freeze out the sun, and that had to be worrying.
‘So you are Miss Willow?’ There was a slight, amused tug of his well-shaped but stern mouth that made Liadan’s stomach roll over. ‘What kind of a name is that?’
Her shoulders stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Did you make it up? Is it some kind of pseudonym or something?’
‘No, I didn’t make it up and it’s not a pseudonym. My name is my name and that’s all I can tell you.’ Just who did he think he was, making fun of her name? Liadan was experiencing some very strong doubts about the interview progressing much further after such a prickly and unpromising start. But she forced herself to stay calm and decided the best approach was not to take his comment personally. ‘At school they used to call me “willow tree”. There were some children who had to suffer far worse nicknames than that, so I guess I got off lightly.’
‘Hmm.’ Glancing back at his letter, he put it down on the desk with a sigh, rubbing at his temples as he did so. Then, as if coming to a decision, he turned to face her more squarely. Once again Liadan’s heart missed a beat. His nose was too big, his eyes hooded and his mouth far too severe to suggest that it ever smiled much. And yet with his thick black hair streaked with fine grey strands here and there and the undoubted hint of muscle beneath his dark sweater, his sheer God-given maleness suggested an impression of great strength and indomitability that was quite awesome.
‘You seem a little young to be seeking employment as a housekeeper. How old are you exactly, Miss Willow?’
Was her age going to be a strike against her…as well as her name, apparently? Flicking open a second and third button on her coat, Liadan told herself to remain calm. With a big fire blazing in the huge stone fireplace, the heat was definitely beginning to permeate her several layers of winter clothing. ‘I’m twenty-seven but please don’t let that put you off, Mr Jacobs. I’ve had several years of experience in housekeeping, helping my parents run a busy hotel in Dorset. Hard work doesn’t faze me and I’ve done most things, from cooking three-course meals to mending a fuse and plumbing in a washing machine. Most of all, I’m cheerful to be around and I’m very willing.’
‘Willing?’ Mr Jacobs’ darkly forbidding brows came together in a sardonic little frown.
Colouring, Liadan smiled. ‘Helpful. I meant helpful.’
‘Of course you did. What about a boyfriend, Miss Willow? Do you have one and won’t he miss you if you come to work here?’
Guessing that he would probably laugh out loud if she told him that her year-long engagement to Michael Marston had broken off because he’d decided to join the priesthood, Liadan shook her head slowly, garnering every ounce of courage she possessed to ride this particular storm.
‘No, Mr Jacobs. I don’t have a boyfriend.’
‘So there’s no problem with you living in?’
‘None whatsoever.’
‘Liadan lives in the village, Adrian,’ Kate piped up. ‘She’s a local girl.’
‘She’s too young and probably won’t last the week.’ His assessment was swiftly damning, and Liadan’s hackles rose with indignation at such a scathing dismissal. Biting her lip, she was nonetheless determined to hold her ground.
‘Mr Jacobs, if you’ll just hear me out, I—’
‘I don’t employ any other staff in the house, Miss Willow. Could you handle the isolation?’
Isolation didn’t faze Liadan. Nor did loneliness. A person could survive both of those states and still have a reasonably fulfilling life. Besides, she liked her own company. She’d never found being on her own a punishment as some of her friends did.
‘I live alone anyway. I’m used to my own company,’ she answered him.
‘Good. After the two disappointing alternatives I interviewed earlier, perhaps you’re more suitable than you look. So how soon can you start? Kate is leaving for London tomorrow and I need to have someone in place before she goes.’
Was he offering her the job? Blinking at him, Liadan stared in disbelief. After his previous comment about her being too young she’d more or less convinced herself that he would show her the door. ‘Um, as soon as you need me to, I should think,’ she replied a little breathlessly.
‘What about references—do you have any?’
She started to delve into her bag for the two letters of recommendation she’d brought. One from her mother, bless her, in her former capacity as hotel proprietor; the other from Moonbeams, the little esoteric shop where she had worked for the past three years until it had gone bust six weeks ago.
Adrian put up his hand as if to stop her. ‘Leave them with Kate. She’ll show you to your room, then give you a tour of the house and a list of daily duties. I desire trust and discretion at all times, Miss Willow. I don’t like being disturbed unduly, but I do expect you to be on call whenever I need you. You’ll have one afternoon off a week as well as every other weekend off. The remuneration I’m sure you already know. That’s all. I’ll leave her in your capable hands, Kate. And how about some coffee when you’re ready?’
‘I’ll bring you some when I’ve shown Liadan her room.’ Kate smiled at her.
‘Good.’ Head down, he was already preoccupied with the contents of his letter before the two women reached the door.
Kate told her he was a writer. A very successful author of crime thrillers, writing under the pen name of Alexander Jacobsen. Once a highly successful journalist reporting on international conflicts all around the globe, he’d had the respect of his peers and the public alike during his career in news. Liadan experienced a shock wave of recognition at the news. Somewhere in the misty annals of her mind, she’d vaguely heard of Adrian Jacobs, but Alexander Jacobsen was the name that resonated. His hard-hitting crime novels always got to number one on the bestseller lists. Although that particular genre definitely did not appeal to her taste, her brother Callum had lent her a couple one Christmas and she had been unable to put them down, they were so gripping. If rather dark. Was that a legacy from some of the terrible atrocities he must have witnessed in his previous career? The thought made her shudder.
‘Occasionally we get the odd reporter or two trying to infiltrate their way into the house,’ Kate continued, ‘but one thing you should be aware of is that Adrian absolutely never, under no circumstances, gives interviews. I would ask that you respect his privacy and don’t divulge any personal information to anyone, and certainly nobody from the village. He’s been gossiped about enough in the past and he doesn’t need the heartache. Do a good job and obey those rules and you two will get on like a house on fire.’
That was the point where Liadan parted company with Kate’s views. One only had to spend a couple of minutes in the same room with the man to realise he was not exactly brimming over with the warmth of human kindness. Instinctively Liadan knew their relationship would be a challenging one. Still, that didn’t bother her too much. She was here to do a job, a job that would pay her more than enough money to live on and maintain her beloved little cottage in the village. More than that, she dared not hope for.
Once upon a time she had longed to meet a wonderful man and have children, but now that longing had been undeniably tarnished. Having
