A Diamond In The Snow

Stockbroking wasn’t his passion, either. He was doing this to make sure his father had a lot less stress in his life.

Did he even have a passion? he wondered. His best friend, Jude, lit up whenever Shakespeare was mentioned. Whereas Sam... He enjoyed the fast pace of his life, but there wasn’t anything that really moved him or drove him. Since Olivia, he’d shut off from everything, lived just for the moment. He’d thought he was happy. But now he was starting to wonder. Was his father right and he was living in a useless bubble?

He shook himself and followed Victoria through a door in the panelling, and then down a narrow staircase.

‘Shortcut—the former servants’ corridors,’ she said, and ushered him into a room that was clearly her office.

Everything was neat and tidy. Obviously she had a clear desk policy, because the only things on the gleaming wood were a laptop computer, a photograph, and a pot of pens. The walls were lined with shelves, and the box files on them were all neatly labelled.

‘May I offer you some coffee?’ she asked.

Right now he could kill for coffee. It might help him get his brain back into some semblance of order. ‘Yes, please.’

‘Are you a dog person or a cat person?’ she asked.

That was a bit out of left field. Would it affect a potential job offer? ‘I didn’t grow up with either,’ he said carefully, ‘so I’d say I’m neutral. Though I’d certainly never hurt an animal.’

‘OK. Wait here and I’ll bring the coffee back. My dog’s a bit over-friendly and he’s wet—which is why he’s in the kitchen,’ she explained. ‘How do you take your coffee?’

‘Black, no sugar, thanks.’

‘Two minutes,’ she said. ‘And perhaps you can email me your CV while I’m sorting coffee.’ She took a business card from the top drawer of her desk and handed it to him. ‘My email address is here.’

‘Sure,’ he said.

Samuel Weatherby was nothing like Victoria had been expecting. He was older, for a start—about her own age, rather than being an undergraduate or just applying for his second degree—and much more polished. Urbane. Although she wasn’t one for fashion, she could tell that his suit and shoes were both expensively cut. Way outside the budget of the nerdy young student she’d thought he’d be.

So who exactly was Samuel Weatherby, and why had he come for this job?

She put the kettle on, shook grounds into the cafetière and made a fuss over Humphrey, who was still wet and muddy from the lake. While the coffee was brewing, she slipped her phone from the pocket of her jacket and checked her email. Samuel had sent over his CV—and it was nothing like what she’d expected. She was right in that he was her own age, but there was nothing even vaguely historical or PR-based on his CV. His degree was in economics and he worked as a hedge fund manager. Why would someone who worked in high finance, with a huge salary, want to take three months’ work as an unpaid intern in a country house? It didn’t make sense.

Frowning, she poured two mugs of coffee, added milk to her own mug, and was in the process of juggling them while trying to close the kitchen door when Humphrey burst past her.

‘No, Humph—’ she began, but she was much too late.

Judging by the ‘oof’ from her office, thirty kilograms of muddy Labrador had just landed on Samuel Weatherby’s lap. Wincing, she hurried to the office and put the mugs on her desk. There were muddy paw prints all over Samuel’s trousers and hair all over his jacket, and Humphrey was wagging his tail, completely unrepentant and pleased with himself for making a new friend.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘He’s young—fifteen months—and his manners aren’t quite there yet. He didn’t mean any harm, and I’ll pay your dry-cleaning bill.’

‘It’s fine.’ Though Samuel made no move towards the dog. Definitely not a dog person, then, she thought. ‘Thank you for the coffee.’

‘Pleasure. I’m going to put this monster back in the kitchen.’ She held Humphrey’s collar firmly and took him back down the corridor to the kitchen. ‘You are so bad,’ she whispered. ‘But you might have done me a favour—put him off working here, so I won’t have to ask difficult questions.’

But, when she got back to her office, Samuel was the picture of equanimity. He wasn’t on his feet, ready to make an excuse to leave; he looked perfectly comfortable in his chair.

She was going to have to ask the difficult questions, then.

‘I read your CV while I made the coffee,’ she said. ‘And I’m confused. You’re a hedge fund manager. A successful one, judging by your career history.’ There had been a series of rapid promotions. ‘Why on earth would you want to give up a career like that to do voluntary work?’

