Читать книгу The Boss's Bride - Emma Richmond, Emma Richmond - Страница 8

THE Secret Garden, Claris thought humorously as she all but circumnavigated the red-brick wall before finding the rear entrance. Pushing open the gate, she stepped quietly inside. Enchanted, she halted to stare about her. Trees, shrubs, ancient statuary, and a flowering vine that scrambled unchecked over an old pergola. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the heady scent of honeysuckle. The sun was warm on her face, and for the first time in days she felt at peace. She hadn’t even known this part of the garden existed, but then, she thought wryly, the last few hectic days hadn’t given her much time for investigation.

Looking after Adam’s business interests was a difficult enough job. Adding a fourteen-month-old baby to the equation made it almost impossible. Before moving to Wentsham, she had wondered how hard would it be. Hard, was the answer. She had sort of assumed that a one-year-old would sit quietly and play with his toys—when he wasn’t asleep, that was. Not true. Nathan was active. So was Adam. Apart from helping out with the baby, he had expected her to set up his office in the house so that everything ran smoothly to beg, plead, sob, in order to get another phone line put in immediately, and then, hastily and exhaustingly, remove everything from the baby’s path. A one-baby demolition derby, that was what Nathan was. She must have run miles just chasing after him to prevent an accident. Not that she’d had to do it all herself. Adam was trying to be practical. He was also desperately worried about his friends, Nathan’s parents. Paul was still in a coma, Jenny in and out of consciousness but seemingly unaware of what had happened. Jenny’s parents, who had been in the car with them, weren’t on the critical list, but it would be weeks before they could be discharged. Which left only Adam, and herself, and his housekeeper to look after the baby.

Reluctant to move on, Claris spent another few moments just listening to the gentle buzzing of the bees in the honeysuckle, the call of a lone blackbird, and then began following the narrow, meandering path towards the small gate she could see ahead of her. Opening it, she stepped through into the garden proper. The manicured lawn, courtesy of an excellent gardener, looked almost emerald after the morning’s rain. A riotous profusion of flowers bordered each side, spilling lazily across the paths, and led the eye towards the old red-brick house before her. Grays Manor. Envy was as foreign to her nature as greed, but this house generated it in her. The first time she had seen it she had wanted it to be hers. Dream on.

With a wry smile she began walking along the path, past the French doors that stood slightly open, until she came to another wrought-iron gate. Pushing it open, she entered the paved courtyard. A vintage car stood before the old stable block. A pair of long legs protruded horizontally from the left-hand side—and the baby was crawling determinedly towards a cat that was lazily sunning itself beside a tub of geraniums.

‘Hello, pumpkin,’ she greeted softly, and the baby, presumably knowing he was about to be thwarted, increased his pace towards his goal. With a laugh in her eyes, she walked across to the car and gently touched her foot to one protruding leg. And no one would ever know, she thought pensively, how such a small action could set her heart beating into overdrive. With no hint of how she was feeling in her voice, she asked quietly, ‘Should that baby be crawling out here unattended?’

There was the thump of a head hitting the bottom of the car, a curse, and then the rapid emergence of the mechanic. Dark tousled hair, a filthy face, hands covered in black grease, one of which held a spanner. Dark eyes surveyed her with languid interest before he turned his head to watch the baby.

‘He’s investigating,’ Adam drawled. ‘He won’t come to any harm. Lydia’s watching him, and you’re late.’

‘Traffic was bad,’ she said mildly. Checking to see that the housekeeper really was watching him, she walked on. Some days were better than others. Some days she could get through all their working hours without actually wanting to touch him. And some days she couldn’t. With a determination she sometimes found quite frightening, she firmly dismissed the matter.

Reaching the side door of the house, which stood open, she walked quietly inside. A feeling of age enveloped her, of centuries past, and she breathed in the heady aroma of polish and musk and antiquity. A baby-gate was fixed incongruously across the bottom of the beautiful staircase.

‘I love this house,’ she murmured.

‘You can’t afford it,’ Adam said from behind her.

‘Yet,’ she said softly, and he laughed.

Turning, she watched him wiping his hands on an oily rag. She wasn’t quite sure which was doing the best job of transferring the grease. ‘I forgot to take the device to open the front gates,’ she informed him, ‘and so I had to leave my car in the lane and walk round the back.’

