Читать книгу Brazilian Boss, Virgin Housekeeper - Maggie Cox, Maggie Cox - Страница 7

MARIANNE was between songs, sipping café latte from a local coffee shop to warm her up and hopefully restore some heat into her blood again, on yet another day chilly enough to turn solid stone into a block of ice. All of a sudden a shaft of pure, undiluted sunlight arrowed down onto the pavement a few yards in front of her, trapping in its beam a golden head that riveted her attention. It was him! The expensive-looking guy with the stern mouth and the ivory topped cane. He didn’t seem to be limping as badly today, Marianne reflected, watching him, and her insides executed an unsettling somersault as she saw that he was definitely heading her way.

Moments later he stood before her, his breath making a little puff of frosted steam as he spoke. ‘Good afternoon,’ he said politely, and there was a barely discernible lift to one corner of that impossibly serious mouth that surprisingly might have been the beginning of a smile.

‘Hello,’ she murmured, her gloved hand tightening round her take-away coffee cup.

‘You are not singing?’

‘No…I’m taking a break. Warming myself up.’

Finding herself the target of his devastating silent scrutiny, Marianne felt her entire body tense with discomfort. Did he have any idea how intently he stared? His eyes were like twin frosted blue lasers, making an exploratory dive straight down into her soul. Her husband Donal had never regarded her in such an intense way. His gaze had simply been infinitely kind.

‘How’s business?’

‘Okay.’ Shrugging, Marianne glanced down at the small collection of coppers and silver change in the hat at her feet. ‘Like I told you before, I don’t sing just for—’

‘Money. I remember. You sing because you are compelled to…for the love of it, yes?’

‘Yes.’ Now she felt embarrassed, remembering her outburst of the other day. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I offended you in any way by what I said or did, but there are a lot of people far worse off than me you know? In fact I’m not badly off at all. Appearances can be deceiving.’

His tanned brow creased a little, as if he were silently disputing her assessment of her situation, and his gaze carefully took in her mismatched woollen clothing that today consisted of purple tights, brown boots, a red dress over a cream sweater and Donal’s too-big sheepskin lined leather jacket, with a beige scarf tucked into the neckline to keep out the worst of the cold. The only thing she wasn’t wearing to finish off the eye-catching ensemble was her multi-coloured ski hat. Rushing out of the house this morning, she had accidentally left it behind.

‘Well…if it helps you to know, I did in fact donate the money I would have given you to the church’s collection for the homeless, as you suggested. Let me introduce myself. My name is Eduardo De Souza.’ Balancing one hand on his cane, he removed a glove and struck out his now bare hand towards her.

For what seemed like an interminable second of agonising decision-making Marianne hesitated, before slipping her own gloved hand lightly into his. Even through the thickly knit wool she swore she sensed the heat from his body radiate up her arm, making her tingle. ‘I’m Marianne…Marianne Lockwood. You’re clearly not from around here, are you?’

‘I reside in the UK now, but I do not come from here…you are right. I am from Brazil…Rio de Janeiro.’

‘The land of samba, sunshine and carnaval? I’m sorry—I expect you hate that cliché.’

‘Not at all. I am proud of my country and what it has to offer.’

‘And you’d rather be here, turning into a human icepole, than at home soaking up the sun?’ She couldn’t suppress the teasing grin that took hold of her lips, but Eduardo de Souza’s grave expression did not lighten for a moment.

‘Even sunshine can pall after a time, if you have too much of it. It becomes commonplace, and one can easily risk losing the pleasure that was once derived from it,’ he commented seriously. ‘Besides…I am half-British, so I am not completely unfamiliar with this climate—and after the winter comes the spring, and that is consoling, yes?’

‘I know. I love the spring! So…what are you doing here today? Shopping? Meeting a friend?’

‘Neither. I’ve been visiting an exhibition that is on at the town hall. Surprisingly, there are quite a few places of interest to visit in this quaint little town.’

‘True. It gets quite packed in the summer, believe it or not.’

‘I can believe it.’

Now, to Marianne’s complete surprise, her companion did smile, and his eyes looked bright as stars for a moment. Something inside her reacted disturbingly strongly to the fact and she felt her skin tighten self-consciously.

