Gracious Lady

Sophie could envisage her aunt right now, seated at the wooden table in the centre of the kitchen, the belt to her pink towelling bathrobe neatly tied at her ample waist, her rosy face bare of make-up, even the powder and lipstick she usually wore during the day, and there would possibly be rollers in her hair, depending on whether or not tonight was a hair-wash night; Sophie wasn’t sure about the latter, had left too early in the evening to know one way or the other. But she did know her aunt wouldn’t be reading or writing, or doing anything else for that matter, as she waited. She would just be waiting.

Brian didn’t need any further discouragement, stopping the car while they were still well away from the house, turning in his seat to look at her. ‘If you’d like me to come in with you, I will,’ he offered bravely.

Sophie laughed softly. ‘Now I know why I had a crush on you when I was younger! It’s a nice offer, Brian, and I do appreciate it.’ She squeezed his arm gratefully. ‘But I believe Aunt Millie is best faced alone.’ Mainly because, in this instance, Brian was more likely to drop her further into trouble than she already was if he should say the wrong thing at the wrong time!

As it was, Sophie was still trying to work out what she could say to her aunt–if she had a chance to say anything!

‘If you’re sure that’s what you’d prefer…’ Brian accepted with some relief. ‘I’ll call you in a few days, shall I, and–no?’ He winced as he saw she was already shaking her head at the suggestion.

‘We’re friends again, Brian; let’s just leave it at that,’ Sophie dismissed evenly. ‘And don’t try this on anyone else, hmm?’ she advised as she pushed the car door open in preparation of getting out onto the gravelled driveway. ‘You aren’t very good at it!’

‘Thanks!’ he returned drily. ‘A man’s ego certainly couldn’t become inflated with you around, could it!’

She chuckled softly before shutting the door and setting off down the driveway, grateful to Brian as she did so as he deliberately kept the car headlights brightly shining in that direction until she reached the door; it was a black, moonless night, and shadowy bushes edged the driveway in eerie silence.

She turned and waved once she reached the door, vaguely registering that Brian was turning the car around and leaving now even as she saw, from the light streaming from the kitchen window, that sleek car of bottle-green parked outside. Sophie’s nervousness returned anew at the sight of that car, and she entered the house on leaden feet.

As soon as she entered the kitchen she could see she was wrong on all four counts concerning her aunt; she wasn’t seated at the table but stood beside it putting a cup and saucer on a tray, she wasn’t dressed for bed but wore one of her usual blue dresses with the pristine white collar, and her powder and lipstick looked newly applied, and, although Sophie could see her aunt had washed her hair, it certainly wasn’t in rollers but neatly brushed into style.

Oh, well, here goes, Sophie groaned inwardly. ‘Aunt Millie?’

Her aunt was so startled, obviously not having heard Sophie’s entrance, that she almost dropped the sugar bowl she had been about to put on the tray with the cup and saucer. She glared across at Sophie impatiently at the same time she slammed the sugar bowl down. ‘I didn’t hear you get back,’ she accused unnecessarily, her attention almost immediately returning to the tray, adding a coffee-pot and a jug of cream before nodding her satisfaction that everything seemed to be in place.

‘Just now,’ Sophie nodded warily. ‘Brian brought me back.’ And this time she wasn’t lying! ‘Aunt Millie, I want to explain about——’

‘Not now, Sophie,’ her aunt dismissed irritably, picking up the tray. ‘Can’t you see I’m busy?’

Of course she could see her aunt was busy, but it was imperative she explain to her about——

Her aunt frowned. ‘If you want to do something useful, Sophie, then open the door for me so that I can——’

‘Mrs Craine, I’ve decided I will have that sandwich you offered, after all.’ The door to the main part of the house had been thrust open from the other side before Sophie could reach it, a man now standing in the doorway.

A man with harshly hewn good looks, blond hair shot through with silver, and ice-cold blue eyes…

CHAPTER TWO

MAXIMILIAN GRANT.

The owner of this house and the extensive grounds that surrounded it. Her aunt’s employer. And he had arrived unexpectedly in the middle of the night.

