‘You’re not very good at disguises, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

Seth waggled his tortoiseshell frames. ‘What, these aren’t convincing?’

‘They don’t even have proper lenses.’

‘Is it that obvious?’ Smiling sheepishly, he whipped them off and stuffed them under the dashboard. We were sitting in his car – an elderly, midnight-blue Renault – parked on the narrow road that led to his cottage.

‘Is this part of your disguise too?’ I touched the worn fabric of the seat. ‘So people won’t recognise there’s a former racing driver in their midst?’

He put a hand over his eyes and let out a groan. ‘I take it everyone knows.’

‘Well, I didn’t yesterday, but I do now.’ Why was I attempting to coax out a smile when twenty-four hours ago I’d lashed out at him for not taking care of his son? Maybe it was because I needed to ask him if he’d take my sister out to dinner. Or because Meg’s sad-eyed description of him as a tragic widower had got under my skin. As he’d approached me in the café, I’d noticed things I hadn’t before; tension around his shoulders, a rigid set to his jaw, and a wariness in his eyes. It was as if he’d been thrust a thousand miles out of his comfort zone, and was only just holding himself together.

Even so, surrounded by ordinary people in the café drinking coffee, reading the papers and working on laptops, he’d stood out. Not just because he was attractive – though he was, even in fake glasses – but there was a sheen to him; an aura that marked him as different. Although he was wearing an ordinary black Puffa jacket over a V-neck sweater, with a faded T-shirt underneath, it was obvious he was used to a warmer climate, and the sort of service that probably came with silver platters and deferential nods – not a raucous, ‘Ain’t you gonna buy anyfink, you tightwad?’ from Gwen, and a nervous titter from Jerry that made me think he was either desperate to please her, or petrified of being fired.

I looked at Seth now, gripping the steering wheel while the engine ticked over, blowing warm air through the vents. ‘And your hat looks too new.’

He snatched off the green woollen beanie and bunched it in his hands, leaving his hair sticking up on one side. ‘Don’t you think you only recognised me because we met yesterday?’

I grinned. ‘Everyone recognised you,’ I said. ‘You stand out like a…’ I tried to think of something wittier than ‘sore thumb’.

‘Like a stranger in a small seaside café?’ A glint of humour brightened his gaze.

‘I was going to say like a Goth at a rave, and the café’s not that small,’ I said. ‘At least, it won’t be soon. And everyone in there was far too British to mention they knew who you really were.’

I’d been hyper-aware of several sets of awestruck eyes on us, and Cassie and Meg trading knowing smiles when he asked if he could talk to me in private, before leading me out to his car.

‘Why were you looking for me anyway?’ I said. ‘Especially if coming out is such an effort.’

‘Because you ran away from me before I had a chance to thank you properly for what you did.’

‘You did thank me,’ I reminded him. ‘I accepted your thanks. End of story.’

‘But I want to do something for you in return.’

The wind buffeted the car, making it rock, and rain pattered on the roof. The radio was on low, playing a Sam Smith song, making the car seem smaller and less full of air.

‘Where’s Jack?’ I swivelled to look in the back of the car, as though he might be crouching there, but saw only a matted tennis ball on the back seat that I guessed belonged to Digby. ‘You haven’t left him on his own, have you?’

‘Of course not.’ Seth’s eyes flashed. ‘I’m not a complete idiot,’ he said. ‘My mother’s come to stay for a couple of days.’

‘Oh.’ I deflated. ‘Well, that’s good.’

‘Not really.’ His voice grew heavy. ‘You don’t know my mother.’

It was practically an echo of what I’d said about Bridget to Cassie and Meg at the café and I nodded in understanding. ‘Like that, is it?’

He shot me a look, as if my response had caught him off guard. ‘She’s not happy that we’ve moved here,’ he said candidly. ‘My parents want custody of Jack, and if they get it, they plan to send him to boarding school.’

I searched his face. ‘You’re joking?’

‘Nope.’

‘But that’s so… Victorian.’

‘That’s my mother for you.’

‘God.’ I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry.’ I remembered Meg mentioning there were custody issues. ‘It sounds serious.’

‘She says it’s in Jack’s best interests and… I don’t know.’ He looked at his hat, twisting it in his hands. ‘Maybe she’s got a point, after what happened yesterday.’ He lifted his head and directed his gaze through the windscreen. A speckled seagull had landed on the road, head cocked as if weighing us up. ‘Maybe I’m not a fit parent.’

‘That’s rubbish,’ I said, despite having nothing concrete to base my opinion on. After all, his son had run all the way from the cottage and into the sea in his pants without Seth noticing. But I’d seen how shaken Seth had been; heard the gruff love in his voice when he’d remonstrated with Jack, and the underlying terror at how close he’d come to losing him. ‘He’s your son.’

Turning his head, he gave me a look that went on so long, every inch of my face heated up. Even my nostrils felt hot. ‘You don’t know the whole story,’ he said gravely. ‘After Jack’s mum died, my parents looked after him while I was away, competing all over the world. They gave him a stable home, albeit one with rigid rules. They practically have more rights to him than I do.’

