No More Secrets

‘Oh, crikey,’ breathed Clare. ‘She’s pregnant. Very pregnant.’

Kate braced herself and went forward, hand outstretched. ‘Ms Fletcher? I’m Kate Harker. Welcome to Hardacres.’

‘Thank you. You’re new.’ Quinn Fletcher shook Kate’s hand, smiling warmly. ‘Charlie’s left?’

Kate nodded. ‘Mr Walters went to manage the Oxford branch.’

‘You’re much prettier than Charlie Walters!’ The man grinned down at her, then narrowed his eyes, frowning, and Kate turned away hurriedly.

Behind her calm, efficient exterior she felt depressed. So her rescuer was married. And even more handsome than she’d remembered from the fleeting episode in the pouring rain. But he was years younger than his wife—which, of course, was absolutely nothing to do with Kate Harker. ‘Please come inside,’ she urged, smiling brightly. ‘There’s a very cold wind today.’

‘Better than the sleet earlier,’ he returned with a grin, and turned to shepherd his companion inside with care. ‘You all right, love?’

‘Fine.’ Quinn Fletcher smiled at him reassuringly. ‘You can pop off now, Ben, if you like.’

He shook his head as he helped her to settle in the chair behind the small table used for signings. ‘No way. I’m here to keep an eye on you. Don’t worry, if I get bored there’s plenty to read!’

Quinn Fletcher smiled up at him lovingly. ‘Fusspot!’ She turned to Kate. ‘Take no notice. The baby’s not due for weeks yet.’

Kate, up to then convinced that the baby’s arrival was imminent, relaxed a little. ‘Before you start would you like some coffee?’

The attractive author shook her head regretfully. ‘Later, if that’s all right. If I have one now I’ll be making more trips to the bathroom than signing books—always supposing someone wants to buy—’ She broke off with a smile as she realised a line was already forming. ‘Oh, how lovely. Look at all these people! Let’s get started.’

Quinn Fletcher was kept busy with her fountain-pen as she smiled and chatted to each customer eager for her signature, most of them fans eagerly awaiting the latest best-selling thriller from a novelist who was popular worldwide, as well as in her home town of Pennington.

‘Mr Fletcher, would you like some coffee?’ asked Kate.

‘Thanks, I would.’ He turned away from a display of paperback novels, smiling down at her. ‘I skipped breakfast.’ He paused, one surprisingly dark eyebrow raised. ‘How do you feel? None the worse for your adventure this morning, I hope?’

‘No, not in the least,’ said Kate, resigned. ‘I thought perhaps you hadn’t recognised me.’

‘It took a while,’ he agreed, his smile deepening. ‘The disguise is good.’

‘No disguise.’ Her hackles rose at the hint of intimacy in the dark, dancing eyes. ‘This is how I normally look.’

‘Why?’ he countered. ‘I preferred you the other way.’

Kate, longing to give stinging set-down to Quinn Fletcher’s husband, was forced to give him a polite little smile instead before going off to fetch the coffee. She felt oddly let down, she realised, irritated with herself. And not just because Ben Fletcher was married, either. She strongly disapproved of a man ready to indulge in a spot of flirtation right under the nose of his heavily pregnant wife.

‘Crumbs,’ said Clare, following her in. ‘Can I give Mr Fletcher the coffee, boss? He’s seriously gorgeous.’

‘And you’re married,’ retorted Kate.

‘But not blind.’ Clare smacked her lips as she hefted a small tray. ‘Besides, I’m more his size than you are.’

Kate grinned, yanked her waistcoat straight, and returned to the fray, where a gratifyingly long line was still snaking through the front of the store. Leaving Clare to supply the spectacular Mr Fletcher’s needs, she went to the till to give Harry and Gail a hand as they took the money for The Letting of Blood. She felt a glow of satisfaction as she packed books into smart black bags with a plain gilt H. Most of the customers had bought other books as well as the new thriller. She glanced over at the author. Half-hidden behind the table, in a loose white coat, Quinn Fletcher’s condition wasn’t evident to the waiting fans. Somehow one didn’t expect a writer of frankly gory thrillers to be pregnant. Or to have such a young Adonis of a husband, either. One who apparently had nothing to do other than to escort his wife to a book-signing, chat up every female in sight—and laugh all the way to the bank when he deposited her royalty cheques, no doubt. Kate put on hasty mental brakes. None of her business.

