Kitabı oku: «At Your Service, Jack», sayfa 2
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PEREMPTORY AND RUDE, that was Mr. Jack Carlisle. Freddi would deal with him in the morning. For the moment, she needed to lie down and sleep. As she snuggled under the duvet, a little voice reminded her of a few other, more earthy and seductive aspects of the man who was her new employer. Those naughty whispers she would ignore. She would forget the extraordinary way her body had started to sizzle and tingle at his nearness, and how she had virtually attacked him.
How to explain her reaction to him? Simon, her ex-fiancé, had never had such an effect on her. Neither had Navy Roger, who had been The First. She should have known that, being a sailor, he’d soon move on to wilder waters.
It would be best to banish the incident from her mind and concentrate on the task at hand. Judging by the way Jack had behaved last night, she was going to have plenty to work on if she was going to transform this somewhat rough-edged fellow into a suave and polite gentleman.
BACK IN THE WIDE, king-size bed, Jack had been having a wonderful dream. But now, suddenly, his fantasy had evaporated. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recapture the fabulous feeling of feminine flesh snuggling into him. He was on the verge of success when the telephone rang, waking him up. He groaned, wiped his hands over his face and stretched to reach the demanding instrument. Just as he was within grasping distance it stopped ringing.
The sound of a woman’s voice wafted through the thin wall. Jack’s eyebrows shot up. What the hell? Last thing he remembered…Oh yeah. That voice, those cultured vowels, those crisp consonants, belonged to Freddi Elliott, the female butler from jolly old England. Jack narrowed his eyes. Surely that luscious, fantastic, sexy dream he’d been having couldn’t possibly have featured her? Nah. Impossible. The dating desert he’d been in for too long because of all the extra hours he’d put in at the office and the laboratory was causing hallucinations.
“Hang on a sec,” he heard her say. A pause. “Polly, do you realize it’s the middle of the night here?” Another pause, then, “Is Tabitha there?”
Jack pursed his lips, thinking. Well, of course she would know Tabitha, but he would have expected Elliott to call her Mrs. James. Now the question was, did Freddi Elliott by any unlucky chance happen to know his archrival Simon as well? His dastardly cousin was quite capable of planting a spy in the opposite camp. He’d had it in for Jack ever since his family’s first visit to England.
The memory of that stay, soon after his mother died, when he was ten and Louise was eight, rose up in Jack’s mind. That had been the start of the bad feeling and rivalry between the cousins. Simon, two years older than Jack and at the time a foot taller, had mocked him from the start.
“London,Ontario?” Simon grabbed hold of Jack’s arm and twisted it behind his back. “What kind of a stupid town is that?” he taunted. “Couldn’t they even think of an original name?” That was how it began. And then, Jack beat Simon at chess, a game Simon always won effortlessly. Subsequent visits only seemed to reinforce Simon’s jealousy. Every time Jack had a success, Simon had to go one better. When Jack made the hockey team, Simon got his rowing blue. When Jack completed his engineering degree in metallurgy, Simon went for an MBA.
The thing was, he didn’t want Simon horning in on his project. The new method of bonding metals held tremendous promise, but Uncle Avery had said it was outside of the scope of Quaxel Corporation and had advised Jack to set up a separate company.
And the thought that Uncle Avery was being fed reports on how Jack was shaping up made him furious. Lord, the demon stress was making him paranoid. He lay on his back and squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe he’d drift right back into the dream and take up where it had left off.
SUMMONED OUT OF SLEEP by the telephone, Freddi opened her eyes to complete darkness. Disoriented, she stretched out a hand for her bedside light. Instead of a silk-covered lampshade and alabaster base, she touched cool metal. The phone kept ringing.
She found the switch and snatched up the receiver.
“Hello, Freddi,” Polly’s bright tones rang in her ears. “How was the trip?”
“Mmmph.” Freddi dragged herself upright and looked at her watch. “Polly, do you realize it’s the middle of the night here?”
“Nah. I just got into the office. Must be at least ten-thirty.”
“Is Tabby there?”
“Yeah. Hang on, she wants a word too.”
“Tabby! He’s expecting me to bring him breakfast in bed.”
“So?”
How to explain without revealing the faux pas she’d already committed? “So, judging from—er—the sweatpants he was wearing last night I would say he’s probably—er—rather virile.”
“And?”
“What if I fumble when I put the tray down or something?”
