Kitabı oku: «8 Magnificent Millionaires», sayfa 2

CHAPTER TWO

THE air was so cold Liadan’s breath practically turned to ice as soon as it left her lips. With her coat collar turned up high over her thick woollen scarf, she trailed behind Adrian as he strode ahead, his shoes crunching into the deep impacted snow and his gloveless hands buried deep inside the pockets of his long black coat. The sky was so white it almost matched the snow in brightness and Liadan wished she had her sunglasses to fend off the glare. Shielding her gaze with her gloved hand, she was deeply stirred by the magical landscape that revealed itself to her. Once she could simply accept that Adrian Jacobs wasn’t going to be the most sociable or approachable boss she could hope for, then she could actually start to enjoy the wintry beauty of her incredible surroundings and take pleasure in it, she decided.

‘That tower over there is two hundred and fifty years old and the clipped Holm oaks survive from the original garden. Just beyond the oaks there’s an orangery and an ornamental stream.’

Adrian waited for Liadan to catch up with him as he turned and spoke, his breath mimicking little puffs of locomotive steam in the frosty afternoon air. Surprised by his unexpected solicitude, Liadan duly quickened her stride, her boots plunging deep into the snow as she struggled to find some kind of rhythm, all the while far too conscious of his steady dark gaze on her efforts.

‘Gardens like this must take a lot of looking after,’ she breathed as she drew level. ‘You must have a team of gardeners, surely?’

His dark eyes narrowed. ‘Just George and his son Steven. They’re here most days. You’ll probably see them around. I don’t tolerate too many people on my property, Miss Willow. On the whole, I find people demand far more than I wish to give.’

‘But this is such a beautiful place. Don’t you ever feel like sharing it?’ The question was out before Liadan gave herself a chance to consider the wisdom of speaking such thoughts out loud. It hung suspended in the frozen air, making her squirm inside when it appeared that Adrian had not the slightest intention of answering her. But he didn’t turn away and continue striding ahead as she expected. Instead, a deep scowl etching his brow, he folded his arms across his chest and stared at her.

‘The answer to your question is no, Miss Willow. I expressly don’t feel like sharing my home with anyone. I live here because I actively enjoy the isolation. My uncle lived here on his own for twenty-five years after his wife died. Accidents or illness permitting, I plan to do the same.’

Well, she’d wanted an answer and she’d got one. Did he have any idea how cold and lonely a proposition his words suggested? What had happened to the man that he preferred to live his life away from the rest of humanity, like some kind of eccentric, wealthy recluse?

‘So you inherited the house from your uncle?’ she asked.

‘You were wondering how I could possibly afford to live in such grandeur on the pay of a jobbing writer,’ Adrian drawled scathingly.

Liadan couldn’t help but smile. ‘I know you’re a very successful author of crime novels, Mr Jacobs. It’s rare that your books aren’t on the best-seller lists.’

‘You’ve read my work?’ A new expression stole into those impenetrable dark eyes of his. Surprise? Caution? Disbelief? Perhaps all three? Liadan couldn’t be certain.

‘My brother Callum is a fan. He lent me a couple of your books one Christmas when I had nothing else to read.’ Colouring slightly at the admission and painfully aware that she could have chosen her words more carefully, she pressed on regardless before he could interrupt her. ‘They were very intriguing.’

‘But?’

To her consternation she saw that Adrian was smiling—well, for a second or two it seemed that the corners of his stern mouth lifted a little. Ducking her chin down into the warmth of her orange scarf, Liadan bravely met his questioning gaze. ‘They were so…so dark and spine-chilling. And the endings were unredeemingly bleak.’

‘So you were looking for some kind of redemption in my stories, were you? Some kind of light at the end of the tunnel to reassure you that really life couldn’t be as bad as all that, and all’s well that ends well?’

Her toes curling stiffly inside her boots, Liadan was beginning to wish she’d said nothing. Adrian’s scornful tone made her opinions sound naïve and somehow uneducated, and just for a moment she hated him for that.

