Tom had slept in late again.
The codeine was still playing with his body clock and continuing to make him feel sleepy. The foot was still too painful to get any sleep without it, so it was a lose-lose situation at the moment, it felt.
Not that his vampire hours appeared to be affecting anyone else in the big house. Everyone kept telling him not to worry and to just do as he pleased.
He hadn’t realised how used to his own company he had become though. He was finding the family dinners around the dining room table incredibly awkward. Small talk wasn’t really his thing. But the family had been generous with their time.
And their offer of accommodation had been equally generous, he was quickly realising. Sam had mentioned in passing that he had reduced the number of artists that he now looked after; the running of Willow Tree Hall was taking up a lot of his time. And also his money, Tom understood. There was still so much that needed to be done to the house that it made Tom feel even guiltier that the writing wasn’t happening for him. He owed Sam everything. And without his cut of the next Tommy King album, Sam might not even be able to afford to get the ballroom refurbished for his own wedding.
Determined to try and stay awake, Tom had headed to the recording studio after dinner. He had switched off his phone a day or so previously. If it was business, they could get to him through Sam. Otherwise, he was off the grid for a while.
And it felt good. Nobody hassling him. Nobody needing him. He felt free.
He picked up the guitar he had brought with him. It had been a gift from his gran. It had belonged to her late husband; a man Tom had never met. But he must have been exceptionally lucky to marry such a woman.
He stroked the smooth wood. It was a friend over the years. A mate. Something to trust. A special bond. He closed his eyes and began to feel the whisper of a melody.
‘Hello.’
He jumped at the voice, frowning at the intrusion.
The small bar of music had disappeared. Snatched away by the interruption in his thoughts.
He turned his head to find Annie’s friend Eleanor standing in the doorway, wearing her usual wide fake smile. He gave an inward groan, not needing another awkward conversation.
‘I think everyone’s up at the big house,’ he told her, hoping that would be the end of their discussion.
‘Actually it’s you I’ve come to find.’
She walked into the middle of the room and sat down next to the keyboard. As she crossed her long legs, he realised she was wearing high heels again. Her hair was immaculate, not one strand out of place. Her make-up was natural, but there was quite a lot of it. She looked so perfect that she could have been a mannequin.
‘I’ve just been at the WI meeting and have been tasked to organise a charity walk to help raise some money,’ she told him. ‘The local hospital is in desperate need of funds.’
‘I’m not sure I’m up to any charity walk at the minute,’ he replied, nodding at his nearby crutches.
‘Oh, no!’ she said, laughing. For a second her soft green eyes lit up and then she went back into manic grin once more. ‘What we need is a celebrity to start off the proceedings. Maybe cut some kind of ribbon. I don’t know all the details yet, but it should be within the next week or two. We’re hoping to get the county newspaper involved. We need to raise a lot of funds. It’s important.’
He sighed but found himself unable to refuse. His gran had died of cancer. It was a cause close to his heart.
‘Sure,’ he told her, with a shrug of his shoulders. Would it matter if he had left Willow Tree Hall by then? Possibly not. He was sure Arthur could take his place.
‘That’s fantastic!’ she said, leaping up from the stool. ‘How incredibly generous of you.’
She was acting as if he had actually discovered a cure for the disease rather than cutting a ribbon to start a charity walk.
‘No worries. Well, if there’s nothing else,’ he began.
Eleanor picked up the small carrier bag she had brought with her and held it out for him to take. ‘I was hoping you might agree to give us a hand,’ she told him. ‘So I bought you an early thank you present. Or perhaps even a bribe!’
He opened the bag and stared down at the huge box of Maltesers. He just about managed to stop himself grimacing.
‘Thanks,’ he muttered.
‘No, thank you!’ she told him, with a wink.
For a second they locked eyes and he found himself staring at the thick long lashes and the dark green of her eyes.
He still felt rattled by the intrusion after she had gone. And yet he found himself scribbling down one line of a lyric about different shades of green.