‘Of course. I’ll bring it up.’ And bring it willingly if it meant another encounter with the knee-trembling Mr Jones. Plus no dining room to clean afterwards.
Hester went back downstairs in a pink haze. That, she thought reverently, was one mouth-watering male specimen if you liked your men tall, dark and masterful. Which she did. Or would if she knew any. She sighed enviously. The lady with him was very lucky. Her man had charisma in spades.
Moira was drinking tea at the table when Hester went back to the kitchen. ‘Everything all right?’
‘With the über-gorgeous Mr Jones, yes. The connecting door was half closed so I didn’t see his lady.’
‘If you had, you’d have seen for yourself why I couldn’t turn them away. She looks like a ghost, poor thing.’
Hester poured milk into a mug, stirred in squares of chocolate and put it in the microwave to heat. ‘He wants breakfast at seven thirty, so I said I’d take it up. But what on earth were they doing out here in January at this time of night? We don’t normally do much with passing trade.’
This was true. Most of their customers came via tourist agencies and the Internet.
‘Mr Jones said he’d meant to drive overnight,’ said her mother, ‘but his companion began feeling ill about the time it started to snow. At which point he spotted our sign on the main road and turned up here on the off chance that we had room.’
Hester fluttered her eyelashes. ‘I thought Smith was the alias of choice for secret getaways. Do you think Jones is his real name?’
‘That’s how he signed the register.’
‘Pretty anonymous. He could have murdered the woman’s husband to run off with her for all we know.’
Moira shook her head. ‘I somehow doubt that! But they’ll both be gone in the morning, so we’ll never know.’
Never say never, thought Hester, her excitement back in full force as she heard footsteps on the stairs. The clock struck the hour in a nearby church steeple to mark the occasion as she rose to face the man who’d made such an impression on her ten years ago that she’d never forgotten him.
Tall and impressive in a formal suit, he looked older and more remote, but the thick black Celtic hair and ink dark eyes were unmistakable—and had exactly the same effect as the first time they’d met. He came towards her, hand outstretched, a slight smile softening the hard, imperious features. ‘Connah Carey Jones. I apologise for keeping you waiting.’
Hester took the hand and felt a jolt of heat rush through her like an electric shock. Heart thumping in startled response to the contact, she returned the smile with determined composure. ‘Not at all, I was early.’
He waved her back to her chair, then seated himself behind the desk, looking at her in narrow-eyed silence for a long moment before turning to her application.
She tensed. Could he have remembered her? But if he did he made no mention of it as he read through her CV.
‘You look young to have so much experience in childcare,’ he said at last.
‘But, as you see, I’m twenty-seven.’ She hesitated. ‘Mr Carey Jones, to avoid any possible waste of your time, could you confirm that the post is purely temporary?’
‘Certainly. It’s for the summer vacation only.’ The dark eyes looked up to connect with hers. ‘However, there is a complication. Lowri went away to school when she was eight, and would hotly resent the idea of having a nanny again. To get round this, I’ve told her I’m hiring a temporary housekeeper. Sam Cooper, the man who let you in, actually runs our all male household, but during the school holiday I need a woman on hand to provide Lowri’s meals, see to her personal laundry and take her out during the day. Her evenings would be spent with me.’
‘I see.’ Not that Hester did, entirely. Once she’d discovered the name of her prospective employer, and began wondering if he was the same Mr Jones, she’d put out some feelers through a journalist contact on the Financial Times to find out if her hunch was right. But Angus had drawn a blank on personal details. Known as the Welsh Wizard due to his phenomenal success in the world of finance, Connah Carey Jones kept his private life so strictly private there’d been no mention of a wife and child.
He returned to her application. ‘Would a Norland-trained nanny with such glowing references object to posing as a housekeeper, Miss Ward?’
‘Not in the slightest,’ she assured him. ‘I have experience in that field too, Mr Carey Jones. After my father died, my mother turned the family home into a successful bed and breakfast operation. I was involved at every level right from the start. I enjoy cooking and did a certain amount of it in my previous post, as I explained to Mr Austin.’
‘It would certainly help in this instance,’ he agreed, ‘but my priority is finding someone trustworthy and competent, who is also young enough to be company for my daughter. It would be necessary to live in for the period of employment, also to furnish the requisite references and agree to a security check.’
‘Of course.’
He mentioned the very generous salary offer and looked at her in enquiry. ‘Now that you’re clear about my requirements, Miss Ward, would you accept the post if it were offered?’
Like a shot.
‘Yes, Mr Carey Jones, I would,’ she said firmly.
‘Thank you for being so straightforward. I’ll be in touch as soon as possible.’ And, instead of ringing for his butler, he surprised her by accompanying her downstairs to see her out.
Buzzing from her encounter with Mr Jones, Hester set off at a brisk pace to walk back to the house on the hilly outskirts of town. She waved, smiling, when her stepfather threw open the front door before she was halfway up the steep path to the house. ‘Hi, Robert.’
He hurried her inside, his kind face expectant. ‘How did it go?’
‘Quite well, I think, but I’ll have to wait to see if I beat the opposition.’
‘Of course you will! Moira’s popped out for something missing from the lunch menu, but we’ll eat in the garden as soon as she gets back.’
Hester kissed his cheek affectionately, then went out to climb the fire escape stairs to the garage flat Robert Marshall had redecorated to her taste. Hester’s chosen career required her to live in with whatever family she worked for, and now the family home had been sold she was deeply grateful to Robert for providing her with the security of a private, self-contained apartment as a base. She gazed out over his steep, beautifully tended garden as she changed into shorts and a halter-neck top, wondering if a second interview was likely. Having met Connor Carey Jones again, she fervently hoped so.
When Moira came back with her shopping, her jaw dropped when Hester, not without drama, announced that her interview had been with the man who’d made such an impression on them both all those years ago.
‘I had an idea it might be him, Ma,’ she said, smiling triumphantly, ‘but I didn’t say anything because it sounded so farfetched. But I was right. The man in need of a temporary nanny for his daughter really is our mysterious Mr Jones.’
‘Amazing!