‘Life isn’t all bad, no matter what you say. Everyone has their tough times but we learn from them, don’t we? We learn from them and move on. And things always get better as long as we don’t give up, don’t you agree?’

Her blue eyes sparkled a little defiantly, her words stirring such a surprising feeling of rage inside Adrian’s chest that he spun away from her before he said things he would probably only regret later. So the earnest Miss Willow thought that life was full of redeeming qualities, did she? How long before fate snatched the blinkers from her eyes and dealt her a crushing blow, one of the magnitude that he had suffered, to disabuse her of such an opinion?

As he strode far ahead, instinctively knowing she would have trouble keeping up with him, Adrian cursed himself for having the very thought that she might ever suffer such a tragedy.

The dining room was cold and cheerless, and as she laid a place setting for one at the head of the long oak refectory table that evening Liadan glanced distractedly at the empty fireplace, cursing herself for not thinking of laying a fire earlier. Even though the three radiators were switched to a high heat, the warmth they generated barely made an impact on the huge, draughty room. Those stately Georgian windows were the culprits. With their single-paned glass that the wind seemed to rattle through, no wonder the room remained chilled. Rubbing her hands together briskly to make them warmer, Liadan turned on her heel to return to the big bright kitchen, which would be cosily warm and full of fragrant cooking smells from the lamb casserole she’d put in the oven two hours ago. Distracted, she walked straight into a wall of steel with strong arms that immediately reached out to steady her as her eyes flew wide in shock.

‘Mr Jacobs! I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.’

‘Where’s the fire?’

Flustered, Liadan stepped back in dismay, glancing over her shoulder at the empty grate, trying to convince herself that contact with his body hadn’t sent shock waves of acute awareness flooding through her that made all her nerve endings sizzle. ‘I’m afraid I forgot to lay it. I was so busy organising dinner I—’

‘The question wasn’t literal. I wondered where you were rushing off to in such a hurry.’ A glint of amusement lurked in the dark depths of his fascinating eyes. Adrian’s acute study of her was agonising, making her blood heat to an alarming degree.

‘I was—I was anxious to see to dinner. Are you sure you want to eat in here? It’s much warmer in the kitchen if you don’t mind the cooking smells.’

‘I always have my evening meal in the dining room—unless of course I’m working. Then I have it in my study.’

About to boldly suggest he do something radical and break the habit of a lifetime, Liadan clamped her mouth closed just in time and said nothing. So as well as dour and unfriendly he was a creature of habit too? The observation surprised her. In her mind, people who feared change feared life. But Adrian had reported back from some of the most inhospitable environs in the world—in some of the most dangerous situations. It didn’t seem likely that a little thing like changing his dinnertime routine would faze him. Still, it annoyed her not to know the reason why he seemed such a stickler for routine.

‘I’m just sorry it’s so cold in here.’ Subconsciously illustrating the fact by rubbing her hands up and down her arms in her thick wool sweater, Liadan ventured a smile.

‘I think I have enough flesh covering my bones not to be too bothered by the lowered temperatures, Miss Willow.’

Although his manner was teasing, there was no humour reflected in his hypnotically compelling face. Confronted with yet another reminder of that disturbingly hard male body, the muscles in his arms like ropes of steel if his earlier grip had been any indication, Liadan quickly averted her gaze in case her fascinated expression gave her away.

‘Well, then…I’ll bring in your meal if you’d like to sit down.’

‘Bring some wine too. I trust Kate left you instructions as to my preferences?’

A dark full-bodied red with dinner. Liadan didn’t know why the description should bother her so, but right at that moment it did.

‘Right,’ she said, hovering at the door. Paying her no further attention, Adrian moved to the head of the table and sat down.

