gave nothing away, either.
‘I use a very old portable typewriter, Miss Lloyd. I always have, but my publishers now require my manuscripts on computerised disks. I presume you can handle that?’
She nodded wordlessly.
‘Good. On the domestic side it will be up to you what additional assistance you require. I imagine you’ll need a daily help at least. But I insist on peace and quiet while I’m writing. I also value my privacy.’
He paused. ‘I’m aware this may be difficult for you. After all, you’ve lived at Silvertrees all your life, and you’re used to having the free run of the place. That, I’m afraid, can’t happen any more.’
‘No,’ Chessie said. ‘I—I can see that.’
There was another brief silence. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘you may not wish to take the job on, but your lawyer felt it could solve a number of problems for both of us.’
The blue eyes were vivid against the deep tan of his thin face. ‘So, how about it, Miss Lloyd? Are you prepared to sacrifice your pride, and accept my offer?’
She ignored the note of faint mockery in his voice. ‘I can’t afford pride, Mr Hunter. Not with a young sister to support, and educate. I’d be more than grateful for the job, and the accommodation.’ She paused. ‘And we’ll try not to impinge on your seclusion.’
‘Don’t just try, Miss Lloyd. Succeed.’ He drew the file on the desk in front of him towards him, signalling the interview was ending. As she rose he added, ‘I’ll get my lawyers to draw up the necessary lease, and contract of employment.’
‘Is that really necessary?’ There was dismay in her voice. ‘It sounds a bit daunting. Couldn’t we have some kind of—gentleman’s agreement?’
His mouth seemed to twist harshly, or was it just the scar that gave that impression?
‘I’ve never been a gentleman, Miss Lloyd,’ he remarked. ‘And appearances are against you, too. I think it better to put things on a businesslike footing from day one—don’t you?’
And that, Chessie thought drearily, had been that. She was allowed to occupy the former housekeeper’s flat, with Jenny, for a peppercorn rent, as long as she continued to work for Miles Hunter.
At the time, desperate as she had been, bleak with guilt and grief over her father, it had seemed a lifeline. Too good a proposition to turn down.
Now, with hindsight, she wondered if she should have refused. Taken Jenny and herself far away from old memories—old associations.
But that would have meant finding a new school for Jenny just before an important exam year, and she’d been loth to create any more disruption in her sister’s life.
And at first it had seemed worth it. Jenny had done well, and was expected to go on to university in due course. She’d get a student loan, but it would still mean all kinds of extra expenditure.
So Chessie seemed contracted to several more years of transferring Miles Hunter’s starkly exciting thrillers onto the computer, and keeping his home running like the clockwork he demanded.
It had not, she reflected, been the easiest of rides. As she’d suspected at that first meeting, he wasn’t the easiest person in the world to work for. He expected consistently high standards, and could be icily sarcastic and unpleasant if these were not met, as several of the daily helps who’d come and gone could vouchsafe.
But while Chessie had adhered strictly to her own territory outside working hours, Jenny had not always been so scrupulous.
She’d made it plain she regarded Silvertrees’ new owner as little more than an interloper in what was still her own home, and this had led to trouble, and almost confrontation, on more than one occasion. And this had led to her coining the resentful nickname ‘The Ogre’ for Miles Hunter.
Chessie pushed back her chair, and wandered over to the window, beset by sudden restlessness.
Jenny could be disturbingly intolerant at times, she thought ruefully. It was true that she’d found her father’s disgrace and subsequent death traumatic in the extreme, but that was no longer a valid excuse. But her young sister bitterly resented the collapse of her comfortable, cushioned life.
She wanted things back the way they were—and that was never going to happen.
I’ve accepted it, Chessie thought sadly. Why can’t she?
And now Alastair might be returning and Jenny had seized on this as a sign that their circumstances were about to change for the better in some miraculous way.
Chessie sighed under her breath. Oh, to be that young and optimistic again.
As she had been once—when she and Alastair had been together, and the world and the future had seemed to belong to them.
As a first love, she supposed, it had been pretty near idyllic. A summer of walks, and car rides; of swimming and playing tennis, and watching Alastair play cricket. Of kisses and breathless murmurs. And promises.
In retrospect, all very sweet. And absurdly innocent.
Alastair had wanted her. There was little doubt about that, and to this day she didn’t know why she’d held back. Maybe it had been some unconscious reluctance to take the step that would have left her girlhood behind for ever, and made her a woman. Or, more prosaically, perhaps it had been the fear that it had only been her body that he’d really wanted. And that, having made the ultimate commitment, she would have lost him.
‘A man will tell you anything, darling, if he’s trying to get you into bed.’ Linnet’s husky voice, cloying as warm treacle, came back to haunt her. ‘Don’t make it too easy for him.’
Chessie had reacted with distaste at the time. But maybe the words had stuck just the same. Like so many of Linnet’s little barbs, she reflected ruefully.
And if the Court really was being re-opened, that would mean that Linnet would be back too, proving that every silver lining had a black cloud hovering.
In a way, it had been Linnet who had unwittingly drawn Chessie and Alastair together originally.
Sir Robert Markham, like Chessie’s father, had been a widower for several years. It had been popularly assumed in the village that if he remarried, his choice would be Gail Travis, who ran the local kennels, and whom he’d been escorting to local functions for the past year.
But one night at a charity ball he’d seen Linnet Arthur, an actress who, up to then, had made an erratic living from modelling, bit parts in soap operas, and playing hostess on daytime television game shows. Linnet, with her mane of blonde hair, perfect teeth, endless legs and frankly voluptuous body, had been decorating the tombola. And suddenly poor Mrs Travis had been history.
After an embarrassingly short courtship, Sir Robert had married Linnet, and brought her down to the Court.
The shock waves had still been reverberating when he’d given a garden party to introduce her to the neighbourhood. And Alastair, standing like a statue in the background, had clearly been the most shocked of all.
He’d disappeared during