‘A change of heart from a greedy banker?’ he suggested.

Victoria wasn’t quite sure whether he was teasing or telling the truth. Everyone always told her she was too serious, but she just wasn’t any good at working out when people were teasing. Just as she’d proved hopeless at telling who really liked her for herself and who had their eyes on the money.

She played it safe and went for serious. ‘You’re not into historical stuff. You were surprised by some of the things I told you, which anyone who’d studied social history would’ve taken for granted; and I took you past artwork and furniture in the public rooms that would’ve made anyone who worked in the heritage sector quiver, stop me and ask more.’

Busted. Sam had just seen them as pretty pictures and nice furnishings.

Which meant he had nothing left to lose, because she obviously thought he wouldn’t be right for the job. The truth it was. ‘Do you want to know why I really want this job?’ he asked.

She just looked at him, her dark eyes wary.

‘OK. My dad really is your dad’s stockbroker, and he talked to your dad to set up an interview for me.’

‘But why? Is it some kind of weird bet among your hedge fund manager friends?’

That stung, but he knew she had a point. People in his world didn’t exactly have great PR among the rest of the population, who thought they were all spoiled and overpaid and had a warped sense of humour. ‘No. They’re all going to think I’m insane, and so is my boss.’ He sighed. ‘This whole interview is confidential, yes?’

‘Of course.’

‘Good. Bottom line—and I need to ask you not to tell anyone this.’ He paused. At her nod, he continued, ‘My dad’s not in the best of health right now. I offered to resign and take over the family business, so he can retire and relax a bit.’

‘That’s more logical than working here. Fund management and stockbroking have a lot in common.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Obviously he said no, or you wouldn’t be here. Why do you want to be my intern?’

He might as well tell her the truth. ‘Because Dad thinks I live in a bubble and doing this job for three months will prove to him that I can relate to ordinary people.’

‘I’d say you’re switching one bubble for another.’ And, to her credit, her mouth was twitching slightly. So maybe she did have a sense of humour under all that earnestness and could also see the funny side of the situation. ‘I’ve never met your dad, because my dad still handles the investment side of things here.’ She looked straight at him. ‘Does your dad think you can’t take directions from a woman?’

‘Possibly. To be fair, neither can he. I think he’ll be driving my mum insane,’ he said. ‘Which is the other reason I want to come back to Cambridge. Dad has a low boredom threshold and I think she’ll need help to get him to be sensible and follow the doctor’s orders.’

‘That,’ she said, ‘does you a lot of credit. But I’m not sure this is the right job for you, Samuel. You’re way overqualified to be my intern, and frankly your salary is a lot more than mine. Even if you earn the average salary for your job—and from your CV I’m guessing you’re at the higher end—your annual salary, pre-tax, would keep this house going for six months.’

It took him seconds to do the maths. It cost that much to run an estate? Staff, maintenance, insurance, taxes... Maybe he could help there and look at her budget, see if the income streams worked hard enough. ‘Take my salary out of the equation. It’s not relevant. What attributes do you need in your intern?’

‘I want someone who can work on their own initiative but who’s not too proud to ask questions.’

‘I tick both boxes,’ he said.

‘Someone who understands figures, which obviously you do. Someone who’s good with people.’

‘I’m good with people,’ he said. ‘I have project management skills. I know how to work to a budget and a timeframe. I admit I know next to nothing about history or conservation, but I’m a fast learner.’

‘I think,’ she said, ‘you’d be bored. You’re used to living in the middle of London, with an insanely fast-paced job. Here, life’s much slower. If I gave you the job, you’d be unhappy—and that’s not fair on you, or on the rest of my team.’

‘If you don’t give me the job, I’ll be unhappy,’ he countered. ‘I want to be able to keep an eye on my dad. He’s not going to retire until I prove myself to him. The longer it takes me to find a job where I can do that—even though, frankly, it’s insulting—the longer he’ll keep pushing himself too hard, and the more likely it is he’ll have a full-blown stroke. This is about damage limitation. I have most of the skills you need and I can learn the rest. And I have contacts in London who can help with other things—publicity, website design, that sort of thing.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t have the budget for provincial consultancy fees, let alone London ones.’