Her perfume lingered when she’d gone. Not overpowering, but light and sweet where it drifted on the air like May blossom. Breathing it in and feeling its unsettling effect, Adrian picked up his empty wineglass and flicked it restlessly with his nail. Kate hadn’t worn perfume—at least, not that he remembered. Could he enforce a rule that the wearing of perfume was banned whenever he was around, on the grounds that it was far too distracting for his peace of mind? He could just imagine what his pretty new housekeeper would think about that. No doubt she already saw him as a younger version of Scrooge. But why should he worry when, if his initial assumption proved to be right, she wouldn’t even last the week? Irritably he put down the wineglass. Then folding his arms across his chest, he leant back against the high-backed dining chair and briefly shut his eyes.

Nicole had always worn perfume. Even in the most unsuitable places, including the jungle. She used to laugh that a girl had standards to maintain and should never forget her femininity…The thought stole up on him like a thief in the night, searing his chest like a firebrand, and he sat bolt upright, grasping the edges of the table for support. That was twice in one day he’d thought about Nicole—the woman he’d planned to marry, fellow journalist and love of his life. Months had gone by without him allowing such thoughts access to even the merest dusty corner of his mind, and now twice in the space of less than twelve hours her memory had hit him hard, like a fierce blow slamming into his ribcage that doubled him up in agony. His mind’s eye saw her: glorious red-gold hair splayed out on that sun-baked concrete, blood staining the silken strands like some vile desecration; her beautiful green eyes staring up at Adrian in confusion and pain as she drew her last few breaths on this earth.

The news team had been warned about a possible attack on the embassy for weeks leading up to the terrorist bomb that had blown it to smithereens. But on that baking-hot day, after they’d travelled for three days to get there through notorious bandit country, Adrian’s belief in his own invincibility had been sky-high. So much so that he’d convinced the other, less confident members of his crew that, as long as they kept their wits about them at all times, all would be well. Seconds before they started to walk into the embassy, he’d been sharing a joke with Nicole about the unappetising rations they’d endured the last few days, when Mark, one of the older, more experienced cameramen on the team, had called him back to the Jeep to fetch the micro-cassette recorder he had left behind. Just as Adrian had reached the hot, mud-splattered vehicle all hell had broken loose, in an ear-splitting explosion that had sounded like the end of the world. Mark had shoved him roughly to the ground to give him some cover and Adrian had stared helplessly across to the sidewalk to see Nicole lying there…

‘I wonder if any more snow will fall during the night.’

‘What?’ Staring distractedly up into Liadan’s guileless blue gaze, Adrian forced his attention abruptly back to the present. Watching her small, pale hand steadily pour the ruby-red wine into his empty glass, he stole a second or two to wipe away the perspiration that he knew beaded his brow.

‘I said, I wonder if it will snow again tonight?’ Smiling, she put down the bottle, then adjusted his place-mat so that it sat more squarely on the table.

‘I have many interests but predicting the weather isn’t one of them.’

In less than a second, his caustic comment had wiped the smile from her face as though it had never been. Seeing the hurt in her eyes, Adrian took a deep slug of wine, remaining stubbornly silent as she mumbled, ‘Excuse me,’ and retreated from the room without another word.

It was with relief that Liadan turned down the perfectly white linen and pretty red and white quilt on her bed that night. Shivering as she removed her robe, she slid between the ice-cool sheets, making a mental note to go in search of a hot-water bottle the next morning, then pulled up the covers and sat back against the plumped up pillows with a pent-up sigh that she felt she’d been holding in all day. It had been a trying evening and one she wanted swiftly to forget. Adrian was right. Maybe she wouldn’t last the week after all? He was certainly pushing her towards that inevitable conclusion with his morose, uncommunicative behaviour.

Who could blame her if she quit tomorrow, under the circumstances? Clearly the efficient Kate Broomfield had had a substantial advantage when it came to dealing with Adrian Jacobs. She’d had the experience and the wisdom of maturity on her side to help her cope. If not that, then the woman had to have possessed something special to endure four and half years at the beck and call of a man who didn’t seem to view the rest of the human race as even remotely worthy of his attention.