“Just keep it professional and you’ll do fine.”
“Yeah, but I wish—”
On the other side of the drywall partition, Jack pricked up his ears. Nice to know she thought him virile…but he never discovered what she wished. Instead, her next question puzzled him.
“Any sign of that snake?”
A pause.
“Good. Remember, you promised not to tell him where I am. He’s not getting it through his head that we’re over. I don’t need him bothering me here, too.” Another pause. Freddi was relieved to hear Tabitha say, “No problem, Freddi.”
“Give me a call in a week if you need me to put in a progress report. Now, I’d better be getting up and dressed if I’m going to provide His Studliness with breakfast at seven.” After she put the phone down, she realized Tabitha never did say why she had called in the first place.
Jack leaned back against the mahogany headboard, folded his arms over his chest and gave a satisfied smirk. He wouldn’t allow his suspicions to spoil his anticipation. If Freddi was here to spy on him that would be short-lived. It had been a while since he’d looked forward to breakfast with such relish. Usually he didn’t bother with more than a cup of coffee. But today…today all he could think was, Roll on seven o’clock.
WIDE AWAKE, FREDDI sat on the edge of the bed. Five-forty. Time to start getting organized. First, she’d retrieve her luggage. Providing, of course, it wasn’t still circling around Toronto, sight-seeing from the back of the taxi.
Clad in her overcoat, she found the light switch at the top of the stairwell. Slowly she made her way down the spiraling steps to the ground floor, wondering what lay in store for her and where her bags were. In the gloom, her toe made sudden unexpected contact with her suitcase. She almost took a tumble, but saved herself by flopping over at the waist like a puppet. How very thoughtful of Jack to leave the three packages just past the foot of the stairs. Had he intended them to act as a booby trap?
She noticed her hat, picked it up and looked for a place to put it. Ah, the marble blind-eyed bust in the entrance hall would do. In fact, she rather liked the whimsical look she’d produced.
Grabbing the handle of her suitcase, she lifted it an inch off the floor. No way could she get this up to the room. She’d only managed with it this far thanks to all the kind taxi drivers. She’d really packed too much! Thinking creatively, she decided to unpack downstairs and carry her things up to her room.
Stealthily, she made several ascents and descents. At last she carried up a final armful and set about preparing her uniform. A crumpled effect would not do. With the help of the small traveling steamer she’d bought, she got rid of the creases.
Freshly showered and dressed, Freddi checked her appearance in front of the mirrored closet. If she was going to be a butler she might as well look right. And if this job could help her rebuild her life, it would make the hassle worthwhile. It was bad enough that Simon had totaled her car and been unfaithful to her. But the fact that he’d run up a debt on her Visa was the big problem. She needed to earn well to wipe the slate clean and start over.
Her black tie was not quite properly aligned with the collar of her white shirt, so she leaned in close to adjust it. She tugged the points of her gray weskit over the calf-length, pin-striped skirt, then did up the buttons of the black dinner jacket, making sure the stiff cuffs showed just the right amount of white below the sleeves. Black tights were pulled up well enough so that they didn’t wrinkle, and sensible, flat-heeled lace-up shoes shone with polish. Her hair was slicked down, close to her skull. She then confronted her image full on. She would do. It was a pity that she had no white rose to place in her buttonhole, but she would soon remedy that lack.
Downstairs, she explored the living spaces. The morning was still early, but light reflected off the snow, which meant that the house was not at all dark. In the fireplace, the ashes lay cold and gray. She looked in the direction of the black leather couch. If she ignored a certain late-night excursion, the last coherent memory she had from yesterday was of sitting there and falling asleep. On the coffee table, between the empty pizza box, a glass and a coffee mug, was a man’s wallet, presumably Mr. Carlisle’s. Hardly making a sound, she straightened the place up.
Into the not-too-small galley kitchen she stepped. Everything was state-of-the-art, sleek and modern. Freddi’s gaze swept appreciatively over smart wooden cupboards and shiny granite tops. Underneath was the antidrudgery angel’s gift to humankind, the dishwasher, and she put the soiled crockery and glassware inside. Against one wall stood the largest fridge she’d ever seen. Opposite waited an equally impressive stove that could have coped with the catering demands of a small restaurant. Mr. Carlisle must be totally into his cooking, probably a real foodie.
What a contrast this was from the hodgepodge of cupboards and appliances and single overhead light she’d left behind in Hampstead. She sighed.
