Judith Bowen - Lydia Lane

“Yes. Some people like formal surroundings, with everything in its place, and others prefer to live more casually. The trick is to organize your home so that you like it and you have some control over it. That way, in the end, you actually save time, which you can then spend enjoying your home or being with the people you love and everyone’s happier all around. It works, believe me.”

Sam laughed and Lydia’s fingers tightened on her drink. “Almost too good to be true. I’ve tried cleaning services. Live-ins. Housekeepers…” He glanced around the cluttered family room. “Hell, I’ve had so many housekeepers I’ve got the employment service on speed dial. No one ever stays. Seriously, I have no idea why. Then, when things get really bad, my mother steps in. She’s our lifesaver. Right now they’re in Portugal—”

“And it’s hardly her responsibility, is it?”

“No,” he said slowly. “Of course not. She’s raised three kids. She doesn’t need to be worrying about my household as well as her own.”

“Exactly. You’re a grown man. You should be able to look after yourself.”

He stared at her. Lydia wondered if she’d overstepped her bounds. “You’re right. I should be able to handle this. So tell me what you’d suggest for a hopeless case like me.”

Whew! For a few seconds there, she wondered if he’d taken offense. She reminded herself just how desperately she needed this job. “Nobody’s hopeless.”

“Promise?” He grinned. “Is that a money-back guarantee?”

“First we’d have some detailed talks about what exactly you want to achieve here.” She waved one hand to include the room. “Throughout the house. Then I’ll start teaching you whatever is necessary to accomplish that. Everything from the basics of how to wipe down and sanitize a kitchen counter to how to do laundry—” Lydia smiled but noticed that Sam didn’t “—to more complicated stuff like, oh, I don’t know—ironing tablecloths properly, making brioche, freezing perfect ice cubes. Depends on how much you want to do—”

“Hold on!” Sam held out a hand. “Forget brioche. Basic stuff, yes. Fancy stuff, no.”

“Like laundry?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe…”

Lydia wanted to laugh, considering what Candace had told her about Sam’s overworked laundry service, but she managed to maintain a straight face. “Basics are critical, of course, but you’d be surprised how much of a difference what you call the ‘fancy stuff’ can make to people’s lives. The happiness it can create. The serenity.”

“Yeah, I heard you talk about that on Candace’s show.” He looked at her as though he expected her to leap right in with a demonstration. She found the admiration in his eyes exhilarating and cautioned herself that she wasn’t here to be admired, pleasant as the sensation was. This wasn’t a social occasion.

She could hear sounds from the kitchen. Banging sounds. What was going on in there? “Do you want to talk about specifics now? Shall I give you a quick example?”

“Sure. Chicken’s not here yet.” Sam glanced at his watch, then leaned back and put his feet up on the leather ottoman in front of him.

“Okay.” He folded his arms over his chest and regarded her attentively. “Shoot.”

LYDIA WAS VERY AWARE of his interest in her as a woman but realized at the same time that Sam Pereira liked women. Always had. Any woman interested him. “Prices? Services? Timetables?” she said briskly.

“Services.”

“All right. From the bit I’ve seen and from what Candace has told me, I’d start by overseeing a complete overhaul of your house, top to bottom.”

“Which would involve—what?” He frowned.

“Getting everything cleaned, first of all. Carpets, furniture, kitchen cabinets, floors, walls—”

“Wow. You do that?”

“No, I don’t clean. But I can go through your house and make a list of what’s needed and hire a crew to do the actual work. I deal with several firms in town that specialize in cleaning. They do a thorough job.”

He nodded. “Okay. Sounds good.”

“It would probably be best if you and Amber left for a couple of days, while the cleaners are here,” she added, doubtfully. This was a recommendation that a lot of her clients didn’t like. They thought it wouldn’t matter if they were on the premises but it always did. People got upset seeing commercial cleaners handle their furniture, move their goods around, clean behind their family pictures. It was human nature. Then there were damp carpets to dry, which took a day, sometimes strong odors in the house….

“As it happens, Amber’s away on a ski trip next weekend with a family from the neighborhood. Would that be too soon—if we go ahead with this?”

“I’ll check. I can let you know.” Lydia heard a clatter and a yelp from the kitchen.

“You okay?” Sam called over his shoulder.

“Okay, Dad! Just dropped the rolling pin. Don’t worry, it didn’t break.”

“I’m more worried about your toes, honey,” he called back.

Lydia raised one eyebrow. Rolling pin?

“She’s doing the biscuits, I guess. Okay, cleaning. I’d be in town but I’d stay out of your way, I promise. What about you? What would you be doing?”

“Me? Besides supervising subcontractors, I’d come in on the organization side. We’d go through everything together. For example, I’d guess that you want your closets done—that hall closet looks pretty bad. Also kitchen cabinets, linen closets, drawers, things like that.”

“Linen closets. Hmm.”

Lydia’s cheeks were hot. The fire was blazing and it was very warm in the room, especially with two sweaters on. The wine didn’t help.

“Sanctuary. Harmony. Isn’t that what you promised on television?” He smiled. “I admit, it sounds very appealing. You’d be doing this…this organizing yourself, right? Not someone who works for you?”

“Is that a factor?” She wondered why her heart was racing.

“Yes, it is,” he said with a shrug. “I know you. Well, I sort of know you from the past. Right?” When Lydia nodded he continued. “Amber knows Steve. I think I told you we went fishing last year. Now Candace has had you on her show. Let’s just say I’d like to—you know, keep this personal. In fact, I insist. That’s why I preferred to have you meet Amber casually tonight. Almost as though this is an ordinary social occasion.”

She wasn’t convinced by his reasons but, regardless, his position fit in with her plans.

Oh. She suddenly got it.

“That way if Amber didn’t take to you or I decided not to do this, we could just drop the whole thing and she’d—well, you’re just a family friend who stopped by for dinner once.” He smiled wryly. “Then I could start interviewing housekeepers all over again, like we’ve done before.”

“Dinner!” Amber came into the dining room with the bowl of cabbage salad in her hands, her eyes shining with pleasure. “Everything’s ready, Dad.” Her jeans were rolled up, obviously too long for her, and her feet were bare. Lydia realized how proud and pleased the girl was to participate in the dinner preparations for her father’s guest. Somehow, Lydia couldn’t see Candace allowing an eight-year-old to muck about with a salad or touch a hot oven to bake biscuits. If it was a safety issue, maybe Sam shouldn’t either…. Lydia didn’t know.

The doorbell rang. Sam stood and took Lydia’s empty wineglass from her nerveless fingers.

“You understand, don’t you?” he said softly, moving very close to her. She met his gaze, difficult as it was with him so near.

“Yes,” she said. “I understand.”

The doorbell rang again.