‘Six...no, seven. I forgot about Hugh Lindley in kindergarten, but I guess a peck on the cheek doesn’t count.’
‘That many, huh?’
Poppy let out her breath on another long sigh. ‘I know, I know. I have some serious catching up to do.’
‘Maybe Rafe Caffarelli isn’t the right place to start,’ Chloe said, glancing at Poppy’s chin again with a little frown. ‘You could get yourself really hurt.’
Tell me something I don’t already know. ‘I’m not planning on going anywhere near Rafe Caffarelli,’ Poppy said. ‘He’s made his position clear. I don’t need to be told twice.’
* * *
A couple of days later a deafening clap of thunder woke Rafe up during the middle of the night. The wind whipped around the manor like a dervish. It howled and screamed around the eaves and rafters, making the manor shake and shudder as if it was being rattled like a moneybox.
He went over to close the window the wind had worked loose from its catch just as a flash of lightning rent the sky into jagged pieces. The green-tinged light illuminated the dower house in the distance. His stomach clenched when he saw that one of the branches of the old elm tree had come down over the roof, crushing it like a flimsy cardboard box.
He quickly threw on some clothes and found a weatherproof jacket and a torch. He pressed Poppy’s number—his phone had recorded it when she’d rung about Chutney being missing—but she didn’t answer. He didn’t bother leaving a message. He snatched up his keys and raced out to his car, calling the emergency services on the way.
The wind almost knocked him off his feet. He hunched over and forged through the lashing rain, his mind whirling with sickening images of Poppy trapped under a beam. Which room was her bedroom? He tried to recall the layout of the house. There were three bedrooms, all of them upstairs. Wouldn’t the main one be the one where the elm tree was?
He hammered at the front door once he got there. ‘Poppy? Are you in there? Are you all right?’
There was no power so he couldn’t see anything, other than when the lightning zigzagged or from his torch, which was woefully low on batteries. ‘Poppy? Can you hear me?’
The sound of the dogs yapping inside lifted his spirits, but only just. What if they were all right but Poppy wasn’t? ‘Poppy?’ He roared over the howling gale.
‘I’m up here.’
Rafe looked up and shone the torch at the pale oval of Poppy’s face next to the gaping hole in the roof. Relief flooded him so quickly he couldn’t get his feet to move at first. He felt like his legs were glued to the porch. ‘I’m coming up,’ he called out. ‘Keep away from the beams. Don’t touch any power outlets or wires.’
He picked up a rock, smashed the glass panel beside the front door and reached inside to unlock the lock. He went upstairs, carefully checking for live wires or debris, but it seemed the branch had cut cleanly through the old roof and done little else but let the elements in.
The three little dogs—even Pickles, the unfriendly one—came rushing up to him, whining in agitation and terror. He quickly ushered them out of harm’s way into the bedroom on the other side of the house. ‘Later, guys,’ he said and closed the door before he headed to Poppy’s bedroom.
Poppy was pinned against the wall near the window by the beam that had almost sliced her bed in half. Rafe’s stomach pitched when he thought of how close she had come to being killed. She looked so tiny and frightened, her face chalk-white, her eyes as big as saucers.
‘Are you all right?’ His voice was hoarse from shouting.
‘I—I’m fine...I think.’
‘Don’t move until I check it’s safe,’ he said, shining the torch around.
‘I’m scared.’
‘I know you are, ma petite,’ he said. ‘I’ll get you out.’
‘Are the dogs OK?’
‘They’re fine,’ he said. ‘I locked them in the other bedroom.’
Once he’d established it was safe, he climbed over the fallen beam and grasped Poppy’s ice-cold hands. He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her as she shuddered in reaction. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘You’re safe now.’
‘I got up to close the window. If I hadn’t, I would’ve been right where that beam is...’
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Rafe said, stroking her back with soothing movements, trying to ignore the way his body was responding to her. ‘I called the emergency services on my way down. They should be here any minute.’
The sound of a fire engine and an ambulance approaching could only just be heard over the howl of the wind. Rafe stayed with Poppy until the fire crew came up and led them to safety, along with the dogs, who were now safely on their leads so they couldn’t bolt at the sound of thunder.
Once they were outside, Rafe draped his weatherproof coat around Poppy’s shoulders. She was shivering uncontrollably but he had a feeling it was shock rather than cold.