The moment she’d discovered Simon shagging Polly’s friend she’d taken off, gone to Paris for the weekend. He’d acted incredulous and hurt when she told him this was the end. He’d sworn he wouldn’t stray again. Before making her final escape she’d retrieved nearly all her belongings, and then given her last few pounds to the airways to cover the overweight charge. That had surely been worth it. As long as Jack never found out she’d been associated with his cousin she’d be fine. She couldn’t bear the thought of him knowing how she’d allowed herself to be taken in by Simon.
All things considered, this wasn’t such a bad exchange. Jack’s taste in clothing could do with some refining, but she couldn’t fault his living style. Tabby had told her he had a trust fund from his father. Pity there was no such fortune in the impoverished Elliott family. Every penny earned went to hang on to the manor house and home farm—all that was left of a once sizable estate. Although their parents had scrimped to send both Freddi and Matthew to exclusive boarding schools, they just had to manage on their own now.
She sighed and got busy with the task at hand—preparing a good hearty breakfast.
From the stack of crockery in a glass-fronted cabinet she chose a suitable plate. Thinking to warm it, she pulled open the oven door and paused, considering the pristine interior. The shelves were still encased in plastic. Corrugated cardboard covered the elements. Revise the first conclusion. So far in its existence, Jack Carlisle’s oven was all flashy surface. That could possibly apply to the man as well. Time would tell soon enough.
She turned toward the fridge and opened it to take out the necessary ingredients. The interior of the appliance gleamed empty and was almost as unused as the oven. Freddi bit her lip. Slowly she shut the door again. One after the other, she began opening cupboards. Maybe she’d find a tin of fruit and a box of cereal in the pantry. No such luck. Even the bread bin contained only a sprinkling of bread crumbs and a plastic packet. How could she produce breakfast when there was no food available?
Arms folded, Freddi leaned back against the cabinets, looking up at the ceiling while she thought. This was a challenge. Just what she liked. Already she could feel her problem-solving energy prickling in her brain. After discarding the idea of spending valuable time looking for a store that was open this early, she gave a brisk nod. She knew just what to do. First, she picked up Jack’s wallet and checked it for cash. Plenty of good-size bills in there. Fine. Back up the stairs she headed, and returned with a couple of her reference books. Then she picked up the handy kitchen phone and dialed. A smile of satisfaction spread as she replaced the receiver. That was sorted. One full breakfast was on order, as well as a continental for the staff. If this was some kind of test, Mr. Jack Carlisle was soon going to discover it was well within the bounds of Elliott’s capabilities.
AT PRECISELY two and a half minutes to seven, Freddi curled her fingers around the wooden handles of the large tray. It was beautifully set and loaded with half a grapefruit, a bowl of cereal, milk and sugar, a plate of bacon and eggs, several slices of toast on the side, plus butter and marmalade and a generous carafe of coffee, all courtesy of a ritzy downtown hotel.
Outside Jack’s door, she stopped. This was one of those moments when she regretted allowing Tabby to persuade her to take a crash course in buttling. But there was no need to be nervous. He needn’t know she’d never done this before and didn’t intend to do it again. She’d go in, put the tray down, open the curtains and remove herself. A deep breath in and out and then she knocked sharply, three times.
“Yeah, come in.” His voice sounded scratchy. No reason for it to have such a strange effect on her, but it did. She’d never felt anything quite like these hitherto unknown physiological reactions she’d been experiencing since yesterday.
Stop right there, Elliott. Remember what Tabby said. This is really no big deal.
She pushed open the door. Straight away she knew she was in trouble.
4
RIGHT ACROSS THE ROOM, staring at her as if ready and waiting, Jack reclined in bed. Without the covering of the bandanna, his hair gleamed thick, wavy and black. Around him spread a sea of rumpled sheets. She wondered briefly if he’d had a rough night. But mostly, her attention was riveted on the sight of him, the impact of his presence, the dangerous way he looked this morning. Perhaps it was because of the dark shadow on his unshaven cheeks and chin, but it was mostly because of his expression. What did he do to make his eyes glitter like that? And how could he look so much like—like dynamite? His wide chest was bare, as was the rest of him, if her memory served her correctly. She dropped her gaze. Forget that, Elliott. Wipe it off the slate. Just concentrate on getting yourself and His Studliness’s tray across the expanse of carpet.