‘You won’t need it. I can call in favours,’ he said. ‘Give me the job, Ms Hamilton. Please.’

CHAPTER THREE

IN THE HALF-HOUR since they’d first met, Victoria had worked out that she and Samuel had next to nothing in common. He was all about figures and she was about words. He lived in the fast lane and she was more than happy to spend her life here in the country house where she’d grown up, curating the past.

But she needed help to raise funds, and he needed a job to make his father believe in him. As long as they could work together, giving him this job could solve a problem for both of them.

‘Let’s say a week’s trial,’ she said. ‘See if we can work together.’

‘Thank you,’ he said.

‘If you hate it here, that still gives me enough time to find another intern before things get really hectic.’

He inclined his head. ‘And if you can’t stand me, then you only have to put up with me for a week.’

‘I wasn’t going to be rude enough to say that.’ But she’d thought it, and she could feel the guilty colour bursting into her cheeks.

‘Lighten up. I was teasing, Vicky.’

‘Victoria,’ she corrected. Not that she’d offered to be on first name terms with him.

As if he’d read her mind, he asked, ‘Do your staff normally call you Ms Hamilton?’

‘No,’ she admitted.

‘But you prefer formality.’

‘Nobody shortens my name. Why are you making it a problem?’

‘I’m not.’ He looked at her. ‘I need to make friends with your dog and meet the rest of your team. At work tomorrow, would you prefer me to wear a suit or casual clothes?’

‘The house is open for visitors tomorrow afternoon,’ she said. ‘But if you’re meeting Humphrey...’ She winced, seeing the mud smeared over his expensive suit.

‘How about,’ he said, ‘I wear jeans in the morning so it doesn’t matter if the dog covers me with mud, but I bring a suit for when the house is open? Or do your house stewards wear period costume?’

‘You’ll need training before you can be a steward. And we don’t usually wear period dress. But I was thinking about it for the events on the Christmas week,’ she added.

‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘It would be an additional visitor attraction.’

She had a sudden vision of him in Regency dress and went hot all over. Samuel Wetherby could definitely be a visitor attraction. He looked good enough in modern dress; in Regency dress, he’d be stunning. She shook herself. ‘Yes,’ she said, striving to keep her voice cool and calm. ‘OK. I’ll see you tomorrow at nine. If you can give me your registration number, I’ll make the sure the stewards know you’re staff so they won’t ask you to pay for parking.’

‘Sure. Do you have paper and a pen?’

She took a notepad from her drawer and passed it to him. He scribbled the number down for her. ‘Nine o’clock, then.’

‘Nine o’clock—and welcome to the team.’ She held out her hand to shake his, and when his skin touched hers it felt almost like an electric shock.

How ridiculous. She never reacted to anyone like this. And it was completely inappropriate to have the hots for her intern. Even if he was really easy on the eye—tall, with neatly cut dark hair, green eyes and a killer smile. To give herself a tiny bit of breathing space and remind herself that she was his boss for the next week, at the bare minimum, so she had to keep this professional, she took a copy of the house guide book from the shelf behind her and handed it to him.

‘Bedtime reading?’ he asked.

Bedtime. There was a hint of sultriness in his tone. Was he doing this deliberately? A twinkle in his eye made her think that he might be teasing her. And now she felt tongue-tied and stupid. ‘I thought it might be useful background,’ she mumbled.

‘It will be.’ He smiled at her. ‘Thank you for giving me a chance.’

Honestly. He could have charmed his way into any job, not just this one. Part of her wondered if it was some elaborate plot between her parents and his to set them up together; but of course not. A man as gorgeous as Samuel Weatherby had probably been snapped up years ago. Not that she was going to ask if accepting this job would cause a problem with his partner. She didn’t want him to think she was fishing for information. ‘See you tomorrow,’ she said, hating that she didn’t sound anywhere near as businesslike as she should.

