Page 14 of Be More Octopus

At least that last question was relevant.

Reading. That usually helped. She turned on the bedside lamp and picked up her book. Persuasion by Jane Austen. No, the trials and tribulations of Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth would not help Em sleep tonight. She looked through other books in her 'to be read' pile at the side of the bed. There was a crime novel she'd picked up in the charity shop in Dashford last week. A curmudgeonly detective solving a gruesome murder should be a suitable distraction as long as the murder weapon didn't turn out to be a vacuum cleaner.

Ten minutes later, she put the book down. She was six pages in, but she couldn't have told anyone anything about the scene she'd just read, even if her life depended on it. The words were drifting across the page and not going into her brain. She was still thinking about bloody Professor Jack Carver.

Em looked at the clock. 1.05 am. This was ridiculous. There were three sets of guests leaving today and three new families replacing them. Another full-on day, and it would be a lot easier to cope with if she had a good night's sleep.

Beep. She looked at her phone. An email from Lucy, with a 'Read this' subject line. Usually, Lucy only contacted Em this late if she was blind drunk, but she'd been stone-cold sober on their FaceTime call earlier. She hadn't sounded as if she was in the mood for drowning her sorrows. And she usually texted rather than emailed. It could be one of those spam messages that pretended to come from someone you knew.

But Em was curious. If it was spam, as long as she didn't click on any links or open any attachments, it should be fine. Em risked opening the email.

There was an attachment called Jack-Carver-Dossier.doc. That filename was far too relevant to be spam. She opened it. Five A4 pages of screenshots from newspaper articles, photos, and links to academic papers, plus Jack's LinkedIn profile and even some posts from his private Facebook page. How on earth had Lucy managed to get those? Judging by the detail, it had everything that was on the internet about the professor. Lucy must've spent the last four hours compiling it.

There was no way Em could ignore it until the morning. She settled back on her pillows and started to read.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Despite only getting four hours' sleep, Em had managed to wake up in time to politely wave off last week's guests, clean their properties and even welcome two of the families who had arrived early for this week. And all without injuring any of them. So far, so good. Just one more set of guests to deal with, and then she would be finished for the day.

The rain had blown over by lunchtime, and now Em was hurrying across the lawn with a basket of wet bedlinen, hoping to get it all dry in the warm sunshine that was bathing North Devon that afternoon.

Suddenly she felt herself lurching forward uncontrollably. She crashed into the ground with a thud. Shaking, she pushed herself onto her knees, looking at her muddy hands and then the wet sheets strewn across the lawn and the path. She must have caught her foot on that loose paving slab that Nancy had asked the gardener to sort out.

She tried to stand up, but the pain in her right ankle was excruciating. Shit! The final set of guests would be arriving soon, and she hadn't finished making their bed.

She sat back down on the grass. What had she learnt at first aid training? If the casualty could move their limb, there were no broken bones. She tentatively attempted to rotate her right foot. It was moving in the correct direction but it hurt. A sprain, then. Fingers crossed, it wasn't a bad one. Perhaps once she'd bandaged it, she could hobble over to the holiday cottage to finish prepping it. She remembered seeing an old walking stick in the boot room off the kitchen. She could use that to support herself. Yes, that would work.

But the first challenge was to get back indoors to get the first aid box. She looked at the steps up to the top terrace. Ten in total and no handrail to hold on to. No choice, then. Glad she was wearing her jeans, Em crawled to the steps and started her ascent on her hands and knees.

She was nearly at the top when a pair of highly polished brogues appeared in her line of sight. Her heart sank.

'Are you ok?' Jack knelt down. The concern in his voice made it sound even more appealing.

'Yes, thanks. I do this to atone for my sins.' Why did you say that?

Jack raised an eyebrow. 'Seems harsh. How many other people did you hit yesterday?'

His wry smile temporarily took her mind off the pain, if not the embarrassment of looking like a dork again.

'Where does it hurt?' he asked.

'Just here.' Em indicated the outside of her ankle. Much as she wished he wasn't here to witness her embarrassment, she was glad there was someone to help.

He walked down a couple of steps and gently helped Em to her feet. She couldn't avoid leaning into him, enjoying the smell of his aftershave and the touch of his hand on her waist. A warm glow spread around her body. Connor had never had such a strong effect on her. Get a grip, woman.

'Where are we aiming for?' Jack asked.

'That door there, please,' she said, expecting him to help her limp to the kitchen. But he surprised her by scooping her up and carrying her indoors.

Wow! Enjoy this while it lasts because you're not doing anything about it.

Fifteen minutes later, Em was sitting on a sofa in the drawing room with a neatly bandaged ankle resting on a cushion on one of Nancy's side tables. Jack had made a very able nurse, making her comfortable and finding a bag of frozen peas and some paracetamol to ease the pain. He'd even retrieved the sheets from the garden. But now, all she could think about was her job.

'Are you sure you don't want me to take you to hospital?' Jack looked concerned.

'Honestly, I'll be fine. The pain's easing already. I must finish getting Rose Cottage ready.' She tried to edge herself off the sofa, grabbing the walking stick that he'd thoughtfully put next to her.

'You need to rest.'