“Good morning, sir.” Her formal manner was well in place.
“Jack.”
“Yes, sir.”
He sat still, arms folded, but watching her every move. She stopped beside the bed.
Now what? She’d just known this was going to be awkward; and somehow she was sure Jack was deliberately making it difficult. Inside she may be trembling, but she wasn’t going to reveal that. Ever since being sent off to boarding school at the age of eight, she’d been thoroughly educated in stiff-upper-lipness.
Her hold on the handles tightened. If she put the tray on his lap it might slide off, especially if he kept his arms folded and his ankles crossed. But there was not enough room between him and the edge of the bed to place it there. She swung away.
“I’ll leave the tray on the table for you, sir.”
“No, you won’t.”
She paused and stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said I wanted breakfast in bed, and that’s what I meant.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Jack.”
She ignored that, but carried the tray with exaggerated deliberation around to the other side of the bed. Someday she was going to discover exactly what that tattoo on his upper arm looked like.
She stepped away and went over to open the blinds. Turning back, she asked, “Will that be all for the moment?”
“Yes.”
“I can draw your bath, if you wish.”
“I’ll take a shower, thank you.”
Did he sound a little miffed? She certainly hoped so. If this was going to be a war, so be it. A battle was just what she needed to get rid of her rage against Simon. She still hadn’t decided if she was more angry at him for totaling her car and then lying about it, or for being unfaithful. And why the hell had he decided to go for Polly’s friend Sharon? If he had to go and shag someone else, at least he should have had the decency to choose someone Freddi didn’t know.
Out in the passage, the door securely shut behind her, she put a thumb to the end of her nose and waggled her fingers. Feeling like a schoolgirl again, she grinned.
Then she sighed. How hard it was to be in a menial position. Only the promise of a fat salary and the possibility of a quick way out of her difficulties could have persuaded her to take on such a role. Thankfully, she’d been born and bred to know exactly the right way of doing things.
And then of course there was Tabby, Simon’s sister, who knew all about his nasty ways and insisted that giving Freddi this job was the least she could do to make up for the trouble Simon had caused.
Freddi made a detour into her room to fetch her notebook and more reference material. In one corner of the kitchen she’d noticed a small built-in desk. For the moment she could make use of that. Tabby had suggested Jack could benefit from her office and administration skills. He’d soon find out what a mistress of organization she was. If she succeeded in being efficient, after a week he wouldn’t know what hit him. Smiling to herself, she remembered the look on his face when she’d walked in with the breakfast tray. Score one for Elliott.
HAVING RECOVERED from his astonishment at his butler’s achievement, Jack sat savoring the last half cup of coffee. Appreciation for the meal overcame his chagrin at being bested. Now that he was finished, he set the tray aside and got up. Once shorts and a spare T-shirt were shoved into his gym bag, he went through to his en suite bathroom to comb his hair. Reflected in the mirror stood the business whiz of the western world. Sooner rather than later, people were going to recognize his genius. If it hadn’t been for the downshift in the economy, he’d be there already. As it was, instead of easily getting funding to develop the applications for his product, he’d been forced to go to Uncle Avery who had reservations about Jack because of some important negotiations he’d botched five years ago at the age of twenty-four. In spite of subsequent success, that black mark hadn’t yet been erased.
Jack rolled his shoulders back. No good dwelling on such things. It was time to get the blood running. Today he was looking forward to his exercise session. Maybe he’d be able to sweat out the contradictory feelings he was having about Elliott. On one hand, he wanted her gone, out of his life. On the other, he was hooked on the vague notion that he’d been dreaming about her in gloriously vivid Technicolor. She was getting to him, invading his space, and he couldn’t imagine having her around 24/7. But he was enjoying what was swiftly becoming a battle of wits.
It might be an idea to give dear cousin Tabitha a call.
He got through immediately.
“Tabby, what the hell do you mean by sending me a woman?”
“Freddi?” Her voice sounded suspiciously airy. “She’s exactly what you need, Jack. Believe me, if anyone can save you, she can.”
“I’m sending her back.”
“No! Don’t. Either Simon or you have to take over from Uncle Avery when he retires. You don’t want to hand Si the job on a plate. So far, he’s looking like a certainty.”
“You mean, because he’s Uncle Avery’s godson?”
“Right. And I’m sorry to tell you, he’s been spreading rumors about you again.”
“Oh yeah? No doubt saying I’m uncouth and wayward.”