From hedge fund manager to intern. This next bit of his life was going to be like the ancient Chinese curse, Sam thought: interesting. He sent a quick text to his mother to tell her he’d got the job and was just nipping back to London to sort out a few things but would be back later that evening. Then he hooked his phone up to the hands-free system in his car and headed back to London.

His first call was to his best friend.

‘Bit early for you on a Sunday, isn’t it, Sammy?’ Jude asked.

‘I’m in Cambridge, so I had an early Saturday night,’ Sam explained.

‘Is everything okay?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Sam filled him in on the situation.

‘Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. How is your dad?’

‘Grumpy. Worried sick and not admitting it. And I think Mum’s patience with him is going to wear thin pretty quickly.’ Sam paused. ‘You’d do the same, wouldn’t you?’

‘Give up my career and move back home to keep an eye on my parents, you mean?’ Jude asked.

‘I was always going to come back to Cambridge and take over the firm from Dad,’ Sam reminded him. ‘It’s just happening a bit sooner than I expected.’

‘In your shoes, I’d do the same,’ Jude said.

Which made Sam feel slightly better about his decision. ‘I’m not putting the flat on the market until the spring, so I can rescue you from the dragon landladies and give you a key so you’ve got somewhere to stay for your West End run, if you like.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘’Course I’m sure.’

‘I can only afford to give you the going landlady rent towards the mortgage,’ Jude warned.

Sam knew that theatre actors didn’t have the massive salary everyone thought they did. ‘That’s not necessary. I’ll know the flat is being looked after rather than being left empty, and that’s worth more than any rent. But I’m very happy for you to dedicate your first award win to me.’

Jude laughed. ‘You could be waiting a while. Thanks. I accept. And you’ve more than earned that dedication.’

‘I’m heading to London now, to pack. Come and pick up the keys at lunchtime.’

‘Will do. And thanks again.’ Jude paused. ‘Have you told your boss?’

‘Not yet. That’s the next call.’

‘Good luck with that.’

‘It’ll be fine,’ Sam said, with a confidence he didn’t quite feel.

‘Are you insane?’ was his boss’s reaction when Sam told him he was resigning.

‘No.’

‘You were supposed to be visiting your parents for the weekend. And I know you haven’t been headhunted, because that kind of news never stays secret for long. Why the hell are you resigning?’

‘Confidentially, Nigel?’ Sam asked. ‘And I mean it. Not a word to anyone.’

Nigel sighed. ‘All right. Tell me.’

‘Dad was rushed into hospital this week. Mum didn’t tell me until I got home. It was a mini-stroke and he seems OK now, but if he doesn’t slow down he could have a full-blown stroke. I need to be here to keep an eye on them both.’

‘Fine—then take a sabbatical until your father’s well again.’

‘I can’t do that. It’s permanent. I’m not coming back,’ Sam said. ‘If I’d been headhunted, I’d be on three months of garden leave with immediate effect, according to my contract.’ Which gave him the three months in which he needed to convince his father that he wasn’t reckless.

Then it hit him. Of course, his father would know about the clause giving three months’ garden leave; that was obviously why Alan had specified three months working in an ‘ordinary’ job.

‘You haven’t been headhunted,’ Nigel pointed out.

‘But I’m going to take over the family business from Dad,’ Sam said, ‘so that counts as working in the same area and it’s the same thing. I’m pretty sure HR will have me locked out of the computer system at work as soon as you tell them.’

‘What do you want—a pay rise or more responsibility?’ Nigel asked.

‘Neither. This isn’t a ruse to get more money or a promotion. I really do want to keep an eye on my parents.’ The way both of them seemed to have aged twenty years overnight had shocked Sam. As their only child, he knew it was his responsibility to look after them—and, more than that, he wanted to take care of them. They’d always supported him. Now it was his turn to be supportive.

‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’ Nigel asked.

‘Completely.’ Sam knew that people in his world had a reputation for being shallow, but any decent person would do what he was doing. Wouldn’t they?

Nigel coughed. ‘Well, if things change, you’ll always be welcomed back. And I hope everything goes all right with your dad.’

‘Thanks. Do you need me to do any paperwork?’

‘I’ll sort it out with HR. Email me the address where you’re staying so I can get the paper copies to you.’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.