Cathy Williams - 8 Magnificent Millionaires

Guiltily shaking herself out of her reverie, she quickly gathered up the rest of the strewn manuscript, stood the upturned chair back in its proper place and painstakingly picked up every shattered piece of broken crockery. Then she spent the next hour collating all the pages of Adrian’s script and putting them in a neat, orderly pile on top of his writing desk. Hoping that her efforts might induce him to feel a little calmer on his return, Liadan made to leave the room. Inadvertently glancing at the piano on her way out, she flexed her fingers longingly, then let herself out of the study to return to the utility room and get on with her chores.

‘Hello, George. Looks like the snow is finally melting.’

Clapping her hands together briskly in her warm woollen gloves, Liadan let her gaze roam briefly around the large greenhouse, then back again to the head gardener, who was examining seed trays with a frown.

‘And everything up to its eyes in muck and bullets,’ George replied dourly, before turning to give her his full attention.

‘It’s pretty while it lasts but I can see why it’s not exactly welcome. It can’t be easy taking care of gardens this large,’ Liadan commented sympathetically.

‘It’s not normally a problem. Been looking after this place most of my working life. Took care of these gardens for Mr Jacobs’ uncle. I was just a young lad when I started here. You wait till you see them in spring, Miss Willow. You’ll see a sight for sore eyes then!’

Feeling a genuine fondness developing for the older man as well as huge respect for his obvious skill and dedication in taking care of the gardens, Liadan let down her guard and started to relax. Whether she would still be here in the spring was another story entirely, but it shouldn’t stop her getting to know George a little better. With Adrian locked away in his study most of the time working and more or less on her own in the house, she wouldn’t mind someone else to talk to now and then.

‘I can’t wait. George, I wondered if you had any flowers I could have to put in the house? The place needs cheering up a bit, in my opinion.’

‘You asked Mr Jacobs about that, lass?’ Frowning, George’s light blue eyes were suddenly wary.

‘Is there a problem?’

‘Mr Jacobs don’t usually like flowers in the house, lass. He said they remind him too much of funerals.’

Digesting this new knowledge with a little flutter of disquiet in her chest, Liadan shrugged good-naturedly. ‘Nothing’s set in stone, though, is it? I just thought a few nice blooms for the drawing room and the hall and maybe a pot of something I could take care of in my room. Hyacinths, perhaps?’

‘I’ll sort you out something just as soon as I’ve seen to these trays. Come back in a couple of hours, will you?’

‘Thanks, George.’

‘You settling in okay up at the house?’

Her smile was as sunny and as soothing as a summer garden and George found himself unreservedly warming to Adrian’s new young housekeeper.

‘I’m starting to get used to it. I don’t mind saying that I was quite intimidated at first.’

‘Don’t let Mr Jacobs worry you, lass. His bark is far worse than his bite, I can tell you. Very much like his uncle, he is, and he was a good man too. Never had a cross word from him in my life.’

‘Thank you. That’s very…reassuring. I’ll come back in a couple of hours, then.’ As she made her way along the slippery and wet paths that led back to the house Liadan found herself puzzling as to why Adrian would assert that flowers only reminded him of funerals. She got the feeling it had to do with whatever was tormenting him about his past, and her stomach turned over at the thought. Had someone close to him died? Someone he couldn’t forget? His wife, maybe?

‘Liadan!’

She swivelled at her name, her gaze seeking out who had called her. When she saw Steven Ferrers hurrying towards her, a garden rake hoisted in one hand and his long dark hair flying, she felt every muscle in her body contract warily. What did he want?

‘I’m glad I caught you.’ As he drew near his glance was piercing and far too familiar. Liadan wished she’d got back to the house before he’d seen her, but tried hard to conceal her irritation. George Ferrers was a sweetie but his son was not in the same league as his father. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

‘What can I do for you, Mr Ferrers?’

‘Oh, come on!’ Grinning in disbelief, he swept his gaze down her figure in her long tweed coat and up again to the riot of red-gold curls that the wind had blown free of her bun. ‘We don’t need to stand on ceremony, do we? My name’s Steven. We’re both young, both stuck out here in the middle of bloody nowhere, and it’s going to be a long winter, sweetheart. What say you and me have a bit of fun? There’s a bit of a get-together tonight down at the village hall—some football mates of mine and their girls. I’m sure you could get the evening off if you fluttered those pretty eyelashes of yours at Mr Jacobs.’

The whole idea was so preposterous that Liadan was genuinely astounded. When God had been handing out bare-faced cheek, Steven Ferrers certainly hadn’t been lingering at the back of the queue. Flutter her eyelashes at Adrian Jacobs indeed! She could just imagine where that would get her. Then she remembered his dark eyes turning unsettlingly smoky during that incident in his study when he’d asked her to help to pick up his papers. Her heartbeat seemed to quicken and her breath grow suddenly shallow.

‘I think I ought to make one thing clear right now, Steven. I’m not looking to have a “bit of fun” with anyone. I’m here to do a job, and that’s all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to work.’ Liadan was about to turn away, and her blue eyes flew wide in alarm when Steven grabbed her arm none too gently, glaring at her with a hard, almost threatening glance that made her blood run cold. ‘Think yourself too good for the likes of me, do you, angel? You’ll be glad enough of some normal male company after a week working for him up there! He’s not interested in women, darling, no matter how pretty. He’s got too much ice in his veins for that. You read his books? The only women he’s interested in are corpses! Spooky, wouldn’t you say?’

Pulling her arm free, Liadan felt as if her bones had suddenly turned as soggy as wet noodles. The hand she withdrew was visibly shaking in its protective bright orange glove. ‘Don’t you ever lay so much as a finger on me again, do you hear? If you do I’ll speak to the police! I won’t even hesitate—do you hear?’

It wasn’t an idle threat, either. Her friend Mel’s father was the local chief constable for the area. The thought comforted her. Alone in this out-of-the-way place, with Adrian too absorbed in his work to have an inkling what was going on should there be some kind of threat, she wanted to make sure that Steven knew she was no easy target for his mischief.

‘I thought you looked like a frigid, stuck-up bitch when I first set eyes on you! Your threats don’t frighten me, sweetheart. Police, my eye!’ As he turned and stamped back up the path towards the greenhouses Liadan let out a long, ragged breath and pressed her gloved hands to the raging heat in her face. She’d sensed that Steven Ferrers would be trouble the moment she’d set eyes on him. She wished her damned intuition had been wrong for once.

Adrian stepped back from the window, unable to suppress the strange sense of betrayal that ebbed through him at the sight of Liadan talking to an animated Steven Ferrers. After he had broken one of his own cardinal rules yesterday and revealed to her information that normally MI5 and the CIA wouldn’t be able to drag out of him, Adrian found himself speculating whether he could trust her after all. Young Ferrers was a cocky so-and-so, and definitely not someone to place your trust in. If Liadan didn’t have the wits to deduce that for herself, then both of them were in trouble.