Jack

by Nancy Warren

  “Oh, come on. All she asked you to do was drive down here and make sure the setting is right for the tent,” Maxine reminded him.

  “Which you could have done by email,” George said. “In fact, didn’t Max send you a photo of the Renaissance Fair we had here a couple of years back? Nothing but tents.” He grimaced. “And jousting.”

  Max said, “She’s a bride. She’s entitled to be finicky on her big day.”

  Maxine didn’t know Chloe. She had no clue that the tent placement was only the beginning. However, in the interests of a harmonious dinner he decided to spare her a better knowledge of his spoiled rotten sister. She’d find out for herself soon enough. If the wedding wasn’t going to cost a bloody fortune and he didn’t know that Hart House could use the money, he’d feel guilty. “Absolutely. One ought to have a final send off before being doomed to nappies and nannies and boring your friends senseless hearing about your package holidays to Spain.”

  Max snorted. “Another marriage hater. You should get together with Rachel.”

  “I’d like that very much.”

  Maxine seemed rather startled by his statement and looked at him doubtfully. “I’m sure you’re joking, but that’s a really bad idea.”

  “Why? Is there something I should know about your sister?” He raised his hands in a questioning gesture. “She’s got a big burly boyfriend back in America perhaps?” Maxine shook her head and behind her, George merely rolled his eyes. He thought harder. Recalled the violent tendencies. “She hates men?”

  “Well, sort of.” Max had her brow furrowed and looked both helpless and concerned in true sister fashion.

  An awful thought occurred to him. “She’s not a lesbian is she?” Oh, please let her not be lesbian. He thought of all that glorious hair on the sexy woman he glimpsed beneath the apron and the attitude. There was nothing he hated more than finding an attractive, interesting woman was out of bounds, not because she preferred another bloke, but because she preferred another gender.

  “You should probably stay away from my sister.”

  And with that Maxine walked past him in the direction of the kitchen.

  He climbed onto the ancient bridge and stood beside George, staring moodily at the slow-moving river beneath them. “Bad luck, that, her turning out to be a lesbian.”

  His old friend glanced sideways. “You really are a daft prick.”

  “What do you mean?” Renewed interest sparked. “She’s available after all?”

  “Maybe you should do us all a favor and forget about Rachel. Maxine’s right. She’s one woman you should stay away from.”

  George had known him too long to think he’d stay away from a woman because he was warned off without any reason. But he’d also known George long enough to realize there was no more to be got out of him on the subject.

  Odd. Very odd. Oh, well, the mysterious hints only made him more curious to get to know Rachel better. “I’m looking forward to tasting Rachel’s cooking. I understand from Maxine that she’s a first rate chef.”

  “Yes. She was head chef at a top L.A. restaurant, but it closed. Good reviews couldn’t save it. Our luck, though. And your sister’s, having a woman like that catering her wedding.”

  “I’d better run over to the pub and see about getting a bottle for tonight.”

  George waved him off. “We’ll pull something out of the cellar.” Since the Hart House cellars were legendary, Jack didn’t argue. “And, if we’re dipping into the cellars, you’d better not drive back to London. Stay the night.”

  Jack glanced at the huge manor looming behind them. “If you’re sure there’s room.”

  “I’m sure we can find you a suitable garret somewhere. I’ll lend you some pajamas and a toothbrush.”

  “Don’t bother. I keep a packed overnighter in the boot of the car. Saves time if I’ve got to run over to the continent.”

  “Blimey, I wouldn’t mind your life.”

  Jack blinked and gestured to the view. “You didn’t do too badly.” But he knew he wouldn’t trade with George. He liked his London address, his frequent visits abroad, his uncomplicated lifestyle.

  This time, when Rachel heard movement in the doorway, she didn’t launch a grenade. Instead, she turned with a scowl, but she was also ready with a spray bottle of water, her latest weapon, in case it was the damn cat again.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said, when her sister walked in, looking more like a model presenting Madison Avenue’s idea of the country than someone who actually lived among grass and sheep and five hundred year old barns.

