He sat up, blinking into life, his expression haunted.
‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘Don’t do that. I could’ve killed you.’
‘You’re really scared, aren’t you? Of being found?’
‘So would you be,’ he muttered, picking up the paper bag and peering in. ‘What’s this?’
‘Coffee and a pain au chocolat.’
‘A panner-what?’
‘Try it. It’s delicious.’
He looked suspicious but bit into the pastry, dropping flakes all over the sleeping bag.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Been a while since I had anything fresh-baked, like.’
‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said, and he grimaced as he chewed, as if he expected only bad news could come from thought.
‘Don’t look like that,’ she said with a laugh. ‘No, what it is, is that I’ve got this house, in serious need of repair, and you’re knocking around here like a spare part, so …’
He swallowed. ‘You’re after a handyman?’
‘A bit more than that. This is as much a creative project as it is a practical one.’ She had a feeling she’d need to appeal to his artistic sensibility to get any honest work from him.
‘A whatsit then? Interior designer?’
‘Yes, that’s it. A designer. I mean, I have ideas, but I’d really value your input.’
‘You sound like the youth workers at the club,’ he said. ‘They were always valuing my contribution, trying to get me on community projects. Unpaid work, more like.’
‘It wouldn’t be unpaid,’ said Jenna. ‘I’ll feed you and give you free lodging. And I’ll put some capital behind your artistic career, if you’ll commit to this.’
‘You’ll what?’
‘I’m very excited by your work. I want to represent you.’
‘Well,’ he said dubiously, ‘I could do with some new brushes, like. And that paint’s almost done for. I can hardly pop down to Hobbycraft for more.’
‘How long have you been here?’
‘’Bout six weeks,’ he said, popping the lid off the coffee and taking a draught.
‘Six weeks, shut up in here? I’d go mad.’
‘Perhaps I have,’ he said, with a disconcerting little smile. ‘I’m your madman in the attic.’
‘Do you know Jane Eyre?’ asked Jenna, charmed by the reference.
‘No. Friend of yours?’
She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, and something made her think he was teasing her, making her feel hot, and a bit cross.
‘Six weeks ago was when I bought this place,’ she remarked. ‘Did you know it was up for sale?’
‘No. Thought it was going to be left to rot. I was hoping I could stay here and become the town ghost. Somebody would find my skeleton years later when they came to knock the place down, and perhaps a Harville might get done for my murder. That’d give my ghost a good laugh.’
‘They wouldn’t do that, would they? Knock it down, I mean. It’s listed.’