One half of it backed on to the staircase that led upstairs, and he listened intently for the sound of Gabrielle stirring. As soon as he heard the creak of a tread, he heated up the coffee he’d prepared for her, flung open the door and picked up the breakfast tray he’d set out with bread, a sliver of real butter, jam, coffee jug and cup and saucer. She was just walking back into the kitchen from the outside ty bach. A light sprinkling of raindrops glistening on her long, red woollen dressing gown and fair hair, plaited loosely into a rope that fell almost to her waist. She looked tired, sleepy and to his eyes – very beautiful. ‘Good morning, Gabrielle,’ he murmured, not at all sure of the reception she’d give him after the arguments of the previous night. ‘Good morning, Tony.’ Her reply was terse. Any frostier and he’d have turned to ice. ‘Here you go, miss, hot water.’ The cook handed her a china jug full of hot water.
