Lindsay Armstrong - An Exception to His Rule

‘How long do you think that would take?’

Harriet shrugged. ‘Hard to say without seeing the full extent of the collection.’

‘Months,’ Arthur supplied with gloomy conviction.

‘Were you aware it was a live-in position, Miss Livingstone?’ Damien queried. ‘Because we’re out in the country here, whoever does the job will spend an awful lot of time travelling otherwise.’

‘Yes, Arthur did explain that. I believe there’s an old stable block that’s been converted to a studio and it has a flat above it. But—’ Harriet paused ‘—weekends would be free, wouldn’t they?’

Damien raised an eyebrow. ‘Didn’t Arthur tell you that?’

‘He did,’ Harriet agreed, ‘but I needed to double-check.’

‘A boyfriend you’re eager to get back to?’ Damien didn’t wait for her response. ‘If that’s going to be a problem and you’re forever wanting time off to be with him—’

‘Not at all,’ Harriet cut across him quite decisively.

‘Not at all, you wouldn’t be wanting time off all the time or not at all, there is no boyfriend?’ Damien enquired.

Arthur coughed. ‘Damien, I don’t think—’ he began but Harriet interrupted him this time.

‘It’s quite all right, Arthur.’ She turned back to Damien. ‘Allow me to set your mind at rest, Mr Wyatt. There is no fiancé, no husband, no lovers, in short, no one in my life to distract me in that direction.’

‘Well, well,’ Damien drawled, ‘not only a paragon in your profession but also your private life.’

Harriet Livingstone merely allowed her deep blue gaze to rest on him thoughtfully for a moment or two before she turned away with the tiniest shrug, as if to say he was some kind of rare organism she didn’t understand.

Bloody hell, Damien Wyatt found himself thinking as he straightened abruptly, who does she think she is? Not content with smashing my car and causing me considerable discomfort for weeks, she’s—

He didn’t get to finish this set of thoughts as the woman called Isabel popped her head around the door and offered them afternoon tea.

Arthur looked at his watch. ‘Thank you so much, Isabel, but I’m afraid I won’t have time. Penny wants me home by four.’ He paused. ‘What about you, Harriet? We did come in separate cars,’ he explained to Damien.

Harriet hesitated and glanced at Damien. And because most of his mental sensors seemed to be honed in on this tall, slender girl, he saw the tension creep back as she picked up her purse and her knuckles whitened.

And he heard himself say something he hadn’t expected to say. ‘If you’d like a cup of tea, stay by all means, Miss Livingstone. We haven’t finished the interview anyway.’

She hesitated again then thanked him quietly.

Isabel retreated and Arthur, looking visibly harassed, subjected them to an involved explanation of why he needed to be home. Plus he was obviously reluctant to miss any of the verbal duel he was witnessing. But he finally left. And the tea tray arrived but this time Damien introduced the bearer as his aunt Isabel, and invited her to join them.

‘Sorry,’ Isabel said as she put the tea tray down on the coffee table set in front of the settee in a corner of the dining room, ‘but I’m popping into Lennox to pick up our dry-cleaning. Please excuse me, Miss Livingstone,’ she added.

Harriet nodded somewhat dazedly and once again the door closed, this time on his aunt.

‘I don’t think there’s anyone else who could interrupt us,’ Damien Wyatt said with some irony. ‘Do sit down and pour the tea.’

Harriet sank down onto the settee and her hand hovered over the tea tray. ‘Uh—there’s only one cup.’

‘I never drink the stuff,’ he said dismissively, ‘so pour yours and let’s get on with things.’

Harriet lifted the heavy silver teapot and spilt some tea on the pristine white tray cloth.

Damien swore beneath his breath, and came over to sit down beside her. ‘Put it down and tell me something, Harriet Livingstone—why are you doing this? No, wait.’

He picked up the pot Harriet had relinquished and poured a cup of tea without spilling a drop. Then he indicated the milk and sugar but she shook her head. ‘Th-that’s fine, just as it comes, thank you.’

He moved the cup and saucer in front of her and offered her a biscuit that looked like homemade shortbread.

She shook her head.

‘I can guarantee them. The cook makes them himself,’ he said.

‘Thank you but no. I—I don’t have a sweet tooth.’

He pushed the porcelain biscuit barrel away. ‘You look—you don’t look as sk— as thin as you did that day,’ he amended.

A flicker of amusement touched her mouth. ‘Skinny you were going to say? I guess I did. I lost a bit of weight for a time. I’ve probably always been thin, though.’

‘Sorry,’ he murmured. ‘But look, why are you doing this?’

Harriet hesitated and watched the steam rising gently from her tea.

‘You obviously haven’t forgiven me for the things I said that day,’ he continued. ‘Most of the time since you’ve been here you’ve been a nervous wreck or, if not that, beaming pure hostility my way. The only thing that seems to relax you is contact with my dog or my mother’s odds and ends.’

He broke off and looked rueful as Tottie rose, came over and arranged herself at Harriet’s feet.

Harriet glanced at him briefly. In jeans, boots and a khaki bush shirt, with his thick hair ruffled and blue shadows on his jaw, he looked the epitome of a man of the land whereas, when she’d bumped into him, in a grey suit, he’d definitely been more of a high-flying businessman.

She shivered involuntarily. He’d been so angry in a quiet but deadly sort of way.

‘Talk to me, Harriet,’ he said firmly.

She took a sip of tea and then a deep breath. ‘I need a job, quite urgently.’

‘You—according to Arthur, anyway—are highly, if not to say über-qualified. Why would you want my job?’ He frowned. ‘It’s stuck out in the country even if you don’t have an army of lovers to worry about.’

‘It...’ Harriet paused ‘...suits me.’

‘Why?’

A short silence developed between them and lengthened until he said impatiently, ‘Oh, come on Harriet! I—’

‘I just want to get this job,’ she said with sudden intensity, ‘on my merits.’

‘Well, your merits are fine but I need to know more,’ he said flatly.

‘This kind of job doesn’t grow on trees,’ Harriet said after a long moment. ‘And it so happens it’s the right district for me.’

‘Why?’

Harriet sighed. ‘My brother was badly injured in a surfing accident. He’s now in a rehabilitation centre at—’ she named a facility ‘—that’s handy to Lennox Head and Heathcote. He has to learn to walk again. That’s why—’ she looked up at last and smiled with considerable irony ‘—when this job came up, it seemed like an answer to all my prayers. Until, that was—’ She stopped abruptly.

‘You found out whose job it was,’ Damien supplied.

She didn’t answer but looked away.

‘You decided to proceed, however.’ It was a statement, not a question.

‘Yes.’

‘And I suppose that’s why you wanted to make sure the weekends were free? So you could see your brother. Talk about coals of fire,’ he murmured wryly. He added impatiently, ‘Why couldn’t you have just told me all this in the first place?’

Harriet shrugged. ‘Ever since I found out about the job, I’ve been...I have been a nervous wreck,’ she conceded. She gestured. ‘It would be so perfect but...’ She shrugged again. ‘To be perfectly honest, you’re the last person I would want to accept a favour from.’