Читать книгу Hired: Mistress: Wanted: Mistress and Mother / His Private Mistress / The Millionaire's Secret Mistress - Шантель Шоу, Carol Marinelli - Страница 11

WHAT she had been expecting, Matilda wasn’t sure—an austere, formal residence, surrounded by an overgrown wilderness, or a barren landscape perhaps—but with directions on the passenger seat beside her she’d found the exclusive street fairly easily and had caught her breath as she’d turned into it, The heavenly view of Port Phillip Bay stretched out for ever before her. Chewing on her lip as she drove, the sight of the opulent, vast houses of the truly rich forced her to slow down as she marvelled at the architecture and stunning gardens, tempted to whip out her faithful notepad and jot down some notes and deciding that soon she would do just that. The thought of long evenings with nothing to do but avoid Dante was made suddenly easier. She could walk along the beach with her pad, even wander down to one of the many cafés she had passed as she’d driven through the village—there was no need to be alone with him, no need at all.

Unless she wanted to be.

Pulling into the kerb, Matilda raked a hand through her hair, tempted, even at the eleventh hour, to execute a hasty U-turn and head for the safety of home. Since she’d awoken on Saturday after a restless sleep, she’d been in a state of high anxiety, especially when she’d opened the newspaper and read with renewed interest about the sensational trial that was about to hit the Melbourne courts and realising that it wasn’t just her that was captivated by Dante Costello. Apart from the salacious details of the upcoming trial, a whole article had been devoted solely to Dante, and the theatre that this apparently brilliant man created, from his scathing tongue and maverick ways in the courtroom to the chameleon existence he’d had since the premature death of his beloved wife, his abrupt departure from the social scene, his almost reclusive existence, occasionally fractured by the transient presence of a beautiful woman—anodynes, Matilda had guessed, that offered a temporary relief. And though it had hurt like hell to read it, Matilda had devoured it, gleaning little, understanding less. The face that had stared back at her from the newspaper pages had been as distant and as unapproachable as the man she had first met and nothing, nothing like the Dante who had held her in his arms, who had kissed her to within an inch of her life, who had so easily awoken the woman within—the real Dante she was sure she’d glimpsed.

Matilda had known that the sensible thing to do would be to ring Hugh and tell him she couldn’t do the work after all—that something else had come up. Hell, she had even dialled his number a few times, but at the last minute had always hung up, torn between want and loathing, outrage and desire, telling herself that it wouldn’t be fair to let Hugh down, and sometimes almost managing to believe it. As honourable as it sounded, loyalty to Hugh had nothing to do with her being there today. Dante totally captivated her—since the second she’d laid eyes on him he was all she thought about.

All she thought about, replaying their conversations over and over, jolting each and every time she recalled some of his sharper statements, wondering how the hell he managed to get away with it, how she hadn’t slapped his arrogant cheek. And yet somehow there had been a softer side and it was that that intrigued her. Despite his brutality she’d glimpsed something else—tiny flickers of beauty, like flowers in a desert—his dry humour, the stunning effect of his occasional smile on her, the undeniable tenderness reserved exclusively for his daughter. And, yes, Matilda acknowledged that the raw, simmering passion that had been in his kiss had left her hungry for more,

‘Careful.’ Matilda said the word out loud, repeated it over and over in her mind as she slipped the car into first gear and slowly pulled out into the street, driving a couple of kilometres further with her heart in her mouth as she braced herself to face him again, her hand shaking slightly as she turned into his driveway and pressed the intercom, watching unblinking as huge metal gates slid open and she glimpsed for the first time Dante’s stunning home.

The drive was as uncompromising and as rigid as its owner, lined with cypress trees drawing the eye along its vast, straight length to the huge, Mediterranean-looking residence—vast white rendered walls that made the sky look bluer somehow, massive floor-to-ceiling windows that would drench the home in light and let in every inch of the stunning view. She inched her way along, momentarily forgetting her nerves, instead absorbing the beauty. The harsh lines of the house were softened at the entrance by climbers—wisteria, acres of it, ambled across the front of the property, heavy lilac flowers hanging like bunches of grapes, intermingled with jasmine, its creamy white petals like dotted stars, the more delicate foliage competing with the harsh wooden branches of the wisteria. The effect, quite simply, was divine.

