Читать книгу Holiday With The Best Man - Kate Hardy - Страница 10

CHAPTER TWO

ONCE THE RESTORATION man had finished getting rid of the worst of the water and Grace had locked the flat, she programmed Roland’s address into her satnav in case she got stuck in traffic and lost both him and the van on the way, then followed him back to his house—which turned out to be in a swish part of Docklands. Once she’d parked behind his car, outside what looked like a development of an old maltings, Roland and the van driver helped her transfer her things from their cars and the van to his garage.

‘Everything will be safe here for tonight,’ he said when they’d finished.

‘And dry,’ Grace added. ‘Thank you.’

There was a row of shops on the ground floor of the building, and Grace assumed that Roland had a flat on one of the upper floors; to her surprise, she discovered that his house was at one end of the building. And when he showed her into the townhouse itself, she saw that the entire back of the house was a glass box extension. It was incredibly modern, but at the same time it didn’t feel out of place—and the views over the river were utterly amazing.

‘This place is incredible,’ she said.

He looked pleased. ‘I like it.’

‘But—’ she gestured to the floor-to-ceiling windows ‘—no curtains? Don’t you worry about people peering in?’

‘I have a little bit of trickery instead. It’s much cleaner, design-wise. And I loathe frills and flounces—my idea of hell is those swags of fussy fabrics.’

And those were just the kind of thing Grace had in mind for her own dream home—a pretty little Victorian terraced house, with sprigged flowery wallpaper and curtains to match, and lots of cushions in cosy armchairs.

He flicked a switch and the glass became opaque, giving them complete privacy.

‘Very clever,’ she said. And although she would’ve preferred the kind of curtains he hated, she could understand what he liked about it. ‘Did you have an architect design this for you?’

‘That,’ Roland said, ‘would be me.’

Grace stared at him in surprise. ‘You’re an architect?’

He nodded. ‘I designed Hugh and Tarquin’s offices,’ he said, ‘and I had a hand in remodelling Hugh’s place so it’s soundproof—for the sake of his neighbours, if he gets up in the middle of the night and starts composing on the piano.’

‘This is amazing.’ She shook her head. ‘What an idiot I am. I thought you were some sort of builder, given that you had a plumber and a van.’

He smiled. ‘You weren’t that far off. I’m in the building trade, and I was pretty hands-on with this place. I guess this was my prototype.’

‘How do you mean, prototype?’ she asked, not understanding.

‘My company makes eco-prefab buildings—either extensions or even the whole house. They’re all made off site, and they can be put up in a matter of days.’

‘You mean, like the ones you see on TV documentaries about people building their own houses or restoring old industrial buildings and turning them into homes?’ she asked.

‘They’ve been featured on that sort of programme, yes,’ he said.

‘That’s seriously impressive.’

He inclined his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. ‘I enjoy it. Let me show you to the guest room.’

Like the rest of the rooms she’d seen so far, the bedroom was very modern, simply furnished and with little on the walls. But, with one wall being pure glass, she supposed you wouldn’t need anything else to look at: not when you had a whole panorama of London life to look at. Water and people and lights and the sky.

There was a king-sized bed with the headboard set in the middle of the back wall, a soft duvet and fluffy pillows. The bed linen was all white—very high maintenance, she thought. The en-suite bathroom was gorgeous, and was about six times the size of the bathroom in Bella’s flat; Grace still wasn’t quite used to thinking of Bella’s old place as her own flat.

She took the bare minimum from her case—it seemed pointless to unpack everything just for one night, when tomorrow she’d be moving to a hotel or whatever alternative accommodation the insurance company offered—and hung her office clothes for the next day in the wardrobe so they wouldn’t be creased overnight. Just as she was about to go back downstairs in search of Roland, her phone rang; thankfully, it was the landlord, who’d spoken to the insurance company and could fill her in on what was happening next.

* * *

Roland was sitting at the kitchen table, checking his emails on his phone, when Grace walked into the kitchen, looking slightly shy.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked.

‘No, thanks. I’m fine,’ she said. ‘The landlord just called me. He’s talked to the insurance company and they’re getting a loss assessor out to see the flat—and me—tomorrow morning at eleven.’

She sounded a little unsure, he thought. ‘Is getting the time off work going to be a problem for you?’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m temping at the moment—but if I explain the situation and make the hours up, I’m sure they’ll be fine about it.’

He was surprised. ‘Temping? So you’re what, a PA?’

‘An accountant,’ she corrected.

Which made it even more surprising that she didn’t have a permanent job. ‘How come you’re temping?’

