long for either of us to reach a decision.’
She was playing verbal bat and ball with him, Hal realised, and it made him feel as if she was the one taking charge of the situation, not him. It certainly didn’t bode well for her interview.
Damn his accident! It beggared belief that he’d surrendered to the crazy impulse to agree to a stupid contest on the ski slopes with his ex-business partner Simon. If his pride hadn’t made him take the bait he wouldn’t be in the intolerable position he was in now—recovering from a lengthy operation to help repair a badly damaged femur and unable to do all the things he had no doubt taken for granted and shouldn’t have.
If he hadn’t been in so much pain as the paramedics lifted him onto the stretcher, he would have checked to see if the concern Simon had so loudly expressed to the crowd that had gathered was sincere. Hal very much doubted it. He could just imagine the man who had always been his rival describing the scene to mutual colleagues and friends and commenting, How the mighty are fallen...
One thing was certain. Hal wasn’t going to live down the ignominy of the painful incident any time soon.
Disgruntled and hurting, he punched the keypad to open the door and reversed the wheelchair a couple of feet back down the hall as he waited for the irritatingly forthright Ms Blessington to come in and be interviewed. In truth, he was absolutely prepared to dislike her on sight.
When he first glimpsed the gloriously red hair that rippled down over her slim shoulders as she came through the door he wasn’t surprised. It was said that redheads were feisty and opinionated. And this particular redhead definitely had the look and stance of a public school head girl. He already knew that she was assertive—a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to state it—and the unfussy green wool dress and almost military-style tartan jacket she wore with it suggested she selected her clothes more out of practicality than from any desire to make a fashion statement. The outfit might even have been bought at a charity shop. Yet the bright cerise stockings she’d teamed with sensible brown court shoes hinted at an intriguing rebellious streak that belied the illusion of ‘needs must’ and definitely gave Hal pause.
Lifting his head, he was momentarily taken aback to find his gaze captured by a pair of the prettiest cornflower-blue eyes he’d ever seen. Even before she opened her mouth to speak he had concluded that the woman was a fascinating conundrum that under more conducive circumstances he might, just might be tempted to try and unravel. But when she next spoke any impulse to be more interested than he should be instantly vanished.
‘I can see why you sounded so bad-tempered just now.’ Frowning, she set a purple velvet shoulder bag down on the floor and purposefully stepped towards him, like an extremely efficient ward nurse intent on taking his temperature. ‘If you don’t mind my saying so, you do look rather uncomfortable. Your brow is beaded with sweat and I can see you’re in pain. They told me at the agency that you’d broken your femur and that it was a bad break. Do you need a painkiller? If you tell me where they are I’ll get them for you, if you’d like?’
‘I’ve taken a couple—just a few minutes ago.’
For stupefying seconds the arresting floral scent his redoubtable interviewee wore transported Hal to a beautiful spring garden after a gentle rain had fallen, and it made it hard for him to think straight. It didn’t help that she stood close enough for him to reach out and touch one of the fiery red coils of hair that cascaded over her shoulders, and the shockingly inappropriate impulse made his heart thunder inside his chest like a herd of galloping horses.
Taken aback by the surprising reaction, he coughed a little to clear his throat. ‘The pills take a while to kick in. So, no, I don’t need you to get me any more. The last thing I need is to feel comatose. I think we should just get on with the interview, don’t you?’
‘Of course.’ The redhead’s alabaster skin flushed a little, but quickly getting over any embarrassment she might have felt and levelling a searching glance at him, she asked, ‘Instead of staying in that wheelchair, would you not prefer to conduct our interview lying on the sofa, with some cushions behind you for a while? I’m sure it would be a lot more comfortable. I can help you, if you’d like?’
‘Ms Blessing?’
‘Blessington.’
He should have known correction was inevitable, and Hal chewed down on his lip to stop himself from responding with something he might regret.
‘Let’s get one thing straight. I’m not looking to hire a facsimile of Florence Nightingale. I have round-the-clock access to a highly professional medical team if I want it. What I need—that is, the person I’m looking to hire—is someone who can be a temporary companion and help with all things practical while I recuperate. That’s why I need a home help. I need someone not just to drive me wherever I want, to arrange for shopping to be delivered, make the odd cup of tea or coffee and rustle up a meal or a snack whenever I need it, but also someone with the ability to make intelligent conversation, who has an interest in music and film—two of the things that entertain me the most. I want this person to be on call twenty-four-seven in case I can’t sleep and want some company.’’
The woman in front of him released the smallest sigh, but Hal didn’t think it was because the criteria for the post that he’d outlined in any way daunted her. In fact the interested examination she’d submitted him to as he spoke had been unflinchingly direct.
‘That’s more or less what the agency told me you needed, Mr Treverne, and I want you to know that I have no problem with any of those things.’
‘You’ve worked for clients with similar requirements before?’
‘Yes. I recently worked for an actress recovering from a particularly bad bout of flu that had left her feeling extremely weak. I had to do many of the things you’ve mentioned for her too, until she could manage on her own again.’
The experience hadn’t been a particularly good one for Kit, because the woman in question was spoilt and disagreeable. She had run her ragged for the six long weeks she’d worked for her, taking every opportunity to let her know how much she was admired and envied by her fellow thespians in the theatrical world for her beauty and acting prowess—her tone suggesting that Kit should feel privileged that she’d hired her.
But Kit hadn’t felt resentful towards the woman, because she clearly hadn’t been able to see how very unattractive her vanity and superior manner actually made her. During all the time Kit had been with her she hadn’t had so much as one person call to see how she was doing. Kit had ended up feeling very sorry for her.
‘And, seeing as I need you to be available round the clock, you’re aware that this is a live-in position?’
Hal’s arresting voice broke into her reverie.
‘Most of the jobs with the agency are. Don’t worry—all your requirements were explained to me in detail, Mr Treverne. Is there anything else you’d like to ask me?’
‘Yes. How old are you?’
‘I’m twenty-six.’
‘And you don’t have a “significant other” who might express reservations about you living-in? Especially when the person you’ll be working for is male?’ If Hal had hoped to rattle her with his slightly mocking inflection, he’d failed. His outspoken interviewee gave no visible sign whatsoever that the question had perturbed her in any way. Instead, she remained unshakably composed.
‘I’m
