this delicate matter.
“Admittedly it was an awkward moment,” he said. “But there’s no need to be embarrassed or do anything rash.” His mind went back to that day. “You thought I’d already left for my week away in Melbourne,” he recalled. “You didn’t expect to see me in the bedroom, particularly without any clothes…”
His words trailed off as, head down, she limped faster.
That morning when he’d heard her gasp, he’d swung around and Ella’s eyes had grown to the size of saucers. In that moment, he had reflexively stepped closer—to assure her not to be alarmed, nothing more. But he’d barely said her name before she’d scurried down the stairs like a frightened deer. After he’d dressed, he’d gone to smooth things over but had discovered that she’d left the house. With him away this week, they hadn’t spoken of it…until now.
They lived together. Tricky situations were bound to occur, like her walking in on him buck-naked that morning, like his discovery of her swimming today—
He frowned.
Which brought him back to the original question.
“A resignation doesn’t explain what happened to your handbag.” The way it had been upended as if some no-good scum had been in a hurry to get what he’d come for.
Her pace eased as she wrapped the towel more securely under her arms. “My inheritance from my mother finally came through.” She flicked him a glance. “Nothing compared to your wealth, but enough that I shouldn’t need to worry about money again if I’m careful. The executor organized to have the funds trans-ferred through to my account last night, but when it bounced back this morning, he rang to check the BSB number. After a few minutes, when I couldn’t find the book I normally keep in my bag…” Her lips pressed together. “Well, I overreacted and dumped it upside down.”
Tristan pictured the scene—Ella taking the call, the executor perhaps growing impatient when she’d kept him waiting. Her heart could have raced, her hands might have shaken. She was normally so composed and ordered, as was he. But having overreacted himself just now, he could better understand how she might have lost control in that moment.
“And the uniform? The shoes?”
Her face pinched, then she shrugged. “When I ended the phone call and knew the money would be in my account on Monday, I had this overwhelming urge to be free of them. I ripped the uniform off where I stood. Then I kicked off my shoes.” She focused on her bare feet as she continued walking, moving slowly now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t give any thought to where or how they landed.”
Tristan slid his hands into his trouser pockets. So Ella had come into an inheritance. Odd, but he’d never thought of her with parents. She’d seemed such a blank sheet. He hadn’t known her business and she didn’t ask about his. Not that there was much happening in his personal life these days.
He stood aside as she entered the kitchen through the still open door. “I’m sorry about your mother’s pass-ing,” he offered.
Her step hesitated as she gave him a look he couldn’t read. “She died eight months ago, just before I came to work for you.”
As she moved into the kitchen, it struck him again that he knew nothing of his housekeeper’s background. She’d shown up on his doorstep, explaining that she’d heard of the job opening. She hadn’t presented refer-ences, which he usually would insist upon. But he’d taken her on, mainly because of a gut feeling that she would fit. Her reserved demeanor, her unassuming ap-pearance, the way she’d quietly but succinctly re-sponded to his questions—she’d simply felt…right.
As a rule he thought through every detail of a decision. He hated making a mistake. Growing up, his two brothers had called him Mastermind and had ribbed him constantly about his meticulous ways. Those days seemed so long ago. Although his younger brother hadn’t visited this house in a long time, he and Josh kept in touch. However, he hadn’t spoken to his older brother, Cade, in years. Never planned to again.
Ella made her way to the cushioned window seat and, wincing, sat.
He followed and indicated her ankle. “Mind if I have a look?” He’d been a lifeguard in his teens and early twenties and knew first aid. It could do more harm than good limping around when a joint needed rest.
She gave a reluctant nod and he dropped onto his haunches.
“The bruise is fading,” she told him as he carefully turned the one-hundred-percent feminine ankle this way then that. “It wasn’t so bad.”
“Have you had it seen to?”
“No need. It’s happened before, since as far back as junior high when I ran cross-country. I wear an ankle support and try not to overdo it, but I can’t give up running. It’s always been my release.”
Well, this was the most information of a personal nature she’d ever offered. Was it because she was leaving? Because she was finally free and out of that drab past-the-knees dress that usually hid those hon-eyed shins. Shins that must feel as smooth as they looked.
When his fingertips tingled to inch higher, he bit down the urge, lowered her foot and pushed from his knees to stand.
Focus, Mastermind.
This was no time to slip up, even if Ella’s transfor-mation was one hellova jolt, as was her resignation. He’d gotten used to her living here. Where would she be bunking down two weeks from now?
“Have you arranged somewhere to live?” he asked.
Her blue eyes sparkled up at him. “I want to buy in an affordable neighborhood and rent something in the meantime.”
Although he nodded sagely, it was almost painful to think of not coming home to her. Despite checking her references, the housekeeper before Ella had been less than satisfactory—scorched shirts, mediocre meals. Ultimately, he’d had to let her go. Perhaps that’s why he’d gone with gut rather than referees in Ella’s case.
And with Ella taking care of his domestic front, all had been as it should be. She knew exactly the right amount of ice to mix with his predinner Scotch. His sheets had never smelled better, of lavender and fresh sunshine. He trusted her, too, never needing to worry that some valuable item might go missing.
Damn.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Two weeks, huh?”
Her smile was wry. “This is a luxurious setting with wonderful conditions. I doubt you’ll have any trouble filling my spot.”
“None who can cook like you.”
Her head slanted at an amused angle as her eyes sparkled more. “Thank you. But my cooking’s really nothing special.”
Said who? He could practically smell her mouth-watering beef Wellington now. He particularly liked the way she distributed gravy—from a delicate, gold-rimmed pourer at the table, and only over the meat, never the vegetables. She always asked if there was anything else he’d like.
He’d always said no.
Tristan’s stomach knotted and he cleared his throat.
Hunger
