Free Caught Out in Cornwall by Janie Bolitho

it. You’ve got your looks and your figure, I’ll grant you that, but I wish you’d take my advice and wear a frock more often, or, at least, a skirt. And I don’t mean that skimpy little denim thing you wear in the summer. You’d never catch me in jeans or trousers.’
    Rose glanced at the digital clock on the electric display unit of the gas cooker. Doreen could go on in this manner for hours. She needed to find a tactful way to ask her to leave. ‘Actually, as soon as I’ve had a shower I will be changing into a dress. Jack’s taking Dad and me out for dinner tonight. I’ll mention what we’ve talked about if there’s an appropriate moment.’ Rose stood, pleased to note that Doreen had taken the hint and was already reaching for her padded jacket which was draped over the back of her chair.
    ‘If he comes back for coffee make sure you give ’en some of my lardy cake,’ were Doreen’s parting words.
     
    Geoff Carter was working late. There had been a leak in the roof of the annexe to his gallery where slates had come off in a gale and the builders had now left. They had needed fine weather in which to complete the job and the rain had held off until half an hour ago. The gallery itself was all chrome and glass and housed the works of local artists, including Rose Trevelyan. The annexe had yet to be modernised.
    Twice married and divorced, Geoff admitted that he was a womaniser. When he first met Rose he had tried to get her into bed. Now hewas thankful that she had not been interested. Their business relationship had developed into friendship as well, neither of which would have worked for long if sex had been involved because the affair would not have lasted.
    Geoff had also persuaded Rose to take on the extra pupils who would not fit into the classes of another artist. These classes were held in the annexe; Rose’s being held on a Wednesday night. That week’s class had been cancelled because of the water dripping through the arched roof.
    Satisfied that the place was habitable, Geoff went back into the gallery. He checked his appearance in one of the many mirrors, which were placed to convey a feeling of more space than there actually was. He was not vain but he knew he had worn well. His greying hair was worn longer than was usual for a man of his age. It was swept back and rested just below his collar. His brown eyes were full of humour and held an invitation to any woman who looked at him. Although he only sold paintings he encouraged young artists and dressed as they did. His vaguely bohemian appearance was the only hint of his great disappointment that he, himself, was a failed artist.
    Right then he would have enjoyed Rose’scompany. He didn’t like the winter with long hours of darkness; she would have cheered him up. There was something soothing about her; something that suggested everything would be all right in time. He dialled her number and was pleased to hear her voice rather than a recorded one. ‘Rose, the roof’s finished. You can tell your lot that there’ll be a class next week.’
    ‘Good. Thanks for letting me know.’ She had showered and washed her hair but was still wrapped in a towel.
    ‘Can I take you out to celebrate?’
    ‘Not tonight, Geoff, I’m already going out.’
    Jack Pearce, the bastard, he thought with a touch of envy. An artist going out with a policeman, it didn’t seem right somehow. ‘Another time then?’
    Rose detected the plaintiveness in his voice. Men were like children at times. ‘Yes, another time.’
    Geoff Carter switched on the alarm system and locked up. He was only vaguely aware of the car that was passing slowly down the lane but when he looked up he certainly noticed the attractive woman who was driving it, even though it was dark. She, in turn, noticed his undisguised gaze and, looking startled, accelerated down the street.
    ‘I wouldn’t say no to that one,’ he muttered as he pocketed his keys and turned up the collar of his