He grunted.

‘But if I hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t have found the secret garden. It’s beautiful.’

‘It’s a mess.’

She smiled again. ‘You have no soul.’ Her heels clipped on the tiled floor as she walked into the room on the left, and then she halted. Boxes littered the floor; files were stacked on the desk, the chair, and on one of the filing cabinets. Paper spewed from the fax machine and the computer was buried beneath the pink sheets of the Financial Times. Turning, she gave Adam a look of admonishment.

‘Neville sent down the rest of the papers I needed,’ he told her indolently as he leaned in the doorway. ‘I’ll clear them away later.’

‘Your accountant knows very well that the information is on disk,’ she countered mildly. ‘We don’t need paper.’

‘I do. What did they say?’

‘Two weeks.’

He waited, eyes amused.

She gave a slow smile. ‘You know me too well.’ In fact, he didn’t know her at all. There was a clunk from behind him, and they both turned to look. With a little tsk, Adam bent down to remove the radiator cap from the baby’s fist. ‘No,’ he said firmly.

Nathan beamed at him and crawled energetically towards Claris. Using her legs as an aid, little fingers pinching into the flesh, causing her to wince, he climbed to his feet and stared up at her. His scrutiny was as intense as hers. And then he laughed and tugged on her skirt. Dropping her large handbag, she bent to scoop him up and into her arms, and then gave a little grunt of pain as he dug his feet into her waist and proceeded to try and climb higher. All attempts at restraint failed.

‘You’re a pickle,’ she told him. ‘And don’t pull my hair.’

‘Dib, dib.’

She grinned, and he suddenly lunged forward, mouth open to reveal a row of tiny teeth. Quickly jerking backwards, she gently placed him back on the floor. ‘Piranha,’ she scolded.

‘How well do I know you?’ he prompted.

‘Well enough to know that your replacement printer will be here tomorrow.’

‘And if it wasn’t?’ he asked softly.

‘Then the order would be cancelled and we would go somewhere else.’ There was a slithering sound and she turned quickly to see the pile of files on the chair slowly topple.

Adam was faster, and scooped the baby out of the way of the avalanche just in time. She took Nathan from him before he could get grease all over the baby, and put him down the other side of the desk. Like a needle to a magnet, he headed straight for the bookcase.

‘And?’

‘And I would make very sure that their reputation suffered,’ she added as she headed in the same direction. ‘I’m a very good—negotiator.’ The bookcase wasn’t fixed to the wall, and she held it steady as the baby hauled himself upright and put one foot on the bottom shelf—from where the books had all been removed. Yesterday. In haste. ‘Did you really expect me to fail?’

‘No. You’re a very resourceful lady.’

‘Clever,’ she corrected with a grin. ‘The word is “clever”. No,’ she added softly.

Nathan looked at her, looked at the bookcase, thumped to his bottom and went to investigate the wastepaper basket instead.

‘We’ll have to—’ she began.

‘We?’

Pursing her lips, eyes alight with self-mockery, she corrected, ‘I will have to get someone to screw it to the wall. I called in at the hospital,’ she added quietly. ‘No change. I said you’d be in later.’

He nodded.

Her eyes on the baby, she said, ‘He’s adjusted very well, hasn’t he? It’s only when he wakes up…It breaks my heart,’ she added softly, ‘to see the look of expectancy on his face, as though this time it will be his mother, but then he smiles…He’s such a happy baby.’

‘I thought you didn’t like babies?’ he mocked softly.

‘I didn’t say I didn’t like them; I said I didn’t know anything about them. Has he had his lunch?’

He nodded again.

‘Then I’ll take him up for his nap.’ Scooping up the baby, she walked out. Hitching up her skirt, she climbed over the baby-gate and walked slowly upstairs. And, almost against her will, the feel of the warm, squirmy body in her arms woke something inside that she thought would never again entirely sleep. She’d never had very much to do with babies, and would have said, even as little as a week ago, that she wasn’t maternal. And yet this energetic little scrap was beginning to tug on her heartstrings as no one else ever had.

