Mistress On Loan. Sara Craven

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СКАЧАТЬ her hair at the nape of her neck with an elastic band.

      Over a breakfast of toast and coffee, she reviewed what the workmen would be doing when they arrived, making notes on her clipboard as she ate.

      There was some tiling to complete round the new Aga in the kitchen, and plumbing to install in the laundry room. They’d converted the old flower room into a downstairs cloakroom, and if the plaster was dry that could be painted. The panelling in the dining room was finished, but the ceiling needed another coat of emulsion.

      Most of the bedrooms were finished, apart from the one with the camp bed that she was occupying at the front of the house.

      She decided she would make a start on that, peeling off the layers of old wallpaper with the steam stripper. It was a messy process, but she enjoyed it.

      Remembering how immaculately the house had been kept in Mr Stretton’s time, Adrien could have wept when Piers had taken her back there to see what needed to be done. The plaster had been flaking, and there had been damp patches on some upstairs ceilings. In addition, her practised nose had warned her that dry rot was present.

      ‘My God,’ Piers had muttered. ‘It might be easier just to pull the place down.’

      ‘No.’ She’d squeezed his hand. ‘We’ll make it beautiful again. You’ll see.’

      And she’d been as good as her word, she reflected, with satisfaction. The Grange was looking pretty wonderful already. Most of the work that was left was cosmetic—adding finishing touches—so that the final bills should be relatively modest.

      At least compared with the last batch that she’d just paid, she remembered, shuddering.

      She was making good progress with the steam stripper when it occurred to her that her small workforce was un-characteristically late. She finished the section she was working on, then unclipped her mobile from the belt of her jeans.

      But before she could dial it rang, making her jump and swear under her breath.

      She said crisply, ‘A to Z Design. Good morning.’

      ‘Is that Miss Lander?’ It was the boss of the building firm she was using. ‘It’s Gordon Arnold here.’

      She gave a sigh of relief. ‘I was just about to call you, Gordon. No one’s turned up yet. Is there some reason?’

      ‘You could say that.’ His voice was slow and deliberate. ‘We’ve had a bit of a problem.’

      Not another vehicle breakdown, Adrien thought with a faint irritation. Gordon should get himself a van that worked.

      She said briskly, ‘Well, try to get it sorted quickly. There’s still plenty to do here.’

      ‘That’s it, you see, Miss Lander.’ He sounded odd, embarrassed. ‘We did the work, and you paid us for it, same as always. Except this time the bank sent the cheques back.’

      Adrien was very still for a moment. This was a room that caught the early sun, yet she felt suddenly deathly cold.

      Rallying herself, she said, ‘There must be some mistake.’

      ‘That’s exactly what I said.’ He sounded almost eager. ‘A mistake. So I got on to the bank, but they wouldn’t talk to me. Said I had to refer to you.’

      Adrien groaned. ‘I’ll get on to them myself,’ she said. ‘It’ll probably be a computer error,’ she added confidently.

      ‘Dare say it will,’ he said. ‘Generally is. I’ll leave it with you, then, Miss Lander. Only, we can’t really do any more work until we know we’re going to be paid, and there’s other jobs waiting.’

      ‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘I’ll have it put right by this afternoon, Gordon. Cheers.’

      But she didn’t feel very cheery as she switched off the phone and put it back on her belt.

      Something had gone badly wrong, she thought, as she went to her room to retrieve her bag and, because she was still feeling cold, a jacket.

      It was a mistake. It had to be. Yet somehow she kept getting an image of that dark, silent figure standing unmoving in front of the house, like some symbol of ill omen.

      Don’t be silly, Adie, she reproved herself, using the childish version of her name she’d coined when she was small. Just go to the bank and get it sorted.

      It was a simple enough system that she and Piers had devised. He’d opened an account at a local bank, with a chequebook in her name, and each month she sent him an itemised account of her spending and he deposited sufficient funds to cover it.

      ‘You’re too trusting,’ she’d told him.

      ‘I love you,’ he’d returned. ‘Love can’t trust too much.’

      For the past four months the system had worked like a charm. But this time, when some of the heaviest bills had to be paid, a hiccup had developed.

      I suppose it had to happen eventually, Adrien thought, as she set her Jeep in motion. Nothing’s perfect, especially when it’s automated. But why did it have to be this month?

      The bank was busy, but as Adrien waited at the enquiry desk she had the curious feeling that people were watching her. That a couple of the cashiers had exchanged glances as she walked in.

      They probably realise they’ve screwed up in a big way and are wondering how to apologise, she decided, with an inward shrug.

      The enquiry clerk looked nonplussed when she saw her. ‘Oh—Miss Lander. The manager has been trying to contact you at home, but we only got your answer-machine.’

      ‘That’s right.’ Adrien’s brows lifted in slight hauteur. My God, she thought, she sounds almost accusing. ‘I’m staying at the Grange so that I can oversee the final stages.’ If it’s any business of yours.

      ‘Oh—that explains it. Will you take a seat for a few moments? Mr Davidson needs to talk to you urgently.’

      Adrien was glad to sit down, because her legs were trembling suddenly and her stomach was quaking.

      Because those were not phrases that indicated grovelling on the bank’s part. On the contrary…

      She wished that she’d taken the trouble to change, to put on a skirt and blouse, or even a dress, some heels, and some make-up. Because she had the oddest feeling she was going to need all the help she could get. She was also aware that in her present gear she looked about sixteen.

      ‘Miss Lander?’ Mr Davidson was standing beside her. ‘Come into the interview room, won’t you?’ His smile was pallid and his gaze slid away. A very different reaction from his enthusiasm when the account was being set up.

      She wished, not for the first time, that Piers had used her own bank, where she was a known and valued customer.

      While he closed the door, Adrien took the chair he indicated. ‘Mr Davidson, I understand you’ve returned some of my cheques.’

      ‘I’ve had no choice, Miss Lander. There СКАЧАТЬ