‘Welcome!’ Hugh pulled open the car door for her and Matilda stepped out onto the white paved driveway, pathetically grateful to see him—not quite ready to face Dante alone. ‘Matilda, this is my wife Katrina.’ He introduced a tall, elegant woman who stepped forward and shook her hand, her greeting the antithesis of Hugh’s warm one. Cool blue eyes blatantly stared Matilda up and down, taking in the pale blue cotton shift dress and casual sandals she was wearing and clearly not liking what she saw. ‘You’re nothing like I was expecting. I expected…’ she gave a shrill laugh…‘I don’t know. You don’t look like a gardener!’

‘She’s a designer, Katrina,’ Hugh said with a slight edge.

‘I’m very hands-on, though,’ Matilda said. ‘I like to see the work through from beginning to end.’

‘Marvellous,’ Katrina smiled, but somehow her face remained cold. ‘Come—let me introduce you to Dante…’

Matilda was about to say that she’d already met him, but decided against it, as clearly both Hugh and Dante had omitted to mention the dinner to Katrina. She wasn’t sure what to make of Katrina. She was stunning-looking, her posture was straight, her long hair, though dashed with grey, was still an amazing shade of strawberry blonde, and though she had to be around fifty, there was barely a line on her smooth face. But there was a frostiness about her that unsettled Matilda.

The interior of the house was just as impressive as the exterior. Hugh held open the front door then headed off to Matilda’s car to retrieve her bags and the two women stepped inside and walked along the jarrahfloored hallways, Matilda’s sandals echoing on the solid wood as she took in the soft white sofas and dark wooden furnishings, huge mirrors opening up the already vast space, reflecting the ocean at every turn so that wherever you looked the waves seemed to beckon. Or Jasmine smiled down at you! An inordinate number of photos of Dante’s late wife adorned the walls, her gorgeous face captured from every angle, and Matilda felt a quiet discomfort as she gazed around, her cheeks flaming as she recalled the stinging kiss of Dante.

‘My daughter.’ Katrina’s eyes followed Matilda’s and they paused for a moment as they admired her tragic beauty. ‘I had this photo blown up and framed just last week—it’s good for Alex to be able to see her and I know it gives Dante a lot of comfort.’

‘It must…’ Matilda stumbled. ‘She really was very beautiful.’

‘And clever,’ Katrina added. ‘She had it all, brains and beauty. She was amazing, a wonderful mother and wife. None of us will ever get over her loss.’

‘I can’t even begin to imagine…’ Despite the cool breeze from the air-conditioner, despite the high ceilings and vastness of the place, Matilda felt incredibly hot and uncomfortable. Despite her earlier misgivings, she was very keen to meet Dante now—even his savage personality was preferable to the discomfort she felt with Katrina.

‘Dante especially,’ Katrina continued, and Matilda was positive, despite her soft words and pensive smile, that there was a warning note to her voice, an icy message emanating from her cool blue eyes. ‘I’ve never seen a man so broken with grief. He just adored her, adored her,’ Katrina reiterated. ‘Do you know, the day she died he sent flowers to her office. It was a Saturday but she had to pop into work and get some files. She took Alex with her—that was the sort of woman she was. Anyway, Dante must have rung every florist in Melbourne. He wanted to send her some jasmine, her namesake, but it was winter, of course, so it was impossible to find, but Dante being Dante he managed to organise it—he’d have moved heaven and earth for her.’

It was actually a relief to get into the kitchen. After Katrina’s onslaught it was actually a relief to confront the man she’d been so nervous of meeting again. But as she stepped inside it was as if she was seeing him for the very first time. The man she remembered bore little witness to the one she saw now. Everything about him seemed less formal. Of course, she hadn’t expected him to greet her in a suit—it was Sunday after all—but somehow she’d never envisaged him in jeans and a T-shirt, or, if she had, it would have been in dark, starched denim and a crisp white designer label T-shirt, not the faded, scruffy jeans that encased him, not the untucked, unironed white T-shirt that he was wearing. And she certainly hadn’t pictured him at a massive wooden table, kneading bread, with his daughter, Alex’s eyes staring ahead as she rhythmically worked the dough.

‘Dante, Alexandra,’ Katrina called. ‘Matilda has arrived.’

Only one pair of eyes looked up. Alexandra carried on kneading the dough and any thought of witnessing Dante’s softer side was instantly quashed as his black eyes briefly met hers.

‘Good afternoon.’

His greeting was also his dismissal.

His attention turning immediately back to his daughter, picking up a large shaker and sprinkling the dough with more flour as the little girl worked on.

‘Good afternoon.’ Matilda forced a smile to no one in particular. ‘You’re making bread…’

‘No.’ Dante stood up, dusted his floured hands on his jeans ‘We are kneading dough and playing with flour.’

