and put the kettle on. Make yourselves at home.’
Mary shut the door behind her and Keira’s heart started racing as she realised that she was alone in a claustrophobic space with Matteo Valenti. Make themselves at home? How on earth were they going to do that in a room this size with only one bed?
She shivered. ‘Why didn’t you tell her that we didn’t want to share?’
He shot her an impatient look. ‘We are two people and she has one room. You do the math. What alternative did I have?’
Keira could see his point. Mary couldn’t magic up another bedroom from out of nowhere, could she? She looked around. It was one of those rooms which wasn’t really big enough for the furniture it contained. It was too small for a double bed, but a double bed had been crammed into it nonetheless, and it dominated the room with its homemade patchwork quilt and faded pillow cases on which you could just about make out some Disney characters, one of which just happened to be Cinderella.
There were no signs of Christmas in here but on every available surface seemed to be a photo. Photos of someone who was recognisably Mary, looking much younger and holding a series of babies, then toddlers, right through gangly teenagers until the inevitable stiff wedding photos—and then yet more babies. Keira licked her lips. It was a life played out in stills. A simple life, probably—and a happy life, judging by the smile which was never far from Mary’s face. Keira was used to cramped and cluttered spaces but she wasn’t used to somewhere feeling homely—and she could do absolutely nothing about the fierce pang of something which felt like envy, which clutched at her heart like a vice.
She lifted her eyes to meet Matteo’s flat gaze. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘Spare me the platitudes,’ he snapped, pulling out the mobile phone from the pocket of his trousers and staring at it with a barely concealed lack of hope. ‘No signal. Of course there isn’t. And no Wi-Fi either.’
‘She said you could use the landline any time.’
‘I know she did. I’ll call my assistant once I’ve removed some of these wet clothes.’ He loosened his tie before tugging it off and throwing it over the back of a nearby chair, where it dangled like some precious spiral of gunmetal. His mouth hardened with an expression of disbelief as he looked around. ‘Per amor del cielo! Who even uses places like this? We don’t even have our own bathroom.’
‘Mary told us we could use the one along the corridor.’
‘She also told us that we’d need to share a bath because there wasn’t enough hot water!’ he flared. ‘Sharing a bath? Not enough hot water? Which century are we supposed to be living in?’
Keira shrugged her shoulders awkwardly, suspecting that Matteo Valenti wasn’t used to the vagaries of small-town English landladies, or the kind of places where ordinary people stayed. Of course he wasn’t. According to her boss, he owned luxury hotels all over his own country—he even had some scattered over America, as well as some in Barbados and Hawaii. What would he know about having to traipse along a chilly corridor to a bathroom which, like the rest of the house, obviously hadn’t been modernised in decades?
‘It’s an English eccentricity. Part of the place’s charm,’ she added lamely.
‘Charm I can do without,’ he responded acidly. ‘Good plumbing trumps charm every time.’
She wondered if he was deliberately ignoring something even more disturbing than the bathroom facilities...or maybe she was just being super-sensitive about it, given her uneasy history. Awkwardly she raked her fingers through her spiky hair, wondering what it was which marked her out from other women. Why was it that on the only two occasions she’d shared a bed with a man, one had been passed out drunk—while the other was looking at her with nothing but irritation in his hard black eyes?
He was nodding his head, as if she had spoken out loud. ‘I know,’ he said grimly. ‘It’s my idea of a nightmare, too. Sharing a too-small bed with an employee wasn’t top of my Christmas wish list.’
Don’t react, Keira told herself fiercely. And don’t take it personally. Act with indifference and don’t make out like it’s a big deal.
‘I expect we’ll survive,’ she said coolly, then began to rub at her arms through the thin jacket as she started to shiver.
He ran a speculative gaze over her and an unexpected note of consideration crept into his voice. ‘You’re cold,’ he said, his eyes lingering on her thighs just a fraction too long. ‘And your trousers are soaking.’
‘You don’t say?’ she said, her voice rising a little defensively, because she’d never been very good at dealing with unsolicited kindness.
‘Don’t you have anything else you can wear?’ he persisted.
Embarrassment made her even more defensive and Keira glared at him, aware of the heat now staining her cheeks. ‘Yes, of course I do. I always make sure I carry an entire change of clothes with me whenever I embark on a drive from London to Devon,’ she said. ‘It’s what every driver does.’
‘Why don’t you skip the sarcasm?’ he suggested. ‘And go and take a hot bath? You can borrow something of mine.’
Keira looked at him suspiciously, taken aback by the offer and not quite sure if he meant it. Without his cashmere coat he stood resplendent in a dark charcoal suit which, even to her untutored eye, she could tell was made-to-measure. It must have been—because surely your average suit didn’t cater for men with shoulders as broad as his, or legs that long. What on earth could Matteo Valenti have in his suitcase which would fit her? ‘You carry women’s clothes around with you, do you?’
An unexpected smile lifted the corners of his mouth and the corresponding race of Keira’s heart made her hope he wasn’t going to do a lot of smiling.
‘Funnily enough, no,’ he said drily, unzipping the leather case. ‘But I have a sweater you can use. And a soap bag. Here. Go on. Take it.’
He was removing the items from his case and handing them to her and Keira was overcome by a sudden gratitude. ‘Th-thanks. You’re very kind—’
‘Basta! Spare me the stumbling appreciation. I’m not doing it out of any sense of kindness.’ His mouth hardened. ‘This day has already been a disaster—I don’t want to add to the misery by having you catch pneumonia and finding myself with a wrongful death suit on my hands.’
‘Well, I’ll do my best not to get sick then,’ she bit back. ‘I’d hate to inconvenience you any more than I already have done!’
Her fingers digging into his sweater, Keira marched from the room to the bathroom along the corridor, trying to dampen down her rising feelings of anger. He really was the most hateful person she’d ever met and she was going to have to endure a whole night with him.
Hanging his sweater on the back of the door, she quickly assessed the facilities on offer and for the first time that day, she smiled. Good thing she was used to basics. To her the avocado-coloured sink and bath were nothing out of the ordinary, though she shuddered to think how Mr Cynical was going to cope. When she’d been growing up, she and her mother had lived in places with far worse plumbing than this. In fact, this rather tatty bathroom felt almost nostalgic. A throwback to tougher times, yes, but at least it had been one of those rare times when she’d known emotional security, before Mum had died.