I worked that around my head for a moment. ‘Doesn’t Jack have a say?’

Seth shook his head. ‘He’s only six,’ he said. ‘If it goes to court, they’ll decide what’s best for him.’

‘It could go to court?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Can’t you share custody?’

‘I want my son with me,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m not having him packed off to boarding school, like I was.’ He shot me a look. ‘I was fine, I came home at weekends, but I really don’t want that for Jack.’

‘But look what you’ve given up,’ I said. ‘You’ve retired from racing, sold your home in Italy, probably given up an amazing lifestyle, all to take care of Jack and give him a normal life. And that’s on top of losing your wife.’ I paused. ‘That’s got to count for something.’

Seth’s face was a hybrid of faint amusement and horror. ‘Wow,’ he said, eyebrows raised. ‘You’ve really done your research.’

The warmth in my face intensified. ‘Actually, my friend told me most of it.’ I sat on my hands to stop them waving about, and gave a wincing smile. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘That must have sounded really rude.’

‘The wonders of Google, I suppose.’ He flicked a glance at the rear-view mirror and flattened his sticky-up hair. ‘Hard to keep anything secret these days.’

‘True though?’

‘Some of it,’ he acknowledged. ‘Though I was ready to give up the amazing lifestyle, as you put it, anyway. It was pretty empty without…’

‘Your wife?’ I risked, trying to imagine how it must feel to lose someone you loved in what sounded like tragic circumstances. The thought of Dad without Mum – or vice versa – was unthinkable. Flip sides of the same coin, their lives entwined for nearly half a century, bound by all that history… to lose your ‘other half’ must be devastating at any time, but surely worse too young and in tragic circumstances.

Watching sadness settle over Seth’s face, I was glad I hadn’t experienced the kind of pain he must be going through. One of the benefits of not having had a serious relationship.

‘Actually,’ he said. ‘I was going to say without Jack.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Didn’t Google tell your friend that my wife and I were divorced by the time she died, and she’d been refusing me access to my son?’

‘No,’ I said, thrown. So, there’d been no love lost between Seth and his wife. But that didn’t make it any less tragic for Jack, even if he was too young to remember much about his mother. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

Ruffling his hair up again, Seth eased out a sigh. ‘It’s a long story,’ he said. ‘I don’t come out of it that well.’

Normally, in male company, I shied away from exchanging too much personal information – even with Rufus – but my head was crammed with questions. Before I’d mustered the necessary nerve to ask any of them, he said, ‘I’m actually looking to settle down now.’

‘You are?’ That was unexpected.

‘Not just to find a mother for Jack, though I know he’d like one, and it would be good for him.’ He grimaced. ‘My mother’s style of parenting is quite regimented.’

‘It must be a bit confusing for him, being with you now.’

‘He was becoming too quiet there, too introverted. It wasn’t healthy,’ said Seth. ‘I know there’s going to be a period of readjustment, but we’re getting there. Moving here was a good decision, and getting the dog has helped.’

‘So, now you’re ready to start dating.’

He made a face. ‘That’s such an old-fashioned word, but yeah, I suppose I am.’ He tipped his head. ‘Are you volunteering?’

Now my whole body felt on fire. ‘Definitely not.’

He recoiled a little from my tone. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Are you married?’

It was such an amusing concept, I couldn’t help smiling. ‘No, but I’m seeing someone,’ I said. ‘His name’s Rufus.’ Unexpectedly, I felt a wave of affection as I recalled my conversation with him on the beach – his eagerness to make things work – and it strengthened my resolve to try harder. ‘I was actually thinking of my sister.’

Seth was frowning slightly, rubbing his fingers over his short beard. ‘You have a sister?’

‘I do.’ I pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket, aware of him tracking my every move.

‘I’ve got your clothes, by the way,’ he said. ‘They’re in the back.’

‘Oh. Thanks.’ I flashed him a grin. ‘I haven’t washed yours yet.’

It was a weirdly intimate exchange. I couldn’t remember ever discussing washing with a man. ‘Here she is.’ I angled a recent photo of Bridget and Romy towards him, their faces pressed together in a rare show of unity. I enjoyed snapping pictures, but there was something about my sister that discouraged me from pointing a camera in her direction. Mum had taken this one and forwarded it to me. Bridget’s skin and eyes looked luminous – no sign of sleepless nights – and Romy, who took after Chad with her white-blonde curls and crystal-blue eyes, looked especially appealing. ‘She’s forty, but doesn’t look it,’ I said. ‘Bridget, I mean. That’s her name.’

‘She’s beautiful.’ He spoke with obvious sincerity. ‘You don’t look at all alike.’

‘Thanks a lot.’

