his hands into the pockets of his robe, apparently uncaring that only a loosely tied belt protected what Grace was sure was his nude body from her gaze. ‘I’m not sure he believes me when I say that Sophie and I are finished. If he sees you and me together—’
‘No.’ Grace was horrified. She really would have to find a place of her own, she thought. Tom was definitely getting the wrong impression of why she’d stayed on after Sophie walked out. ‘I don’t want to be a party to any deal you make with your brother. And as far as Sophie is concerned, I’m sure she’ll see he gets the message for herself.’
Tom’s jaw jutted sulkily. ‘I notice you haven’t asked how I got on last night.’
‘It’s nothing to do with me,’ said Grace desperately. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. It’s nearly eight o’clock.’
‘She’s given me a couple of weeks,’ he said, as if Grace hadn’t answered him. ‘She’s as keen as I am to get Oliver involved. That way, she gets her money and possibly the man as well.’
Grace shook her head. ‘I don’t want to know,’ she said, heading for the door. ‘I’ll see you later.’
‘Think about lunch,’ Tom advised, not giving up. ‘I’d have thought you’d want to save the garden centre as much as me.’
That was a low blow, and Grace’s lips tightened for a moment before she said, ‘How on earth do you think my presence can make a difference?’
‘I’ve told you.’ Tom was encouraged now. ‘If he sees us together, he’ll think we’re an item—’
‘But we’re not!’
‘He needn’t know that,’ said Tom carelessly, but with the kind of smug expression she most abhorred. He really did think she was interested in him, she thought helplessly. He was so confident of his sex appeal, he assumed it was just a matter of time before she fell into his arms and into his bed.
‘I’ll think about it,’ she murmured, despising her cowardice but deciding she could always cry off later in the morning and avoid a confrontation now. The trouble was, deep down, she was tempted to accept the invitation. It might be the only chance she had of seeing Oliver again.
Apart from helping out around the centre, Grace’s main job was in the office. Her degree in maths and her computer skills had enabled her to reorganise the firm’s finances, and she was hoping to produce a web site to expand their mail-order sales.
Her fellow workers, a teenage girl who did all the typing and filing, and an older man who had been there since Tom’s father was in charge, were gradually beginning to accept her. It occurred to her that if Tom’s pursuit of her became unmanageable, she might be forced to leave and she’d be sorry to do that.
The morning was busy. Because of the speed of their turnover, at this time of the year some of their stock had to be brought in from abroad. A huge container truck from Holland arrived with a load of seasonal flowers, and several girls were employed preparing bridal wreaths and bridesmaids’ posies for weddings to be held the following day.
Tom arrived about half past nine, smartly attired in a navy suit and crisp white shirt. Obviously for Oliver’s benefit, Grace reflected, glancing down at her own jeans and cotton tee shirt with some regret. If she did change her mind and accompanied Tom, she would have to go back to the house to change. The Crown was a fairly casual place, but it wasn’t like the coffee shop at the garden centre. There the patrons were mostly older couples and families with young children. They just wanted a snack or a hot drink before heading home.
‘I’ll be at the site, if anyone wants me,’ Tom announced to the office in general, and Gina Robb, who had a crush on him, gave him a provocative smile.
‘Want some company?’ she asked, edging the neckline of her sweater off one plump shoulder.
Tom grinned. He always liked it when women showed they were attracted to him. ‘We wouldn’t get much work done if I did,’ he responded slyly, and Grace kept her eyes firmly focussed on the computer screen in front of her.
As if sensing her withdrawal, Tom said, ‘Everything okay, Grace?’ and she was forced to assure him that it was. ‘Think any more about lunch?’ he continued, and she gritted her teeth. Just the sort of comment Gina wanted to hear.
‘Not really,’ she said now, looking up. ‘Why don’t you take Gina instead?’
‘Oh, sorry.’ He managed to sound suitably regretful as he apologised to the disappointed teenager, though the look he cast in Grace’s direction wasn’t friendly. ‘Grace is the financial genius around here, Gina,’ he said. ‘I need her expertise. Believe me, you’d be bored out of your skull.’
Gina looked as if boredom would have been the last thing on her agenda and she gave Grace a sulky glare. It probably meant she wasn’t going to get much work out of her later, thought Grace irritably. Why couldn’t Tom keep his big mouth shut?
‘I’ll speak to you later, Grace,’ he announced, and she resigned herself to the fact that she would have to go with him now. If she didn’t, Gina would be offended, and she didn’t want to undermine Tom’s authority.
At coffee time, when Gina went over to the florists’ workroom to gossip with the girls who were preparing the displays, Grace slipped out and drove back to the house. She borrowed Tom’s car to speed things up as she’d walked to work as usual.
Parking outside the detached cottage Tom had bought when he and Sophie got together, Grace grabbed her bag and hurried inside. If she was quick, she could be back before anyone missed her.
But what to wear? Surveying her limited wardrobe, Grace was undecided. She seemed to have a predominance of jeans and tee shirts and sweaters, with not much between them and a couple of skimpy dresses more suitable for the evening. Most of her clothes were still at her parents’ home in London. She hadn’t expected to need power suits for this job.
She eventually plumped for a V-necked black sweater and narrow-legged khaki trousers that flared slightly at the ankle. Teamed with a pair of heeled boots, they would look reasonably smart. Smart enough for The Crown, anyway, she decided, stripping off her tee shirt and jeans and regarding her hips critically. Why did she always think her bottom was bigger than anyone else’s?
Did she have time for a shower? She glanced at her watch and assured herself that she did. She could leave what little make-up she wore until later. She’d pop her eye shadow, eyeliner and mascara into her bag.
She was drying herself after her shower when she thought she heard something. Or someone, she reflected nervously, wrapping the towel sarong-wise under her arms. Despite the fact that Tayford was a fairly safe place, Grace had spent enough time in New York and London to feel an immediate sense of anxiety. Had she locked the door when she came in? She suspected she hadn’t. But, dammit, surely a thief would see the car and realise that someone was at home.
Opening the bathroom door, she stepped out into her bedroom. Her clothes were still laid out on the bed where she’d left them, together with a clean set of underwear she’d taken out of the drawer. She wanted to put on her bra and panties, but she was loath to shed the towel. She felt absurdly vulnerable without clothes and she was considering dressing in the comparative safety of the bathroom when she heard footsteps on the landing.
Immediately, her heart leapt into her throat. There was somebody else in the house.