She beckoned to Clare. ‘Would you take over from Gail for ten minutes, please? Gail, see if Ms Fletcher needs a drink yet, then take a break.’

Gail relinquished her place to Clare eagerly, and went over to Quinn Fletcher, who shook her head, smiling, apparently quite unconcerned when her husband turned the full battery of his charm on the pretty blonde bookseller.

Kate turned away to deal with a customer, deeply sorry for Quinn Fletcher. The husband was a menace to anything young and female, obviously, pregnant wife or not.

After an hour Kate went over to the table.

‘Time for a break? You look tired.’

‘I think she’s had enough,’ put in Ben Fletcher, ‘though she won’t admit it while there’s someone brandishing a book at her.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Quinn firmly, and smiled across the table at the elderly lady holding out a book. ‘Hello; how nice of you to come.’

It was another half-hour before the last fan had gone happily away. Ben Fletcher helped the author to her feet with a solicitude which set Kate’s teeth on edge. Hypocrite!

‘Honestly, Cass,’ said Ben Fletcher, frowning, ‘you look done in. Come on, I’ll take you home.’

Quinn Fletcher’s smile was warmly reassuring, despite the smudges of fatigue beneath her eyes. ‘What I need first is a visit to the loo, then a sit down in a comfortable chair. Then you can drive me home.’

Kate led her to the staffroom, showed her the Ladies’, checked the coffee was fresh and hot, then waited until Quinn Fletcher emerged, and pulled forward a solid leather chair. ‘We all fight over this one, it’s so comfortable. Coffee?’

‘I shouldn’t, but I will.’ The novelist sat down, leaning back with a sigh.

‘I hope all this wasn’t too much for you,’ said Kate, pouring out. ‘I didn’t know you were pregnant.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m fine. A book-signing session won’t do me any harm.’ She smiled. ‘My small son wears me out far more. Angus is three and gorgeous, but lord is he energetic! How I ever got this book finished I’ll never know. Luckily I’ve got a brilliant girl who comes in for a few hours a week to give me a hand with young Angus after nursery-school hours, otherwise I’d never have made my deadline.’

‘Ms Fletcher—’

‘Call me Cassie. Quinn’s my pen name.’

Kate smiled warmly, very taken with the author’s charm. ‘I just wanted to say I’m one of your fans. I’ve read all your books, but I left my copy of this one at home. I read it over the weekend. Some time, when you’re in town, would you mind calling in to sign it for me?’

‘Of course; I’d be glad to.’ Cassie Fletcher finished her coffee and got to her feet carefully. ‘Right, then, Kate Harker, I must be off. Could you round up Ben for me?’

Ben Fletcher was discovered in a far corner of the store, handing up books for a very excited, pink-faced Gail to stack on a high shelf.

‘Incorrigible,’ said Cassie, looking resigned rather than annoyed.

Kate, annoyed for her, moved over to the industrious pair, who were so absorbed with each other that neither noticed her arrival. ‘Ms Fletcher is ready to leave now,’ she said crisply. ‘Gail, if you’ve finished there the children’s corner could do with some tidying.’

‘Yes, Kate,’ said Gail, and went off precipitately, blushing to the roots of her hair.

Ben Fletcher watched her go, frowning. ‘I hope I didn’t get her into trouble. I was just giving a helping hand.’

‘Not at all. Very kind of you,’ said Kate politely, and walked ahead of him to the signing table, where the author was taking leave of the manager and the other members of staff.

‘Ah, there you are, Ben,’ said Cassie Fletcher. ‘Sorry to keep you hanging round so long.’

‘My pleasure, love.’ He grinned. ‘I found ways to pass the time.’