‘It’s a long and boring story. It’s also why I’ve moved into Bella’s flat.’ She flapped a hand dismissively. ‘But it’s not because I’m a criminal or anything, so you don’t need to worry about that. I just made some decisions that made life a bit up in the air for me.’

He wondered what those decisions had been. But she was being cagey about it, so he decided not to push it. It was none of his business, in any case. ‘You can keep your stuff here as long as you need to, so that isn’t a problem.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘You must be hungry. I certainly am, so I was thinking of ordering us a takeaway.’

‘Which I’ll pay for,’ she said immediately.

‘Hardly. You’re my guest.’

‘You weren’t expecting me,’ she pointed out. ‘And I’d feel a lot happier if you let me pay. It’s the least I can do, considering how much you’ve done for me this evening.’

He could see that she wasn’t going to budge on the issue. In her shoes, he’d feel the same way, so he decided to give in gracefully. ‘OK. Thank you.’

‘And I’m doing the washing up,’ she added.

‘There’s no need. I have a housekeeping service.’

She scoffed. ‘I’m still not leaving a pile of dirty dishes next to the sink.’

A princess would’ve taken a housekeeper for granted. Grace didn’t, and she clearly wasn’t playing a part. How on earth had he got her so wrong? ‘We’ll share the washing up,’ he said, feeling guilty about the way he’d misjudged her. ‘What do you like? Chinese? Pizza?’

‘Anything,’ she said.

So she wasn’t fussy about food, either.

And, given the way she was dressed...it was almost as if she was trying to blend in to her surroundings. Minimum fuss, minimum attention.

Why would someone want to hide like that?

Not that it was any of his business. He ordered a selection of dishes from his local Chinese takeaway. ‘It’ll be here in twenty minutes,’ he said when he put the phone down.

It felt very odd to be domesticated, Roland thought as he laid two places at the kitchen table. For nearly two years he’d eaten most of his evening meals alone, except if he’d been on business or when Hugh, Tarquin or his sister Philly had insisted on him joining them. Being here alone with Grace was strange. But he just about managed to make small talk with her until the food arrived.

His hand brushed against hers a couple of times when they heaped their plates from the takeaway cartons, and that weird prickle of awareness he’d felt at the wedding made itself known again.

Did she feel it, too? he wondered. Because she wasn’t meeting his eyes, and had bowed her head slightly so her hair covered her face. Did he fluster her, the way she flustered him?

And, if so, what were they going to do about it?

Not that he was really in a position to do anything about it. He’d told Hugh and Tarquin that he was ready to date again, but he knew he wasn’t. How could he trust himself not to let a new partner down, given the way he’d let his wife down? Until he could start to forgive himself, he couldn’t move on.

‘Don’t feel you have to entertain me,’ she said when they’d finished eating and had sorted out the washing up. ‘I’ve already taken up more than enough of your time this evening, and I don’t want to be a demanding house guest. If you don’t mind, I’m going to sort out Bella’s shoeboxes for her so all her papers are in some sort of order.’

So Grace was the sort who liked organisation and structure. That made it even stranger that she’d call off her wedding only three weeks before the big day. There was a lot more to that story than met the eye, Roland was sure; but he didn’t want to intrude on her privacy by asking.

‘I’ll be in my office next door if you need me. Feel free to make yourself a drink whenever you like. There are tea, coffee and hot chocolate capsules in the cupboard above the coffee machine.’ He gestured to the machine sitting on the work surface.

‘Thanks.’ For the first time, she gave him a teasing smile. ‘Now I’ve seen your house, I’m not surprised you have a machine like that.’

‘Are you accusing me of being a gadget fiend?’ he asked.

‘Are you one?’ she fenced back.

He grinned. ‘Just a tiny bit—what about you?’ The question was out before he could stop it, and he was shocked at himself. Was he actually flirting with her? He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d flirted with anyone.

‘I use an old-fashioned cafetière and a teapot,’ she said. ‘Though I might admit to having a milk-frother, because I like cappuccinos.’

Tension suddenly crackled between them. And Roland was even more shocked to find himself wondering what would happen if he closed the gap between them and brushed his mouth very lightly over Grace’s.

What on earth was he doing? Apart from the fact that his head was still in an emotional mess, Grace was the last person he should think about kissing. He’d just rescued her from a burst pipe situation. She was as vulnerable as Lyn had been. He needed to back off. Now. ‘See you later,’ he said, affecting a cool he most definitely didn’t feel, and sauntered into his office.

