was standing there, hand raised to knock, and he smiled at her, still warmed by her lullaby.
‘Hi. Fancy a cup of tea?’ he asked.
‘I wanted to talk to you.’
He nodded. ‘Can we do it over tea? I was just going to make a cup.’
‘I’ll make it.’
She turned on her heel and strode briskly down to the kitchen, filled the kettle and put it on, her actions busy and purposeful. Ben waited, settling himself in the comfy chair by the French window, looking out over the back garden. She’d get round to it when she was ready. You couldn’t hurry Liv. She did things her way, he’d learned that over the years.
While he waited he looked at the garden, tidied up for the winter, a few odd leaves blowing defiantly across the lawn. He loved the kitchen, facing both ways as it did and spanning the house. It was the only room apart from his bedroom that did that, and it was his favourite room in the house. In the summer he could sit here with the doors open, or take his coffee outside to enjoy the sound of birds and the distant bustle of traffic. In the winter, it was warm and snug and cosy.
In truth he hardly used the other rooms unless he was entertaining, and recently he’d done less and less of that. He was sick of the soulless merry-go-round of social chit-chat and gossip-mongering, and now he entertained for business reasons alone, and then usually in a hotel or restaurant, in the absence of a decent cook.
Anything rather than have his private space invaded by strangers.
‘About the job.’
He looked up with a start, and frowned at Liv. ‘Job?’
‘The housekeeper’s job—you rang me a couple of weeks ago to congratulate me on having Kit, and mentioned that you were looking for someone.’
He thought of Mrs Greer who had been with him for years. For all her sterling qualities she couldn’t cook, and he’d wanted to find someone to fill that slot without losing her as his cleaning lady. Still, with Liv and the babies there, she’d be much more stretched on the cleaning front, and if Liv needed the ‘job’ as a sop to her pride, so be it.
She’d have to cook for herself and the children, anyway, so cooking for him as well wouldn’t add a great deal to the burden and would make her feel useful. Besides, it would make sure she stayed for a while, so he could keep an eye on her and look after her and the children so they didn’t all end up in a worse mess.
And he’d have company.
He settled back against the chair and steepled his fingers. ‘Tell me about your qualifications,’ he said deadpan, and to his amazement she took him seriously. She coloured and straightened up, her mouth a determined line, and her eyes locked with his, the resolve in them terrifying.
‘I don’t have any,’ she told him bluntly. ‘But I’ll learn. I’ll read books and practise and try new things, and I won’t kill you with salmonella or anything like that. I won’t let you down, Ben.’
He sat up and leant towards her, a smile teasing at his lips. ‘I’m convinced. You can start now. Where’s that tea?’
She looked down into the pot that she’d been mashing vigorously for the past few minutes, and coloured again. ‘Um—I’ll make fresh. I seem to have mangled the tea bags.’
Ben stifled the laugh, closed his eyes and prayed that it wasn’t an omen for his gastronomic future.
CHAPTER TWO
‘WHAT about your things?’ Ben asked, sipping his tea warily.
‘Things?’
‘You know—all the stuff you left at the flat. Your clothes, the children’s clothes and equipment, your personal bits and pieces. When do you want to go and pick them up?’
‘I can’t,’ she told him flatly. ‘Oscar won’t let me have them; he said so.’
Ben’s mouth tightened and he dragged an impatient hand through his close-cropped hair, ruffling it yet again. ‘You need your nursery equipment. The children need continuity—not Kit, particularly, but Missy. She needs her familiar toys and clothes around her. You need your clothes—you can’t wear that pair of trousers for ever. And what about all the personal stuff? You must want that.’
Liv shrugged and buttered another piece of toast. Want them or not, it was beyond her to go back to the flat and demand that Oscar give her the things. ‘Could you give me an advance on my salary? I can go and buy something second hand—’
‘While Oscar sits on all your things? What’s the point? What does he need them for?’
‘Spite? A weapon? A lever, in case he decides he wants me back?’ She bit into the toast, a late lunch because she hadn’t got round to dealing with it after her rather strange morning, and glanced up at Ben.
He was looking thoughtful and rather serious. ‘Would you go?’ he asked. ‘Back to Oscar—would you go? Do you want to?’
‘No way,’ she said firmly. ‘Absolutely not. There is nothing Oscar can do that would entice me back, and anyway, he doesn’t want us. He only wanted me while everyone could remember my name and I was a cover girl on the glossies. He doesn’t give a damn now. I told you that.’
‘Yes, you did,’ he said softly, and drained his tea.
‘I have to go out,’ he went on. ‘Will you be OK? I can let you have a car—I’ve got a little runabout I use if I have to park at an airport or the station—less nickable than the Mercedes. You’re welcome to use it, and there’s a remote control unit in it for the garage door and the gate. The keys are hanging up there on the board.’
She followed his finger and nodded. ‘Thank you. I could go to the shops and buy food for supper—oh. I haven’t got the baby seats.’
‘We’ll sort that out soon. If you need to go out ring my cleaning lady. She’s very obliging and she babysits for my sisters. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Mrs Greer—her number’s on the board. Now, money,’ he went on. ‘I’d better give you a cashpoint card for my account—are you sure I can trust you with it?’ he teased, but it hurt. Oscar vetted her credit card bills, queried her bank account and dished out housekeeping as if he were pulling his own teeth. He was only ever extravagant if it was her money, but that was long gone.
‘Liv, I was joking,’ he said softly, and his large, firm hand came out and enveloped hers, giving her a comforting squeeze. ‘Buy whatever you need—if there’s something you have to have today, get it. We can shop for all the stuff the children need tomorrow, so long as you’ve got enough to get by till then.’
‘Don’t you have to be at work?’ she asked worriedly. ‘I’ve messed up your night, now I’m messing up your day.’
‘I work from home a lot—I’ve got computer links to the office via the fax and email, and anyway, I employ good staff. If I want to take a day off, I can.’ He stood up. ‘Take care. I’ll be in touch. I’ll have my mobile with me—ring if you need me.’
‘Where are
