As soon as Tamsin had clocked Diane at the pub, as far as she was concerned, her date with Sarah had been over. The woman was nice enough and, just like Tamsin, loved doing up old furniture—and she only lived about ten miles from her.

Many boxes had been ticked, and Tamsin had been willing to give the whole thing a chance, despite Sarah being quite a few years older than the women she was used to dating—or perhaps even because of that. Then Sarah had mentioned the lady staring at them from across the restaurant. Diane sat there, alone at a table, looking her usual elegant self, perfectly styled, holding her cutlery in just the right way, and Tamsin had been transported back to Portugal. After that, try as she might, she’d been unable to focus her attention on Sarah.

After saying a polite goodbye to Sarah, Tamsin let Bramble out of the house for a bit of a run in the garden, before sinking down into one of the patio chairs to consider her options.

First on the agenda would be admitting to herself that she was attracted to Diane. She’d felt it so clearly in the pub, maybe because of the contrast with her feelings for her date. Every time Tamsin had come up with a question to further the conversation with Sarah, she’d wished she could have asked Diane instead. Diane, who was sitting only a few tables away from her, whose gaze Tamsin could feel burning into the back of her head.

“I’m attracted to her,” Tamsin whispered. Bramble didn’t look up. Darkness was falling and she was too busy eyeing the bats flying overhead. Tamsin leaned back in her chair and inhaled a lungful of fresh air. She could do that here in Tynebury. The air was clean and the streets were quiet. Bramble was no longer confined to a mostly indoor life, only broken up by two walks a day. Tamsin could have a good life here as well. She liked the club, the people, the village.

She liked Diane.

She could try to deny it all she wanted, but all the signs were there. The flutter in her chest when she’d caught sight of her. The almost irrepressible desire to send her a text message right there and then. The images of her graceful face drifting in and out of Tamsin’s mind willy-nilly. And then Diane had gone and said something so unexpected, so baffling, that Tamsin had been given no other choice but to hide in the toilet cubicle. But she didn’t really know Diane. They’d shared a few glasses of wine in Portugal, but so what? Clearly, the woman had a bit of a mean streak.

Tamsin whistled for Bramble to come to her. It was getting chilly and she was sick of thinking about Diane. Tamsin could like her all she wanted—there was no way she was getting involved with someone like that. And until proven otherwise, the woman was heterosexual. Tamsin should focus on that. And she was fifty-four, for crying out loud. And a member of the golf club. At least Diane’s father wasn’t club president, but in this case, that was not an advantage. Tamsin had learned her lesson.

Bramble sped up to her at high speed then slid to a stop. She lay panting at Tamsin’s feet, so that Tamsin could scratch her behind the ears. Diane probably wasn’t a dog person, either. She looked far too polished for that.

“Come on then.” Tamsin rose and Bramble followed her. “Time for bed.”

As she walked into the cottage, she vowed to put Diane Thompson out of her head and, this time, she’d do it without the help of Tinder.

The next morning, Tamsin had planned to do some accounting, but as soon as she sat at her desk and cast a glance over the folder where she kept her receipts, her heart sank. Being a golf pro meant being a freelancer, which brought with it the only aspect of her job she truly despised: administration. Tamsin revelled in giving a pupil a crucial tip on how to hit the golf ball a few yards further, on how to get their putting more precise. She delighted in being out there for a round of golf on her own—just her against the course. Getting her accounts in order didn’t have anything to do with that, yet it was a critical part of how she made a living.

Maxine, her accountant in Croydon, had sent her a bunch of spreadsheets and a summary of her accounts, so she could have a go at filing her quarterly VAT return herself, but Tamsin had only to look at the green colour of the Excel logo for her stomach to twist. Green was her favourite colour, yet this particular hue made her want to look away in disgust.

Tamsin had never been able to trace back her acute dislike of anything mathematical. Her sister was the same, even though their mother’s job as a risk analyst at an insurance company had been awash with numbers and calculations and complicated arithmetic. She and Eve both took after their much more artistic father, who made furniture out of any piece of wood he could lay his hands on.