  “You weren’t rude to the brother of an important customer were you?”

  For some reason she’d expected better of her recent unwanted guest; but, he was a man, of course he’d disappoint. “Is that what he said?”

  “No, he said you were charming, which naturally made me suspicious.”

  Rachel grinned in spite of herself. One point for Jack Flynt. “I wasn’t exactly charming, but he certainly was.”

  “I know, he’s famous for it.” Maxine grabbed a potato and found a second peeler. Rachel moved over, so they worked side by side at the sink.

  At first it was peaceful and companionable, but, like all big sisters, this one couldn’t help dishing out a load of unwanted advice. She could tell from the way Max glanced at her under her lashes that ‘what you should/shouldn’t do’ was on its way.

  “Jack asked me a lot of questions about you. He seemed…interested.”

  Rachel was mildly flattered, though not surprised. There’d been that weird thing between them and she knew he’d felt it too. “What did you tell him?”

  “To stay away from you.”

  “Spoken like a protective big sister.”

  “The thing is,” for a few moments there was no sound but the scrape of peelers against vegetables. “His nickname is Union Jack. You know why?”

  “Please tell me it’s got nothing to do with flag poles.”

  Her sister giggled. “Well, he must have something remarkable. He goes out with loads of women, gorgeous, amazing women. Most of whom go on to marry other men. He’s always in wedding parties, but he never gets married himself. That’s why they call him Union Jack.”

  Rachel went back to her potato. “So, he doesn’t believe in marriage?”

  “George doesn’t think he’ll ever tie the knot. You know how men are with that last bachelor standing crap.”

  Rachel wasn’t interested in discussing the commitment-phobic ways of all men. Only of one. “So, all he wants from these women is sex?”

  “I don’t know that for a fact but, as you so astutely pointed out, he is a man.”

  Rachel had pushed her attraction to Jack aside as nothing but one more irritation in a life that seemed full of them recently. But maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t one more trial sent to test her, but the answer to her dilemma. A hot English guy who wanted nothing but sex?

  She was an undersexed, unemployed, depressed woman in need of a change, a spark. Some excitement. In an instant she saw that what she most craved was a crazy, self-indulgent fling. A love ‘em and leave ‘em holiday affair that would end when she boarded her plane home.

  How much more perfect could Jack Flynt be?

  “He’s staying for dinner tonight,” Maxine said.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “So, you’re okay with it?”

  Rachel tried to conceal the fact that she was feeling more excitement at this moment than she’d felt since the early days with Cal. Back when she’d still believed in happily-ever-after. Now she believed she was owed a little fun after all the years of Cal and the restaurant. Fun should be like back pay coming to her, with interest. She had a sneaking suspicion Jack Flynt was exactly the man for the job.

  “Yes,” she said, thinking about that rangy athletic body, the come-to-bed eyes, the sizzle on her skin when he gazed at her. “I’m okay with it.”

  “Really?”

  She sent her sister a look. “Union Jack
will balance the numbers. I hate it when the boy/girl quotient is uneven.”

  Max gave her a one-armed hug. “I’m glad to see you. I missed you.”

  “Me, too. And you know what else I’ve missed?”

  “My excellent, sisterly, level-headed advice?”

  “That, and raiding your wardrobe.” She glanced down at herself. “I’ve put on weight, but I think I can still squeeze into your clothes.” She nudged up against her sister. “Or die trying.”

  Chapter 4

  Rachel didn’t normally dress for dinner. Usually she wore something lovely in white, decorated with food stains, and -- adorning her hair net -- a chef’s hat. She’d cooked a lot of fine meals in the last few years, but it had been rare for her to dress up and join the party.

  Maxine was right. She needed to get off her ass and get back to living. And having an irresistible commitment-phobe checking her out was exactly the push she needed.

  Jack was staying for dinner, which, she strongly suspected, meant he was staying the night.

  Rachel subscribed to the theory that if music was the food of love, then food was the fuel of sex. Food was her gift, her talent, her favorite method of seduction.

