Shattered Illusions. Anne Mather

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      Jaime was inclined to say that she didn’t want any supper, thank you, but it would have seemed ungrateful to refuse. Besides, although she was tired, she was doubtful if she’d be able to sleep right away. She was far too excited to relax.

      ‘My suitcase...’ she ventured instead as Sophie went out the door, and the housekeeper turned back to give her a disdainful look.

      ‘You’ll find your suitcase in the bedroom,’ she advised crisply. ‘Samuel attended to it earlier. Even if Miss Redding hadn’t decided to employ you, naturally you’d have been offered a bed for the night.’

      ‘Oh.’ Jaime felt suitably chastened. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘Miss Redding’s orders,’ declared Sophie, disclaiming all responsibility. ‘Goodnight, Miss Harris. I hope you sleep well.’

      Do you?

      Jaime closed the door behind the housekeeper with a sense of relief. There was no doubt in her mind that Sophie didn’t hope any such thing. Biting her lip, she turned the key before turning to reappraise her surroundings. Whatever else might happen, she was certainly going to have no complaints about her comfort while she was here.

      It was almost dark, the twilight much shorter here than in England. The lamps Sophie had turned on had made the room clearly visible from outside, but before she drew the blinds she took a moment to admire the view.

      There was a balcony beyond the windows, with a glass-topped table and a pair of rattan chairs. But it was the sweeping curve of the bay beyond the shrubbery that caught her imagination. And a sea which at this hour of the evening was painted with gold.

      The room was even cosier when the curtains were drawn. A pair of rose-patterned sofas faced one another across a marble hearth, with the long low table that held the exotic flower arrangement between. There were several polished cabinets, one of which contained a television, and a single-stemmed mahogany table, and several matching mahogany chairs with velvet seats.

      A huge Chinese rug covered most of the floor, but in the bedroom next door a cream shag pile was soft beneath her feet. Kicking off her shoes, she allowed her toes to curl into the carpet, imagining how disappointed her predecessor must have felt to be leaving all this behind.

      The bedroom was dominated by a large, colonial-style bed, whose ruched counterpane matched the ruched silk curtains at the bedroom windows. The colour scheme of cream and gold was echoed in pale striped wallpaper, with the dark mahogany armoire and chest of drawers proving an attractive contrast.

      Her suitcase was waiting on the padded ottoman at the foot of the bed, and she was releasing the clasps when she heard someone knock at the outer door. Her supper, she guessed ruefully, going to answer it. Whatever faults Sophie had, efficiency wasn’t one of them.

      The tall, ebony-skinned man who had brought her tray was probably Sophie’s husband, she decided, though, unlike the housekeeper, he was inclined to be friendly. Setting the tray on the circular table, he took a little time to tell her what was under the silver lids, and then wished her a good night before he left.

      Closing the door after him, Jaime leaned back against it, feeling a little less alien after his visit. It wasn’t her fault, after all, that Kristin Spencer had been dismissed. She was just grateful for the opportunity it had given her.

      After unpacking her suitcase and exploring the sensuous luxury of the bathroom, Jaime sat down to her meal with some reluctance. She really wasn’t hungry, but conversely she was too hyped up to go to bed, and the spicy shrimps with sauce were quite delicious. She left the medallions of veal, and nibbled on the strawberry shortcake, even if it wasn’t particularly wise to eat something so sweet before going to bed. But, she told herself, she needed the sugar to maintain her optimism, and she’d never tasted such a delicious dessert before.

      A small bottle of wine had accompanied the meal, and before going for her shower Jaime emptied the bottle into her glass, and stepped out onto the balcony. The shifting waters of the bay were no longer visible, but they were still audible, and she propped her hip against the rail and breathed deeply of the soft, salt-laden air. She was here, she thought incredulously. She was going to work with Catriona Redding. ‘Forgive me, Dad,’ she whispered, ‘but I had to see what she was like for myself.’

       CHAPTER TWO

      DOMINIC awakened with a foul taste in his mouth. And a headache, he discovered, when he lifted his head off the pillow. Which wasn’t so surprising, really. He’d drunk the better part of a bottle of Scotch the night before.

      But it was the reason why he’d drunk the Scotch that made him want to bury his head in the pillow again and drag the sheet, which was all that was covering him, over his head. Catriona, damn her, was making his life difficult, and he sometimes actually found himself wishing his father had never married her.

      Or died so soon, he appended ruefully, leaving him in such an invidious position. He thrust the sheet aside, and propped himself up on his elbows. If Lawrence Redding had still been alive, his life would have been so much simpler.

      Sliding his long legs out of bed, he got rather unsteadily to his feet. The room rocked for a moment, but then steadied, and, promising himself he wouldn’t let this happen again, Dominic trudged across the carpeted floor.

      Through the slatted blinds, the sun was just beginning to gild the arched roofs of the cabanas that flanked the pool. The lushness of the gardens gave the place a tropical appearance at this time of the year, and he couldn’t deny that he still regarded this place as home.

      Beyond the pool and the gardens, dunes sloped away towards a stretch of white sand. The curve of Copperhead Bay formed an almost perfect backdrop, the ocean creaming softly on the shore. The tide was going out, leaving a tracery of rock pools that reflected the strengthening rays of the rising sun. His father had built this house to take full advantage of the view, and Dominic never tired of its timeless beauty.

      Had never thought there might come a time when he would be forced to make a choice, he reflected wearily. After all, when his father married Catriona, he had been only sixteen. He’d never dreamt that in less than twenty years Lawrence Redding would be dead.

      He was pondering the beneficial effects of an early morning dip when he saw someone appear from around the side of the house. A woman, he saw at once—a tall woman, dressed in trousers and a shirt, with a thick plait of rust-coloured hair draped over one shoulder. She had her arms wrapped about her body as she walked, and she acted as if she wasn’t really aware of where she was.

      He sighed. He knew who she must be, of course. She was his stepmother’s new assistant, who’d apparently arrived from England the day before. Catriona had omitted to tell him that she had had a London employment agency find her another assistant. Just as she had omitted to tell him that while he was in New York she’d dismissed Kristin Spencer.

      Poor Kristin. His lips twisted. He should have warned her that Catriona didn’t like competition. And judging from his first impression of the woman by the pool she had gone for experience over beauty this time.

      He grimaced, not liking the cynicism that was creeping into his consciousness these days. Catriona’s fault, of course, but it was his own fault too for allowing himself to be influenced by her. Perhaps, if he’d had more success in his marriage than his father had, he’d have overcome the tendency. As it was, it was far too easy to accept his stepmother’s interpretation of events, and if he wasn’t СКАЧАТЬ