Tamsin glanced at the picture of her mother on the mantle next to her desk. She looked her radiant, buoyant self in it. She had died almost eight years ago but when Tamsin looked at that picture and stared into her mother’s soulful brown eyes, to Tamsin, it felt like she’d only passed eight days ago. The grief could still hit her like that, mercilessly and with such impact, and Tamsin knew it would always be like that. As long as she lived, she would miss her mum.

If only she could call and ask for her mother’s help with the accounts. Her mum would have been all over it. Tamsin could still so easily picture her, sitting at one end of the dining table, a bunch of papers spread out in front of her. Every Sunday evening, without fault, she filled in a notebook with the amounts they’d spent that week. She kept a budget so meticulously and with such zeal, Tamsin often wondered why none of that had rubbed off on her. But she and her sister had always hated maths and their mother had never been able to stop herself from helping them with their homework. Come to think of it, their mum was the reason she and Eve couldn’t do a complicated calculation even if their life depended on it.

“Thanks, Mum,” Tamsin said to her picture. They’d often teased her about it. Even when she’d been so sick, her body so weakened by the chemo, her brain shot to pieces, they’d still tell her stories of how when they were younger they’d been unable to calculate the correct change to get back when they were sent to the shop.

She toyed with the idea of just mailing the folder to Maxine and letting her sort it all out. Or she could drive up, make a quick visit to her sister and enjoy a bite to eat in London. But this quarter’s deadline was looming, and Tamsin had been way too lax about it. To be honest, she’d skilfully buried her head in the sand every time she’d caught a glimpse of the folder, and had, once again, excelled at putting it out of her mind.

Why was it so easy to forget about this while other thoughts were so incredibly persistent? Because there it was again. Diane. The local accountant. Her business card burning a hole in Tamsin’s purse. Hiring Diane as her accountant would not help towards getting the woman off her mind. So far, Tamsin had only seen her in a leisurely environment, but what would she look like in the office? The big boss of her own company. Tamsin had no trouble picturing Diane, head high, shoulders back, delegating tasks and reigning supreme over her accountancy empire. Tamsin had to chuckle at the thought.

She rose and walked to the window. A magpie flew low over the lawn. Bramble, who was lazing on a blanket near the window, lifted her head a fraction, only to promptly put it back down again.

When her phone started ringing, Tamsin was relieved to be pulled from her tailspin of thoughts. She hoped it would be someone wanting to book a lesson, even if it meant having to do more accounting.

She picked up her phone from the desk. Speak of the devil.

“Hi, Diane,” she said, stopping the glee she was feeling from seeping into her voice.

“Tamsin.” Diane sounded matter-of-fact.

“What can I do for you?” Glee was quickly making way for something else. But maybe this was the universe making a decision for her, Tamsin thought. She needed a new accountant and, just like that, she was on the phone with one. She just needed to ignore the fact that said accountant was Diane, whom, she had definitively concluded last night, she was hopelessly attracted to.

“I didn’t feel quite right with how we left things last night. I was rude and I would like to apologise.”

“It’s fine,” Tamsin said. “No need for that. Things get blurted out sometimes. I understand.”

“No, no, no. It’s far from fine. I would like to formally apologise, which is the purpose of this phone call.”

Tamsin tried hard to suppress a smile from spreading on her face. It would be hopeless to try and consciously ignore this crush. She was hardly an expert when it came to behavioural psychology, but she knew that much. Everybody knew. Try not to think of someone and all you’ll end up doing is obsessing over them. “Apology formally accepted,” Tamsin said. “Actually, now that I’ve got you on the phone, Diane.” She sighed. “I’m in very, very dire need of an accountant.”

“Well then, you’re very much in luck. I was hoping to add the new RTGC pro to my client list. I’ll be in the office in one hour. Would you like to come by?”

“That would most likely save me quite a bit of bother from Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs.”

“I’ll be expecting you then.” Diane’s voice had changed from matter-of-fact to smooth and almost melodic.

“See you in an hour then.” They hung up and Tamsin took a deep breath. So much for trying to get Diane Thompson out of her head.