At The Millionaire's Bidding

Common sense told her she should be grateful that he had let her off the hook, but the last thing she wanted was to have to live under his roof.

And somehow he must have guessed as much.

So had he presented it as a fait accompli merely to force her hand?

Cocking an eyebrow at her, he waited for her to say something. When she bit her lip and stayed silent, he turned to Dave and went on, ‘I was asking Eleanor how you would feel about living there?’

‘Then you’re giving us the job?’ Dave burst out eagerly.

‘That all depends. To enable the work to be completed as quickly as possible, I’d like you both to be on the spot.’

As Dave opened his mouth to argue, Robert added, ‘If you’re prepared to meet me on this, all well and good. If you’re not…’

He left the sentence hanging in the air, but the threat was plain.

Eleanor looked at Dave, unconsciously holding her breath.

Plainly torn, wanting to tell this arrogant so and so where to get off, but knowing they needed the job, he hesitated. It was perhaps twenty seconds before he agreed reluctantly, ‘I suppose if that’s what you want.’

‘It is.’

‘Okay.’

‘In that case, how soon can you start?’

Regaining some of his cockiness, Dave went into his spiel, ‘As it happens, you’re lucky. Our next job has been put on hold, so we can make a start as soon as you want us.’

Glancing up unwarily, Eleanor felt herself grow hot as she met Robert Carrington’s green-gold eyes once more and read the mockery in them.

‘Then suppose you come down to Greyladies tomorrow afternoon?’ he suggested briskly. ‘Unless you prefer to keep your Saturdays and Sundays free?’

‘We’re quite used to working weekends,’ Dave told him, ‘so that’s no problem.’

‘Good. Then you’ll have time to get settled in and size up the job before Monday…

‘One of the things we haven’t touched on so far is price. When you’ve seen where I want the new office, and I’ve explained what I have in mind, you can no doubt work out a rough estimate of how much it’s going to cost.’

‘I’ll be glad to. Oh, and as you’ve mentioned money, when we start placing orders for equipment we shall need some cash up front.’

Pulling out a cheque book and putting it on the desk, Carrington suggested, ‘Say ten thousand?’

‘Ten thousand will do fine.’

Dave’s voice was casual, but Eleanor knew it was a great deal more than he had expected.

The financier wrote the cheque and passed it to him, before asking, ‘You have some transport?’

‘Yes, we have our own van. All we need are a few directions so we can find the place.’

‘When you reach Dunton Otterly, take the road to Little Meldon. Greyladies is about half a mile south of there.

‘Simply follow the main street through the village, and carry on until you come to Grave Lane on the left. The entrance to the manor is about five-hundred yards down the lane, on the right.’

‘Got it.’

‘You’ll see a gatehouse and some tall, wrought-iron gates. Jackson will open them for you.’

Slipping his cheque book and pen into an inside pocket, Robert Carrington rose to his feet.

Dave stood up too, clearly intending to shake hands across the desk, but the older man gave him a perfunctory nod, and held out his hand to Eleanor.

Each time he’d touched her it had been like a small electric shock, but seeing no alternative, she braced herself and took it.

A mocking gleam in his eye, he said, ‘Thank you for your time, Miss Smith. I do hope you think it’s been worth it?’

He was as smoothly abrasive as pumice stone, she thought vexedly.

Without waiting for an answer, he released her hand and moved to the door. ‘I’ll expect you both sometime tomorrow afternoon.’ He sketched an ironic salute, and was gone.

Feeling limp, totally wrung out, Eleanor stood and listened to his footsteps receding down the uncarpeted stars.

‘Well done, kiddo!’ Dave flourished the cheque. ‘How did you manage to persuade him?’

‘I didn’t persuade him,’ she admitted.

‘So what did you have to promise him?’

‘Nothing. The only thing he seemed set on, was that we should stay at Greyladies.’

His ill-humour returning, he said resentfully, ‘Well I hope he’s damn well satisfied. It’s going to be hell stuck in the country in some crumbling old manor house.’

Dave hated the country, she knew. He always said it got on his nerves. A city boy through and through, he was only really happy when there were pavements beneath his feet and a snooker hall handy.

‘We’ll no doubt be relegated to the servants’ quarters and forced to eat with the staff…’ He pulled a face. ‘But as that’s what his lordship’s insisting on, we don’t have much choice.’

‘Can you make a guess as to how long the job might take?’ she asked.

