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hardly that.' She paused. 'Please don't let me keep you, Mr Ashton. You must be keen to get to the hospital. I don't know when visiting hours end...'
    'There's plenty of time.' His mouth curved in amusement. 'You're not very subtle, Miss Grant. Or very hospitable,' he added. 'Considering I've driven you home, and got rid of a pest for you.'
    'I didn't ask you to do either.' Phoebe jiggled the sitting-room light switch in increasing irritation. 'I don't need your help, Mr Ashton. I can handle my own affairs.'
    'In the same way as you're dealing with that light, I suppose?' With infuriating coolness, he moved her gently out of the way, clicked the switch and the light stuttered on. He looked, frowning, at the old-fashioned flex supporting the central pendant. 'Does that happen much?'
    'It's temperamental,' she conceded.
    'Perhaps it's the effect you have on it,' he murmured. 'Does the kettle not work either?'
    There was a silence, then Phoebe took a deep breath. 'May I offer you some coffee, Mr Ashton?' she asked grimly.
    'How kind of you, Miss Grant,' he mocked. 'I thought you'd never ask.'
    So did I, Phoebe thought, seething as she went down the narrow passage to the kitchen.
    She was totally aware of him, lounging in the doorway, watching her, as she filled the kettle and set it to boil. She had fresh coffee and a percolator, but instant would do for this occasion, she thought, getting down the jar and spooning granules into two mugs. Instant coffee and, hopefully, instant departure. Certainly she'd give him no excuse to linger.
    But as she added the milk he'd politely requested, and stirred the brew, she had the uneasy feeling that he knew exactly what she was up to, and was laughing at her.
    Jaw set, she led the way back to the sitting room, pausing in surprise to see that he'd kindled the fire.
    'I believe there's a superstition that you shouldn't tend anyone's fire until you've known them for seven years, but I decided to risk it,' Dominic Ashton drawled. 'After all, we're practically old acquaintances.'
    Her heart skipped a panicky beat. 'Not,' she said, 'as far as I'm concerned.'
    His mouth twisted. 'You don't take many prisoners, Phoebe.' He paused. 'That's an unusual and charming name. May I know how you came by it? Or is that another invasion of privacy?'
    Phoebe looked at the flickering fire. 'My mother was playing the shepherdess in an amateur production of As You Like It when she met my father,' she said, her voice unconsciously wistful. 'It was love at first sight.'
    'Even though Phoebe isn't a very likeable character in the play?'
    She was startled. 'You know Shakespeare?'
    'I'm not a complete Philistine.' Leaning back on the cramped settee, his long legs stretched out in front of him, he dwarfed the room. 'Where are your parents now?'
    Phoebe sank her teeth into her lower lip. Then she told him, 'My mother died when I was a child. I—I lost my father just over six months ago.'
    He closed his eyes for a moment. 'Oh, God, I'm sorry. My facetious remarks about Serena were totally out of place.'
    'You couldn't have known,' she said. 'Please don't worry about it.'
    'Have you any brothers or sisters?'
    She shook her head. 'I was an only child.'
    'No relations at all?' He was frowning.
    'My father's sister is still alive,' she said. 'But we're not close.' She paused. 'My father put all his energies into work after my mother—went. He was very successful, and eventually sold his business for a great deal of money. He should have been secure for life. He invested in a second-hand bookshop, which he ran himself as a hobby. He was really happy, probably for the first time in years.'
    'And?' he prompted when she hesitated.
    'Only someone persuaded him to play the stockmarket. He ended up owing enormous sums—debts he couldn't possibly pay. We lost everything. The house, the shop, the furniture—it was all sold off.'
    She shook her head. 'My aunt seemed to feel that Dad had shamed the family name, and she wrote us off,