Gently stroking his hair, she walked into his bedroom and laid him in his cot. ‘Go to sleep,’ she ordered softly as she bent to give him a kiss. Putting a light blanket over him, she smiled into the big blue eyes staring up at her. He was beautiful, and appealing, and he made her want to smile. Even Adam wasn’t immune, though he tried to pretend he was.

Walking across to the window, she drew the curtains. Picking up the baby alarm, she went quietly out. Back in her own room, she changed out of her suit into a loose skirt and top, shoved her feet into flat, comfy sandals, clipped the alarm to her belt, and went down to the kitchen to beg a cup of coffee from Lydia.

The housekeeper wasn’t a great one for chatting, but then neither was Claris. Accepting her coffee with a smile, she walked back to the study. Adam still stood in the centre of the floor, wiping his hands, a look of distraction on his strong face. And the phone was ringing.

Picking up the receiver, she listened, nodded, then agreed quietly, ‘That will be fine.’ Replacing the phone, she scribbled a note in the diary and then glanced at her employer. He had moved to stare through the door into the side garden. ‘Mackenzie will come and see you about the land on Friday afternoon,’ she told him.

He gave an absent nod and began to walk out, no doubt to continue tinkering with his old car. The old car that was entered in the endurance rally to be held the following month. The rally he would now have to miss.

Seconds later he was back.

‘That woman’s out there,’ he informed her, almost accusingly.

Her lips twitched. ‘Which woman?’

‘Puce.’

‘Puce?’ she asked in bewilderment as he headed towards the hall, and then realised who he meant. ‘Oh.’

‘I’m going to have a shower.’

‘Adam,’ she warned.

Ignoring her, he continued out, and she heard his soft footsteps as he ascended the stairs.

Moments later Lydia appeared, to tell her that a Mrs Staple Smythe was here.

With yet another invitation? Claris wondered. Tempted to tell Lydia to get rid of her, she opened her mouth to do so, and then changed her mind. Perhaps she ought to see her, try and get things onto a warmer footing. Alienating neighbours was never a good plan. ‘Show her into the lounge, would you, Lydia?’ she asked resignedly.

‘Tea? Best china?’

‘I’m tempted to tell you to use chipped mugs, if we had any, which I don’t suppose we do…’

‘I’m sure I could manufacture some,’ Lydia proposed helpfully.

Laughing, Claris shook her head. ‘No, but use the smallest cups you can find. I feel I ought to see her, but I don’t want a prolonged visit.’ Upsetting Mrs Staple Smythe wouldn’t achieve anything, might even do untold harm, and this was why Adam paid her so well, after all: to deal with the minor, and sometimes major irritations in his life. Mrs Staple Smythe, she thought gloomily, was definitely one of the latter ones. But she had clout, Claris had discovered, and if Adam’s life was to run smoothly then the Mrs Staple Smythes of this world couldn’t be entirely ignored. Unfortunately.

Walking across the hall, she observed the other woman unseen for a moment. She looked as though she were mentally pricing every ornament and picture. The puce of last evening had been replaced by yellow. Pearl studs graced her ears, a pearl choker her neck. Rather overdressed for an afternoon visit.

Claris cleared her throat and walked into the room. ‘Mrs Staple Smythe,’ she greeted politely. ‘How nice of you to call. Won’t you sit down? The housekeeper will bring us some tea.’

‘Thank you.’

When she was seated, Claris took the chair opposite.

‘I thought I saw Mr Turmaine…?’ Allowing the question to hang in the air, Mrs Staple Smythe waited.

‘He’s unavailable, I’m afraid. What can I do for you?’

‘I don’t imagine you can do anything for me, Miss Newman,’ she said with a sweetness that grated. ‘It was merely a social call.’

‘I see.’ And reproof that they hadn’t sent a little note to thank her for her party? Deciding that offence was better than defence, Claris added, ‘I was just about to pen you a thank-you note. As you can no doubt imagine, having only just moved in, everything has been at sixes and sevens, but there’s really no excuse for my tardiness.’

‘ Your tardiness?’ asked Mrs Staple Smythe pointedly, and then gave a silly little laugh. ‘I get so confused with all these modern arrangements, people living together. “Partners” they call them now, don’t they?’

‘Do they?’ Claris asked unhelpfully.