Though even at the safety of his desk he found it hard to concentrate on his work. Instead of opening the file for his current project, he found himself thinking of a quiet, dark-haired woman with the most amazing cornflower-blue eyes—and he was cross with himself because he didn’t want to think about her in that way. Right now he couldn’t offer a relationship to anyone. Who knew when he’d be ready to date again—if ever.

* * *

Grace sorted through the contents of Bella’s shoeboxes at Roland’s kitchen table, putting everything in neat piles so she could file them away properly in a binder. She tried to focus on what she was doing, but the mundane task wasn’t occupying anywhere near enough of her head for her liking. It left way too much space for her to think about the man who’d unexpectedly come to her rescue.

And now she was seeing Roland Devereux in a whole new light. He’d been cold and taciturn when she’d first met him. She would never have believed that he was a man with vision. A man who could create such a stunning modern design, which somehow didn’t feel out of place in its very traditional setting; he’d merged the old and the new perfectly to get the best of both worlds.

She couldn’t resist taking a swift break and looking him up on the Internet. And she liked what she saw on his company website, especially the way they paid attention to detail. Although the houses they built were prefabricated, the designs didn’t feel as if they were identikit; from the gallery of pictures of the finished houses, Grace could see that Roland’s company had added touches to each one to make it personal to the families who’d wanted to build them. And not only was he great at design, he’d worked with conservation officers on several projects. One in particular involved an eco extension that had enhanced the old building it was part of, rather than marring it, and he’d won an award for it.

There was much more to Roland Devereux than met the eye.

And she had to push away the memory of that moment when he’d flirted with her in the kitchen. Right now, her life was too chaotic for her to consider adding any kind of relationship to the mix. And, although Roland seemed to live alone, for all she knew he could already be committed elsewhere.

So she’d just put this evening down to the kindness of a stranger, and consider herself lucky that her brother-in-law had such a good friend.

* * *

Roland had already left for the day when Grace got up the next morning, even though she’d planned to be at her desk by eight. He’d left her his spare door key along with a note on the table asking her to set the house alarm, giving her the code. He’d added, Call me if any problems.

She texted him to say that she’d set the alarm and thanked him for the loan of his key, then headed for the office. At work, she explained the situation to her boss, who was kind enough to let her reorganise her work schedule so she could meet the loss assessor at the flat.

But the news from the loss assessor wasn’t good. It would take a couple of weeks to dry out the flat, even with dehumidifiers, and there was a chance they might need to take all the plaster off the walls to stop mould developing, and then re-plaster the walls. Which in turn would take time to dry. And the landlord would probably have to look into replacing the plumbing completely in the very near future. And that meant even more disruption.

How could a burst pipe cause so much chaos?

And she could hardly invite herself to stay with Roland for an unforeseeable amount of time. Her parents lived too far out of London for her to be able to commute from their place, and she knew her friends didn’t have the room to put her up, so she’d just have to find a room in a budget hotel. Hopefully Roland wouldn’t mind her leaving her stuff in his garage for another day or so until she could organise storage.

She called in to a specialist wine shop to buy a thank-you gift for him on her way back to the office, then worked through her lunch hour and left late that evening to make up the time she’d had to take out to meet the assessor. When she returned to the house in Docklands, Roland was in the kitchen, making himself a coffee.

‘Hi. Coffee?’ he asked, gesturing to the machine.

‘Thanks, but I’m fine. Oh, and I got this for you.’

She handed him the bottle bag, and he blinked in surprise. ‘What’s this?’

‘To say thank you,’ she said. ‘I have no idea if you prefer red or white wine, so I played it safe and bought white.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ he said.

But she noticed that he hadn’t even opened the bag to look at the wine. ‘Sorry. Obviously I should’ve gone for red.’

‘Actually, I don’t drink,’ he said.

Grace wished the ground would open up and swallow her. ‘I’m so sorry.’ And she wasn’t going to ask him why. It was none of her business.

‘You weren’t to know.’ He opened the bag and looked at the label. ‘Montrachet is lovely. I know a certain woman who will love you to bits for bringing this.’

His girlfriend? Grace squashed the seeping disappointment. So not appropriate. And it raised another issue. ‘I hope your girlfriend doesn’t mind me staying.’

‘No girlfriend. I was talking about my little sister,’ Roland said. ‘Just because I don’t drink, it doesn’t mean that I make everyone else stick to water.’

And the little rush of pleasure at discovering he was single was even more inappropriate. ‘Uh-huh,’ she said, knowing she sounded awkward, and wishing yet again that she could be as open and spontaneous as her sister.

