Meet Me at the Pier Head Read Online Free

his was racing green while hers was red. Similar tastes, similar attitude to classroom work, similar humour with a U in it.
‘God,’ he whispered. ‘Into the valley of death rode the six hundred and one. Sorry, Alfred Lord Tennyson.’ He would manage; he had to manage . . .
    When she had finally left, Theo went for a word with Jack Peake, school caretaker. ‘Don’t tell anyone about Colin and the football, Jack. I made a promise. See if you can fix the
downspout. If you can’t, we open fire on the Education Department on Monday morning.’
    ‘Got your gun loaded, Mr Quinn?’
    ‘I sure have, Mr Peake. Organize a posse and bring my lasso.’
    He left the building and drove home, picking up the mail as he walked through the hall of his rather imposing house in Allerton. After throwing assorted envelopes on the kitchen table, he set
the kettle to boil. Oh yes, he was becoming thoroughly English, though he seldom poured milk into his cup. Tea in America was usually iced and taken only on stifling hot days. Britain didn’t
do many hot days; had Noah lived here, he would have built an ark every summer.
    This evening’s meal would be quick – jambalaya. So he rolled up his sleeves, picked up his mug of tea and went to fetch the lawnmower. If the front lawn suffered any more neglect, it
might become habitat for a tribe of pygmies. In fact, they’d be able to erect two-storey edifices and still be invisible.
    It would be necessary to begin with a scythe, and that meant hard work and sweat on an evening as untypically balmy as this one, so he finished his tea and went inside to divest himself of
decent clothes. He pulled on a pair of khaki shorts and a short-sleeved shirt which he left unbuttoned, and emerged almost naked from the waist up. Bringing down the tone? No, he was bringing down
the grass.
    Damp and hot after all the scything, he began to mow. Feeling proud of his one-year-old Victa, he made fast work of the front lawn before resting on a flat stone at the edge of his rockery. The
slugs were back, so bang went another hosta. Gardening was a fight for survival, and slugs were damned tough.
    After so much physical effort, Theo felt too warm for jambalaya. He didn’t relish the idea of dealing with heat, so the chorizo, chicken, rice and tomatoes would wait their turn. A
sandwich should suffice, surely? He had ham, salad and beer in the fridge, and a young woman gazing down at him. ‘Miss Bellamy?’ Acutely aware of his state of undress, he leapt to his
feet. ‘Are you following me?’ he asked, humour trimming his tone.
    ‘No,’ she answered smartly. ‘I’ve been sent.’
    ‘I see.’ He rubbed dirty palms down his shorts. ‘By whom?’ he enquired.
    She pulled a handful of papers from her bag. ‘Hang on a mo,’ she said. ‘I’m a little flustered. Let me find the whom.’
    He managed not to grin. Seeing her flustered was extremely amusing.
    ‘Here’s the whom,’ she murmured, a slight smile visiting her lips. ‘There are two of them, a Maitland and a Collier. They’ve written to you – it says so in
their letter to me. I registered with several letting agents before I came up to Liverpool.’
    ‘Ah.’ He remembered the unopened mail on his kitchen table. ‘The flat was completed just recently; in fact, the paint may still be wet.’
    ‘Shall I go away, then?’
    His mind was breaking all speed limits. This was awkward. ‘Well, I may already have a tenant, but I’m unsure. He’s thinking about it.’
She’s beautiful. Seeing
her at school will be enough . . .
    Tia turned away from him and looked at the house. The man was distracting, dark hair, eyes the colour of plain Swiss chocolate, good musculature, tanned skin. ‘You own the whole
house?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘How many rooms?’
    ‘Eighteen in all; nine up and nine down. The upper flat is self contained, with the entry door up the side of the house.’
    ‘You live on the ground floor?’
    ‘I do.’
    ‘Alone?’ she