the papers in her hand, Liadan got slowly to her feet. ‘Don’t let them get to you, Mr Jacobs…Adrian. I believe that people always get their comeuppance. What goes around comes around.’
To her shock Adrian’s expression grew even darker, his eyes lost in the pain of some deep inner anguish. ‘For God’s sake don’t tell me that, Liadan! I’m in enough trouble as it is without being reminded that there’s always a price to pay for past misdeeds.’
‘All of us have skeletons in our closet,’ she quickly asserted. ‘And I’m no saint. I’ve got my share of regrets about the past, but I truly believe there’s redemption for everyone in the end.’
‘Do you?’ He was suddenly at her side, his gaze intensely roving her face as if he could somehow extract from her the solution he so desperately seemed to be seeking. Her mouth went dry at his closeness.
‘You probably think I’m very naïve to hold such a belief.’
‘I have to confess your innocence intrigues me. I do believe that we reap what we sow, but as for redemption?’ His hard jaw tightened as if he were struggling to get a purchase on feelings that threatened to drag him under into an abyss that held nothing but terror. ‘From who or what? Some imagined force for good that exists in the world to save our souls? I don’t think so. Look around you. Even you surely can’t avoid noticing that fear and darkness holds most of us in its grip—no matter how hard we might wish things were different.’
Before she could utter another word in her defence, Adrian swung away from her and marched to the door. ‘If you could gather up the rest of my papers and put them together into some kind of sane order, I’d be in your debt. I suddenly feel the need for some fresh air.’
It was ridiculous, but Liadan felt devastated that Adrian seemed to believe he didn’t deserve to be forgiven for whatever past misdeeds he was overshadowed by. Whatever it was, whatever terrible thing had happened, whatever ghosts he couldn’t seem to lay to rest, he surely didn’t deserve to be tortured by it for the rest of his life? To shut himself away in this beautiful mausoleum of a house with no contact from anyone but the people who worked for him might help him produce best-selling novels with dark themes that helped fuel people’s fears, but was that a good enough reason not to move on with his life and look for something a little more hopeful?
Guiltily shaking herself out of her reverie, she quickly gathered up the rest of the strewn manuscript, stood the upturned chair back in its proper place and painstakingly picked up every shattered piece of broken crockery. Then she spent the next hour collating all the pages of Adrian’s script and putting them in a neat, orderly pile on top of his writing desk. Hoping that her efforts might induce him to feel a little calmer on his return, Liadan made to leave the room. Inadvertently glancing at the piano on her way out, she flexed her fingers longingly, then let herself out of the study to return to the utility room and get on with her chores.
‘Hello, George. Looks like the snow is finally melting.’
Clapping her hands together briskly in her warm woollen gloves, Liadan let her gaze roam briefly around the large greenhouse, then back again to the head gardener, who was examining seed trays with a frown.
‘And everything up to its eyes in muck and bullets,’ George replied dourly, before turning to give her his full attention.
‘It’s pretty while it lasts but I can see why it’s not exactly welcome. It can’t be easy taking care of gardens this large,’ Liadan commented sympathetically.
‘It’s not normally a problem. Been looking after this place most of my working life. Took care of these gardens for Mr Jacobs’ uncle. I was just a young lad when I started here. You wait till you see them in spring, Miss Willow. You’ll see a sight for sore eyes then!’
Feeling a genuine fondness developing for the older man as well as huge respect for his obvious skill and dedication in taking care of the gardens, Liadan let down her guard and started to relax. Whether she would still be here in the spring was another story entirely, but it shouldn’t stop her getting to know George a little better. With Adrian locked away in his study most of the time working and more or less on her own in the house, she wouldn’t mind someone else to talk to now and then.
‘I can’t wait. George, I wondered if you had any flowers I could have to put in the house? The place needs cheering up a bit, in my opinion.’
‘You asked Mr Jacobs about that, lass?’ Frowning, George’s light blue eyes were suddenly wary.
‘Is there a problem?’
‘Mr Jacobs don’t usually like flowers in the house, lass. He said they remind him too much of funerals.’
Digesting this new knowledge with a little flutter of disquiet in her chest, Liadan shrugged good-naturedly. ‘Nothing’s set in stone, though, is it? I just thought a few nice blooms for the drawing room and the hall and maybe a pot of something I could take care of in my room. Hyacinths, perhaps?’
‘I’ll sort you out something just as soon as I’ve seen to these trays. Come back in a couple of hours, will you?’
‘Thanks, George.’
‘You settling in okay up at the house?’
Her smile was as sunny and as soothing as a summer garden and George found himself unreservedly warming to Adrian’s new young housekeeper.
‘I’m starting to get used to it. I don’t mind saying that I was quite intimidated at first.’
‘Don’t let Mr Jacobs worry you, lass. His bark is far worse than his bite, I can tell you. Very much like his uncle, he is, and he was a good man too. Never had a cross word from him in my life.’
‘Thank you. That’s very…reassuring. I’ll come back in a couple of hours, then.’ As she made her way along the slippery and wet paths that led back to the house Liadan found herself puzzling as to why Adrian would assert that flowers only reminded him of funerals. She got the feeling it had to do with whatever was tormenting him about his past, and her stomach turned over at the thought. Had someone close to him died? Someone he couldn’t forget? His wife, maybe?
‘Liadan!’
She swivelled at her name, her gaze seeking out who had called her. When she saw Steven Ferrers hurrying towards her, a garden rake hoisted in one hand and his long dark hair flying, she felt every muscle in her body contract warily. What did he want?
‘I’m glad I caught you.’ As he drew near his glance was piercing and far too familiar. Liadan wished she’d got back to the house before he’d seen her, but tried hard to conceal her irritation. George Ferrers was a sweetie but his son was not in the same league as his father. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
‘What can I do for you, Mr Ferrers?’
‘Oh, come on!’ Grinning in disbelief, he swept his gaze down her figure in her long tweed coat and up again to the riot of red-gold curls that the wind had blown free of her bun. ‘We don’t need to stand on ceremony, do we? My name’s Steven. We’re both young, both stuck out here in the middle of bloody nowhere, and it’s going to be a long winter, sweetheart. What say you and me have a bit of fun? There’s a bit of a get-together tonight down at the village hall—some football mates of mine and their girls. I’m sure you could get the evening off if you fluttered those pretty eyelashes of yours at Mr Jacobs.’
The
