English Lord, Ordinary Lady. Fiona Harper

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      She leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. ‘I do as well as I can under the circumstances. You try running a place like this with only one working oven, not enough staff and a budget that only allows for the cheapest, lowest-quality ingredients. I’d like to see you do better.’

      ‘I said the figures weren’t good. I didn’t say they were terrible. In fact, if you’d let me finish, I was about to say that the tearoom seems to be the only part of the estate that’s made any money in the last few years and, reading between the lines, I’d say that had an awful lot to do with you.’

      Her arms dropped to her sides. ‘Oh.’

      ‘I’m not going to beat around the bush, Josie. You’re producing a great menu under severe limitations, but this place is a dive.’

      Her body straightened and her hands flew to her hips, but then she looked around the room, her eyes lingering on the ivy, and she slumped again.

      ‘You’re right. It’s hideous. I told Harry that over and over, but he wouldn’t hear of changing anything. Couldn’t see what the problem was.’

      He took a sip of his tea. It was hot and strong and exactly how he liked it.

      ‘So, you won’t have any objections to a bit of refurbishment, then?’

      ‘A bit? I’d say we ought to rip the whole lot out and start again!’ She jumped off the chair. ‘Just look at this.’

      He almost choked on his tea as she ran to get a wooden chair from near the till, balanced it on the table next to him and vaulted onto the table-top.

      Circus tricks? What the heck was she doing?

      Unfortunately his legs seemed to be half-wedged under the plastic table and he wasn’t about to go anywhere fast.

      ‘Josie! I don’t think you should…’

      She made a dismissive noise. ‘I’m not very heavy. It’ll be fine.’

      Finally his leg came free and he lurched forward trying to grab hold of her. Too late. She was atop the chair and poking at the polystyrene-tiled suspended ceiling.

      There was nothing else to do but join her on top of the table and hope the plastic was stronger than it looked.

      ‘See?’

      ‘Josie, I…’

      And then he did see. Beyond the polystyrene tile she had moved was the original ceiling, beams and all. It was dark and dusty now but if it were restored it would look sensational.

      She was smiling down at him. Even standing on the chair she wasn’t a whole lot taller than him and he suddenly became aware of the rise and fall of her chest, of the glow in her eyes.

      ‘I…um…think we ought to discuss this at ground level.’

      Something in the way she looked at him changed. She closed her mouth and stared at him. Hard, but without the familiar hint of disapproval. ‘OK…Lord Radcliffe.’

      When they’d clambered down and found their seats again he said, ‘Call me Will.’

      She smiled at him. It transformed her face. Without the eyeliner and pink hair she’d be an absolute knockout. ‘That wouldn’t really be appropriate, would it?’

      ‘It wouldn’t?’

      She shook her head. ‘Barrett told me you’re a real stickler for doing the right thing—all that social-etiquette nonsense. It wouldn’t do to get too familiar with the hired help. Creates the wrong impression.’

      He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I’m new to this.’

      ‘I can tell.’

      ‘Is it really that obvious?’

      She looked him up and down. ‘Your clothes are expensive, all right, but not really suitable for the country. You look like a London city-slicker.’

      ‘Well, I am a…I do work in London.’

      ‘Then wear the Armani to the office. Your dry-cleaning bills will be astronomical if you don’t get something practical to wear down here.’

      He raised an eyebrow. He wouldn’t have pegged Josie as being a girl who knew Armani from her elbow.

      ‘The suit makes you look out of place.’

      And her clothes didn’t? However, it would do no good to mention that now. He was on a mission to build bridges. That piece of news could wait till a later date. For the first time since he’d met her, he couldn’t hear the tutting in his brain. And that was seriously good news.

      If his instincts were right—and when it came to money and business, they invariably were—she was the only reason this place hadn’t closed down by now. She’d be a useful ally and he needed to keep her that way. So he nodded and filed her advice away for future use.

      ‘OK. Thanks.’

      The door opened and Hattie skipped in. Josie rose to greet a woman he presumed was another of the village mothers. As they chatted in the doorway of the tearoom, Hattie made a beeline for his table.

      ‘Hello, Will,’ she said and plonked herself down on his lap.

      Will held his breath.

      What on earth was he supposed to do now? He didn’t know how to talk to kids, let alone play with them. He looked over to Josie for help, but she was still deep in conversation with the other woman.

      He looked at Hattie. She looked back at him.

      No smiles. No infantile chatter. Just a look.

      A look that said she didn’t care who he was or how many grand buildings he’d restored, or even that he owned every stick and stone of Elmhurst Hall. She liked him, and that was that.

      Odd.

      But nice.

      They were still staring at each other when Josie returned, eyebrows raised. He looked up at her, pleading, and saw a hint of a grin flicker across her face.

      ‘Why don’t you go and help yourself to a muffin, poppet? There’s a choice of blueberry or lemon and raspberry.’

      Hattie was across the room in a flash and Will took no time in untangling himself from the table and chair and getting to his feet. He brushed himself down, although he didn’t know why; Hattie didn’t have a speck of dirt on her.

      ‘About the renovations. I’ll get my architect on to it straight away.’

      She didn’t say anything, just nodded, and as he left the tearoom he still wasn’t sure if she was friend or foe.

      Harrington House was visible from a good mile away. Josie’s heart sank into her stomach and the car complained as she crunched it into third gear.

      ‘Hooray!’ СКАЧАТЬ