‘Got to go, Ellie. I’ll be back on Friday evening.’
The receiver hummed in her ear.
He hadn’t even given her time to tell him that she couldn’t possibly organise a party in six days. She’d only just got to grips with the day-to-day running of the house, and the last thing she needed was something that was going to send all that into a tailspin.
However, it didn’t seem as if she had much choice. If she wanted to keep this job she would have to cater to her boss’s whims, no matter how inconvenient.
Catering.
Was that the best place to start? It was so long since she’d had a social life herself, thinking about planning a party seemed as run-of-the-mill as planning a trek up the Amazon.
She closed her eyes. Remember what you learned at the support group. Don’t panic over the big picture. Take things one step at a time. Start with the obvious.
Her eyelids lifted again. The cleaners were coming on Friday anyway, so no problem there. And she could get Jim the gardener to help her rearrange the furniture in the downstairs reception rooms, and the florists in the village could provide some arrangements.
After her initial panic she realised it wasn’t that different from what she’d done when she’d worked as a PA in the City after leaving college. Her cantankerous boss had had a penchant for drop-of-the-hat cocktail parties to impress the partners, where he would swan round being all sweetness and light, then return to being a sour-faced grump the next day. If she could create a party to blow Martin Frobisher’s socks off, she could certainly succeed with a lovely backdrop like Larkfield.
Yes, but that was before …
Shut up, she told herself. It’s all there inside your head still. She was just going to have to do a little … archaeology to uncover the buried bits.
She could do this.
Her brain began to whirr with excitement as menu ideas sprang up in her mind. This was her chance to prove to Mark Wilder that she wasn’t a loose cannon, that she could do this job.
She reached for the phonebook and flipped it open to ‘F’ for florists, her smile wide. Passwords could wait for later. For now she would use the phone.
If Mr Wilder wanted a party, she was going to give him a party!
Ellie slipped the straps of the little black dress she’d borrowed from Charlie over her shoulders. She wasn’t looking forward to this evening one bit. She’d tried hard to talk him out of it, but Mark had insisted she attend the party—partly to keep an eye on the caterers and whatnot, but partly to ‘have a bit of fun’. She’d have much preferred to stay holed up in her apartment with a packet of biscuits and a chick-flick.
She smoothed the bodice of the dress over her torso and looked in the mirror. She turned from one side to the other, scrutinising her reflection. Not bad. The simply cut black dress accentuated her curves, but didn’t cling in desperation. She slipped on a pair of strappy high heels—also borrowed from Charlie. Her ankles wobbled as she adjusted to the altitude.
Tyres crunched on the gravel outside. She exhaled wearily. Guests were starting to arrive, which meant it was her cue to go downstairs. While it wasn’t her place to welcome the guests, she wanted to make sure that the pair of local girls she’d hired to help with coats and suchlike had retained the pertinent information from their briefing yesterday.
Perhaps she could just stick it out for an hour or so and then slope off when he—when no one—was looking.
She left her room and headed for the main staircase. It wound down into a hall that was larger than the living room in her cottage. The banisters were solid oak, and still as sturdy as the day they’d been made. Ellie was rather grateful for them as she made her way down the stairs in Charlie’s disobedient shoes. They seemed to have a mind of their own. She watched each foot carefully as she planted it on the next step, and it was only as she neared the bottom that she looked up and caught a glimpse of Mark, standing by the huge marble fireplace, chatting to the first of the arrivals.
Unfortunately she’d discovered when he’d returned home the previous evening that time and distance had done nothing to dilute the sheer physical impact the man had on her. It was pathetic, really, it was. She knew better, knew what sort of man he was, and yet here she was, twittering along with every other female in a five-mile radius. She comforted herself with the knowledge that at least she had a medical reason for behaving this way.
She looked over at Tania and Faith, the girls from the village. Neither of them had thought to relieve any guest of a coat or a wrap; they were too busy standing in the corner and getting all giggly over a certain member of the male species.
Ellie forced herself not to look at Mark as she made her way across the hall and reissued her instructions to the two girls in a low, authoritative voice. They instantly sprang into action, relieving guests of their outerwear and delivering the items to one of the smaller rooms on the ground floor where Ellie had set up some portable clothing racks.
The only problem was that Tania and Faith were now so intent on proving themselves efficient they’d both darted off at once, leaving Ellie no choice but to act as hat-check girl herself when the next huddle of guests piled through the door. She approached the group that had just crossed the threshold.
Mark moved forward to greet them at the same time, and Ellie couldn’t avoid meeting his gaze. It was like being hit in the chest with one of those Taser guns. Her heart stuttered, fizzing with a million volts, and she disguised the resultant quivering in her limbs by breaking eye contact and smoothing out a non-existent wrinkle on her dress. All the same, the hairs at the back of her neck lifted, full of static. She just knew he was still looking at her. He inhaled, as if he was about to say something, but before the words left his mouth, another voice gatecrashed the moment.
‘Mark, you old dog!’ bellowed a good-looking blond man in a dinner jacket, slapping him across the shoulders.
‘Hello, Piers,’ Mark replied in his good-humoured tone. ‘Come in and find yourself a drink. What do you think of my new place?’
‘Bloody difficult to find, that’s what I say!’ he roared, slapping Mark a second time.
Ellie was standing there still waiting to take any coats. She felt like a prize lemon.
‘Let me introduce you to this trinity of lovelies,’ Piers continued, ushering a group of bejewelled women into the house. ‘Carla, Jade, and of course you already know Melodie.’
Of course. Ellie recognised her as the woman from the television. She didn’t say anything, but silently willed Melodie to hurry up and hand that pashmina over. Ellie wanted an excuse to make herself scarce.
Mark didn’t falter as he offered a polite greeting to all three women, but Ellie had a sense as she took hold of their wraps and coats that he wasn’t as comfortable as his relaxed stance implied. She was just about to scamper away to the temporary cloakroom when the pair of girls returned and relieved her of her only legitimate means of escape.
Then, just to make matters worse, Mark turned to her and asked her something. She saw his lips move, heard the words, but her brain retained none of the information. Why had he done that? She was the help. And she’d actually like to keep their relationship on that footing, thank you very much. Things were complicated
