A Case For Trust by Gracie MacGregor Read Free Book Online Page A

tightly furled frond of a native tree fern in one; the striking blue berries of a ginger in another.
    â€˜Okay,’ she said slowly, ‘I might be able to tell you what some of these are, at least. But let’s go into the kitchen, into the light, so I can look more closely. They’re really hard to see on the phone.’
    There was that skittishness again. Pippa was surprised by Justin’s barely concealed agitation. He looked as if at any moment he might start jumping up and down like an overexcited child. It was the antithesis of his normal cool behaviour.
    â€˜I have prints. In the car. If you have time, that is …’ He trailed off uncertainly and Pippa almost laughed aloud at his hangdog expression.
    â€˜Sure. I’d love to see them. But Justin, I’m hot and covered in mud, and I’m starving. Bring your photos in, but if you want me to look at them, you’re going to have to rustle up something to eat while I have a quick shower. There are eggs in the fridge, and cheese. The toaster’s in the cupboard under the microwave and the pans are right next to it in the drawer. I’ll have an omelette and toast, thank you. See you in a bit.’
    Pippa did laugh out loud as she grabbed some fresh clothes and headed into the bathroom. From the startled look on his face, it was clearly an uncommon occurrence for Justin to be expected to sing—or cook—for his supper. But Pippa was tired, and had been looking forward to a quiet evening in front of the television. If Justin wanted her help, the least he could do was fix her some dinner.
    When she returned to the kitchen twenty minutes later there was a mess of cracked eggshells and spilt milk on the counter, but the delicious aroma of freshly-cooked eggs forced a ravenous growl from her stomach. Justin was looking frazzled—so many new expressions on his handsome face in one encounter, she mused—and his dark suit pants were smeared with butter on one hip where he’d clearly leaned across the plate of buttered toast.
    â€˜I can’t flip an omelette,’ he grumbled. ‘They’re scrambled.’
    â€˜They look and smell terrific,’ Pippa said soothingly as she carried two plates heaped with fluffy, steaming eggs to the dining table. Justin followed with the toast and their wine glasses. At one end of the table he had arranged dozens of prints, and as Pippa made to pick one up, he scowled.
    â€˜No buttery fingers on my photos, please. We’ll look at them after dinner.’
    Pippa hid a smile at his crotchety demeanour. Who’d have thought the über-cool Justin Mason would get so worked up over some happy snaps?
    â€˜Tell me what you’re working on,’ she said instead, and his confident barrister’s persona fell comfortably into place as he regaled her with the details of his afternoon’s triumph in court.
    As he spoke, Pippa watched his animated features and wondered again why she didn’t find him attractive. God knows, Justin Mason always had a queue of women lining up for his attentions. Pippa had seen the evidence every time she’d met him for coffee in town: the covert glances from women in neighbouring seats; the blatant overtures from waitstaff of both sexes. He didn’t leave her cold, exactly. Rather, Pippa felt fondness for Justin, had been gentle if firm in her rebuff of his first half-hearted pass at her all those months ago where she might otherwise have been outraged.
    His anxiety to return her attention to his photos, once they’d polished off the eggs and rinsed both plates and hands, was endearing, and Pippa teased him just a little as she poured him another wine before finally taking pity on him.
    â€˜Right-oh, then. Show me what you’ve got.’
    ***
    Pippa grimaced ruefully as the needles of dawn light pierced her bedroom shutters and urged her to get up. She rarely drank alcohol, kept it at home purely for entertaining, and