Blinking at the clock on the nightstand, wishing she had more than just five short hours in which to get some sleep before rising at dawn to light the fire in Adrian’s study and make breakfast, Liadan had to admit that her shorter working hours at the shop had perhaps made her a little soft. Now she would have to get used to rising at the crack of sparrows once again—just as she and her mother had done when they’d run the hotel together.

Thoughts of the family home brought thoughts of her father and, not willing to go down that melancholy road at this moment when she was already feeling vulnerable, Liadan determinedly pushed the thought away to save it for another time when she was more able to handle it. She wished that Izzy were here with her, curled up on her lap, her soft, mesmerising purr the only sound to distract her racing thoughts, instead of the unfamiliar creaks and groans of a venerable old house settling down for the night.

In the gentle glow of the lamplight, Liadan guided her gaze to systematically check every dark corner of the bedroom, which was too large and impersonal for her taste and reminded her of a room in a museum. Satisfied that there was nothing to spook her save her own too wild imagination, she promised herself that when next she got home she would fetch some things to make it more homely. There was a charming picture of a cottage garden that hung in her bedroom that always gave her comfort. Perhaps if she brought it back with her it might act as some kind of lucky charm? Right now she could do with some positive influences. She wasn’t the sort who gave up easily but, if she should lose this job, such an opportunity to work so close to home and make some decent money to live on wasn’t likely to show up again soon, no matter how optimistic she was.

There were two viable options as far as she could see. One was to make the best of a difficult situation, sit it out and pray that Adrian Jacobs had a more agreeable side than he had displayed so far, which would reveal itself to her in the fullness of time. The second was to try and make herself as indispensable as she could to her new employer—as indispensable as Kate had been, if that was even remotely possible.

Her eyes gritty with lack of sleep, Liadan was on her knees in the study making up the fire in the impressive marble grate when Adrian came into the room. His appearance disturbed her more than she cared to admit, and not just because she was unsure that she was up to the job of being his housekeeper. With that thick black hair streaked with grey touching his collar, broadly muscular shoulders and a visage that was far more sexy than handsome, he had an aura of power and authority about him that would make a person sit up and take notice, whether they wanted to or not. No doubt it had come in very handy in all those threatening terrains he had reported from, back when he was a journalist, Liadan mused. But such authority first thing in the morning made her feel at a distinct disadvantage. She knew she wasn’t at her best after an almost completely sleepless night and she had only herself to blame. She’d let her anxiety about the job, about Adrian and about being attracted to emotionally unavailable men like Michael nearly drive her crazy.

‘Good morning.’

Her heart almost stopped at his greeting, her thoughts reflecting how good he looked in black, how imposing and how…ticked off.

‘Mr Jacobs, I was just about to—’

‘The fire should have been lit in here at least half an hour ago, Miss Willow. I thought Kate made my routine clear? And where is my coffee? I went into the kitchen but unless my eyesight is failing me I saw no evidence of any being made, not a drop. Care to explain why?’

Hearing the unsettled throb of her own heartbeat in her ears, Liadan sat back on her haunches and nervously pushed her fringe from her eyes.

‘Kate told me she usually gets up around five-thirty, Mr Jacobs, which I did. If it’s taking me a little longer to build up the fire it’s just that I’m a bit out of practice. Bear with me and you’ll have your fire and your coffee in just a few more minutes’ time.’

Amazed at her own ability to appear outwardly calm when inside she was seething at his criticism, Liadan turned her back on him once more to continue with the task in hand. She leant forward to set a match to the tinder, her hand shaking, her face growing hotter by the second at the idea that Adrian’s eyes were burning into the back of her head. She knew she was a good and reliable worker but somehow, from the minute she’d started to work for this man, she had managed to appear anything but. Still, she was resolved to see it through no matter how tough it got, and she vowed to talk to him just as soon as she got the chance to try and set a few things straight before the situation went from bad to worse. It wasn’t unreasonable of him to expect certain standards, but, in Liadan’s book, it was unreasonable to speak to an employee in such an arrogant, rude and high-handed way that it made them feel like leaving. What was wrong with the man, for goodness’ sake? Was he this hostile to everyone or had something about her personally rubbed him up the wrong way?