“Er, yes…. Look. Give Freddi a chance. I’m certain you’ll find she’s the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“Guaranteed to get me Uncle Avery’s approval, is she?”
“That’s what I hope. Part of it, anyhow. She’ll sort you out, put you right so that you can’t put a foot wrong.”
There were a few seconds of silence while he absorbed that.
“Um…Jack?” Tabby’s voice sounded tentative.
“Yeah.”
“There’s only one thing I have to insist on.”
“What’s that?”
“This is awkward, but I know you’re an honorable man.”
Nice to know someone had faith in his good qualities.
“I try to be.”
“So please, what I want to ask is, don’t even think of Elliott as being female.”
Jack laughed, but even he could hear it sounded phony. “The way she looks, all buttoned up in that hideously severe uniform, stopping myself from hitting on her won’t be any problem at all.”
“I want you to give me your word on that.”
He was silent while his memory nudged him back into the wisps of a dream, and reminded him of how he’d reacted when he’d carried her up to bed yesterday. “Why is this so important?”
“Partly because that’s the agency’s policy, and partly because…well, Freddi went through a bad time just recently.” Tabitha paused, and then repeated, “So please, promise me, Jack.”
“I don’t think I can quite do that. Proximity, you know. All I can say is, I’ll try. Anyways, I’m busy with a dating project.”
“Don’t say that.”
“What? You don’t want me to date?”
“Of course I do. We all know Uncle Avery’s emphasis on the right partner in life. But it’s the ‘anyways’ that bothers me.”
“Excuse me? You want me to date both ways?”
“Stop it, Jack!” Tabby sputtered between her giggles. “‘Anyway’ is singular, not plural. So don’t say ‘anyways.”’
He gave an exaggerated, put-upon sigh. “Wish I could just stay plain Jack and not have to learn all this trivial stuff.”
“I know it seems trivial, but decisions often hang on impressions rather than facts. And remember, my dastardly brother is scheming to be top dog, number one, the fella with all the power.”
“Tabby, I just want to get on with the job. Why must I be sucked in?”
“Because you know it would be a disaster if Simon took over the reins…It’s the family, Jack. You can’t avoid it.”
She had him there. As much as he tried, he couldn’t shake off the family feeling, partly because he felt responsible for the legacy of his father. After asking Tabitha how she and her husband were doing, Jack hung up the phone, not exactly satisfied, but at least a bit reconciled to the situation.
He went running down the staircase and paused at the bottom. Something was missing. He distinctly remembered…Freddi’s luggage was gone. She’d taken the hint and removed herself, gone back to England. Great. The whole episode was a hideous illusion. Although he still wasn’t too sure about that dream.
He strode into the living room to retrieve his wallet, and paused when he reached the empty coffee table. His wallet was no longer where he’d left it. Either he’d been burgled in the night or his woman butler was still at large.
Now, where was she? Scanning the surroundings, he had the idea that the whole place looked neater, which meant she must be somewhere around. He listened. Not a sound…except a rustling, like a page being turned. He headed to the kitchen to investigate.
Freddi sat with her back to him, working at that stupid desk that was too tiny for him.
Time to needle her a little bit. “Busy already?”
She half turned in the chair. “Just preparing some notes.”
“Surely you’ve got a memory.”
She sent him an admonishing look. “I don’t like to take chances.”
“No? Wasn’t coming over here taking a chance?”
“I, er, I was more or less forced into that.”
“Forced? How?” This sounded intriguing.
Her mouth pressed into a prim pout. She had no intention of going into details, crying on his shoulder, although she had to admit, Jack’s shoulders were temptingly broad. “There were circumstances at home.” She shut the notebook and stood up. “I’ll have you know, Mr. Carlisle, it’s not done to ask personal questions.”
“Is that so?” Her denial increased his desire to know. He slid one hand into his back pocket, in the process pushing his pants down an inch lower. Her eyes flickered to his waist and away.
“Yes, sir.”
“How’m I going to find out about you if I don’t ask personal questions?” He took a couple of steps forward, crowding her. “I mean, here you are, sharing my house.”
And last night, for just a little while, she’d shared his bed as well.
Freddi stood her ground. If he crowded any closer she’d be able to breathe the scent of a freshly showered Jack Carlisle.