Sophie had recognised his voice immediately he spoke as he opened the door, of course, had frozen in her position slightly behind that door–which was probably the reason he didn’t seem to have seen her yet!

Would he recognise her when he did see her?

Recognise her as what, she wondered with a grimace? The young woman he had come across alone in the dark at the side of the road, apparently ‘asking to be raped or worse’?

What else was it he had called her? ‘irresponsible’, and–oh, God, he’d said she should choose her friends more wisely in future. And she was supposed to be here as the prospective companion, for the following week, to his young daughter! After the unforgettable list of offences he had already found her guilty of, she didn’t think that was very likely to happen now.

She gave a weary sigh at the thought of having to pack up her things and leave again so soon after she had got here; she had only arrived that very afternoon. But she now gave up all hope that Maximilian Grant wouldn’t realise she had been that woman walking along the road in the dark; if she had recognised his voice instantly, then it was logical to assume he would recognise hers too, especially as the incident was still so new. And memorable. At least, she presumed he didn’t stop along dark country roads to offer lifts to ‘damsels in distress’ every night of the week! Or even if he did–although he certainly hadn’t given the impression of being a knight in shining armour!—they wouldn’t all have turned out to be the woman seeking the position as companion to his daughter.

Sophie couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face as a perfectly ludicrous idea occurred to her. It must be the near-hysteria she felt at this whole situation that was causing it, but she had suddenly had an illusion of Mr Rochester with a car phone! OK, so she was taking poetic licence with the story, but there was no denying that they had met in the dark of night, nor that Maximilian Grant had been travelling, albeit in a car rather than on horseback, to his country home, nor that she was here as the companion he hadn’t yet met to his young charge, this time a daughter rather than a ward.

OK, she was taking more than poetic licence with this last bit; Maximilian Grant’s daughter Jennifer wasn’t home from school for the week’s half-term holiday until tomorrow, and Sophie had yet to be officially given the job of keeping her occupied for the week. Another twist, a rather significant one in this case, was that Sophie was the one who had actually realised Maximilian Grant’s identity, rather than the other way around, as it had been with Rochester and Jane. Perhaps not Mr Rochester with a car phone after all…

She had been trying to cheer herself up with this nonsense, and now she realised she just felt more deflated than ever. Not depressed. She had made a vow to herself long ago that she wouldn’t allow that emotion to colour her life. As she didn’t boredom either. There was always something to see, too much to do, to give in to that malaise. But, even so, she realised that this time she was coming very close to it!

‘Roast chicken?’

It took Sophie several seconds to realise her aunt was answering her employer’s request for a sandwich. Her aunt had been expecting Maximilian Grant in the morning, had been cooking his favourite foods all day in preparation for the weekend, her employer having spent the weekdays in his London apartment, as he usually did. Much to Aunt Millie’s chagrin; there was nothing she liked better than having someone to look after and feed. She had complained to Sophie only that afternoon, as she bustled about cooking pies and cakes, that she was sure Maximilian Grant didn’t look after himself properly in London anyway, that she didn’t understand why he didn’t spend more time down here. It wasn’t the same for her now as it had been with the last owners of Henley Hall, the Grays and their three children permanently in residence. But the Grays had sold up to Maximilian Grant over a year ago, and, although Aunt Millie had been asked to stay on as cook-housekeeper, she didn’t enjoy it now as much as she had when the Grays and their three young children had lived here. Maybe now that Maximilian Grant and his daughter were both back…

‘That will be fine,’ he accepted tersely now. ‘I’ll take the coffee tray back with——’ He broke off suddenly, turning sharply, pinning Sophie with those ice-blue eyes, his mouth thinning. ‘I didn’t realise you had company.’ He turned back to her aunt almost accusingly.

Sophie’s tentative grin, on at last being spotted, turned into a sickly grimace at the open hostility in his voice now. Gone was the abruptly polite employer who had been talking to her aunt, and in his place was–Sophie wasn’t sure…

He must have known the person he was thinking of employing as Jennifer’s companion was coming here, because he had asked that she be here for an interview on Saturday morning before his daughter came home from boarding-school at lunchtime, and he also knew she was his housekeeper’s niece, so that couldn’t be the problem either. And yet he was reacting to her presence here now as if she were some sort of intruder. It didn’t make sense. She hadn’t even spoken yet, so it couldn’t be that!

