something to do with old buildings,’ Mrs B replied.
There was no point in pursuing this line of questioning further. To the loyal cook he was Lord Radcliffe, and that was that.
Nobody knew anything about him. Old buildings. That could mean anything. He could be a property developer planning to raze the hall to the ground and build a horrible modern housing estate.
Josie wiped her hands on a tea towel and took her apron off. ‘I’m off to the cash-and-carry to stock up on crisps and suchlike. I should be back before noon.’
Mrs B nodded and returned to arranging a tray of muffins in a pleasing manner. Josie put her coat on, pulled a stripy hat out of the pocket and plonked it on her head, tucking her hair behind her ears.
She drove through the village of Elmhurst and joined the main road that would take her to the nearby town of Groombridge. After she’d loaded up the boot of the old Morris Minor with provisions for the tearoom, she decided to take a little detour. Not exactly work-related, but it was in the interests of all those employed at the hall, so it almost counted.
The public library was only a five-minute walk away. She ignored the rows of books and headed straight for one of the computer terminals where she could get internet access. It was conveniently ready at the home page of a search engine and she sat down and typed in William Roberts with two fingers. She’d finally learnt his surname from Barrett.
Almost instantly a long list popped up. She discounted the first few—results from family history sites—and scanned down the list. A very long list.
The first site she tried was the cyber-home of William Roberts, die-hard fishing enthusiast. She smiled as she closed the page and looked for another link. She’d always thought that once you’d seen one picture of a dead fish, you’d seen them all. Obviously not.
The next try was more like it. It wasn’t exactly what she was looking for, but it had a link to another site and when she followed that she hit gold.
Her worst fears were confirmed.
The link brought up a news article. It seemed that only months ago, Will had picked up an award for one of his projects. The brief blurb underneath the photograph described his company as one that took on both restoration projects and property development.
She rested her head in her hands and massaged her scalp with her fingers. It was as if she could feel the structure of her life crumbling away. If Elmhurst Hall closed, her only option would be to go home and live with her parents. And she’d always said it would be a cold day in hell before that happened.
She navigated to a different page, hoping to garner a little more information on the mysterious Mr Roberts. The site only gave the most basic information, but she could see that he’d done very well for himself, building his company up from virtually nothing.
Out of the blue, she heard her mother’s voice echo in her head: ‘He might be rich, darling. But he’s hardly one of us, is he?’
Her mother was such a snob.
‘He’s a bit dishy, isn’t he?’
Josie turned to find Marianne, the librarian, looking over her shoulder. The silence rule was never going to be upheld very well while Marianne worked here. Somehow, a place of serious contemplation and study had turned into a hotbed of gossip. And Marianne was the main culprit.
‘I hadn’t really noticed, actually.’
Marianne whacked her on the shoulder with a paperback. ‘Go on! You can’t fool me. Look at that lovely thick dark hair and those brooding, serious eyes. I bet there’s a fine physique underneath that suit.’
‘Marianne, you’ve been spending far too long camped out in the spicier parts of the romance section. Not every woman thinks about a man in terms of hard abs and strong thighs. Some things are more important.’
Marianne hissed out a laugh. ‘Yeah, right! Just don’t dribble too much on that keyboard, OK?’
Josie turned back to face the monitor, closed down the page and stood up, whisking her belongings under her arm as she did so.
‘Nobody here is going to be doing any drooling, trust me.’
‘Whatever you say, Josie.’
The librarian sauntered off, a smug grin on her face. Josie sighed. Even if she wanted to—which she didn’t—she wasn’t going to let herself think about moody looks and washboard abs. Those didn’t count for anything. A man with a heart and a soul was a much rarer, and infinitely more precious, commodity.
Will Roberts might look ‘dishy’ but he might also be the worst thing to happen to Elmhurst Hall in five centuries. And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.
CHAPTER TWO
WILL sat in the corner of the tearoom, partly hidden by a hideous piece of garden trellis with faded plastic ivy poking through it. He picked up a leaf that had either fallen off or been picked off by a bored customer and fixed it back onto one of the many waiting stubs.
Something would have to be done about this place.
While the hall looked elegantly shabby at present, the tearoom just looked cheap.
The only possible problem might be its manageress. He’d been here a month—well, not an entire month. Only weekends, really—and he still had no idea how she’d react to the news that he wanted to completely gut and refurbish the tearoom. In the end, he’d had to cut short his work in London and come down here on a Monday afternoon.
You’d think the pink-haired girl would be pleased he was bringing this beautiful place back to life, but every time he was in her presence it was as if he could hear her tutting at him. Not out loud, of course. But the noise was there all the same. Inside his head.
He watched her as she chatted to customers, and, clearing their plates, said goodbye. She might look a little strange, but she was good with people. Warm. Engaging. With other people.
He checked his watch. Only five more minutes and the tearoom would close. Then she’d have to talk to him.
Over the last few weeks he’d met with all the staff, one by one, to talk through their jobs and find out if they had ideas for improvement. And, while he’d listened carefully to each one of them, he hadn’t been convinced about some of the ideas. Especially Molly’s. She was one of the more enthusiastic volunteer guides. Somehow, a garden-gnome museum didn’t sit right with his vision for the hall. It needed ideas with taste, class—initiatives with a certain sense of respect for tradition and the history of the place.
He wiggled another leaf on the ivy trail and pushed it back into position. Totally fake and out of place.
A cup of tea clattered onto the table in front of him. He looked up to find Josie staring at him. Let’s get it over with, then, her expression said.
‘Thank you. Why don’t you sit down?’
She looked away for a split-second then dropped into the moulded plastic seat bolted onto the metal supports that held the table in place.
‘I’ve been looking
