for his lordship—what on earth had Johnny been thinking to give him his key?—she went and collected up the mound of clear plastic covered unsolicited mail. Then she found that one was a plain white envelope.
Taking the mail with her back to the kitchen, she knew that the only explanation for Beaumont being inside her property must be because Johnny had handed over his key. Now, why would he do that?
She had a sudden flashback of standing with not a stitch on in front of the man her brother thought so highly of, and knew she was red about the ears. She swiftly busied herself opening up the unaddressed white envelope—and very quickly learned why, or part of why, her brother had parted with his key.
The letter was from Mrs Lloyd, the lady who had come to clean and cook for Grandfather Sutton, and was in response to a telephone call that Johnny had made to her. For all his name was not on the envelope, it began, ‘Dear Mr Metcalfe’.
I am sorry I wasn’t in when you rang yesterday. And I am sorry too that I am not able to come and look after your guest.
Apparently Mrs Lloyd was now retired but, if Mr Metcalfe was really stuck for someone, she had written the phone number of a Mrs Roberts who might be willing, if he could call daily and collect Mrs Roberts, who had no transport.
Her breath caught as it hit Varnie that this was not intended to be just a one-night stopover, as she’d thought! So, she fumed, cross with Johnny and fuming against his employer, that was it. Leon Beaumont obviously fancied a bit of a break—away from outraged husbands, no doubt—and Johnny, doubtless mentioning Aldwyn House, had decided it would be an ideal spot for a hideaway. And, without doubt too, would not have needed much coercion to hand over his key. Naturally enough Johnny, being Johnny and aware that she wouldn’t be around for at least two weeks because she was flying off to Switzerland, had seen no need to inform her of what was happening. She felt fairly certain then that Johnny, as ever Johnny, just hadn’t thought to tell his womanising employer that the property didn’t actually belong to him.
The sound of footsteps interrupted her angry thoughts. She looked to the door. Leon Beaumont stood in the doorway. He was tall, as she had known he was. And, just as she had known she would, she went crimson.
He came further into the kitchen, but did not comment on her embarrassed colour; there wasn’t so much as a hint of embarrassment about him, she noticed. But then, he was probably used to seeing the female form unclad, she fumed sniffily. Though before she could tell him that now that he was dressed she was throwing him out, he demanded, ‘What’s your name?’
As if it had anything to do with him! ‘Varnie Sutton,’ she answered snappily, and watched to see if her name meant anything to him. Clearly it didn’t, so obviously Johnny had not thought to mention her. Not that he should in the ordinary run of things, but, dammit, this was her house! Realising that she was getting quite proprietorial about a house she would have to sell, Varnie decided it was high time she sent this man on his way. ‘And you’re Leon Beaumont,’ she began stiffly. ‘You—’
‘You know who I am?’ Beaumont demanded.
‘Ever think you’ve wandered into someone else’s nightmare?’ she retorted.
He ignored that. ‘How do you know who I am?’ he barked curtly. ‘Metcalfe had strict instructions that I wanted him to find me somewhere isolated where I wouldn’t have to put up with—unwanted intrusions.’
Unwanted intrusions! By that did he mean he thought that she might come on to him? Varnie was on the instant up in arms. She was off men in general, and him in particular. ‘For your information, I wouldn’t touch you with a disinfected line-prop ten feet long!’ she hissed. He favoured her with a searing look of scepticism. ‘For your further information—’ she went on.
‘That’s why you walked naked into my room, was it? Because you’re not interested?’ he cut in. ‘Had I shown the smallest inclination you’d have been in that bed with me like a shot.’
Varnie stared at him in utter disbelief; the whole of her skin felt aflame. Somehow, though, she recovered, to tell him in no uncertain fashion, ‘I’d sooner swallow prussic acid!’ And, building up a fine head of steam, ‘Your eyes were so busily engaged elsewhere…’ She wished she hadn’t said that. Her skin flamed anew as she again recalled his eyes going over her naked figure. ‘…otherwise you might have noticed I was carrying a towel. My only purpose in coming to that room was to take a shower. I didn’t even know you were here.’
‘What’s wrong with the shower in your room?’
‘My room?’
‘I checked. You slept here last night.’
The cheeky swine! ‘My shower needs fixing, there’s hardly any pressure and the shower’s better in your room.’ Why was she bothering to explain? Good…
‘You obviously know the house?’
‘This isn’t my first visit.’
Leon Beaumont stared at her, suspicion rife. ‘From the size of your suitcase, you appear to have some notion of staying for a while?’
Did she have news for him. ‘That’s the general idea,’ she replied. But before she could go on to tell him that she was staying and that he wasn’t, he cut her short.
‘You obviously know John Metcalfe.’ Varnie was about to agree that she did, and that Johnny was her brother. But what Leon Beaumont said next brought her up very short, and caused her to hesitate. ‘Obviously, too, you’re also very well acquainted with my inefficient, new and soon to be short-lived assistant,’ he rapped.
Varnie felt stumped. In an instant she recalled just how keen Johnny had been to work for this sharp and disgruntled-looking man. To work as Leon Beaumont’s assistant, not deskbound but travelling all over—smoothing his path, so to speak, to leave him to deal with bigger, more important issues had been everything Johnny wanted! She gave an inner sigh—protecting Johnny, for all he was three years older than her, had over the years become second nature.
And that was when suddenly, albeit reluctantly, but without having to think about it, Varnie knew she was going to have to change her tune. If she did not, then by the look of it when Johnny came home from Australia, he would not have a job to come home to!
So, okay, she would stick up for Johnny, but no way was she going to crawl to this tall, dark-haired, grey-eyed man who had now come up close to her and was looking toughly, icily at her, through hard, cold and unfeeling grey eyes. ‘Your assistant is extremely efficient,’ she retorted.
‘You know this?’ he questioned, his hard gaze fixed on her sea-green eyes.
‘I do,’ she said, her mind racing to strive to think up something brilliant that Johnny had done.
‘Surprise me?’ Leon Beaumont’s tone had turned to mockery.
‘I—er—know for a fact that—that he tried to get some domestic help to cover while you’re here,’ she brought out triumphantly. Thank goodness she had read that letter.
‘Mrs Lloyd?’
Rats! He already knew that. ‘I arrived late last night,’ Varnie answered, which was pertinent to nothing. She knew she was struggling. But, truth be told, she was more than a tiny bit fed up with this man’s questions.
‘I