‘A couple of weeks… If he’s paying really well, I might even stretch it to three.’

‘Three weeks?’ She couldn’t keep the dismay out of her voice.

Presuming her objection to be dislike of the country, the same as his, he said, ‘Don’t worry, I have every intention of coming back to town at the weekends. We can charge the petrol to his lordship.

‘Now I’d better get this little beauty paid into our account before the bank closes.’ Thrusting the cheque into his pocket, he added, ‘I can’t wait to see the manager’s face, after the way the snooty git talked to me this morning.’

‘Dave, you will be…polite, won’t you,’ she asked anxiously. ‘After all, we did have a cheque that bounced.’

‘That was yesterday. Today we’re riding high with ten thousand in the black.’

‘But we still owe Greenlees—’

‘Don’t worry about Greenlees. I’ll call in and explain the situation, give them a post-dated cheque they can cash as soon as Carrington’s is cleared.’

He went to fetch his coat. Looking in at the door on his way back, he said, ‘I reckon we’ve earned an early night, so I’m off home as soon as I’ve sorted that little lot.’

‘I thought perhaps we could go out later? Maybe have a meal somewhere?’

‘Sorry, kiddo. I’ve promised to play snooker with Tony and the boys. Pick you up tomorrow about three o’clock. I’ll give you a toot, so be ready. Love ya.’

A moment later he was gone, leaving her standing gazing blankly at the closed door.

Surely, if he really loved her, he wouldn’t always put “Tony and the boys” first?

But it wasn’t just a case of putting his friends first, she admitted dismally, apart from when they were working, he never seemed to want to spend any time with her….

Time…

All thoughts of Dave were abruptly driven out of her mind as once again she heard Robert Carrington’s deep voice saying with mocking emphasis, “Thank you for your time, Miss Smith. I do hope you think it’s been worth it?”

Though the time spent in his company had been anything but comfortable, and she had managed, in one way or another, to make a complete fool of herself, she couldn’t deny that it had been worth it.

After all, they had been given a job they badly needed, and a substantial cash advance to take them out of the red.

She should be vastly relieved, and of course she was. But some still small voice warned that nothing would ever be quite the same again. That just his entry into her life had shifted the balance and changed it in some fundamental way.

She felt a bit like Faust, as though she had sold her soul to the devil to get this job. Oh, don’t be a fool! she told herself crossly. All she had done was fail to correct Robert Carrington’s lie.

If she’d put his back up by saying she hadn’t agreed to stay at Greyladies, instead of having a job to look forward to, Smith and Benson might well be finished as a business.

And not only finished, but in debt.

Robert Carrington’s visit had changed everything, made all the difference. Not only to the business, but to her personally.

That was the rub, the reason for her malaise. His effect on her had been so potent that mingled with the relief was dismay and agitation, an alarming feeling that he had somehow breached her defences.

While Dave always seemed to be retreating from her like an ebb tide, Robert Carrington had swept in and swamped her, got inside her head.

She shivered. Then making a determined effort to put her inner turmoil aside, she went to fetch her mac and bag.

As she locked the office and made her way down the stairs and into the drizzly rain, she thought wistfully that it would have been nice to have done something to celebrate.

Well, she would! But there wasn’t much pleasure in going out for a solitary meal, so instead she would buy something to add to her meagre wardrobe, most of which had come from charity shops.

When the previous cheque had been paid into their account, saying he was in need of some new shirts and trousers and a decent jacket, Dave had spent what she had considered to be a serious amount on clothes.

Though there were several things she could have done with, nervous in case their money ran out, she had held back.

But now, though they would be eating with the staff at Greyladies, she would need to have something tidy to change into when the day’s work was done.

The nearest department store had just started its summer sale, and she went in to look around. In the lingerie department she bought some cheap, but pretty, undies.

Then, going through to Ladieswear, she chose a skirt and two tops from one of the reduced ranges and, with a sudden, unaccustomed feeling of recklessness, a simple shift in subtle shades of mauve and blue.

On her way out, a pair of sandals caught her eye and, with scarcely a qualm, she added them to her purchases.

By the time she got home, conditioned to not spending, she had started to regret her recklessness. But she wouldn’t feel guilty, she told herself firmly. The lot barely came to what Dave had spent on a jacket, and they now had ten thousand in the bank and a job that should pay well…

Next day dawned fine and, though the sky was still grey and overcast, there were breaks in the clouds. The weather report on the radio suggested that a high-pressure system was moving slowly in, which meant a settled spell was on its way, with soaring temperatures forecast.

