made of orange-coloured fake fur, with limp, stubby paws and pipe-cleaner whiskers. On one side these were bent out of shape. Richard took it away from her and straightened the whiskers briskly. Then he turned it upside down and parted the fur to reveal a pouch where someone was supposed to install their night attire.
‘There. You see?’
He flipped it back and made pouncey movements over the covers towards her. The cat had a louche, piratical expression.
‘It’s winking at me,’ said Bella, affronted.
‘Can you blame it?’
He took it away from her and put it on top of the wardrobe.
‘How did you know it was a nightdress case?’ she said, suspiciously.
‘It goes with the job. When you’ve opened as many school Bring and Buy sales as I have, you get to know the product.’
He kissed her casually. It was breathtakingly possessive.
He thinks we belong together, she thought, startled.
‘Hungry?’
She yawned and stretched. ‘Mmm. ‘S’pose so.’
‘I could eat a giraffe,’ he announced cheerfully. ‘I’ll go and see what Ian has brought us.’
He thundered off downstairs.
Bella got out of bed more slowly and patted the covers, as if they were the blanket on a friendly horse. There was distinct chill in the air but, with nothing obvious to wrap herself in, she ran downstairs too. She flipped open her case, dragged out the sapphire kimono, and padded barefoot into the kitchen.
Richard was in the kitchen. He had found his trousers at some point on the journey and was standing, be-trousered but bare-chested, at the kitchen table, unpacking the Marks and Sparks bag.
Bella went up to him and put her arms round his waist. ‘What have you found?’
He picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles absently. ‘It’s a real boy’s bag, I’m afraid. Everything for the microwave. How do you feel about pizza?’
She kissed his shoulderblade and watched the muscles twitch responsively. ‘Whatever.’
The kitchen spanned the width of the house. It had a sagging sofa at one end, covered in a hand-knitted throw, beside an open fire. This, Bella saw, was already laid.
‘Do you think we can light it?’
‘Of course,’ said Richard, puzzled.
‘That means we have to clear it out and re-lay it before we leave,’ she said warningly.
‘Naturally.’
‘Well, have you ever done it before?’
‘How hard can it be?’
‘It’s a skill,’ said Bella, who had lived with open fires several times in her life and never got the hang of them.
He waved a lordly – no, princely – hand and announced, ‘If we can’t work out how it’s done, we’ll Google it.’
She was sceptical. ‘If you say so, dear.’
He kissed her quickly. ‘Trust me. I’m not as useless as I look.’
She shivered voluptuously. ‘Not useless at all.’
His eyes darkened. ‘Now look. Do you want feeding or don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she said hurriedly, retreating behind the table. ‘Yes, you’re hungry and I was telling myself only today that I need to remember to eat. So break out your pizza.’
But Ian had provided red wine and olives and garlic bread and various cold meats as well.
So Richard lit the fire and Bella pulled cushions off the sofa and every chair in the place and made a nest in front of the flames. She found glasses and plates and even a corkscrew – though Richard said he knew how to open a bottle of wine with just a key, a trick he had learned from his obligatory stint in the Navy – and they ate nibbles and pizza in front of a friendly blaze.
He was, she found, surprisingly good at knowing when to feed the fire to keep it crackling away merrily.
‘Norman castles run in the family,’ he said lightly. ‘I once met a World War II veteran who told me that life was so hard when he was child that he had ice on the inside of his bedroom window in winter. I didn’t like to say that there’s still ice on the inside of mine in Scotland.’
Bella was appalled. ‘But why?’
‘Tradition. And living in a Listed Building that is also an Ancient Monument. And it’s character-forming, allegedly.’
She was oddly moved. ‘It’s not all joy being a prince, is it?’
He kissed her nose. ‘It’s not all joy being an ecologist counting fish either. Into each life a little rain must fall. Shall I put on another pizza? Artichoke or American Hot?’
‘Hot.’
When he brought it back, she nibbled at a slice, partly to be companionable, partly to soak up the wine, which was truly delicious.
‘Ian’s taste in wine is better than his food,’ she said idly. ‘Next time I’ll