Читать книгу Just For A Night - Miranda Lee - Страница 9

‘WHO’S Henry?’ Marina asked after the car had moved off.

‘He’s my valet. He used to be the butler at Winterborne Hall.’

‘Oh? What happened? Didn’t he work out?’

‘He worked out very well for over thirty years. But my brother forcibly retired him when he turned seventy—packed him off to live out his days at the damned gatehouse like a broken-down racehorse banished to a far paddock.’

It was clear by his irritable tone that he had been furious at his brother for this action.

‘Henry was still fit for service,’ Lord Winterborne swept on. ‘All he had wrong with him was the odd touch of gout. The poor old chap would have died through sheer neglect and boredom, so I brought him up here to London—told him I needed some company, plus someone of his experience to put some well-needed order into my wretched existence.’

‘And was your existence really wretched?’ Marina asked, thinking to herself how typical it was of this man to do such a thing, to care about a poor old retired servant.

‘Lord, no. I was in my twenties and living the life of Riley! It was Henry’s existence which was wretched. I quickly came to regret my foolishly generous gesture. Henry took me at my word and, indeed, put order into my life.’ He rolled his eyes at the memory.

‘How did he do that?’ Marina was intrigued.

‘You have no idea.’

‘No, I don’t. Tell me. I’m dying to know.’

His glance was drily amused. ‘You have a compulsively curious nature, I think. But you’re also very easy to tell things to, do you know that?’

‘Yes, I’ve been told that before. Children come up to me in droves when I’m on playground duty to tell me their problems. And I’m always getting beseiged by little old ladies in buses and trains, and even supermarket queues. Maybe they’re just lonely and need someone to talk to, but why it’s always me they choose to pour out their hearts to, I have no idea.’

‘It’s your eyes,’ His Lordship said as he looked right into them. ‘You have understanding eyes.’

She flushed slightly under his compliment and his direct gaze. ‘So…er…what did Henry do?’

‘What didn’t he do?’ His Lordship grumbled as he reached out and rang the doorbell. ‘Firstly, he converted my reading room into a gym, into which I was dragged every morning for a work-out. As a man whose only exercise before that had been turning on my computer and moving chess pieces, believe me when I tell you I was in agony for weeks. I nicknamed one particularly diabolical piece of equipment “the rack”.’

‘Well, it seems to have done you good,’ she said. ‘You look very fit.’

‘I’ve suffered for this body, I can tell you.’

Marina thought the suffering well worth it. ‘So what else did he do?’

‘Changed my daily diet to a boring menu of low-cholesterol, low-salt meals. I hardly enjoy eating any more, except when I crack and go to a café and order the fattiest, most cholesterol-ridden pie I can find!’

Marina laughed while His Lordship scowled.

‘But his crowning achievement was to bully me into giving up smoking. God knows how he managed that!’

‘He sounds quite wonderful,’ Marina said.

His Lordship finally smiled a wry smile. ‘Oh, he is. But he took some getting used to on a daily basis. Now I wouldn’t be without him. For one thing he plays a damned good game of chess. Of course, he is getting a little slow on the stairs,’ he added, frowning at the still closed door. ‘He turned seventy-seven last birthday.’

The door opened at that precise moment and Henry stood there, impeccably dressed in a butler’s morning uniform of grey striped trousers, black jacket, white shirt and pale grey tie. He was even wearing white gloves. Marina noticed that his black shoes were polished as only a butler or a sergeant-major would polish them.

He had clearly once been a handsome man. And tall. But his back was not as straight as she imagined it had once been, and his steel-grey hair was thin and receding well back from his high forehead. He still looked a darn sight younger than seventy-seven.

Controlled grey eyes swept over her with a bland but all-encompassing glance which revealed nothing of his impression or his opinion. His coolly unreadable gaze returned to his employer.

‘The plane was on time, My Lord?’ he asked, somewhat starchily.

‘Slightly early, Henry. And this is Miss Marina Spencer.’

Henry inclined towards her with a stiff nod, which could have been rheumatism or just his way. ‘How do you do, Miss Spencer?’

‘She will insist on being called Marina, Henry,’ His Lordship said drily as he ushered her inside, depositing her suitcase by the door. ‘So we might as well get that out of the way up front.’

‘I see. Very well. How do you do, Miss Marina? Welcome to London. I have your coffee perking, My Lord, but have prepared a proper English breakfast for the young lady. You are not one of those impossibly modern young people are you, Miss Marina, who only drinks coffee for breakfast?’ This with a sidewards glance of ill-concealed exasperation at his employer.

Marina only just managed not to laugh helplessly. He was so pompous and prim, he was adorable. ‘Heavens, no, Henry,’ she replied, the corners of her mouth twitching. ‘Where I come from, some of us can eat a horse for breakfast.’

‘I am most relieved,’ he sniffed, and, picking up the heavy suitcase with incredible ease, turned to lead the way.

It was a most gracious way too, Marina noted, following across a spacious black and white tiled foyer where, many metres above, hung a huge chandelier. Ahead curved an elegant staircase, covered in the middle by a wide strip of deep forest-green carpet whose pile was so plush it would be like walking on velvet in your bare feet. Sheer luxury!

Not that she’d expected anything less from a Mayfair apartment owned by an earl. Her eyes darted around as she mounted the steps.

The walls were wood-panelled up to a point, above which lay very English-looking green and gold striped wallpaper. The crystal and brass light fittings were splendid, as were the undoubtedly antique furniture pieces resting in various nooks and crannies.

‘I have put Miss Marina in the Rose Room, My Lord,’ Henry said on their way upstairs.

‘Very good, Henry. Oh, and Henry, William will be along for a bite to eat shortly. Since I know he’ll refuse to eat with Marina and myself, give him something in the kitchen. And make sure he’s taken his medication. His arthritis is very bad this morning, poor devil.’