‘Oh!’

‘We’ve been kneading dough and playing with flour since lunchtime, actually!’

Another ‘oh’ was on the tip of her tongue, but Matilda held it back, grateful when Katrina took over this most awkward of conversations.

‘It’s one of Alex’s pastimes,’ Katrina explained as Hugh came back in. ‘She was upset after lunch—you know what children can be like.’ Dante gave a tight smile as Katrina dismissed the slightly weary note to his voice. Something told Matilda that whatever had eventuated had been rather more than the usual childhood tantrum. ‘Hugh, why don’t you go and take Matilda around the garden?’ Katrina said. ‘It seems a shame to break things up when Dante and Alex are having such fun.’

‘Hugh’s supposed to be resting,’ Dante pointed out. ‘I’ll take Matilda around.’

‘Fine,’ Katrina said, though clearly it was anything but! ‘Then I’ll go and check that everything’s in order in the summerhouse for Matilda.’

‘The summerhouse?’ Dante frowned. ‘I had the guest room made up for her. Janet prepared it this morning.’

‘Well, it won’t kill Janet to prepare the summerhouse! She’s the housekeeper,’ Katrina explained to a completely bemused Matilda. ‘I can help her set it up. It will be far nicer for Matilda. She can have some privacy and it might unsettle Alex, having a stranger in the house—no offence meant, Matilda.’

‘None taken.’ Matilda thought her face might crack with the effort of smiling. ‘It really doesn’t matter a scrap where I stay. I’m going to be working long hours, I just need somewhere to sleep and eat…’

‘There’s a lovely little kitchenette in the summerhouse. I’ll have some bacon and eggs and bread put in, that type of thing—you’ll be very comfortable.’

‘It’s your fault.’ Dante broke the appalling silence as they stepped outside.

‘What is?’ Matilda blinked.

‘That you’ve been banished.’ He gave her a glimmer of a dry smile. ‘You’re too good-looking for Katrina.’

‘Oh!’A tiny nervous giggle escaped her lips, embarrassed by what he had said but relieved all the same that he had acknowledged the problem. ‘I don’t think she likes me very much.’

‘She’d have been hoping for a ruddy-faced, gumchewing, crop-haired gardener. I have the ugliest staff in the world—all hand-picked by Katrina.’ Startled by his coarseness, Matilda actually laughed as they walked, amazed to find herself relaxing a touch in his presence.

‘Yesterday’s newspapers can’t have helped matters much,’ she ventured, referring to the string of women he’d dated since his wife’s death, but Dante just shrugged.

‘Ships that pass in the night even Katrina can live with.’

The callousness of his words had Matilda literally stopping in her tracks for a moment, waiting for him to soften it with a smile, to tell her he was joking, but Dante strode on, forcing Matilda to catch him up, and try to continue the conversation. ‘Do your in-laws live here with you?’

‘God, no.’ Dante shuddered. ‘They live a few kilometres away. But we’re interviewing for a new nanny at the moment—preferably one over sixty with a wooden leg if Katrina has her way. That’s why she’s around so much. Like it or not at the moment I do need her help with Alex, but if I decide to stay here in Australia…’ He stopped talking then, just simply stopped in mid-sentence with no apology or explanation, clearly deciding he had said enough. Silence descended again as they walked on the manicured lawn past a massive pool, surrounded by a clear Perspex wall. Matilda gazed at the pool longingly.

‘Use it any time,’ Dante offered.

‘Thanks,’ Matilda replied, knowing full well she wouldn’t. The thought of undressing, of wearing nothing more than a bikini around Dante not exactly soothing.

‘This is the garden,’ Dante said as they came to a gate. ‘It’s in a real mess, very neglected, overgrown with blackberries and bracken, I’ve been meaning to get it cleared, but my gardener is getting old. It takes all his time just to keep up with the regular work, let alone this. Oh, and one other thing…’ His hand paused on the gate. ‘The bill is to come to me.’

‘Hugh employed me,’ Matilda pointed out.

‘Hugh does not need to pay for my renovations—you will send the bill to me, Matilda.’

But she didn’t want to send the bill to him—and it had nothing to do with money. Financially it made not a scrap of difference to Matilda who picked up the bill. Instead, it was the disturbing thought of being answerable somehow to Dante, of him employing her, that made Matilda strangely nervous.

‘Do you need an advance?’

‘An advance?’ Instantly, she regretted her words. Her mind had been utterly elsewhere and now she sounded stupid.

