I'd closed that door.

I knew I'd closed that door.

Maddie may have made fun of my OCD tendencies, but they meant I always checked the house was firmly locked at least twice every time I left.

My heart hammered as I crept closer and squinted in the dim moonlight. Was it my imagination, or... Yes, the door frame was splintered around the lock.

A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead as I froze, peering into the dark hallway. Could the burglar still be inside? What should I do?

My brain screamed at me to run, and eventually, my feet got the message. I narrowly avoided face-planting as I tripped over a tree root on my sprint next door. Breathless, I jabbed my finger at Yvonne's doorbell.

The tinny sound of "Auld Lang Syne" rang out into the night, the best part of a month too late, and I uncurled my clenched fists as footsteps sounded in the hallway.

"Who are you?"

The man who answered the door didn't look thrilled to see me, and understandably so. I must have looked a fright.

"I'm so sorry for disturbing you. I live next door, and I think I've been burgled."

His glower didn't shift, but he swung the door open wide enough for me to squeeze past him. "Well, you'd better come in."

I followed him through to the kitchen, where Yvonne was elbow-deep in the washing up. Her eyes widened as she took in my appearance.

"She's been burgled," her husband said.

Yvonne dried her hands and rushed over. "Oh, you poor dear. Did they take much?"

"I don't know yet. The door...open... I'm too scared to go inside." I clutched at the back of a chair as I began shaking. "What if someone's still in there?"

"Have you called the police?"

I shook my head. "I just ran here."

"Bob, don't just stand there! Call Graham."

Bob moved slowly into action, reaching for the phone on the wall by the door while tutting about missing his fishing programme.

"I'm so sorry I came here. I didn't know where else to go."

Yvonne glared at Bob. "Don't mind him. He always falls asleep in the middle of that show, anyway."

Graham's enthusiasm rivalled Bob's when he ambled in with a colleague the best part of an hour later.

"There's nobody there."

"But somebody was inside, right? I mean, the door was open."

The other policeman grimaced. "Not sure you'll want to see inside, love."

"Why? How bad is it?"

"Your visitor's left a bit of a mess."

My visitor? Good grief, he made it sound as if I'd invited the burglar in. "How much of a mess?"

Yvonne put an arm around my shoulders. "Why don't we all go and take a look?"

The tears came a few seconds after I stepped through what was left of my front door. A hurricane had rampaged through downstairs, leaving a trail of crumpled boxes and broken ornaments, knee-deep in places. Why had somebody done this? I'd tried so hard to fit into the village, and now my new start in life had been pushed under a bus.

Yvonne gave me a squeeze. "I'm so sorry, Olivia. Why don't you stay at ours for the rest of the night? We can come back here in the morning."

"But the house... I can't even lock it."

"I'm not sure there's much more damage they could do. Besides, Graham'll be wanting to fingerprint first thing in the morning, so we shouldn't disturb anything. Isn't that right?"

From the look on Graham's face, he hadn't thought that far ahead. "Right. Of course. Fingerprinting, yes."

I couldn't get the mess out of my mind as Yvonne led me back up the path. "I can't believe this."

"It's a bit of a shock, isn't it? But I'm sure the police will find whoever did it."

"Really? Graham didn't seem too confident." Or competent.

"He's not used to all this drama. Until Eleanor died, the worst thing to happen in years was a spate of missing cats. Although there was a touch of vandalism last year, and someone broke into an empty house and held a party, but everyone thought that was kids."

Yvonne's spare bedroom could have come straight from the pages of Country Life magazine, with its comfy, overstuffed armchair and artfully distressed wardrobe. But as I huddled under the floral quilt, I found myself longing for my ugly room next door. Funny how you missed things when they were gone, wasn't it?

I barely slept, and I wasn't hungry either, but out of politeness, I forced down a few mouthfuls of the porridge Yvonne made me in the morning. My stomach rebelled with every swallow, and in the end, I put my spoon down and apologised.

"Thank you for everything, but I really should get back home."

Home. It didn't feel like much of a home as I scrubbed the remains of a bottle of ketchup off the kitchen floor. And the counters, and even the window. The burglar's artistic streak had come out, and he'd covered my kitchen with a variety of condiments then smashed every jar in the cupboard.

I said burglar, but I couldn't see that anything had been stolen. There was nothing worth much in the house anyway, but I found the watch Edward gave me for our first anniversary safely in its box at the back of my underwear drawer, and Mother's gold earrings were on the floor under the bed.

Could it have been kids? Anger welled up inside me. How dare someone come into my home and wreck it? Whoever broke in had been out to create as much mess as possible.