‘So how did it go with the loss assessor?’ he asked.

‘Not great.’ She told him what the loss assessor had said. ‘So if you don’t mind me staying here again tonight, I’ll sort out a hotel room for tomorrow night onwards. I’ll find a storage place, and it shouldn’t take me too many trips to ferry all my stuff there.’

‘Why go to all that trouble when I’ve already said you can stay in my spare room and store your stuff here?’ he asked.

‘Because I can’t impose on you for an open-ended amount of time,’ she explained. ‘I know you’re my brother-in-law’s best friend, but this is way beyond the call of duty, and I’d rather stand on my own two feet.’

‘Noted,’ he said, ‘but you said yesterday that you’d made some choices that made life a bit up in the air for you. I think we all have times like that, when we could maybe use a friend.’

‘You’re offering to be my friend?’

He looked at her, his dark eyes full of questions, and suddenly there didn’t seem to be enough air in the room.

Was he offering her friendship...or something else? She didn’t trust her judgement to read the situation properly.

And then Roland said, ‘Yes, I think I’m offering to be your friend.’

‘But we don’t know each other,’ she pointed out.

‘I know, and I admit I took you the wrong way when I first met you.’

She frowned. ‘Meaning?’

He winced. ‘Meaning that I’ve been a bit judgemental and I can see for myself that you’re not what I thought you were.’

‘You’re digging yourself a hole here.’

‘Tell me about it,’ he said wryly. ‘And I’m sorry.’

‘So what did you think I was?’ she asked.

‘Are you sure you want to hear this?’

No, but she’d gone far enough to have to keep up the bravado. ‘I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.’

‘OK. I thought of you as the Runaway Bride,’ he said.

He’d thought what? Obviously he knew that she’d cancelled her wedding quite late in the day—but he’d assumed that she was some kind of spoiled brat? She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘You’re right, that’s judgemental and that’s not who I am—and, for your information, I didn’t leave my fiancé at the aisle or even close to it. In fact, I hadn’t even bought a wedding dress.’

It was his turn to frown. ‘But Hugh said you cancelled the wedding three weeks beforehand. And I’ve seen by the way you’ve dealt with the flood that you’re organised. This doesn’t add up. Why didn’t you have a wedding dress that close to the big day?’

‘It’s a long and very boring story,’ she said.

‘I don’t have anything better to do—do you?’ he asked.

She blew out a breath. ‘Maybe, maybe not. And I guess if I’m going to stay with you, you probably need to know why my life’s a bit chaotic.’

‘Let’s talk over pizza,’ he said, ‘and maybe a glass of wine. We could open this bottle now.’

‘You just told me you didn’t drink.’

‘I also told you I don’t make everyone else around me stick to water.’

‘I don’t actually drink that much,’ she admitted.

He looked at her. ‘But the first time you met Hugh...’

Oh, no. Well, he was Hugh’s best friend. Of course he’d know about what happened. ‘I threw up over Hugh because I’d drunk three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach. Which is more than I would usually drink in a month.’ Shame flooded through her at the memory. ‘Does everyone know about that?’

‘Tarq and I do.’

‘Tarquin never mentioned it when he met me.’

He gave her a wry smile. ‘Probably because Tarq’s nicer than I am.’

‘I’m reserving the right to stay silent.’ Because Roland had come to her rescue, and he was offering her a place to stay. But she was still annoyed that he’d thought so badly of her without even waiting to hear her side of the story. Maybe she’d been right in her first impression of him, too, and he was firmly in the same box as Cynthia Sutton: cold, judgemental and obsessed by appearances.

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Isn’t the rest of that speech along the lines that if you want to rely on something later in court, you have to speak now?’

‘Am I on trial?’ she asked.

‘Of course not.’ He shook his head. ‘Pizza it is, then. And mineral water.’

‘Provided I pay for the pizza. I don’t want you thinking I’m a freeloader as well as being the Runaway Bride and a lush to boot.’

The slight colour staining his cheeks told her that was exactly what he’d thought of her. Which was totally unfair—he’d jumped to conclusions without even knowing her. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’d come to her rescue last night and been kind, right at that moment she would’ve disliked him even more than she had at the wedding.

‘I know now that you’re none of those things. And you insisted on paying last night, so this is on me,’ he said.

‘If you buy the pizza,’ she said, still cross that he thought she was one of life’s takers, ‘then I want an invoice for the use of your van yesterday.’

‘How about,’ he suggested, ‘we go halves on the pizza?’

