Carole Mortimer - Gracious Lady

‘Indeed?’ Eyes so pale a blue that they looked almost grey were narrowed on Sophie now even as he answered her aunt’s statement. ‘Perhaps you would bring the tray through to my study and we can talk now.’ All humour had gone from his expression now, derisive as it had been, and he was grimly authoritative, the suggestion an order rather than a request. ‘Another cup, if you please, Mrs Craine.’

One-thirty in the morning hardly seemed like the ideal time to be conducting an interview, Sophie thought even as she was vaguely aware of her aunt putting another cup on the tray. But despite the realisation that she now felt rather tired, from travelling down here today, an evening out that had hardly been uneventful, and the very lateness of the hour, Sophie knew she was in no position to argue, so she picked up the tray dutifully in preparation for following him.

He arched dark blond brows. ‘Are you hungry? Or is that a silly question to ask a student? I believe you’re reputed to be permanently in that state,’ he said ruefully.

Sophie turned frowningly to her aunt Millie. She was taking a university course, yes, but she could hardly be classed as a student. Aunt Millie saw her puzzled look, giving a barely perceptible shake of her head in reply, and to Sophie’s further discomfort she realised her aunt hadn’t told Maximilian Grant the whole truth about her. Not that she could exactly blame her aunt, but it did put Sophie in a doubly awkward position where this man was concerned.

‘I ate earlier, thank you,’ she replied distractedly, frantically wondering exactly what her aunt Millie had told her employer about her.

‘A chicken sandwich for one, then, Mrs Craine,’ he instructed tersely before striding purposefully out of the room.

Sophie shot a helpless look across the room at her aunt before hurrying after him, the coffee-pot rattling precariously as she did so, forcing her to slow her pace or run the risk of throwing hot coffee all over this beautifully carpeted hallway.

During the days of Sophie’s childhood holidays spent here, this house had been comfortably well-worn, the Grays having inherited the house rather than bought it, and with the expense of running such a large house, and three boisterous children to provide for, the house, while not exactly running into disrepair, had become worn and faded, a financial burden the young couple had found crippling, to the point where they had finally been able to manage no longer.

The house looked far from worn and faded now, an interior designer having been called in as soon as Henley Hall became Maximilian Grant’s. Workmen of all types had quickly followed, and her aunt had complained that for the next two months she had done nothing but provide tea and coffee for the workmen and clear up the mess they had made, all to the sound of their heaving and banging and the smell of newly applied paint. The result, Sophie had felt when she arrived here earlier today, had to have been worth it.

The whole of the downstairs floor had been carpeted in the same rich red and gold, the furniture all antique, deep red velvet curtains at the huge windows, glittering candelabra hanging from the high ceilings. Upstairs there had been a bit more personality added to the choice, Jennifer’s room a froth of cream lace and silk, the master bedroom more austere in dark and light blue, all of the guest bedrooms–and there were six of them–decorated in two-tonal colours that perfectly complemented each other. Sophie was temporarily allotted a bedroom near her aunt downstairs, until it was decided whether or not she would be staying, neither of them liking to make the assumption that she would be. But, her aunt had briskly informed her, if she was taken on, she would be moved up to one of the guest bedrooms, suitably close to Jennifer.

Sophie didn’t think there was much likelihood of that happening now!

She hadn’t seen in Maximilian Grant’s study earlier when her aunt had taken her round to show her the changes that had been made since her last visit just before the Grays left last year, but its austere brown and cream decor, and heavy oak furniture, came as no surprise to her; it was exactly what she would have expected Maximilian Grant to have surrounded himself with as he worked.

Although …remembering how he hadn’t told her aunt of the way he had met her on the road earlier, perhaps he wasn’t as predictable as she thought he was!

With the minimum of fuss he made a space now on the brown leather-topped desk for the coffee-tray, and Sophie put it down gratefully, having been terrified that she would further disgrace herself by dropping it everywhere.

She wondered, as she straightened, if she should just say her piece and leave gracefully. But while there was still a chance of her having the job, even the slimmest of one—— Yet was there, really, or was this man just trying to let her down gently? If he was, it would probably be the first time he had ever been this considerate!

Maximilian Grant’s success in business was legendary. He seemed to have interests in almost everything, from film companies, recording studios, airlines and newspapers, to race horses, the latter seeming to win for him with monotonous regularity. If Sophie were a gambler, which she most certainly wasn’t, his were the horses she would bet on. But she didn’t and his horses just went on winning without her money on them.

His personal life seemed to be no less successful. He’d escorted dozens of beautiful women since the death of his wife three years ago. Although none of them seemed, as yet, to have found a lasting place in the spot most people seemed to call a heart. In fact, one rather disgruntled actress, much in demand for her talent and beauty, who had ceased to hold his attention after only a matter of weeks, had claimed he didn’t have a heart at all, only a stone where it should have been! The fact that simultaneously she had failed to get the leading role in the latest film he was involved in producing might have had something to do with the vitriolic outburst, but even so it was no secret that Maximilian Grant didn’t have any inclination towards finding a second wife for himself. And, to Sophie’s mind, a man didn’t gain the coldly calculating reputation this man had in his business and personal life without there being some truth in it.

‘Would you like to “be Mother"?’

After her so recent thoughts about the intimate side of his life, this mockingly drawled request came as something of a shock! But then Sophie saw that his attention was fixed pointedly on the tray of coffee, as he sat behind his desk, and she realised he only wanted her to pour the steaming brew!

‘Of course,’ she returned smoothly, although once again her cheeks felt hot, and from the way his taunting gaze followed her slightly flustered movements with the coffee-pot she almost felt as if he could read her mind. Well, if that was the case, she hoped he could read now that she thought he wasn’t being fair to mock her in this way, not when he already knew he had her at such a disadvantage.

‘Cream and sugar?’ she enquired coolly, on her dignity now.

His mouth seemed to twitch at her attempt to put things back on a formal footing between them, and he shook his head in curt refusal of the offer. ‘I’ll take it just as it comes from the pot this time of night. I need the caffeine,’ he added ruefully.

He didn’t look as if he ‘needed’ anything; he was as alert and steely-eyed as if he had recently awoken from a long refreshing sleep. Whereas she felt exhausted, certainly far from her sparkling best. Which was a mistake on her part; she had a feeling it never paid to be less than at one’s best when up against this man. And at the moment, because he deliberately made himself such an enigma, she did feel they were antagonists.