‘I’ll put the coffee on myself while you see to the fire,’ he said from behind her. ‘But don’t take too long. I’d like my breakfast before I start work and I’ve got a busy day ahead of me.’

As he went out of the door Adrian could have sworn he heard Liadan mutter something heartfelt beneath her breath and he knew he probably deserved whatever insult she was currently castigating him with. If Kate knew how he was behaving towards his new housekeeper she’d read him the Riot Act, but didn’t he have a right to expect good service when he’d made it perfectly clear that that was what he was looking for? As he walked back along the corridor to the kitchen he fought down a fresh resurgence of annoyance at Kate’s desertion and told himself it was her fault entirely if his manner wasn’t all that it should be. As for Liadan Willow—he’d better learn to keep his temper under strict control where she was concerned or he would quickly find himself without a housekeeper. It was that soft silken mass of red-gold hair of hers that was causing all the trouble. It reminded him of the one woman he had truly loved, stirring desperately agonising feelings of recrimination and regret about what had happened that dreadful day that would be with him for the rest of his life…

But his book was nearly finished. He couldn’t risk being abandoned by his housekeeper now when he was at such a crucial point, so he would endeavour to be more civil towards her. Just two more weeks, he estimated, and the thing would be done. Perhaps then his mind would allow him a brief period of peace from the demons of creativity that drove him and he could think about something else besides work. But as he stood spooning dark roast coffee grounds into the percolator Adrian wondered with pain what else he had worth thinking about in his life besides work.

‘Thanks for breakfast. I’m going to my study now, so please take any calls, would you? Just take messages for now and tell them I’ll get back to them later.’

Pausing from stacking a newly washed plate on the drainer, Liadan turned to acknowledge him. Had she really heard him say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ in one breath? At least she hadn’t messed up the breakfast. She’d served him up eggs and bacon and tomatoes done to perfection, she’d kept the toast hot and the coffee strong as he liked it and the food had certainly seemed to lighten his mood.

‘Okay.’

‘Oh, and Liadan?’

She went still as a statue at his unexpected use of her name. ‘Yes?’

‘I need you to go and find George Ferrers, my head gardener. Tell him I’d like a meeting at nine sharp.’

‘But where will I…?’

He’d gone from the room before she had a chance to finish her question. Throwing the dishcloth back into the sink full of hot, sudsy water, Liadan took a moment to gather her thoughts. She gazed out of the window, and experienced a sudden deep longing for the camaraderie and warmth of Moonbeams, the charmingly pretty little shop where she had worked for the past three years with two of the nicest workmates you could wish to find. It was evident so far that working for Adrian Jacobs would not be such a joy.

Wrapped up warm in her long tweed coat, her orange mohair scarf looped snugly round her neck, Liadan filled her lungs joyfully with deep breaths of crisp morning air as she strode out purposefully in search of George Ferrers. Instinctively she headed towards two large greenhouses she’d glimpsed yesterday on her brief tour of the gardens with Adrian. There was too much snow for anyone to do much in the garden, she decided, so it stood to reason if there were greenhouses, that was where she’d find the man she was looking for.

She put her head round the door of the first building, and her spirits lifted when she saw a tall, older man garbed in old trousers, wellingtons, a thick Arran sweater and a sheepskin jacket patting earth down into a huge earthenware pot. He tipped his cap back on his head when Liadan called out, ‘Hello,’ waiting silently for her to join him.

‘You must be George,’ she said smilingly, holding out her hand. He had a kind face, one you could trust, she silently assessed. ‘I’m Liadan Willow. Mr Jacobs’ new housekeeper.’

‘If that’s the case, then things are looking up around here in a big way,’ drawled an interested male voice from behind her.