A Finer End

“Among my many talents.” He took her damp jacket and hung it on an iron coat rack in the hall.

“What’s this all about? Are we meeting someone here?”

“Not exactly,” he answered, with a grin that made her think of her four-year-old son concealing a surprise. “Let’s have a look round, shall we?”

The kitchen lay to the left, a cheerful, yellow room with a scrubbed pine table and a dark blue, oil-fired cooker. Gemma’s heart contracted in a spasm of envy. It was perfect, just the sort of kitchen she had always wanted. She gave a lingering look back as Kincaid urged her into the hall.

On the right, the dining and sitting rooms had been opened into one long space with deep windows and French doors that Gemma presumed must lead to a garden. The dining furniture had an air of Provençal; in the sitting room, a comfortably worn sofa and two armchairs faced a gas fire, and bookcases climbed to the ceiling. In her imagination, Gemma saw the shelves filled with books, the fire lit.

“Nice, yes?” Kincaid queried.

Gemma glanced up at him, her suspicions growing. “Mmmm.”

Undeterred, he continued his tour. “And here, tucked in behind the kitchen, a little loo.” When she had dutifully admired the facilities, he took her into the last room on the left, a small study or library. But there were no books on these shelves, just as there had been no dishes in the kitchen, no personal possessions or photographs in the dining and sitting area.

“I’d put the telly here, wouldn’t you?” he went on smoothly. “So as not to spoil the atmosphere of the sitting room.”

Gemma turned to face him. “Duncan, are you giving up policing for estate agenting? I’m not going a step further until you tell me what this is all about.”

“First, tell me if you like it, love. Do you think you could live here?”

“Of course I like it! But you know what property values are like in this area—there’s no way we could afford something like this even if we pooled our salaries—”

“Just wait before you make a judgment. See the rest of the house.”

“But—”

“Trust me.”

Following him up the stairs to the first floor, she mulled over her situation. She must make a change, she knew that. The tiny garage flat she rented was much too small for another child, and Kincaid’s Hampstead flat was no more suitable—especially since it looked as though his twelve-year-old son would be moving in with him over the holidays.

Since she had told Kincaid about the baby, they had talked about living together, combining families, but Gemma had found herself unwilling to face the prospect of such momentous change just yet.

“Two good-sized bedrooms and a bath on this floor.” Kincaid was opening doors and turning on lights for her inspection. They were children’s rooms, obviously, but again the walls bore pale patches where pictures and posters had been removed.

“Now for the pièce de résistance.” Taking her hand, he led her up to the top floor.

Gemma stood riveted in the doorway. The entire top floor had been converted to a master suite, open and airy, with the small balcony she’d seen from the street at the front.

“There’s more.” Kincaid opened another set of French doors and Gemma stepped out onto a small roof garden that overlooked the treetops. “That’s a communal garden beyond the back garden. You can walk right into it.”

Gemma breathed out a sigh of delight. “Oh, the boys would love it. But it can’t be possible … can it?”

“It very well might be—at least for five years. This house belongs to the guv’s sister—”

“Chief Superintendent Childs?” Denis Childs was Kincaid’s superior at the Yard, and Gemma’s former boss as well.

“Whose husband has just accepted a five-year contract in Singapore, some sort of high-tech firm. They don’t want to sell the house, but they do want it well looked after, and who better than two police officers vouched for by the Chief Super himself?”

“But we still couldn’t afford—”

“It’s a reasonable rent.”

“But what about your flat?”

“I’d lease it for a good deal more than the mortgage, I imagine.”

“What about child-minding for Toby? Without Hazel—”

“There’s a good infants’ school just down the road from the station. And a good comprehensive for Kit not too far away. Now, any other objections?” He grasped her shoulders and looked into her eyes.

“No … it’s just … it seems too good to be true.”

“You can’t hold the future at bay forever, love. And we won’t disappoint you. I promise.”

Gemma let herself relax into his arms. Perhaps he was right … No! She knew he was right. When Toby’s father had left her, alone with a new infant and no support, she had resolved never to depend on anyone again. But Kincaid had never failed her in any way—why should she not trust him in this, as well?

“Blue and yellow dishes in the kitchen,” she murmured against his chest. “And a bit of paint in the bedrooms, don’t you think?”

He nuzzled her hair. “Is that a yes?”