She folded her arms. ‘I’d prefer to pay.’

He met her glare head-on. ‘Halves or starve. That’s the choice.’

And how tempted she was to choose the latter. On principle. Except she was really, really hungry and it was pointless spiting herself. ‘OK. Halves. But I do the washing up. And, tomorrow, I cook for us.’

‘You can cook?’ He looked taken aback.

She could guess why. ‘I love my little sister to bits,’ she said, ‘but Bella’s a bit of a disaster in the kitchen. If she’s cooked for you, then I understand why you’re surprised—but her culinary skills don’t run in the family.’

‘She hasn’t cooked for me. But Hugh told me how bad her stir-fry is,’ he admitted.

‘In her defence, she does make great pancakes and cupcakes.’

He smiled. ‘But you can’t live on pancakes and cupcakes alone.’

‘Exactly. Is there anything you don’t eat, or do you have any food intolerances or allergies?’

‘No—and you can use anything you like in the kitchen.’

‘I’m glad you said that, because your kitchen is gorgeous and it’ll be a pleasure to cook here.’ She gestured round. ‘So do I take it that you’re a cook, too, or is this just for show?’

* * *

Roland thought back to the times when he and Lynette had cooked together. Never in this kitchen—he’d still been renovating the place when the drunk driver had smashed into his wife’s car. And he hadn’t had the heart to cook since. Most of the time he lived on sandwiches, takeaways or microwaved supermarket meals; apart from when his family and his best friends insisted on seeing him, he filled the time with work, work and more work, so he didn’t have the space to think. ‘I don’t cook much nowadays,’ he said.

‘Fair enough.’ To his relief, she didn’t pry.

‘But if you can text me and let me know what time you want to eat tomorrow,’ she added, ‘that would be helpful.’

‘I’ll do that,’ he said. Though it felt weirdly domestic, and it made him antsy enough not to press Grace about the reason why she’d moved to Bella’s flat—just in case she expected him to share about his past, too. The last thing he wanted was for her to start pitying him—the poor widower who’d lost his wife tragically young. Especially because he didn’t deserve the pity. He hadn’t taken enough care of Lyn, and he’d never forgive himself for that.

Grace’s phone pinged. ‘I’m expecting something. Can I be rude and check my phone?’ she asked.

‘Be my guest.’

She glanced at the screen and smiled. ‘Oh, I like this. Today’s Bellagram is the Golden Gate Bridge,’ she said, showing him the photograph of Bella and Hugh posing with the iconic bridge behind them.

‘Bellagram?’ Roland asked, not quite understanding.

‘Postcard. Telegram—the modern version,’ Grace explained. ‘Bella likes puns.’

‘She texts you every day?’

Grace nodded. ‘We always text each other if we’re away, sending a photo of what we’ve been doing. Bella forgot about the time difference for the first one, so it woke me at three in the morning.’ She laughed. ‘But that’s Bella for you. It’s great to know they’re having a good time.’

‘Have you told her about...?’

‘The flood? No. I don’t want her worrying. I just text her back to say I’m glad she’s having fun and I love her,’ Grace said.

Which was pretty much what his own family had done when he and Lyn had sent a couple of brief texts from the rainforest on their honeymoon, purely to stop everyone at home worrying that they’d got lost or been eaten by piranhas. Another surge of guilt flooded through him. He’d taken care of Lyn then. Where had it all gone so wrong?

He was glad when Grace was tactful enough to switch the subject to something neutral and kept the conversation easy.

Though later that evening Roland still couldn’t get her out of his head. He lay awake, watching the sky through the glass ceiling of his bedroom—a ceiling that wasn’t overlooked by anyone or anything—and thinking of her.

What was it about Grace Faraday?

He’d misjudged her completely. Far from being a spoiled, princessy drunk, Grace was a capable and quietly organised woman with good manners. She was a little bit shy, very independent, and nice. Easy to be with.

Which was why he probably ought to find somewhere else for her to stay. Grace Faraday was dangerous to his peace of mind. She was the first woman in a long time to intrigue him. Or attract him. And for someone like her to call off a wedding only three weeks before the ceremony... Something had to have been very wrong indeed. Even though it was none of his business, he couldn’t help wondering. Had she discovered some really serious character flaw in her husband-to-be?

She’d been going to tell him about it, and then they’d been sidetracked. Maybe she’d tell him tomorrow.

And maybe that would be the thing to keep his common sense in place and stop him doing something stupid.

Like acting on the strong pull he felt towards her and actually kissing her.