Not one whit discomfited, and clearly determined to find out all she could, Mrs Staple Smythe continued, ‘Small towns are such a hotbed of gossip. You were seen arriving with the baby, and naturally everyone was—interested.’

‘Naturally,’ Claris agreed.

Glancing at the baby alarm still clipped to Claris’s belt, she asked. ‘He’s yours?’

‘His name’s Nathan,’ Claris answered naughtily, as though she’d misunderstood the question, ‘and here comes Lydia with our tea.’

Smiling at the housekeeper, who could make a clam appear voluble, Claris asked her to put the tray on the small table. Lydia nodded and retreated.

‘She isn’t local,’ Mrs Staple Smythe commented.

‘No. Do you take milk and sugar?’

‘Milk, no sugar. You come from London, do you?’

‘Yes. How long have you lived here?’

‘Oh, for ever,’ she laughed.

‘One of the leading lights?’ Claris asked pleasantly.

‘On the committee, of course. To deal with local matters. It is, of course, traditional for the owner of the Manor to show an interest in local affairs. Naturally, with Mr Turmaine living away, it would have been a little difficult for him to participate. But now that he’s back…’

He’d be expected to, what? Sit on committees? Oh, boy. Wondering how to delicately phrase a warning that Adam was unlikely to do any such thing, Claris slowly poured the tea and handed it over. ‘Does his aunt—participate?’

She looked astonished. ‘Of course not. She lives in Rye,’ she said, as though that adequately answered the question. Seeing Claris’s puzzlement, she elaborated shortly, ‘Wentsham is a separate entity. We have our own way of doing things. Only residents have any say in anything.’

And woe betide anyone who didn’t do as they were told?

‘I would really have preferred to explain all this to Mr Turmaine.’

‘He’s a very busy man,’ Claris managed diplomatically.

‘Perhaps if you could just tell him I’m here?’ she prompted.

‘It wouldn’t do any good, I’m afraid. He left strict instructions not to be disturbed.’

With a sigh that sounded both disbelieving and cross, Mrs Staple Smythe opened her bag, removed a folded piece of paper and handed it across. ‘Perhaps you would make sure he gets it. It’s our summer schedule.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Harriet wasn’t quite sure who you were,’ she continued busily. ‘What role you might play in her nephew’s life.’

‘Wasn’t she?’

Thwarted, Mrs Staple Smythe ground her teeth. ‘No,’ she agreed. ‘I’m not trying to be nosy…’

Yes, you are, Claris thought.

‘…but it’s a little difficult to know how to deal with you.’ She smiled, as if to take the sting out of her words. ‘You’re his social secretary, perhaps? Act as his hostess?’ The questions were asked with an air of disbelief, as though no one of Mrs Staple Smythe’s standing could possibly understand a man of Adam’s breeding associating with a—nobody. ‘I don’t believe I know of any Newmans. Your family home is where?’

Tempted to laugh outright at the feudality of it all, Claris bit her lip. ‘My family home is in Leicester. And if you’re about to ask me what my father did, or if my parents were married, please don’t,’ she added pleasantly. ‘Don’t let your tea get cold.’

‘No.’ Raising her cup, Mrs Staple Smythe slowly sipped—and tried again. ‘We were all so excited when we heard Mr Turmaine was coming to take up residence amongst us. Such a shame to leave a beautiful old house like this in the hands of caretakers. Mr Turmaine was born here, I believe?’

‘Yes,’ Claris agreed, and knew very well that Mrs Staple Smythe had probably researched the whole family back to William the Conqueror. ‘Did you know his father?’

‘No,’ she denied with obvious regret. ‘And although you obviously think my concerns about who lives in the village very silly, if we don’t find out what people do, what sort of background they have, there is a very real danger that the community will degenerate.’

‘I understand perfectly, and I promise that I will try not to be the cause of any—degeneration. And now, I’m afraid, I really am very busy.’ Standing, she waited for Mrs Staple Smythe to do the same. ‘I’ll make sure Mr Turmaine gets the schedule, but I’m afraid I can’t promise that he will do anything about it. As I said earlier, his free time is rather limited. I’ll see you out, shall I?’

With quite obvious reluctance, she followed Claris into the hall. ‘It’s a beautiful house,’ she commented stiffly.