All my crockery lay in smithereens on the kitchen floor, and I found the contents of my wardrobe at the bottom of the stairs. In the piles of peril, random boxes had been opened and the contents broken and strewn around. My temporary livelihood, ruined. Thank goodness I'd posted those ugly dogs on my way to visit Maddie yesterday.

And all I could do was start clearing. My first thought had been to call Maddie, and she'd definitely have come, but she'd also have called in sick to do so. With her already in trouble at work, I didn't want to add to her problems.

I threw the remains of a plate into the bin, wishing I was aiming at the vandal's head instead. Although a shard of china in the eye would be too good for that scum. If I ever got my hands on them, I'd... I'd... Well, I didn't exactly know, but it wouldn't be pretty.

My phone rang as I mopped up a bottle of shampoo in the bathroom, and although I wiped my hands on a towel as quickly as I could, it stopped before I grabbed it. Tate. Dammit, lunch with him tomorrow had been the last thing on my mind, but I needed to cancel or at least postpone it. How could I get ready to go out when I didn't even have a mirror left intact?

I called back, even though I didn't want to speak to anyone. Mother's manners were blueprinted on my soul.

"Did you call?"

"Olivia. So kind of you to phone me back. If it's not too much difficulty, I was hoping to pick you up at one tomorrow rather than half past twelve. One of my colleagues has arranged a conference call with Japan, and it's not easy to get out of it."

"About lunch... I actually need to postpone it, I'm afraid."

"Oh?"

"I've been burgled, you see, and I've got rather a lot of mess to clear up."

"Burgled? But this is the Foxfords. Nobody's been broken into around here for years."

"Well, I guess I'm just lucky." I struggled to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

"So sorry—I didn't mean to sound unsympathetic. It's just I can't remember the last time we had a burglary around here."

Judging by Graham's reaction, he couldn't either. At least the forensics team had seemed competent when they dusted for prints this morning. They'd certainly used enough fingerprint powder.

"I understand, and I'm sorry for cancelling at such short notice, but the place is a mess and I'm at my wit's end cleaning it up."

"I'll come and give you a hand."

"No, really, there's no need for you to do that."

"It's the least I can do. I don't want you getting the wrong impression of the area. I'll be there in half an hour."

Tate surprised me by knocking on what remained of the door twenty-five minutes later. Surprised me because I'd been used to Edward's timekeeping, and when he said half an hour, I was lucky if he turned up in double that. Emails and phone calls always took precedence.

Tate's eyes widened as he stepped inside. "I know you said it was a mess, but this... I wasn't expecting this. It's outrageous."

I'd held it together up until then, but when he voiced the indignation I felt, I began shaking. Visions of a black-clad figure prowling through my home took root in my mind, and a tear leaked out and rolled down my cheek. Hold it together, Olivia. I didn't want to lose it in front of Tate, of all people.

But his expression softened as he picked his way through the debris. "You look like you could use a hug."

Despair trumped awkwardness as I nodded, and as I stepped forward, I tripped over a stray box and landed right in his open arms.

He held me while I sobbed, and when his jumper became damp from my tears, he handed me a monogrammed handkerchief: TP.

This was ridiculous, crying all over a man when I didn't even know his surname. I made an effort to pull myself together and levered myself backwards out of his grip, swaying slightly on unsteady feet as I tried to regain my composure.

Tate took me by the elbow. "You need to sit down."

"I don't have anything left to sit on." Both of my kitchen chairs had been left splintered.

"Have you eaten?"

I shook my head.

"In that case, I'm taking you out for a late lunch before we do anything else."

I tried to protest, but he pressed a finger against my lips.

"You can't tackle this..." He waved an arm at the hallway. "If your body's running on empty. You might not feel like eating, but even a little food will help."

My head knew he was right, even if my body tried to rule it with strong feelings of nausea. Tate half carried me across the hallway then set me on my feet next to the door. Only when I caught a glimpse of myself in the jagged shards of the hall mirror did I come to my senses.

"I can't go out like this! Look at the state of me."

His sweet smile would have given me butterflies if my stomach hadn't been replaced by a cement mixer.

"You look beautiful."

My cheeks heated. "I don't want everyone to start gossiping."

"We'll go to Middleton Foxford. Nobody knows you there. To them, you'll just be the pretty girl eating lunch with Fenton Palmer's son."

He certainly was charming. "All right. But I can't stay out for long. I need to sort out the bedroom so I can sleep in it tonight."

"We'll have something light, and the service is excellent in Basilico. You do like Italian food?"

