âYo!â triumphantly while Clinton and Jackson rigged up a âcome-alongâ to secure the correct tautness between struts. A small army of men wore tool belts slung like holsters; whipping out hammers with a speed that would have done John Wayne proud, or twirling their tools with all the flair of a rock-and-roll drummer. Everyone had a job to do, everyone knew their place. Overseeing the entire operation was a small, wiry man, the architect and only paid member of the team, bearded strangely minus a moustache, who darted nimbly around the growing skeleton, heaping praise, advice and instructions with a softly spoken voice. All three âAâ frames were now in place and point four on the list had been reached.
Every strut, joist and plank had a home in either a notch, a wedge or a grip in a neighbouring plank, strut or joist. Corresponding holes in the wood allowed for oak pegs to further secure the bond. A jigsaw puzzle the size and shape of a house. The hillside rang with the song of chatter, of laughter and of knock, knock, knock on wood. Enter two carpenters, father and son: Bob and Mikey McCabe. Polly had a doughnut in one hand and a small offcut of pine in the other and she was intermittently sniffing the two when she first caught sight of Mikey. Tall and lithe in physique, his dark hair long. He had the most beautiful forearms, ditto his strong, muscled legs with their masculine smattering of dark hairs. His face was so handsome it could well be illegal.
Polly bit into the wood, hard, and thought to herself that English doughnuts were so much softer and more tasty and who on earth was that scrumptious man and heâs taken his T-shirt off, oh my God.
She was utterly taken aback. She had no control over her eyes as they darted to and from this figure. Her heart pounded. She was horrified and exhilarated.
But I donât look twice at normal men.
Normal?
I mean, real-life blokes. Only Max. For the past five years. Apart from film stars â who donât count.
She let the doughnut fall to the ground as if it were an off-cut of pine, and she placed the offcut of pine, teethmarks and all, on to a plate of doughnuts.
Polly Fenton doesnât look twice. But I canât keep my eyes off him.
âIsnât this great!â squeezed Jojo, at her side.
âSuper duper,â agreed Polly in fine style, half relieved to be led away from this apparent danger zone, half ruing the fact that stirring the beans prevented visual access to Mikey McCabe.
âHeâs out of sight,â she lamented softly to the great saucepan as she sat on her heels over the pit.
âIsnât he just!â colluded Kate cautiously but with a skew smile. âOuta sight. Totally.â
âI meant,â fumbled Polly, immensely uncomfortable and almost lost for words, âI meant â absolutely nothing. Nothing at all.â
Kate doffed her head and departed with a smile that was kind. And wise. And something else too.
Outa sight
, Polly twanged to herself.
Max is out of her mind.
She is totally engrossed in the sensation of the present.
SEVEN
âH ey there,â he said, bowling over to her at lunch-time with an easy smile, âIâm Mikey.â
A warm, firm handshake.
Look at his neck. His Adamâs apple. Shoulders. Chest.
No donât.
âHullo,â she responded, âIâm Polly.â Desperate to be demure and disinterested. Failing.
Fight the smile.
Failing.
Am I blushing?
Yes.
âFrom England, hey?â
âYes, from Old Blighty,â Polly enunciated. He nodded and smiled, displaying perfect white teeth behind full, deep red lips. The morningâs exertion had had superb consequences for his appearance; his hair was damp and tousled and scraped hastily into a pony tail while sweat and sawdust gave a subtle glisten to his body and had made his eyes watery and dark. Polly tried not to stare and hoped sincerely that her pupils were not