‘Oh god, I didn’t mean—’

‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘She got Mum’s beauty and Dad’s brains. I was the gawky, boyish bookworm growing up.’ He was giving me such an odd look, I had to turn away. ‘She lives in London, but she’s home for a few months. We don’t really get on, which is why I’m not there much at the moment…’ Why had I said that? ‘Anyway, it’s a good opportunity for you to get to know her, and she’s honestly really nice. It’s just me she doesn’t like very much.’

Seth looked like there were several things he wanted to say, and finally settled on, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been out with a single mum.’ He gave the picture another cursory glance, and I wondered whether looks weren’t important to him. Or maybe he wasn’t a fan of redheads and was just being polite. I remembered Meg’s reference to an Italian girlfriend.

‘She’s lovely,’ I said, laying it on a bit thick. Though, Bridget was lovely – around men. She’d left a trail of broken hearts before meeting Chad. ‘Maybe it’s time to ring the changes.’

‘Maybe it is,’ he said. ‘But, I’m not sure—’

‘You did say, if there was anything you could do in return…’ I trailed off. It sounded tacky, after saying he didn’t need to repay me.

‘I did, and I meant it,’ he said. His eyebrows drew together. ‘This is repayment?’ he said. ‘You’d like me to date your sister?’

‘At least take her out to dinner.’ Now I sounded like a pimp. ‘You’ll get on,’ I promised. ‘You’ve got loads in common, and it would honestly make her year.’

‘Well, when you put it like that.’ He lightly bashed the steering wheel with his fist. ‘You’re on.’

‘There’s a restaurant called The Mill in Kingsbridge,’ I said. ‘It’s really good, you should take her there. You could book in under a fake name, if you’re worried about being recognised.’

‘Such as?’

‘I don’t know… Don Sethovan?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Don Sethovan?’

‘Well, you come up with something better.’

‘Um… Van Donaseth?’

‘We’re terrible at fake names.’

He was the sort of person who smiled with his eyes before his mouth joined in, and the sight was surprisingly hard to look away from. ‘I’ll use my own name,’ he said. ‘Anything else I can do?’

A short burst of laughter escaped. ‘Like what?’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘I could pay for a nice holiday for you and your friends.’

I laughed again. ‘I don’t need a nice holiday, thank you. I spent ten years living abroad, and have only been back in Devon just over a year.’

‘Make a donation to your favourite charity?’

‘I already give money to charity.’

‘There must be something else.’

‘Honestly, there isn’t.’

His smile drained away. ‘I just want you to know that what you did was massive,’ he said. ‘My life could have been a whole lot different today, like a trillion times worse.’

‘Maybe you should stop thinking like that.’ He was sounding like a glass-half-empty person, instead of focusing on the positives. ‘Maybe it was fate, or whatever, that I happened to be there, but Jack’s fine,’ I said. ‘You’re grateful, I get it. You don’t have to keep on about it.’

That look again, slow and steady. ‘I appreciate that you didn’t immediately go to the press with it, or post about it online,’ he said. ‘We could do without that kind of attention.’

‘Ah, but I didn’t know who you were then.’

He narrowed his gaze, then realised I was teasing. ‘I’m not just thinking about myself.’ I hadn’t thought that he was. ‘Jack doesn’t need to read stuff about me online, and I don’t want to give my mother any more ammunition.’

‘Well, no one will be hearing anything from me.’ My phone vibrated. It was Gwen. ‘I’d better go, my floor man has turned up early,’ I said, after she’d blasted the information into my eardrum.

‘Floor man?’

‘There’s a new function room at the café. I’m in charge of getting it ready for a party on Christmas Eve and there’s still a lot to do.’

‘In charge?’

‘I’m sort of an interior designer.’ It was what I usually said, prior to explaining that it wasn’t a career as such; more of a hobby I loved, and that I didn’t have my own business, but instead took on projects that appealed to me. Instead, I qualified the statement with, ‘I am an interior designer,’ remembering I’d told Bridget I was giving Seth’s cottage a makeover. Would it be too much to ask him to let me do it, so soon after persuading him to take Bridget out on a date?

‘You don’t fancy having a go at my place, do you?’

My head whipped round. Had he really just asked me that?

‘Obviously, I’ll pay you,’ he said, turning the heating down a notch. The car windows had totally steamed up. ‘Actually, I’ll pay double what you’d normally earn, it’s the least I can do.’

OK, so he was offering me the job above the going rate as ‘payback’ for saving Jack, but still… it would mean I wasn’t lying to Bridget about the job, and I had imagined refitting the cottage while I was there.

‘You’d be doing me a massive favour actually,’ he was saying, warming to the subject. ‘My mother doesn’t think the cottage is fit for habitation.’ He clapped a hand to his forehead. ‘I can’t believe it.’ His face clenched. ‘You saved my son’s life, and now I’m asking you for another favour.’

‘It’s not a favour.’ I hovered my hand near his then quickly withdrew it. ‘I’d like the job, so you’re doing me a favour.’

His smile returned, and something peculiar happened to my insides. For a split second, I wished I’d put on a bit of mascara, and maybe my best sneakers instead of the ones with the tatty laces. ‘Now, where are my clean clothes?’ I said.