‘An advance of money,’ Dante not too patiently explained. ‘To pay the subcontractors. I don’t know what arrangement you had with Hugh—’

‘Have with Hugh,’ Matilda corrected, watching as Dante’s face darkened. Clearly he was not used to being defied, but even though an advance would be wonderful now, even though she had a hundred and one people that would need to be paid, and very soon, she damn well wasn’t going to give in to him, absolutely refused to let him dictate his terms to her. ‘My business is with Hugh. If you want to settle up with him, that’s your choice.’

Surprisingly he didn’t argue, but as he pushed open the gate she could tell he was far from pleased, but, refusing to back down, refusing to even look at him, she stepped into the garden and as she did all thoughts of money and who was the boss faded in an instant. Despite Dante’s gloomy predictions, all she could see was beauty—the sleeping princess that lay beneath the overgrown bracken and thorns.

Dante’s manicured gardens were wonderful, but, for Matilda, nothing could beat the raw natural beauty of a neglected garden, a blank canvas for her to work on. It was about the size of a suburban block of land, the centrepiece a massive willow, more than a hundred years in the making, one lifetime simply not enough to produce its full majesty. But that was part of the beauty of her work. A new garden was a mere a sketch on the canvas—the colour, the depth was added over the years, seeds sown that would flourish later, shrubs, trees that would develop, blossom and grow long, long after the cheque had been paid and her tools cleared away.

‘Vistas.’ It was the first thing that came to mind and she said it out loud, registering his frown. ‘Lots of walkways all coming from the willow, lined with hedges and each one leading to a different view, a special area for Alex…’

‘You can do something with it?’

She didn’t answer, just gave a distracted nod as she pictured the bosky paths, a water feature at the end of one, a sand pit at the end of the other, and…

‘A castle,’ Matilda breathed. ‘An enchanted castle, like a fairy-tale. I know someone who makes the most beautiful cubby houses…’ Her voice trailed off as she stared down at the ground, her sandals scuffing the earth. ‘We’ll use turf for now, but I’ll plant lots of different things so that each path will be different—clover for one, daisies for another, buttercups…’

‘Will you be able to do it in the time-frame?’

Matilda nodded. ‘Less perhaps. I’ll know more tomorrow once it’s cleared. I’ve got some people coming at six. There’ll be a lot of noise, but only tomorrow…’

‘That’s fine. Katrina has already said she will take Alex out or to her place during the day. You’ll have the place to yourself…’ He paused and Matilda wondered if he was going to raise the money issue again, but instead it was a rather more difficult subject he brought up. ‘I’m sorry she made you feel uncomfortable.’

‘She didn’t,’ Matilda attempted, then gave in as he raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘OK, she did make me feel a bit uncomfortable, but it’s fine.’

‘I’ll take you and show you the summerhouse. But you don’t have to cook for yourself, you’re very welcome to come over for—’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Matilda interrupted. ‘In fact, it’s probably better that I stay there…’ Blowing her fringe skyward, Matilda attempted the impossible but, ever direct, Dante beat her to it.

‘After what happened on Friday?’ He checked and despite a deep blush Matilda gave a wry smile.

‘I don’t think Katrina would approve somehow if she knew. She doesn’t even know that we had dinner, let alone…’

‘It’s none of Katrina’s business,’ Dante pointed out, but Matilda shook her head.

‘Oh, but she thinks it is.’

‘Matilda.’ His black eyes were boring into her, and she could only admire his boldness that he could actually look at her, unlike she, herself, who gave in after once glance, choosing instead to stare at her toes as he spoke. ‘I will tell you what I told Katrina. I have no interest in a relationship—any relationship. For now I grieve for what I have lost: a wife and the happiness of my daughter.’ Still she looked down, swallowing down the questions that were on the tip of her tongue. But either he could read her mind or he had used this speech many times before, because he answered each and every one of them with painful, brutal honesty, his silken, thick accent doing nothing to sweeten the bitterness of the message.

‘I like women—I like beautiful women,’ he drawled, wrapping the knife that stabbed her in velvet as he plunged it in. ‘And as you would have seen in the paper yesterday, sometimes I keep their company, but there is always concurrence, always there is an understanding that it can go nowhere. If I misled you on Friday, I apologise.’

