suit now. He’d changed into shorts and a T-shirt as soon as he’d got back to his suite. Unfortunately he still had that same itchy feeling, as if something wasn’t quite right. He shook his head and pulled his sunglasses down over his eyes. Even with them closed the sun was still a little bright, burning strange shapes onto the backs of his eyelids.
Slowly the blobs swam and merged, until they solidified into an image that looked suspiciously familiar. In fact it looked suspiciously like his new housekeeper. He snapped his lids open and let the white sun bleach his retina instead.
What was up with him?
This was the third time something similar had happened. He was seeing her everywhere. And he didn’t want to remember how sad and lost she’d looked when she’d smashed his best crockery to smithereens. He also didn’t want to remember how warm and alive she’d looked when he’d mentioned Shepherd’s Pie and she’d thrown her head back and laughed.
Housekeepers weren’t supposed to be memorable. They were supposed to fade into the background and just do their job. He knew from personal experience how important it was to keep the lines between personal and professional firmly in place.
Somewhere in the back of his head he heard laughing.
Like you’re doing with Kat?
That was different. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake with Kat that he’d made with Nuclear Hamster. Stupid name. He’d advised them against it, but they hadn’t listened. It was just that Kat was so young, she needed—
Okay, he was starting to act like a big brother towards Kat, but it didn’t mean anything. Most importantly, it didn’t mean he was setting a precedent of getting too close to his employees. He’d been cured of that fault a long time ago. Which meant he was totally capable of interacting with Ellie Bond without thinking of her as a woman—a woman who filled a pair of striped pyjamas very nicely, actually.
He sighed. He’d be back at Larkford in just over a week.
And Ellie would be there. It was what he’d hired her for, after all.
Suddenly the thought of the two of them alone in that big old house together seemed a little … intimate. He stood up, walked over to the parapet and stared out towards the Hollywood hills. A house like his—well, what it really needed was to be filled with people. Lots of them.
On the day there were only five spaces left on the calendar Ellie got restless. All her tasks were done, and she’d finished the book she was reading. She needed something to do. Something to clean out. Sorting through cupboards and purging the rubbish was a therapeutic activity she rather enjoyed. It made her feel as if she were in control of something for once.
The infamous cupboard opposite the bathroom had become the object of her obsession. As far as she could see it was full of boxes of miscellaneous clutter that had been sent down from Mark’s London flat and had yet to be sorted out. She’d found plenty of bedlinen, a squash racket and three boxes of books. The empty shelves in the study came to mind, so Ellie decided to liberate the volumes from the dust and cardboard and put them where they could be useful.
She carried the box down to the study and started pulling books out and putting them on the thick wooden shelves. As she got to the last book in one stack a slip of paper fell out of the pages and wafted to the floor. She picked it up and realised it wasn’t a piece of paper after all, but a photograph.
Not any old photograph. It was a wedding picture.
Mark and an anonymous bride.
Well, well, who’d have thought it? The bachelor playboy hadn’t always been a bachelor. Bet he’d always been a playboy, though.
She frowned almost instinctively and studied the photograph more carefully. Mark looked younger—maybe in his mid-twenties?—fresh-faced, and very much in love with his beautiful, sophisticated bride. Her expression softened a little. A man who could look at a woman like that had something. Exactly what, she didn’t know. Maybe he didn’t either, because he’d thrown it all away and was living a very different life now. What a pity.
Turning the picture over, she saw the words ‘Mark and Helena’ scrawled on the back. The date underneath was twelve years earlier. Ellie slid the photograph back into its resting place and put the book on the shelf, feeling a little bit guilty for having found out what she sensed was a secret.
She reached for the next book, but was interrupted by the shrill beckoning of the telephone—the house line, not the one here in Mark’s office.
Blast! She’d noticed the cradle in the hall was empty when she’d walked past with the box of books. She’d probably left the phone lying around again, which meant it might be anywhere.
She stood still and listened carefully.
The kitchen.
She raced down the passageway, skidding on the tiles in her socks.
It’s in here somewhere!
The ringing was louder now, but oddly muffled. She ransacked a corner of the kitchen near the hob. Nothing! She leant closer to the worktop, then started frantically opening drawers.
Nope. Nope. Aha!
There it was, nestled amongst the wooden spoons. Where else?
She jabbed the button and uttered a breathless hello, then snapped to attention as she heard Mark’s deep tones.
At first she didn’t listen to the words, the content of what he was saying, because she hadn’t been prepared for the way even his voice made her tingle. Oh, why couldn’t he have e-mailed her? She wouldn’t have had to concentrate on sounding normal if she’d been typing a reply!
Ah, but the phone call might have something to do with the fact she’d forgotten her password and hadn’t been able to check her e-mails for a while.
It was just then that she realised Mark had stopped talking.
‘Ellie?’
‘Uh-huh?’
‘Are you …? Is everything all right?’ She could hear him suppressing a smile.
Unfortunately she was more than a little breathless—from all the phone-hunting, of course.
‘Just … couldn’t … find the phone.’ She took a gulp of air and managed to croak, ‘Can I help you?’
‘Yep. I’ve decided to throw an impromptu party as a kind of housewarming when I get home. Only a few dozen guests—don’t worry.’
A few dozen?
‘My PA is handling the invites, and I’ll get her to send you a list of caterers. We’ve decided on Saturday.’
‘Saturday? This Saturday? That’s less than a week away!’
‘I know. I’ve been e-mailing for days, but you didn’t reply. Don’t stress. That’ll be plenty of—hang on—’
Ellie huffed and tapped the counter as Mark chatted to someone on his end of the line. She thought she heard a woman’s voice.
None