Rejoicing at the prospect of seeing a bit of sunshine, even if it was only through some window, Eleanor cleared the small fridge and made herself a salad lunch. Then, having dressed in a patterned skirt and a plain lavender-coloured top, she swirled her hair into a neat knot before finishing her packing.

Dave was late, and it was nearly four-thirty before she heard the sound she’d been waiting for. Grabbing her case, her shoulder bag, and her jacket, she hastily locked up and made her way downstairs.

Outside, the fume-laden air was appreciably warmer, and the pavements were dry for the first time in what seemed weeks.

The white van was waiting by the kerb. Sliding open the rust-spotted door, she pushed her belongings inside, before climbing into the passenger seat.

‘I was wondering where you’d got to,’ Dave looked anything but pleased. ‘I’m parked on double yellows.’

‘I was wondering where you’d got to,’ she found herself saying, as they pulled out to join the traffic stream. ‘You’re more than an hour late.’

‘Had a game of snooker with the boys. It looks like the last bit of fun I’ll be getting till next weekend, stuck in some dead-and-alive hole.’

He made it sound as if it was the end of the world, she thought. Then chided herself for being so edgy. She didn’t usually criticise Dave in this way.

‘But it’s worth it, surely?’ She made an effort to sound cheerful.

‘I suppose so.’ Having reached out a hand and patted her knee, he turned on the radio. He liked his pop music loud, which made any kind of conversation virtually impossible.

As usual, the traffic was heavy, and stopping and starting they crawled their way out of London at a snail’s pace.

Left with her thoughts, Eleanor made a concentrated effort to steer them towards the—hopefully—not too distant future, when the business was thriving, and she and Dave could be married.

But the more she tried to focus on that future, the more nebulous it became, a kind of mirage that, as she attempted to grasp it, receded steadily, so that it was always out of reach.

The moment she stopped concentrating, her thoughts refocused on Robert Carrington. He had made such an impact on her, that since the previous afternoon she had thought of little else.

Images of his compelling, strong-boned face, his dark-lashed wolf’s eyes, his austere, yet oddly sensitive, mouth had filled her head. She remembered his voice and his well-shaped hands, how she had felt when he touched her.

He had flustered and disconcerted her, made her angry and reckless, altogether rattled her; and through it all had run a strong thread of attraction, fascination even, that she had refused to admit.

But apart from the way he had affected her, and the fact that he owned Greyladies, she knew nothing about him. Had he a wife? Children?

She recalled him saying, “Someone who loves you? In that case you’re one up on me”.

Did that mean he had no wife? Or a wife who didn’t love him? The media, while admitting that he guarded his privacy fiercely, had apparently dubbed him as a ladies’ man.

Of course that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t married… But if he was a philanderer, it might explain why his wife didn’t love him….

CHAPTER THREE

BY THE time they had left the outskirts of London behind them the traffic had lessened, the sky had cleared, and as they ran into Little Meldon the sun was shining.

The main street was wide, with cobbled areas on either side that sloped gently up to rows of picturesque cottages. In the centre it widened even more to straddle an old stone butter market.

There was a mere handful of shops: an old-fashioned grocers, a bow-fronted butchers, a greengrocers, and a post-office-cum-newsagents.

At the far end was a black and white half-timbered coaching inn, with overhanging eaves and barley-sugar chimneys.

There was hardly any sign of life, and the whole thing could have been lifted straight from Dickens.

‘What a dump!’ Dave said disgustedly.

Eleanor, who had thought the village delightful and been about to say so, held her tongue. If he was in a bad mood there was no point in antagonising him.

About half a mile further on, as Robert Carrington had said, they came to Grave Lane, and turned down it. On one side was a patchwork of green fields bordered by a ditch and a hawthorn hedge. On the other was a wide expanse of grass, and an old, lichen-covered wall enclosing what appeared to be rolling parkland.

A stone building with gables and turrets and crooked chimneys appeared on their right. A gatehouse in every sense of the word, it spanned a huge, cobbled archway which was guarded by iron gates that put Eleanor in mind of a portcullis.

She gazed at it enthralled. Somewhere, almost certainly in a book, she had seen one just like it.

Grimacing, Dave switched off the radio and touched the horn, and a few seconds later a gnome-like little man appeared in rolled-up shirt sleeves and gardening gloves, and swung open the gates.