‘Yes.’

‘Very old, of course.’

‘Yes. Thank you for calling, and for inviting us to meet everyone. Goodbye.’

With nowhere left to go but out, Mrs Staple Smythe rather ungraciously retreated. Claris thankfully closed the door on her.

‘Very masterful,’ Adam complimented from the top of the stairs.

Looking up, she gave him an unsmiling glance. ‘I’ve been taking leaves out of your book. She brought your schedule.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Your schedule.’ Opening the piece of paper she still held in her hand, she quickly glanced at it and then handed it across as he slowly descended the stairs. ‘Dates of the committee meetings I imagine you are expected to attend.’

He crumpled it.

‘I also imagine that Mrs Staple Smythe and her cronies will make life very difficult for you if you don’t—comply.’

‘Then you had best make sure they don’t. Hadn’t you?’ he asked softly. Climbing over the baby-gate, he strolled towards the study. ‘We have a meeting with a systems analyst Friday evening in Rye,’ he tossed over his shoulder. ‘I’ve booked a private room. His name’s Mark Davies, wife Sara. He needs marketing and investment for an apparently revolutionary new system he’s invented. It looks good on paper, but you know more about the technical side than I do. I left the file on your desk. Be ready at seven-thirty, will you? Did you ring Neville back?’

‘No, I’ll do it now.’

‘He has no idea why the disks you sent him don’t work,’ he explained.

‘Probably forgot to switch the computer on.’

He laughed. ‘It surely couldn’t be that simple.’

‘Oh, it could. You wouldn’t believe the idiocy of some people.’

‘He isn’t an idiot. Technology overtook him,’ he added with gentle reproof. ‘Megabytes to some people mean big teeth.’

With a wry smile, she agreed. ‘OK, I’ll be gentle with him.’

‘You’re always gentle.’

‘No,’ she denied softly. ‘I’m not. Mrs Staple Smythe wanted to know if I was your partner.’

‘What did you tell her?’

‘That the baby’s name was Nathan.’

He gave a delighted laugh. ‘And I thought you such a mouse when I first met you.’

‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ she murmured, in a parody of his own drawl.

‘I know,’ he agreed. ‘Oh, how I know. You must never leave me, Claris. Life would be incredibly flat without you.’

‘It might be incredibly difficult with me,’ she countered.

Giving her a sharp glance, his voice very soft, he asked, ‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning stupid women can sometimes be very dangerous. Mrs Staple Smythe is a snob of the worst kind. She expected you to have a suitable wife that she could manipulate.’

‘Instead of which, she found you.’

‘Yes. No background. She’d never heard of the Newmans,’ she added with slight dryness. ‘An unmarried mother…’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘She assumes the baby is mine,’ she explained. ‘Which might have been forgiven if I’d had any semblance of style, and had answered her pertinent questions.’

‘You want to tell her the truth?’

‘No,’ she denied. Not only because she knew how much Adam hated people to know his business, but because Mrs Staple Smythe had put her own back up, and she now didn’t want her to know. ‘But I’ll bet you anything you like to name that she will cause trouble. One way or another, I’m going to be punished.’

She didn’t know how right she was.

He didn’t say anything for a while, merely watched her, eyes slightly narrowed. ‘If you can’t deal with it…’

‘Did I say that?’ she queried as she walked across to her desk and switched on her computer.

‘No.’

‘But when your grass verges remain uncut, when your access is repeatedly blocked…’

‘I’m not sitting on any committees, Claris.’

‘No,’ she agreed. ‘But I begin to wonder if that isn’t why your father left the house empty all these years.’

‘What a pity you can’t ask him,’ he drawled. ‘Unless you can communicate with the dead. Can you?’

‘No.’

‘Then we’ll never know. Do you mind?’

‘Mind what? Not being able to communicate with the dead?’ she asked flippantly.

‘No,’ he denied patiently, ‘being thought my partner.’

‘No, why should I? Do you?’

‘No. I’ll be at the hospital if you need me.’ Pushing open the garden door, he walked out.

Eyes slightly unfocused, Claris stared after him for a moment. No help there. Had she expected it? No, she thought wryly. She was paid to solve his problems, big or small. She suspected this problem wasn’t going to be small. And it was all her own fault; she should have treated Mrs Staple Smythe with the deference she clearly expected. Maybe explained that Adam was paranoid about his privacy.

