any doubt that he meant business. Sara pouted, reminding Lucy of a little girl about to have a tantrum.

"Of course, Josh," she said, eyes downcast and meek, and Lucy suddenly realized how desperate she was for his attention, how much power he held over her. Lucy almost felt sorry for her. She was certain that Josh would never be pushed around by anyone, and woe betide the woman who thought she could push him. She guessed his tolerance went so far and no more; that if he was backed into a corner, he would be ruthless in protecting himself and anyone he loved. He opened the front door for Sara then turned back to Lucy. "I'll see you in about half an hour, then?"

She nodded, dragged her bucket back into the cloakroom, and was about to shove the brush down the loo when she overheard Sara hissing in the porch. "I expect she'll want to charge you extra for marketing advice."

As the front door slammed, Lucy thrust the brush down the toilet and flushed it hard.

Chapter 25.

June was long gone and a warm July slid into a sizzling August. A tropical heat wave held Cornwall in its grip and the pavements, let alone the ice creams, were melting. Preparing the cottages and greeting guests was hotter and harder work than Lucy had ever imagined, but she was determined to make a go of it. In fact, she picked up some more work with an RV park near Porthstow. Then, Mrs. Sennen, back from Faliraki with a tan and a twinkle in her eye, suggested she do some shifts in the pharmacy, much to the delight of Calendula, who had been trying to manage with only the spotty young pharmacist, who had a crush on her, for company.

As Lucy arrived at the pharmacy, admitting she'd never worked in retail, Calendula had dismissed her worries. "Oh, whatever! I hadn't got a clue when I started either. I can't let you help with the dispensing, of course," she said importantly. "But I really need someone to help out with the general stuff on the till. And for God's sake, call me Cally. Calendula makes me sound like something breastfeeding women use when their tits are sore."

So began her new life in Cornwall. If she'd counted the pennies in London, she had even fewer to count now, but she didn't care as much as she'd thought. Working for herself had given her a motivation and sense of satisfaction she'd never known before.

Besides, she didn't need many clothes in Tresco Creek. When Fiona wasn't visiting, she spent her evenings hanging out at the beach or the harbor pub with Cally and her surf buddies. She let her hair grow long and wild, she stopped working on her tan and just let it happen.

As for Josh, she would have hardly spoken to him at all, had she not agreed to help out with the marketing of the cottages. When she'd seen what passed for the website she'd decided to be honest with him. She was no web wizard, but she knew enough to see that the state of the existing site might well put people off, rather than tempt them to visit.

"Both the website and the cottages themselves need a complete makeover," she said as they'd sat in the farmhouse kitchen, scrolling through the pages of other complexes. "Tresco Farm Cottages are pretty and they've got wonderful views but, inside, they are looking a bit tired."

"You mean they need gutting."

"Not gutting, exactly, but redecorating, some new furniture, styling, dressing..."

From Josh's expression, you'd think she'd asked him to dress up in tulle and fairy wings. "Do I look like Ty Pennington?"

She burst out laughing. "Perhaps not, no."

"I know the place needs help and I'm grateful to you for not sugaring the pill. Bookings are down on last year, way below what they used to be when Marnie was alive. I've let things slide. Maybe I've spent too much time on the water instead of focusing on this place. Tresco Creek is a bit out of the way, takes a bit of effort to reach."

"And that's just why your visitors love it," said Lucy, thinking of how she'd grown to feel safe here too.

"In the past, I'll admit, maybe I haven't been that keen to share the place with strangers, but the bank manager's telling me different now."

"I know what you mean. This place seduces you..." She bit her lip. "When we get a funky website up and running, we can offer a PDF brochure, set up online bookings, get the place on the social networking sites. Then, over the winter, you need to spend some time doing them up."