“I’m your butler.” She tilted her chin just a little more than was necessary to look him in the eye. “You don’t need to know anything about me, other than that I’ll work to your advantage. On the other hand,” she continued, “given the scope of my job description, I’ll have to find out a great deal about you.”
“Fine by me.” He lifted his hands in a guileless gesture. “My conscience is clear. I have absolutely nothing to hide.” But he wondered if she did.
“Good. Because I’ll need to use your computer. I have to get onto the Internet and I’ll need your password.”
“Why?”
“All sorts of reasons. But first off, I need to order in some groceries.”
Jack opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. Wariness flickered in his eyes. “What else would you do?”
“For example, download your e-mail.”
He shifted from one foot to the other. “All right. I suppose that might be useful.”
She looked him up and down. Didn’t the man ever dress in decent clothes?
“A gentleman never goes out dressed like a—a layabout.”
Legs apart, body braced, he stood in front of her. She could almost see the scarlet steam of annoyance wafting out of his ears.
“I go to the gym dressed like this,” he said, enunciating every word. “Then I change before setting off for the office.”
He’d already turned away when a thought struck him.
“Just remember, I don’t want any spam.”
“Sir, I would never dream of serving you anything but home cooked meals.”
“Huh?”
“Spam—tinned meat.”
“Oh no. I meant, junk e-mails.”
She bit her lip. “I see.”
Intent on getting out the door, he headed for the lobby.
Freddi stopped him. “Mr. Carlisle—”
“Jack—”
She held out the wallet. “I’m afraid I had to take out some notes to pay for the breakfast.”
He took the leather folder from her and opened it up.
“Here.” He held out five one-hundred-dollar bills. “Something to cover expenses. Keep two for yourself. It occurs to me you’ll need some cash. Consider this a moving allowance.”
She accepted the notes from him and closed her eyes on a quick prayer of gratitude. Bloody right she needed this. After the dastardly Simon’s incursions, she was seriously into negative equity. As a last resort she could ask her father to help, but she’d much rather not.
Jack resigned himself. British chicks, always on the make. Well, he wasn’t one to quibble about money. “Today I’ll organize a debit card for you, so you can use that for the household.”
Freddi shifted her weight. She dropped her gaze.
Jack noticed that her face was almost translucent. Shadows smudged the fine skin under her eyes. She looked pale, fragile.
“Feeling jet-lagged, are you?” In spite of his best efforts to stay stern, a sympathetic tone crept into his voice. “Tell you what, as you conjured up such an excellent breakfast, you can take some time off today. Catch up on that sleep you seem to need.”
Dark eyes stared up at him.
“What I need is exercise,” she said.
“I suppose you could come to the gym with me,” he offered.
“No, thank you, I don’t like sweat shops. And I need to get started here.”
Good. That let him off the hook. “Well, please yourself, go swimming, dancing, whatever. They’re all available nearby.” He turned away from her.
“Thank you, sir. I think I will.”
“It’s Jack, dammit.” Whirling around, he slapped the wall with a flat hand. “When you call me sir you make me feel as ancient and curmudgeonly as my Uncle Avery.”
“Yes, sir, er, Jack…Would you like me to answer the phone?”
“Please yourself.” He stepped back. “You can write down the messages, too.” Picking up his bag, he said, “In any case, I have an appointment tonight. I won’t be back for dinner.”
Jack was almost out the door when the marble bust caught his eye. On it, set at a rakish angle, was Freddi’s hat. He dropped his gym bag, rummaged in the closet and dug out his bike helmet. Eyes glittering with malevolent glee, he removed the hat and threw it up onto the shelf. Then he replaced it with the helmet.
AT TWO O’CLOCK, Freddi went to fetch her coat. Earlier she had received the first of a weekly delivery of flowers, including roses for her buttonhole. She had just finished arranging a vase.
Now she approached the closet and did a double take. Was she hallucinating? Instead of her hat sitting jauntily on the marble bust, she saw the shiny surface and aerodynamic lines of a bicycle helmet. Huh. Obviously that belonged to Jack and he’d swapped it, not approving of her funky headwear. All right, Mr. Carlisle, she thought. This calls for retribution. Quickly, her mind ran through all the schoolgirl tricks she’d encountered or perpetrated as a boarder; tricks like short-sheeting beds and exchanging the sugar in the sugar bowl for salt. No, nothing like that would do. She’d think up something more subtle to move her pawn forward and advance her game. Meanwhile, she had a class to attend.
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