Partner? She gave a half-laugh. She doubted anyone would seriously think her his partner. Not that she wanted to be. The attraction she felt for him was entirely reluctant and very, very unwanted. A complication she didn’t need. Adam wouldn’t be attracted to someone like herself in a million years, and if he ever discovered how she felt…Dismissing it, suppressing it, she turned away. Funny how things turned out, though. At school all she had wanted out of life was to be a games mistress. She’d done her teacher training, but had then been unable to find a post. Several temporary jobs later, she had discovered a rather bewildering ability in herself to understand computer systems and the stock market. Figures, numbers, information technology, were as familiar to her now as her own face. A far cry from hockey sticks.

She had also discovered that she had an extraordinary talent to make money. One day she would be rich. Not as rich as Adam Turmaine, perhaps, but maybe not far behind. Tempting offers from top companies had come her way, all of which she had turned down. To work for Adam. She still didn’t know if she’d been wise. She’d convinced herself she could cope with the attraction she felt for him, and so far she had managed just that. But living in the house with him, being with him constantly, was straining her feelings to the limit.

With a little sigh, she picked up the phone and rang Neville at the London office.

‘You look nice,’ Adam commented.

She crossed her eyes at him.

‘You do,’ he insisted. ‘Purple is perhaps not totally your colour…’

‘It’s burgundy.’

‘Oh.’

She laughed. ‘I don’t have many eveningy things.’

‘Best get yourself some, then. Feeling better?’

She gave him a look of puzzlement.

‘You were angry earlier.’

‘Oh, not really angry,’ she confessed. ‘More cross with myself. I encountered Mrs Staple Smythe and one of her cronies in Rye this morning. She—annoyed me.’ She’d more than annoyed her; she’d deliberately parked across Claris’s car in the car park preventing her from leaving. She couldn’t prove it was deliberate, though, and she hadn’t known at first that it was Mrs Staple Smythe’s car.

‘I don’t want to be bothered with it, Claris.’

She gave a small smile. ‘You think I don’t know that? And give that here before you break it.’

He obediently extended his wrist for her to fit his cufflink. ‘What would I do without you?’

‘Find some other poor fool.’

‘Is that how you think of yourself?’ he asked quietly. He sounded abnormally serious.

‘No, and if you don’t hurry up we’ll be late.’

Pulling a face, he turned away to pick up his jacket and slip it on. ‘Did I tell you that Arabella was coming down?’ he asked casually.

‘No,’ she denied drily, and neither by look, nor deed did she let him see how jealousy curled unwanted in her insides. ‘When?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘I’ll take Nathan out for the day,’ she offered. ‘Is she staying the night?’

Amusement in his brown eyes, he shook his head. ‘Don’t know. Ready?’

‘As I’ll ever be. Who’s driving?’

‘You are.’ Handing her her car keys, he escorted her out. ‘How are you getting on with Lydia?’

‘Fine, we understand each other very well.’

‘Good.’

She knew that he meant it. Lydia had worked for him a long time. First in Wiltshire, where he’d lived after leaving university, and then London. He was very fond of his housekeeper, and if you didn’t get on with her, then that was your problem, not hers. Fortunately, Lydia hadn’t taken her in aversion either. She hadn’t taken to Arabella, but Claris didn’t know why. She quite liked the other girl. She hadn’t expected to, but she did. Empty-headed maybe, but pretty and amusing. She and Adam had been seeing each other off and on for ages. She didn’t entirely understand the attraction, but then, it was none of her business.

Parking, as instructed, down by the Quay, she collected her bag and wrap, locked the car, and they walked slowly up Mermaid Street towards the ancient and famous inn. Walking carefully, because of the cobbles, she murmured quietly, ‘I like Rye.’

‘So do I.’

‘I went into the Heritage Centre this morning and sat through seven hundred years of its history. They have the most amazing town model. Sound and light effects to capture the imagination. It was very well done.’

‘Good.’

She smiled and passed through the heavy door he was holding for her.

Adam nodded to the desk clerk, gave his name, and they were directed to a small room at the end of a narrow corridor. Mark Davies and his wife were already there. They both looked nervous.

