a perfectionist. Do you need to be in there for anything?’
A sudden hopelessness wrapped itself around me like a tight scarf. ‘No,’ I said, with the realisation dawning that there was absolutely nowhere I needed to be; nothing I needed to be doing. I was completely purposeless, and committed to earning money only through someone else’s efforts. Apart from when Poppy had been tiny, I’d worked ever since I graduated, and being at home with a small baby could hardly be described as a holiday. I was now at an end so loose that I was practically unravelling. ‘And it feels strange. I was so busy with moving and sorting stuff and settling Poppy into her new school, it’s a bit like I’ve forgotten about myself. That I need things to do.’
‘I’m sure something will turn up,’ he said gamely. ‘Do you knit, at all? Thea’s always looking for suppliers for the shop – even she can only produce so many woolly things in a season. And, for some inexplicable reason, holidaymakers like to take home a crocheted memento of their visit more often than you’d think was sane.’
‘Nope. Sorry. Absolutely rubbish at handicrafts of all types.’
‘Oh.’ Gabriel frowned. ‘No hobbies you could monetise, then?’
I looked at Patrick, who was resting a plate-like hoof casually, his forelock covering both eyes like a curtain. ‘I’m afraid it’s teaching or selling my body, and I’m pretty sure that round here teaching will be far more lucrative.’
‘I’m sure there are plenty of people who’d pay for your body,’ Gabriel said, then what he’d said clearly started to filter from his ears back to his brain and a horrified expression dawned. ‘Er. That came out very differently from how it was meant to, sorry.’
‘I kind of gleaned the meaning without really listening to the words.’ I smiled at his confusion. ‘It’s fine. I appreciate the sentiment. As long as the sentiment is that I’m physically acceptable, rather than that I ought to be making my living on the streets.’
‘Wouldn’t even need to be the streets these days. Webcam girls are all the rage, so I hear.’ Then he dropped his head and took off his glasses. ‘Oh, shut up, Gabriel. You’re not making things better.’ He rubbed a hand across his forehead. ‘Should point out that this is purely hearsay and I have no practical experience in these matters. I have to rely on memory these days, I’m afraid.’
The wind swirled the hedge line, twirled about in the tops of the trees and then made its way down to us, tweaking at his hair. It brought home again that he had the dark good looks that should have been escorting actresses into nightclubs and decorating gossip columns. ‘I can’t believe that girls aren’t queueing up for you,’ I said, in the ‘robust’ tone I used to jolly along some of the sad lads who’d trailed in the wake of my students. They’d all been girls with the incredible self-confidence of having parents with enormous wealth, and punctured male egos had surrounded them like deflated netballs.
Gabriel looked up and, for a second, his eyes met mine. There was a dark unreadability in his expression, and almost a look of pain. ‘If they are, I can’t see them,’ he said simply.
‘You can see me right now, though, yes?’ Feeling a bit embarrassed, although I couldn’t tell whether it was from his expression or my words, I waved my hand. ‘How many fingers am I holding up?’
He sighed and didn’t laugh. ‘I can see things that are close to me. Everything else is pretty much a blur and it puts a damper on things pretty fast when it comes to dating.’ Another sigh. ‘I fall over things a lot too.’
I looked at him sternly. ‘But why? Why would nobody want to date you?’ And then, adding hastily, ‘I am presupposing that there isn’t some horrible secret to your existence like you’ve got previous convictions for something awful?’
He did laugh this time. ‘No, nothing terrible. Just that Dorset is the last resting place of womenkind who like their men of the macho persuasion. Either farmers’ daughters who can throw round bale silage over their heads and want a man who can outdo them at weightlifting, or those who’ve bought themselves a nice little weekend retreat and want copious amounts of fiscal input. I don’t really rate on either of those scales. I’m so beta I should come with a test warning.’
‘Plenty of women like that, though.’ I leaned