"I love it." I went to pull the door closed and the handle, which had been hanging on by a single screw, fell off in my hand. The tears threatened again. "But I can't even lock the door. What if someone comes back while we're out?"

"I'll call a locksmith. He can fix things up while we have lunch."

Visions of twenty-pound notes floated before my eyes at the thought of Sunday call-out charges. "I can wait until tomorrow. I'll drag something up against it tonight."

"And I wouldn't sleep tonight from worrying. Our gardener's son's in the trade, and he'll come today as a favour to me. It's no bother."

I didn't want to be in Tate's debt, but at the same time, I hated the prospect of sleeping in a house where the only barrier between me and a possible psychopath was Aunt Eleanor's nicknack shelves. Last night, I'd destroyed half of the nails I'd managed to grow since I left London as my fingers found their way to my mouth in a reflex action, and I didn't want to chew off the rest of them.

"I'll pay you back as soon as I can afford it." He opened his mouth, to protest, no doubt, and I held up a hand. "Please. I have to for my own peace of mind."

I didn't want to be treated like a charity case.

"As long as you let me treat you to lunch."

That I could deal with, and I smiled for the first time since I found my home wrecked. "That's very kind of you."

I followed him out to a shiny blue Mercedes S-Class, identical to the one Edward drove except for the colour. Edward's had been silver. Tate opened the door for me, and I sank into the soft leather seat and breathed in the new-car smell. I'd missed that.

My appetite had returned by the time we pulled up outside the Italian restaurant, fuelled by Tate's charm and the feeling of safety that came from being away from Lilac Cottage.

"So, what made you move to Upper Foxford?" he asked me as the antipasti arrived.

"My aunt died, and I inherited the cottage."

"I didn't realise you were related to Eleanor—were you close?"

"I hadn't seen her since I was a little girl. When I found out about the house, I didn't even know where it was."

Tate tilted his head to one side. "Then why did you move here? Why not sell the cottage or even rent it out?"

I'd hoped to avoid that question. "The lease was up on my flat in London, and I couldn't find much within my price range what with Christmas coming up. Moving to Upper Foxford seemed like the perfect solution, at least until now."

If his clenched fists were anything to go by, some of my anger had rubbed off on Tate. "I can't believe the mess those scoundrels have made. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes..."

"It must have taken them most of the day. Back in London, one of the neighbours might at least have noticed the noise and called the police."

"One of my colleagues lives in London, and a thief convinced the doorman of his apartment building that he was an interior designer there to renovate. The doorman actually helped to carry all the furniture out." Tate paused. "Sorry. That probably wasn't what you wanted to hear."

"Not really." I decided to change the subject. "So, what do you do at work?"

"I'm a lawyer, for my sins. I passed the bar exam last year."

"That sounds exciting."

"Not as much as John Grisham likes to make out. I'm in the corporate division. In reality, most of my cases settle before they get to court. Nobody wants their name dragged publicly through the mud."

Something I understood very well, and so, unfortunately, did Mandy Clark when she plastered shots of me with my dress around my waist all over Facebook.

"Are you at a local firm?"

He shook his head. "I join the happy throng travelling into London each day."

"Have you always lived around here?" I asked.

"My family's owned the Prestwold Manor for generations."

"You still live there?"

"Yes and no. My father lives in the main house, I have one of the cottages, my uncle converted the tithe barn, and my cousin has the old stables."

Wow—that sounded like some place. Posh. For once, I was glad my mother made me recite DeBrett's before each meal instead of grace. And I liked that Tate was still close to his family.

I smoothed my napkin over my lap and made sure to keep my elbows off the table as the food arrived. Tate had chosen the restaurant well; I had to give him that. My tagliatelle with white truffle shavings was the tastiest meal I'd eaten in the post-Edward era. Tate may have been forking his food down, but I forced myself to chew slowly, my mother's voice echoing in the back of my head.

"You'll never catch yourself a suitable gentleman unless your manners are impeccable, Olivia." She'd repeated those words over and over.

And while my head tried to tell me I wasn't interested in Tate, that it was too soon after Edward and I needed to settle into my new life before adding any more complications, my subconscious, the part of me that had been trained from birth to hunt for the perfect man, perked up her ugly head.

No! If I ever dated again, it would be for love alone, not because of a potential suitor's social standing.

But with Tate, maybe I could have both.

"Be quiet!"

Tate looked up from his stone-baked pizza. "I didn't say anything."

"Sorry. I'm sorry. I was just talking to myself."

He raised an eyebrow, and I gave a helpless shrug. Great. Now he thought I was crazy.

Mind you, he probably wasn't far wrong.