‘I’m Sophie Gordon,’ she decided to take the initiative when her aunt seemed as surprised by his attitude towards her as she was, stepping forward to hold her hand out in polite greeting. ‘Aunt Mil–er–Mrs Craine’s niece,’ she hastily amended at her aunt’s frown, the beginnings of a blush darkening her cheeks as she saw Maximilian Grant’s eyes narrow even more, in puzzlement this time.

Her voice! He did recognise her voice, was looking her up and down critically now.

And Sophie knew exactly what he would see: a shock of short red curls that refused to be tamed, huge hazel-coloured eyes that could be either green or brown, depending on her mood–right now they were definitely green!—a small snub nose, generously curving mouth, a determinedly pointed chin, her slight, almost boyish body clothed in the unaccustomed skirt and blouse, the satiny sheen to the latter being what had made it easy earlier for him to spot her in the headlights of his car. Well, at least she had done something sensible tonight, had worn something–even if it had been unintentionally at the time!—that could be clearly seen. Although she doubted ‘sensible’ was the word going through Maximilian Grant’s mind at the moment concerning her; she was already well aware of what he thought of her! But Aunt Millie wasn’t, and——

‘Ah, yes,’ Maximilian Grant answered her slowly, the hostility gone now–to be replaced with dry mockery. ‘You’re here about the job,’ he nodded tauntingly.

And she could kiss goodbye to that job, Sophie read from the derisive glint in his eyes, her arm falling back to her side as he made no effort to shake her hand. Which meant that she could also say goodbye to the week’s wages too. And she had needed that money. She doubted, in the circumstances, that he would feel like reimbursing her return train fare either, which made all of this a double blow. Well, she might just have to ask him for the latter; she couldn’t afford, literally, to be proud.

‘That’s right,’ she confirmed brightly. ‘I came down by train this afternoon so that I wouldn’t be late for our interview in the morning.’

Dark blond brows rose over mocking eyes. ‘Very commendable, I’m sure,’ he drawled softly. ‘Although it could be called taking punctuality to the extreme!’

She felt the heat in her cheeks at his undoubted sarcasm at her expense. ‘I thought it would be nice to spend some time with my aunt before–if my time here were to be taken up with Jennifer for the next week,’ she defended with a shrug–and then wished she hadn’t bothered as the mockery deepened in his expression, wry amusement quirking a mouth that looked as if it could border on cruelty if crossed. Border? Go well over the edge!

‘Really?’ Maximilian Grant murmured now, his stance challenging, his legs slightly apart, wearing dark fitted trousers that looked as if they might be part of a well-cut business suit, his snowy-white shirt unbuttoned at the neck, although he had probably worn a tie with it earlier; he didn’t look the type to dress casually very often, and today had been a working day. The tie would have been silk too, Sophie guessed ruefully; Maximilian Grant’s business empire had made him a millionaire many times over. ‘And did the two of you have a pleasant evening together talking over family and old times?’ he enquired pleasantly now.

Too pleasantly! He knew, damn him–she was sure now that he did!—that she hadn’t spent the evening with her aunt at all, believed she had spent them in the arms of her lover, Brian Burnett!

But, Sophie puzzled with a frown, as he did know that, and they both knew that he did, why didn’t he just tell her aunt? Whatever his reason, she was sure it had nothing to do with helping her avoid the severe verbal reprimand she would get from her aunt if she were to be told Sophie had already made the acquaintance of her employer, and under circumstances Aunt Millie certainly wouldn’t approve of!

"We spent the afternoon catching up on family news,” her aunt was the one to answer him in perfect innocence of the taunt, obviously pleased at how well Sophie and her employer appeared to be getting on together. She had actually recommended Sophie for this job, and would feel it reflected badly on her if Sophie should now prove unsuitable.

Unsuitable, Sophie realised with an inward groan, had to be the very least of what Maximilian Grant thought of her. Although the most she could hope for was that he wouldn’t be too frank with her aunt when he told her that!