‘Yes there are boat trips you can take on the river, and they’re always very popular with the tourists. Anyway…’

Coming to the end of her coffee, Marianne stood the empty cup on the pavement behind her, then picked up the guitar that lay in its open black case on the ground beside it. Surprised that such an urbane, clearly wealthy man as Eduardo de Souza would even bother to introduce himself to a girl like her—particularly in such unusual circumstances—she couldn’t help but be cautious. But then, as she glanced at that movie-star-handsome face and the commanding physique the cashmere coat he wore hinted at, it seemed unlikely that his intent was anything other than to pass the time of day with her. Anything else would be preposterous. They’d had a bit of an exchange before, and he was merely being polite, she told herself.

‘I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to get back to what I’m here for.’ Removing her gloves, Marianne strummed a few chords to tune her guitar. A group of visiting French students passing by just then momentarily peered at her with interest. As for her handsome visitor, he stubbornly remained where he stood, apparently in no hurry to leave.

‘Next time…when I am in town…perhaps you would allow me to buy you lunch?’ he suggested.

Marianne blinked. Even the idea of sitting in some smart little restaurant opposite this man for an hour or more made her go hot and cold. For a start, what would they possibly have in common to talk about? ‘Thank you, but no,’ she answered quickly. ‘I don’t really do lunch when I’m working’

‘You mean you do not take a break to eat?’ He sounded amused.

‘I do take a break, but only to have coffee and sometimes maybe a croissant or a muffin…I have my main meal in the evening…when I get home.’

‘Then how about I buy you coffee and cake instead?’

No reason to refuse him coming helpfully to mind, Marianne nodded uncomfortably. ‘Okay. Now, I really have to get back to this.’

‘Then I will say goodbye, Marianne.’ He briefly inclined his head, his expression inscrutable. ‘Until next time.’

‘Next time’ turned out to be two days later. Having endured an icy shower of rain and sleet combined for the previous hour, huddled beneath an inadequate umbrella instead of playing her guitar, Marianne had seriously thought about packing up and calling it a day. But then the sun came out, the freezing cold shower subsided, and as if by magic Eduardo De Souza appeared. He was dressed in his stylish cashmere coat, with a matching scarf draped casually round his neck, and his attire seemed much more suitable for the premiere of a theatre production rather than a casual visit to town.

‘Hello.’ He smiled, his rich voice sounding a little huskier than she remembered. Realising that for the past two days she had subconsciously been looking out for him, her heart thudding with what felt ridiculously like excited anticipation whenever his image crossed her mind, Marianne struggled to make her response sound natural.

‘Hi…’ she mumbled, standing back to shake the drops from her umbrella, fold it, then lean it against the wall. ‘Not exactly the best day for coming into town,’ she quipped.

‘Fortunately I missed the downpour. I have spent the past hour under cover at the exhibition.’

‘The same exhibition you visited before?’

‘Yes.’

‘It must be quite compelling to make you want to visit it again. What’s it about?’

‘It’s a collection by a French photographer I particularly admire…a retrospective of his life in Paris just after the war, when the city was being rebuilt. He died recently, and I saw an article in the local newspaper advertising the exhibition.’

‘Oh.’ Collecting her guitar from its case, Marianne gave her visitor an awkward smile. ‘I should probably go and take a look at it myself before it ends. It sounds fascinating.’

‘You are interested in the subject?’

‘I’m always interested in creativity and art—whatever its form. It intrigues me to learn how other artists see the world…how they interpret what they see. Just goes to show we all see things so differently…not in the same way at all.’

For a moment the man in front of her fell silent, as though he were seriously considering the opinion Marianne had just expressed, and with no small amount of surprise either.

Then he glanced down at his watch—expensive-looking, but definitely not ostentatious. ‘How about going for that coffee now?’

Again finding no immediate reason to decline, and feeling chilled to the bone after that hour of relentless sleet and rain, Marianne found herself agreeing. ‘Okay. Now’s as good a time as any, I suppose.’

In the familiar café, with its cheerful red and white checked curtains and matching tablecloths, the aromatic smell of brewing coffee mingling with the steam arising from the damp coats of customers gratefully seeking warmth, shelter and sustenance after their tussle with the elements, Marianne was mildly surprised to find it as busy as it was. Luckily she found a small table close to the woodstove, and the waitress appeared almost straight away to take their order. She didn’t doubt it was because Eduardo did not look like your average everyday customer—his almost regal bearing and sheer physicality alone commanded instant attention.