Two hours and a great many scribbles on the tablecloth later, Adam glanced at Claris, and she nodded.

‘I’ll get my lawyer to draw up details,’ he told the other man.

‘You’ll fund it?’ he asked almost in disbelief. ‘Just like that?’

‘Yes.’ Taking his business card from his pocket, Adam scribbled a number on the back. ‘Ring him tomorrow…’

‘Tomorrow’s Saturday…’ Mark began. Adam just looked at him, and the other man gave a nervous smile.

‘His name’s Andrew Delane. He’ll deal with everything. Don’t discuss it with anyone else.’

‘No.’

With a faint smile, Adam held out his hand, and Mark grasped it as though it was a lifeline. Which it probably was. All his hopes and dreams rested on that handshake.

Taking Claris by the elbow, Adam escorted her out. She turned once to smile at the young couple before she was urged outside.

Instead of turning left, Adam moved her to the right, through a heavy door, and into a small bar at the rear of the inn with a fireplace big enough to roast an ox. Looking round her with interest, she briefly examined the oak beams, crossed swords, and some rather nice carvings, but what seemed bizarre were the rather modern lamps set in the fireplace.

‘What will you have? More orange juice?’ he asked with a rather wicked glint in his eye.

‘Seeing as I’m driving,’ she agreed drily, ‘yes.’

‘Find yourself somewhere to sit.’

Easier said than done; the place was obviously very popular. The door to the garden stood open, and she headed in that direction. A small table became vacant just as she reached it and she hastily sat, her back to the inn wall. Putting her bag and wrap on the other chair, to keep it free, she stared at the other couples who had also chosen the fresh air.

Her mind on the young couple they had just left, she only gradually became aware of the hissed conversation going on between two young women who were sitting somewhere behind her.

‘That’s Adam Turmaine.’

‘Who?’

‘Adam Turmaine! My mother knows his aunt’s cleaner. He’s living with that redhead that just went outside. Unmarried mother with some sort of hold over him. Apparently,’ the first woman whispered, ‘she won’t let anyone see him. Mrs Staple Smythe…’

‘Who?’

‘Oh, you won’t know her,’ she said dismissively. ‘She’s a friend of his aunt, but she was apparently absolutely furious at not getting in to see him. Said the redhead blocked all attempts. Didn’t even tell him she was there!’

‘Perhaps she’s a control freak!’

Control freak? Astonished, Claris leaned even further back, in order to hear better.

‘I wouldn’t mind controlling him,’ the woman’s friend giggled. ‘He is gorgeous!’

‘Perhaps he likes domineering women.’

‘Bondage!’

Claris bit her lip.

‘You never can tell with people,’ one of the girls said sagely. ‘I mean, she wasn’t even pretty.’

‘Well, you know what they say. You don’t look at the—’

‘Linda!’ her friend exclaimed, sounding scandalised, and they both dissolved into muffled laughter.

‘Mum said Bernice…’

‘Who?’

‘Mrs Turmaine’s niece,’ she explained impatiently. ‘Mum said she’d marked him out for herself.’ There was more giggling, and then, ‘Perhaps she’ll try to get rid of her.’

‘How?’

‘God knows. Perhaps she’ll get her aunt to get Mrs Staple Smythe to hire a hit man. She apparently does everything Harriet Turmaine tells her.’

Interesting, Claris thought.

‘Why would she get Mrs Staple Smythe to do it?’

‘Because old SS apparently knows everything about everybody. And if anyone was likely to know of a hit man, she would. Shh, he’s coming.’

Claris imagined them both smiling at him. She doubted Adam would even notice. Whatever else he was, he certainly wasn’t conceited. She doubted he ever considered the fact that women found him attractive. Certainly he never seemed to have considered that his assistant might find him so.

Quickly moving her things, so that he could sit down, she suddenly saw a couple move from another table and hastily got to her feet in order to grab it before someone else could. She didn’t want Adam overhearing any interesting conversations.

Her employer didn’t even look surprised at her sudden move, merely followed her and sat down.

‘Good boy,’ she praised.

He slanted her a look of pure mockery.

‘Tell me,’ she urged almost conspiratorially, ‘have you ever considered bondage?’