Catherine George - The Mistress Of His Manor

‘Nothing so exciting. Shortly after I qualified my father’s assistant left him to become a full time mother. He suggested I take over from her for a while until I decided what I wanted to do with my life. I liked the work from day one—still do—so there I am. Working for my father.’

‘What does he do?’

‘He’s a builder.’ Which was true enough. Up to a point.

‘And you get on well together, obviously.’

‘Professionally we make a really good team.’ She smiled wryly. ‘But my private life worries Jack. At times he gets all patriarchal and heavy about wanting me to live at home with him and Kate.’

His lips twitched. ‘Why? Are you addicted to wild parties?’

‘I wish!’ She sobered. ‘No, actually, I don’t wish. I did that bit as a student. These days I lead a pretty ordinary life in my own little house near the park in town.’

March eyed her with respect. ‘Your father must pay you well, then.’ He threw up his hand like a fencer. ‘Sorry. Rude. Forget I said that.’

‘Actually, the house was a legacy. Where do you live?’ she asked.

‘In a sort of flat.’

Wondering what kind of money gardeners made—or didn’t—Joanna changed the subject. ‘Do you work every Sunday?’

‘When I’m needed, yes. But not so much from now on. Then in December it gets hectic again.’ He got up to collect her glass. ‘Same again?’

‘Yes, but it’s my round!’

‘I’ll bring you the tab.’ But when he came back with their glasses he handed her a menu. ‘How about supper before you drive home? Or do you have something else on tonight?’

‘No, not a thing.’ She smiled warmly. ‘Thank you. I’d like that. What’s on offer?’

‘Mainly salads on a Sunday evening. I can vouch for the ham. Trish, the landlord’s wife, roasts it herself.’

Jo had eaten so little of the lunch she’d cooked for her family the prospect was suddenly very appealing. ‘Then ham salad it is, please! But only if we go Dutch,’ she added firmly.

She waited until March had strolled off to place their order, then to put her mind at rest rang Kate.

‘Two Trish specials coming up,’ March informed her as she put her phone away.

Jo smiled at him. ‘I’ve just had a word with my mother, who feels better now, which means I can enjoy my meal. I was so worried about her at lunch that for once I didn’t eat much.’

‘Are you a good cook?’

‘Yes.’

He laughed. ‘No false modesty, then.’

She grinned. ‘Not a shred. I’ve always liked cooking. I’m good at it. How about you?’

‘I won’t starve, but it’s not my favourite pastime.’

‘That’s obviously gardening.’

To her surprise he shook his head. ‘I merely follow orders from the tyrant who oversees the grounds at the Hall.’

‘Is he elderly and curmudgeonly?’

‘No. He’s youngish and highly qualified—also the brain behind the garden centre.’

‘So when he says jump you jump?’

‘More or less. I’ve learnt a lot from him. Especially about roses.’

‘I was told they’re quite a feature here.’

March nodded. ‘And not just in the gardens at the Hall. We sold a lot of them in bush form at the garden centre today, ready to put in for next year. You must come back in high summer, when the roses are at their glorious best. Though Ed underplants them with all manner of things to create colour and form in the beds all year round. He’s an artist with colours. Did you look round outside?’

‘I didn’t have time.’

‘Come back tomorrow and I’ll beg an hour off to give you a tour.’

Jo grinned. ‘Is that some kind of spin on showing me your etchings?’

He let out a snort of laughter. ‘No. Though I do have an etching or two you could look at some time. But only when I know you much better.’

Jo chuckled, then looked up in anticipation as the landlord appeared with plates arranged and garnished with artistry. ‘This looks wonderful!’

‘Enjoy your meal,’ said the man, pleased, and exchanged a look with March. ‘The place is filling up, so just give me the nod if you need anything.’

The salads were accompanied by a platter of rustic bread which looked so appetising Joanna’s stomach growled. ‘Oops—sorry!’

March grinned. ‘Never mind the apologies—dig in. I’m starving.’

‘This is delicious,’ said Jo, tasting the ham. ‘Do you eat here a lot?’

‘Not as often as I’d like. But I indulge on a Sunday evening like this sometimes.’

‘It must be good to have a meal put in front of you if you’ve been working all day!’

He nodded. ‘Do you cook for yourself every night? Or do you have a succession of hopeful swains ready to wine and dine you?’

‘Afraid not,’ she said with regret. ‘I have friends I eat out with on a fairly regular basis, but most nights I rustle up something in my little nest, or I yield to persuasion and eat with Kate and Jack. Sometimes my grandfather as well.’

‘Does he live with your parents?’

‘No. He won’t budge from his own house. And, despite constant nagging from my father, I won’t budge from mine, either ‘

‘He’d like you under his eye at home?’

Jo nodded. ‘Fortunately Kate refuses to support Jack on this. She appreciates my need for a place—and a life—of my own.’

March’s lips twitched. ‘While your father harbours dark thoughts about what you get up to in your little house!’

‘Nothing tabloid-worthy,’ she assured him. ‘I just like having friends around—male or female—without his eagle eye on the proceedings. Would you fancy being watched all the time?’

‘No,’ he said, sobering, and eyed her empty plate in approval. ‘You enjoyed that?’

‘Absolutely—it was delicious. I’d quite like some coffee, please, and then I must be on my way. Monday tomorrow, and Jack demands punctuality from his employees, whether related or not.’

Rather to Jo’s surprise, March gathered up their plates himself and took them over to the bar when he ordered their coffee. As he eased into the seat again he leaned back at an angle to look into her face. ‘I’ve enjoyed this enormously, Joanna. Let’s do it again in some other location. Soon.’

She eyed him, taken aback. ‘When?’

‘I imagine tomorrow is probably rushing it a bit—how about Tuesday evening?’

She blinked. ‘That soon?’

The intent leonine eyes held hers. ‘After my session with you and the pansies I envied the man I took for granted was your husband,’ he said, startling her. ‘So when our paths crossed again I seized the day when I found you were unattached. As any man in his right mind would. So, then, Joanna—I’ll see you on Tuesday.’

‘Well—yes, all right,’ she said warily.

‘Excellent. Give me your telephone number and tell me how to get to your place. I’ll pick you up at seven.’ He glanced up. ‘Dan’s signalling. I’ll just fetch our coffee. As you can hear, it’s busy out there.’

When he got back March sat close enough for Jo to feel conscious, suddenly, of muscular tanned arms, and the scent of soap and warm man. Odd. None of this had registered before. But now March had made it clear this was to be no one-off occasion, she felt physically aware of him as the attractive male specimen he undoubtedly was.

‘Doesn’t anyone else use this parlour?’ she asked.

‘Not much on a Sunday.’

She eyed him militantly as she sipped her coffee. ‘Right, then. How much was the bill?’

‘Your turn to pay on Tuesday,’ he said promptly.

‘In that case don’t expect Michelin stars!’

‘The food is irrelevant,’ he said dismissively. ‘It’s the company that matters.’