Goodness knew what the poor girl made of Marianne as his companion! As it was, she saw her look slightly askance at her guitar in its battered case, as if it was something almost distasteful. Eduardo gave her their order, and Marianne suddenly found herself alone with him. Resting his hands atop the checked tablecloth, he studied her without speaking. What was he thinking? Marianne wondered nervously. She cleared her throat and forced a shaky smile, feeling ill at ease and somehow graceless in her jumble of ill-fitting clothing beneath his intense examination.

‘This is a nice place. It makes a change from the local coffee chain I usually use. The coffee’s very good, and the pastries aren’t bad either.’

‘I am glad you chose a table near the fire…you look half frozen!’

‘I’m not any more. I’m quite warm, actually.’ Undoing several buttons on her coat, Marianne flashed him a smile, genuinely touched by the concern in his voice.

‘I have to ask you—’ the disturbing glance seemed to intensify ‘—are your parents happy about you singing at the side of the road?’ he questioned, frowning.

She could tell by his tone that he disapproved.

‘They’re not around any more to have an opinion,’ she answered instantly, without thinking, and then a splinter of indignant anger pierced her that he should disapprove of people he didn’t even know. ‘Anyway…I don’t mean to be rude…it’s really none of your business.’

‘How old are you? Seventeen…eighteen?’

Marianne stopped fiddling with the sugar bowl on the table and stared at him with the hardest gaze she could muster. ‘For your information, I’m twenty-four—and quite capable of looking after myself and making my own decisions without the interference or permission of anyone else, including parents if they were around!’

‘It is just that you appear much younger…’ Eduardo murmured, his returning gaze completely unapologetic.

‘It’s hardly my fault if genetics or fate has made me look younger than I am!’

‘I am not criticising the way you look, Marianne.’ His voice softened, and so did his gaze. ‘I am just concerned that you would choose to put yourself in what could potentially be a very vulnerable position. Can you not find somewhere else…somewhere safer where you might perform your songs?’

‘There’s a folk club I sing at sometimes…but it’s only open once every fortnight. I’d get very rusty if that was my only outlet. Besides…’ Fearing his judgement and disapproval, Marianne slotted her defences firmly into place. ‘The vendors that work in the market look out for me. Someone immediately comes over if it looks like anyone is bothering me.’

Eduardo sighed. ‘That at least makes me feel a little easier about the situation.’

‘Well, please don’t give it another thought. I’ve been singing outside for over a year now, and nothing dire has happened to me yet!’

The waitress brought their coffee, along with two generous slices of the fruitcake Eduardo had ordered for them. Marianne added sugar to her drink and stirred it.

His expression at her words revealed more alarm than reassurance, and her companion reached into his inside coat pocket for his wallet, extracted something, and held it out to her. Initially thinking he was going to offer her money, Marianne was about to give him short shrift when she thankfully saw that he was actually offering her a small business card.

‘What’s this for?’

‘If you ever need anything…’

‘What could I possibly need from a complete stranger?’ For some inexplicable reason she found herself precariously close to tears. Some renegade emotion had crept up on her undetected, until it was almost too late to rein it in again. It had been happening a lot lately.

The Brazilian firmed his mouth. ‘A job, for one thing…And, seeing as we are sitting here together having coffee, I hope I am no longer a stranger. If this weather gets much colder—and the forecast is not good for the rest of January—you might appreciate an alternative way to earn some money. A job that would also provide a roof over your head and good, nourishing food to eat.’

‘What kind of job?’ Intrigued now, despite herself, Marianne glanced out of the window at the steel-grey sky and the threat of even more sleet and snow. An involuntary tremor went through her.

‘I need a housekeeper.’ The broad shoulders beneath the fawn-coloured cashmere lifted, then fell again.

‘A housekeeper?’

‘I already have a valet to do the personal things I need help with…but, having resided here for almost a year now, I find it has become increasingly clear that some extra help in the house would be most welcome. At present I hire contract cleaners, and Ricardo—my valet—does the cooking. But if you can cook too that would alleviate him of that particular task and no doubt be most welcome. Give it some thought and ring me if you would like to give it a try. The house is a little remote, but if you do not mind that and enjoy beautiful countryside views then I do not think you will be disappointed.’

‘And you would give me this job without even knowing if I could do it?’ Marianne’s hazel eyes were sceptical.