‘Sophie spent the evening with a friend she made down here during holidays with us as a child,’ her aunt added affectionately.

‘Indeed?’ Eyes so pale a blue that they looked almost grey were narrowed on Sophie now even as he answered her aunt’s statement. ‘Perhaps you would bring the tray through to my study and we can talk now.’ All humour had gone from his expression now, derisive as it had been, and he was grimly authoritative, the suggestion an order rather than a request. ‘Another cup, if you please, Mrs Craine.’

One-thirty in the morning hardly seemed like the ideal time to be conducting an interview, Sophie thought even as she was vaguely aware of her aunt putting another cup on the tray. But despite the realisation that she now felt rather tired, from travelling down here today, an evening out that had hardly been uneventful, and the very lateness of the hour, Sophie knew she was in no position to argue, so she picked up the tray dutifully in preparation for following him.

He arched dark blond brows. ‘Are you hungry? Or is that a silly question to ask a student? I believe you’re reputed to be permanently in that state,’ he said ruefully.

Sophie turned frowningly to her aunt Millie. She was taking a university course, yes, but she could hardly be classed as a student. Aunt Millie saw her puzzled look, giving a barely perceptible shake of her head in reply, and to Sophie’s further discomfort she realised her aunt hadn’t told Maximilian Grant the whole truth about her. Not that she could exactly blame her aunt, but it did put Sophie in a doubly awkward position where this man was concerned.

‘I ate earlier, thank you,’ she replied distractedly, frantically wondering exactly what her aunt Millie had told her employer about her.

‘A chicken sandwich for one, then, Mrs Craine,’ he instructed tersely before striding purposefully out of the room.

Sophie shot a helpless look across the room at her aunt before hurrying after him, the coffee-pot rattling precariously as she did so, forcing her to slow her pace or run the risk of throwing hot coffee all over this beautifully carpeted hallway.

During the days of Sophie’s childhood holidays spent here, this house had been comfortably well-worn, the Grays having inherited the house rather than bought it, and with the expense of running such a large house, and three boisterous children to provide for, the house, while not exactly running into disrepair, had become worn and faded, a financial burden the young couple had found crippling, to the point where they had finally been able to manage no longer.

The house looked far from worn and faded now, an interior designer having been called in as soon as Henley Hall became Maximilian Grant’s. Workmen of all types had quickly followed, and her aunt had complained that for the next two months she had done nothing but provide tea and coffee for the workmen and clear up the mess they had made, all to the sound of their heaving and banging and the smell of newly applied paint. The result, Sophie had felt when she arrived here earlier today, had to have been worth it.

The whole of the downstairs floor had been carpeted in the same rich red and gold, the furniture all antique, deep red velvet curtains at the huge windows, glittering candelabra hanging from the high ceilings. Upstairs there had been a bit more personality added to the choice, Jennifer’s room a froth of cream lace and silk, the master bedroom more austere in dark and light blue, all of the guest bedrooms–and there were six of them–decorated in two-tonal colours that perfectly complemented each other. Sophie was temporarily allotted a bedroom near her aunt downstairs, until it was decided whether or not she would be staying, neither of them liking to make the assumption that she would be. But, her aunt had briskly informed her, if she was taken on, she would be moved up to one of the guest bedrooms, suitably close to Jennifer.

Sophie didn’t think there was much likelihood of that happening now!

She hadn’t seen in Maximilian Grant’s study earlier when her aunt had taken her round to show her the changes that had been made since her last visit just before the Grays left last year, but its austere brown and cream decor, and heavy oak furniture, came as no surprise to her; it was exactly what she would have expected Maximilian Grant to have surrounded himself with as he worked.

Although …remembering how he hadn’t told her aunt of the way he had met her on the road earlier, perhaps he wasn’t as predictable as she thought he was!

With the minimum of fuss he made a space now on the brown leather-topped desk for the coffee-tray, and Sophie put it down gratefully, having been terrified that she would further disgrace herself by dropping it everywhere.

She wondered, as she straightened, if she should just say her piece and leave gracefully. But while there was still a chance of her having the job, even the slimmest of one—— Yet was there, really, or was this man just trying to let her down gently? If he was, it would probably be the first time he had ever been this considerate!