‘You didn’t mislead me.’ Matilda croaked the words out then instantly regretted them. In that split second she understood what Dante was offering her, what this emotionally abstinent man was telling her—that she could have him for a short while, could share his bed, but not his heart. And all Matilda knew was that she couldn’t do it, couldn’t share his bed knowing she must walk away, that deadening his pain would only exacerbate hers. His hand reached out towards her, his fingers cupping her chin, lifting her face to his. Yet she still refused to look at him, knew that if her eyes met his then she’d be lost.

‘You didn’t mislead me, Dante, because it was just a kiss.’ Somehow she kept her voice even; somehow she managed to keep her cheeks from flaming as she lied through her teeth. ‘A kiss to end the evening. I certainly had no intention of taking things further, either then or now.’ She knew she hadn’t convinced him and from the slight narrowing of his eyes knew that he didn’t believe her. Taking a breath, she elaborated, determined to set the tone, and the boundaries in order to survive the next couple of weeks. She didn’t want to be one of Dante’s ships that passed in the night. ‘Since Edward and I broke up, I’ve been on a few dates, had a few kisses, but…’ Matilda gave a nervous shrug. ‘You know the saying: you have to kiss a lot of frogs…’ From his slightly startled look clearly he didn’t know it. ‘One kiss was enough for me, Dante.’

‘I see.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘I think.’

‘It won’t be happening again,’ Matilda affirmed, hoping that if she said it enough she might even believe it herself.

‘I just wanted to clear things up.’

‘Good.’ Matilda forced a bright smile, relieved this torture was almost over. ‘I’m glad that you did.’

‘And I’m sorry that you did not enjoy the kiss.’ His words wiped the smile from her face, his eyes boring into her. She couldn’t be sure, but Matilda was positive he was teasing her, that he knew she was lying and, of course, she was. It had been the most breathtaking kiss of her life, her whole body was burning now just at the mere memory, but it was imperative Dante didn’t know. He’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in anything more than the most casual of casual flings, and that was the last thing she needed now—especially with a man like Dante. There was nothing casual about him, nothing casual about the feelings he evoked, and if she played with this particular fire, Matilda knew she’d end up seriously burnt. ‘Because I thought that—’

‘Could you show me where I’m staying, please?’ Matilda snapped, following Dante’s lead and refusing to be drawn somewhere she didn’t want to go. She turned abruptly to go, but in her haste to escape she forgot about the blackberries. Her leg caught on a branch, the thorn ripping into her bare calf, a yelp of pain escaping her lips.

‘Careful.’ Dante’s reflexes were like lightning. He pulled back the branch and held her elbow as Matilda stepped back and instinctively inspected the damage, tears of pain and embarrassment filling her eyes at the vivid red gash.

‘I’m fine,’ she breathed.

‘You’re bleeding.’

‘It’s just a scratch. If you can just show me where I’m staying…’ she said. She almost shouted it this time she so badly wanted out of there, wanted some privacy from his knowing eyes, but Dante was pulling out a neatly folded hanky and running it under the garden tap, before returning and dropping to his knees.

‘Please.’ Matilda was practically begging now, near to tears, not with pain but with embarrassment and want, the thought of him touching her exquisitely unbearable. But Dante wasn’t listening. One hand cupped her calf, the other pressed the cool silk into her stinging cut, and it was as soothing as it was disturbing—the ultimate pleasure-pain principle as his hands tended her, calming and arousing. Matilda bit so hard on her lip she thought she might draw blood there, too, her whole body tense, standing rigid as he pressed the handkerchief harder, her stomach a knot of nervous anticipation as she felt his breath against her thigh.

‘I’ll just press for a minute and stop the bleeding, then I’ll take you over to the summerhouse…’ Strange that his voice was completely normal, that his body was completely relaxed, while hers was spinning in wild orbit, stirred with naked lust, shameful, inappropriate thoughts filling her mind as he tended her. She couldn’t believe her own thought process as she stood there, gazing down. His fingers were pushed into her calf as the cool silk pressed on her warm skin, his breath on her leg as he spoke. And how she wanted to feel that delicious mouth again, but on her thigh this time, almost willing with her eyes for his fingers to creep higher, to quell the pulse that was leaping between her legs, to calm the heat with his cool, cool hand. ‘I think there’s a first-aid box…’

‘I’ll be OK.’ She shivered the words out.

‘Of course you will, it’s just a cut, but…’ His voice faded as he looked up at her, his eyes fixing on hers. And she stared back, trapped like a deer in the headlights, knowing he could feel it now, could see her treacherous arousal, could smell her excitement, knew that she had lied when she had said she didn’t want him.

