‘I found them in the wet room,’ he told her, looking like he was trying not smile. ‘There’s a whole pile. I figured if I inherited the castle with contents included, then at least one lot of boots must be mine. They’re a size or two big but I’m wearing two pairs of socks. What do you think? Will I take Manhattan by storm?’ He raised a knee to hold up a boot for inspection.
Boris had been supervising the path-digging lying down. Now the big dog rose, put out a tongue and licked the specified boot. Just tasting…
It was such a ridiculous statement—such a ridiculous situation—that Susie started to giggle.
Then she suddenly thought about what she was wearing and stopped giggling. Maybe she should hop right back in through the window.
But he’d already noticed. ‘Nice elephants,’ he said politely.
And she thought, Yep, the window was a good idea. She was wearing a pair of short—very short—boxer-type pyjama bottoms and a top that matched. Purple satin with yellow and crimson elephants.
There was a story behind these elephants. Susie’s two little step-nieces had wanted pyjamas with elephants on them. Harriet from the post office had been in Sydney for a week to visit an ailing sister and had thus been commissioned to find pyjama material with elephants. What she’d found had been royal purple satin with yellow and red elephants—the lot going much cheaper by the roll. Harriet had been so pleased that she’d bought the entire roll, and every second person in Dolphin Bay was now sporting elephant-covered nightwear.
‘They’re home-made,’ Susie managed. ‘I know the seam-stress.’ She managed a smile and Hamish thought—not for the first time—what a lovely smile she had. ‘She’ll make you some too if you like.’
‘No, thank you,’ he said hurriedly, and she grinned.
‘You could really take New York by storm with these.’
‘I don’t think Manhattan is ready for those pyjamas.’
There was a silence. She was trying not to look at his six-pack. He looked like he was trying not to look at her pyjamas.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, as much to break the silence as anything. Though it was obvious.
The garden was in the full fruit of late autumn. The fruit trees were laden. The lavender hedge was alive with early-morning bees, everything was neat and shipshape, and the only discordant note was the path she’d started digging. She’d dug the first twenty yards. Twenty yards had taken her two days.
Hamish had dug another fifteen.
‘I assume you wanted the rest dug,’ he told her.
She bit her lip. ‘I did. It’s just…’
‘I’ve put the soil in the compost area,’ he told her, guessing her qualms. ‘I’ve left it separate so you can mix it as you want.’
One question answered.
‘And the worms are in the yellow bucket,’ he told her, answering her second.
He was laughing at her! He’d done what represented over a day’s work. She should be grateful. She was grateful! But he was laughing.
‘Worms are important,’ she said defensively, and he nodded.
‘I’ve always thought so. But not the kind that come out of your eyeballs.’
‘There’s no need to mock.’
‘I’m not mocking.’
More silence.
‘You don’t get muscles like those sitting behind a desk,’ she said tentatively. She felt she shouldn’t mention those muscles—but she was unable to stop looking at them.
‘I work out.’
‘You use a gym?’
‘There’s a gym in the building where I live.’
Of course. More silence while she tried again not to concentrate on muscles.
Oh, OK, she’d look. Guys looked at good-looking women all the time. She could do a little payback.
‘So I’m not doing the wrong thing?’ he prompted when the silence got a bit stretched—and she hauled her thoughts together and tried to think what she ought to be saying. What she should be looking at.
‘Of—of course you’re not. I’m very grateful.’
‘What are you planning on doing once you’ve dug?’
‘I have a pile of pavers under the lemon tree.’ She pointed. ‘There.’
He looked. And winced. ‘They look like they weigh a ton. You were going to lay them yourself?’
‘Of course I was.’
‘But you’ve been injured,’ he said. ‘The lawyer told me—’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You limp.’
‘I don’t limp much. I’m fine.’ She took a deep breath, moving on. ‘Not that it matters. They’re your pavers now.’
‘Susie, do you have to leave so soon?’
‘I…’
‘I’m here for three weeks,’ he said urgently. ‘I had a phone call this morning from the States. That’s why I’m up early. A combination of jet-lag and a phone call at four. The best way to sell this place—’
Do I want to hear this? Susie thought, but she hardly had a choice.
‘—is via a realtor who specialises in selling exclusive country hotels. He comes, assesses potential, and if he likes what he sees then he’ll put this place on his list of vendors and promote the place internationally. He’ll be in Australia next week. Marcia thinks I should persuade you to stay till then.’
Marcia? Susie wondered, but she didn’t ask.
‘Why do you want me to stay?’
‘You know the history of the place. The agent holds that important. If people come to an exclusive location they want the personal touch. They’ll want to know about Angus and the family and the castle back in Scotland. All its history.’
‘I’ll write it out for you.’
‘I’ll sell the place for more if you’re here to give a guided tour,’ Hamish said flatly. ‘Widow of the incumbent earl’s heir…’
‘If you think you’re going to play on Rory’s murder to get your atmosphere—’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You didn’t need to,’ she told him, and glowered.