‘Afternoon,’ he said laconically, when Dave rolled the window down. ‘Mr Carrington’s expecting you.’

As they started up the drive, past a neatly laid-out vegetable and flower garden, he closed the gates behind them and returned to his digging.

For perhaps a quarter of a mile the drive wound serpent-like between banks of flowering rhododendrons and sweet-smelling shrubs, with no sign of a house.

Dave was slumped in his seat, on his face a look of complete boredom, but Eleanor sat up straighter feeling a strange surge of anticipation.

Then, as they rounded the final bend, the manor was suddenly there, like some wonderful surprise.

Only it wasn’t a surprise.

A split second before it came into view, she had pictured Greyladies just as it was. As if she had always known it. As if it was as familiar to her as an old friend.

Though long and rambling, the house was a mere two stories, built randomly of old and mellow stone. Creepers climbed its walls and moss grew on its steeply pitched roofs.

It had sturdy chimney-stacks and earthenware chimney pots adorned with cheerful, gargoyle-like faces, and its casement windows were mullioned and leaded, the old, uneven panes catching the light.

An imposing, black-studded front door, the wood of which was almost silver with age, was flanked by long, stained-glass windows, arched at the top, and running from some eighteen inches above the ground almost to the second floor.

High, sun-warmed stone walls, one with a small black door, the other with a wide archway, curved away on both sides.

Bringing the van to a halt on the paved apron, Dave grunted. ‘I thought a manor house would be a lot grander, more formal somehow, with pillars and things. This isn’t a bit what I expected…’

It was exactly what she had expected, and she was lost to it even before she went inside.

As she sat gazing at it speechlessly, he added, ‘Better let his lordship know we’re here.’

Switching off the ignition, he clambered out, leaving her sitting there.

At that instant the heavy door swung open and Robert Carrington appeared. Casually dressed in stone-coloured trousers and a silk shirt open at the neck, he looked taller and fairer and more striking than ever.

‘It must be the butler’s day off,’ Dave said a trifle too loudly. Adding, ‘I bet he’s come to direct us round the back to the tradesmen’s entrance.’

‘Benson…’ Nodding coolly to the younger man, Robert Carrington strode across to the van and, opening the passenger door, held out his hand to Eleanor.

Still off balance, thrown by that feeling of recognition, she put her hand into his.

His smile holding a hint of mockery, he greeted her as though she was a guest. ‘Miss Smith… Welcome to Greyladies.’

The shock of meeting those tawny eyes literally took her breath away, and she was forced to drag in air like a swimmer who’s been under water too long, before she could answer, ‘Thank you.’

She had tried to tell herself that his effect on her would have faded, that on further acquaintance she would find him ordinary, dull even.

But rather than lessening, his impact was stronger. It made her heart beat uncomfortably fast, set her nerves quivering, and scattered her wits.

Her right hand clasped in his, her skin sensitised by his touch, she fumbled vainly to undo her seat belt with her left hand.

When he reached over to unfasten it for her, he was so close she could see the glitter of his short fair hair as it tried to curl against his temples; see how his dark lashes were tipped with gold, and how tiny laughter lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes.

There were twin creases beside his firm mouth, and above his top lip, a tiny V-shaped scar. His skin was clear and healthy and smelled pleasantly of sun and the fresh masculine scent of aftershave….

He slanted her a gleaming glance from beneath those long lashes.

Feeling a complete idiot because he’d caught her staring at him as though mesmerised, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

As he withdrew his hand, it brushed her thigh, and she jumped convulsively.

Perfectly straight faced, he said, ‘I do apologise.’ Then, ‘Allow me…’

Legs trembling, she found herself being helped out of the van.

‘Do you need to freshen up?’ he asked.

‘N-no, thank you.’ The moment the words were out she wished she had said yes please. It would have given her time to recover her composure.

‘The garages are through the archway and to the right,’ he addressed Dave crisply. ‘If you’d like to take the luggage straight up to your rooms, my housekeeper will be waiting to show you the way.’

The scowl on Dave’s handsome face as he climbed back behind the wheel, told of his annoyance at being ordered about.

That annoyance was tempered to some extent when Robert Carrington added, ‘Then perhaps you would care to join us for a pre-dinner drink on the terrace?’

Us… Did that mean there was a Mrs Carrington? Eleanor wondered.

A hand cupping her elbow, he led her through the front door and into a panelled hall.

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