‘You seem a very independent sort of person to me…the type who would learn quickly, get on with things and not make a fuss. I am sure you would work out just fine.’

‘Are you normally so trusting of people you don’t even know? I could be anyone! What if I pinched the silver, or some priceless family heirloom whilst under your roof?’

Astonishingly, both corners of Eduardo’s severe mouth lifted at the same time. For a moment Marianne’s breath caught at the flash of humour that transformed his compelling pale blue eyes.

‘Would a girl who sings in the street for pennies and hands me back a fifty-pound note, telling me to give it to the homeless, be likely to steal even a crust of bread from her employer?’ He shook his head, his expression reverting to seriousness again. ‘I do not think so.’

‘Well, I thank you for your concern, as well as the offer of a job, but I’m not ready for a change just yet. As long as there’s not a full-blown blizzard then I’ll continue to sing outside for the foreseeable future.’

‘Very well…That is your decision, of course. Why don’t you try your fruitcake? It looks very good.’

‘Thank you. I will.’

The rest of their conversation was politely superficial and companionable—as though they had silently recognised the potential danger in discussing anything more personal and mutually agreed to avoid it.

Twenty minutes later they parted—Marianne to return to her singing, and Eduardo to head wherever he was heading. She hadn’t asked him where. But as he moved away from her and continued on down the street her heart definitely raced a little as she watched him go. Remembering his surprising offer of a job, she wondered why she suddenly felt so bad for refusing his help. Was it because she thought she’d detected a hint of melancholy or sadness in that magnetising gaze as they’d sat talking? Was it anything to do with the reason he walked with a cane? A wave of sympathy tugged hard at her heartstrings.

‘Sing us a song, love!’ One of the cheerful vendors who sold fruit from a stall further down the street stopped in front of her, clapping his gloved hands together with an exaggerated shiver. ‘We need something to warm us up. It’s colder than bloody Siberia today, and there’s heavy snow forecast for tonight. Got any songs about spring?’

Shaken out of her reverie, Marianne grinned. ‘How about “By the Banks of the Sweet Primroses”?’

‘Lovely job!’ The vendor happily grinned back.

When the notion of trying to help the little roadside singer had come to him, it hadn’t even crossed Eduardo’s mind to offer her a job. So when the words had come out of his mouth he’d surprised even himself. Contract cleaners he could maintain an aloof distance from, and the familiar Ricardo whom he’d brought with him from Rio de Janeiro were one thing—but to invite a new young acquaintance to share his roof and become his housekeeper was quite another. Especially when he guarded his privacy more fiercely than Fort Knox was famed for guarding its gold bullion.

But it was perfectly true that he did need a housekeeper, and considering Marianne’s shivering form yesterday, watching her struggle to keep warm in the bleak winter weather, Eduardo had suddenly thought it was the ideal solution. But she had turned him down. It was true that he had not really believed that she would accept his offer, but still…it irked him more than a little that she had not. And it was a practical certainty that if he attempted to offer her money again, to help better her situation, she would likely throw it back in his face and instruct him in no uncertain terms to go to hell! She had a temper on her, that was for sure. And it had genuinely shocked him to learn that she was no teenager but twenty-four years old…a woman.

Recalling the flash of fire in her almond-shaped hazel eyes as she’d castigated him for being too intrusive, he felt his skin tighten hotly. Irritably ignoring the unsettling sensation, he strode into the ornate marble bathroom that led off his private suite of rooms and for several moments just stood in the centre of the floor, unsure why he had even gone in there. Restlessly he pushed his fingers through his hair and sighed. It was probably best he curb his philanthropic urges where that particular young woman was concerned and concentrate his efforts on repairing his damaged leg, doubling his belief that one day soon he would be able to walk as well as he had before the accident—confidently, and without even a trace of a limp.

After that…Eduardo moved across to the vanity unit, staring at his reflection in the large oval mirror there and grimacing at the deep shadows wrought beneath his eyes by agony of body and spirit and a severe lack of sleep. After that… Well, he would just have to take one day at a time, he told himself, hardly able to contemplate a future that wasn’t as bleak and pain-filled as the present. How could such a prospect be possible when the two lives most intimately intertwined with his had been ripped away? When every night he relived the terrible nightmare of the accident that had killed them—the accident that he had caused?