Maximilian Grant’s success in business was legendary. He seemed to have interests in almost everything, from film companies, recording studios, airlines and newspapers, to race horses, the latter seeming to win for him with monotonous regularity. If Sophie were a gambler, which she most certainly wasn’t, his were the horses she would bet on. But she didn’t and his horses just went on winning without her money on them.

His personal life seemed to be no less successful. He’d escorted dozens of beautiful women since the death of his wife three years ago. Although none of them seemed, as yet, to have found a lasting place in the spot most people seemed to call a heart. In fact, one rather disgruntled actress, much in demand for her talent and beauty, who had ceased to hold his attention after only a matter of weeks, had claimed he didn’t have a heart at all, only a stone where it should have been! The fact that simultaneously she had failed to get the leading role in the latest film he was involved in producing might have had something to do with the vitriolic outburst, but even so it was no secret that Maximilian Grant didn’t have any inclination towards finding a second wife for himself. And, to Sophie’s mind, a man didn’t gain the coldly calculating reputation this man had in his business and personal life without there being some truth in it.

‘Would you like to “be Mother"?’

After her so recent thoughts about the intimate side of his life, this mockingly drawled request came as something of a shock! But then Sophie saw that his attention was fixed pointedly on the tray of coffee, as he sat behind his desk, and she realised he only wanted her to pour the steaming brew!

‘Of course,’ she returned smoothly, although once again her cheeks felt hot, and from the way his taunting gaze followed her slightly flustered movements with the coffee-pot she almost felt as if he could read her mind. Well, if that was the case, she hoped he could read now that she thought he wasn’t being fair to mock her in this way, not when he already knew he had her at such a disadvantage.

‘Cream and sugar?’ she enquired coolly, on her dignity now.

His mouth seemed to twitch at her attempt to put things back on a formal footing between them, and he shook his head in curt refusal of the offer. ‘I’ll take it just as it comes from the pot this time of night. I need the caffeine,’ he added ruefully.

He didn’t look as if he ‘needed’ anything; he was as alert and steely-eyed as if he had recently awoken from a long refreshing sleep. Whereas she felt exhausted, certainly far from her sparkling best. Which was a mistake on her part; she had a feeling it never paid to be less than at one’s best when up against this man. And at the moment, because he deliberately made himself such an enigma, she did feel they were antagonists.

‘Your young man did bring you all the way home this time, then?’

Sophie drew her breath in sharply at the sharp edge to the question, sure in that moment that he had deliberately attempted to put her at her ease before by seeming to fall in with her wish to be the polite strangers they would have been if it hadn’t been for that incident beside the road earlier. Now he was letting her know, with one sharp parry, that he had no intention of forgetting the incident, no matter what impression he might have given to the contrary in front of her aunt.

Sophie handed him his cup of coffee with a hand that shook slightly. Maybe it was as well she wasn’t going to work for him after all. She liked to relax, enjoy herself where she worked, and this man’s presence here would make that impossible for her.

‘As you can see,’ she nodded abruptly. ‘I–thank you for not telling my aunt about that earlier,’ she added stiffly, having dropped down into the chair opposite his across the desk.

He made no attempt to drink the coffee she had given him, putting the cup down on the desktop, his eyes narrowed to steely slits now as his gaze levelled on Sophie. ‘I didn’t do that to save you any embarrassment,’ he told her harshly, ‘but because I believed it might have upset your aunt to know about the ridiculous situation you had got yourself into. She seems very fond of you…’

Although he couldn’t for the life of him understand why, when she was so obviously unworthy of the affection, his tone seemed to imply!

But she had been proved correct in her earlier belief that he hadn’t been interested in protecting her by not telling her aunt they had already met, and under what circumstances.

‘Look on the bright side,’ Sophie returned. ‘If I hadn’t kept Aunt Millie up waiting to let me in because I didn’t have a key, she wouldn’t have been up and about to make your coffee and sandwich!’

His mouth thinned, his eyes ice-cold. ‘I’m more than capable of getting my own coffee and sandwich,’ he rasped harshly.