Straightening up, she scowled at the wall she was in the middle of washing. Was it her imagination, or had it doubled in size since she’d started? Patrick gazed down at her from his perch on a ladder. He’d nearly finished the top half of his third wall. Compared to her half a bottom, he’d set a cracking pace. ‘Tired, already?’ ‘I inherited the skirting board with all the dust,’ she protested, glancing at the bucket of filthy water. ‘You should have dusted if off before you started.’ Giving the wall a final swipe with his sponge he slid down the ladder and joined her. ‘If you’d done it properly in the first place you wouldn’t have to keep changing the water.’ ‘Now you tell me.’ ‘I would have thought it was common sense.’ Patrick threw a yellow duster at her, picked up her bucket and headed for the door. ‘I’ll get some clean water whilst you’re doing that. If I can finish this room today, we can sleep in it when your bedroom and the sitting room are being painted.’ He stopped and turned, grinning as he noticed her raised eyebrow.