The silence fizzed between them as he continued to stare, and for that moment the choice was entirely his—reason, logic, had gone the second he’d touched her. If Dante pulled her down now, they both knew that she wouldn’t even attempt to resist…

‘Matilda…’ His voice was thick with lust, his eyes blatantly desiring her. Thank God he spoke, thank God he broke the spell, gave her that tiny moment to stab at self-preservation and pull back her leg. Her face flaming she turned around, denied absolutely what was taking place, turning and heading for the gate, practically wrenching it open, just desperate for some space, some distance, a chance to think before her body betrayed her again.

There for the taking.

Those were the words he’d taunted her with on Friday night and those were the words that taunted her now as he led her over to the summerhouse and briefly showed her around.

As the door closed on Dante, not even looking at her surroundings, Matilda sank onto the bed and buried her face in her hands, cringing with shame, as sure as she could be that Dante had witnessed her arousal, had sensed her desire.

What was wrong with her? She wasn’t even, according to Edward, supposed to like sex, yet here she was acting like some hormone-laden teenage girl with a king-sized crush, contemplating an affair with a man who wanted nothing more than her body.

And how she was contemplating! Despite her attempts at indifference, despite her brave words before, she wanted him. But unlike Dante, it wasn’t just bed she wanted but the prelude to it and the postscript afterwards, the parts of him he wasn’t prepared to give.

For the first time she took in her surroundings. The summerhouse was certainly comfortable—in fact, it was gorgeous. A cedar attic-shaped building, tucked away at the rear of the property, no doubt it had once been a rather impressive shed, but it had been lovingly refurbished, the attention to detail quite amazing. A small kitchenette as you entered, and to the left a small en suite with a shower, the rest of the floor space taken up by a large bed and a television and CDs. Janet, the rather prim housekeeper, came over with her bags and filled up the fridge with produce, explaining that the previous owners had used it as a bed and breakfast, but since the Costellos had owned it, for the most part it had remained empty.

‘Mr Costello wanted to know if you’ll be joining him for dinner,’ Janet said, once she had stocked up the fridge with enough food to feed a small army. ‘It’s served at seven-thirty once young Alex is in bed, except for Tuesdays and Thursdays. I have my bible class on those nights…’

‘No,’ Matilda quickly answered, then softened her rather snappy response with a smile. ‘I mean, tell him, no, thank you,’ she added.

‘I’ll bring your dinner over to you,’ Janet offered, but Matilda stood firm.

‘There’s really no need. I’ll just have a sandwich or something, or go out to one of the cafés.’

‘As you wish.’ Janet shrugged as she headed out the door. ‘But if you need anything, just ring through.’

Alone, Matilda changed into her working clothes—a pair of faded denim shorts that had seen better days and a flimsy T-shirt, topping the rather unflattering ensemble off with a pair of socks and her workboots. She poked her tongue out at her reflection in the mirror—at least Katrina would be pleased! Grateful for the diversion of the garden to take her mind off Dante, she turned on her mobile, winced at the rather full message bank, then promptly chose to ignore it, instead ringing the various people she would be needing, firming up a time with Declan to bring his bob-cat and confirming the large number of skips she had ordered to be delivered at Dante’s in the morning. Then she headed off to the garden armed with a notebook and tape measure, ready to turn her vision into the plans that would become a reality. She lost herself for hours, as she always did when a project engrossed her, only downing tools and heading for the summerhouse when the last fingers of light had faded, hot, thirsty and exhausted, ready for a long, cool drink, followed by a long cool shower…

But not a cold one!

Yelping in alarm, Matilda fiddled with the taps, but to no avail, realising with a sinking heart that no amount of wishful thinking was going to change things: the hot-water system really wasn’t working. Grabbing a towel, Matilda wrapped it around her and sat shivering on the bed, trying and failing to decide what on earth to do. If she had been here for a couple of weeks to type up notes or fix some accounts then somehow she’d have struggled through, but even if her business cards screamed the words ‘landscape designer,’ at the end of the day gardening was a dirty job—filthy at times. And a fortnight of black nails and grit in her hair wasn’t a prospect Matilda relished. Of course, the obvious thing to do would be to ring Janet and explain the situation but, then, there was nothing obvious about this situation—the absolute last place she wanted to be was crossing Dante’s manicured lawn clutching her toiletry bag! Eyeing the kettle, Matilda rolled her eyes, the irony of her situation hitting home as she filled the tiny sink and swished a bar of soap around to make bubbles—here she was in a multi-million dollar home, and washing like a pauper!