Chapter 18
Zoe sat down at the comfy cane setting on the jasmine-laden verandah, wondering where Bridget was and hoping she wouldn’t join them. Not a mug or teabag in sight. Quinn made a brew of black leaf tea in a pretty china pot and set out rose-patterned cups and saucers like her grandmother might do. Even a cuppa and cake was done with unhurried, old-style elegance at Swallowdale.
‘Ah, I forgot the cake.’ Quinn rose from his chair just as his phone rang.
‘Don’t worry.’ Zoe waved him back down. ‘I’ll get it.’
She wandered in through the glass-panelled double doors. On her way back from the kitchen, a framed photograph of a man caught her attention. It resembled one of those paintings where the subject’s eyes followed you around the room. She moved to the left and then to the right,