  So, she wasn’t in her restaurant with the professional sous chefs and servers; she’d prepared a simple but perfect meal and the ancient homestead de George did have servants. She had everything ready, instructions for Mrs. Brimacombe, the regular cook, and a couple of hours to get herself ready.

  What a blessing to sit down to her own meal and not in her chef’s garb. Even better, raiding Maxine’s closet was like a trip to Saks or Barney’s, without any need of a credit card.

  “Can I really choose anything?” This was said for form’s sake, while she and her sister stood in front of a loaded wardrobe. She and Max had shared clothes forever.

  “Since when did you have to ask?”

  “Since you started dressing so much better than me. The chances that you’ll be borrowing anything of mine are remote.”

  Max’s country attire today consisted of a pair of Rock & Republic jeans that hugged a body in much better shape than Rachel’s, a Stella McCartney shirt in turquoise worn with chunky beads and adorning her feet a pair of black Marc Jacobs flats. Her makeup hadn’t smudged, her hair didn’t frizz. Rachel knew she must be a very good person to be able to love her sister.

  “Looks like I’ve gone up a size and you’ve gone down one.” She looked at the gorgeous array of booty and pouted. “Probably nothing in here will fit anyway.”

  “Nonsense. Neither of us have changed that much. You haven’t gained weight, you stopped working out. Besides, you’ve always had the curves in the family.”

  Rachel turned to look at herself in Maxine’s full length mirror and pulled her T-shirt tight against her belly. “I’ve been having a three way affair with Ben, Jerry and that cute European Haagen Dazs.” She sighed and dove into the glorious bounty.

  “You’re already feeling better, aren’t you? Admit it. Coming to England was a great idea.”

  She pulled out a black Dolce and Gabbana dress with tiny, expensive looking white polka dots. “It was a great idea.”

  She put the dress back and withdrew a suede skirt softer than melting butter. The label was in Italian. “TV sure pays better than chefing.”

  Max watched her for a few minutes from the bed, then rose and gently nudged her aside. The wardrobes here hadn’t been built with Max’s clothing in mind and there certainly wasn’t room for two to stand abreast.

  Max pushed a few things aside and reached for a wine-colored velvet loose jacket with gold stitching. It had a sexy elegance to it that was still relaxed. “There’s a skirt that goes with it, all loose and ethnic, and I wear it with these boots.”

  “It’s so…” Rachel was almost speechless. “It’s so romantic, and sexy.”

  “I know. The color will look great with your skin tones and hair, don’t you think?”

  “My hair is a disaster.”

  “No it’s not. It’s long and needs a trim and styling. But we can make you gorgeous until we get to the salon. I always liked your hair long.”

  “I cut it for work.”

  “Now you can let it grow if you want.”

  She shoved the clothes at Rachel. “Try everything on. Oh, here’s the blouse.”

  It was something out of Lady Chatterley’s Lover that blouse. All falling lace and soft linen. Victorian boho.

  She yanked off her jeans and shirt and pulled on the clothes in a rush.

  Max shook her head.

  “What?”

  “Watching you throw yourself into an outfit actually hurts me. It’s how you would feel if you witnessed a diner bolt your carefully prepared food like it was a Big Mac.”

  Rachel grinned at her. “You were always the clothes horse. Not me. Anyhow, I’m in a hurry to see it all on.”

  They looked together as she preened in front of the mirror. Maybe the button was a little snug on the skirt, but otherwise, the outfit could have been made for her. The rich wine color made her eyes glow and brought out the highlights in her hair. Her skin didn’t look so pasty, now. It looked like old-fashioned porcelain. The style suited her, too. Loose and relaxed, but sexy. She turned in the mirror, letting the skirt sway. “I love it.”

  “You look fabulous. Now, I insist that you spend some quality time in your bathroom with creams, cosmetics and bath products.” Her sister’s forehead creased in sudden concern. “You do have decent makeup don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You got some expert to do me over for that photo shoot in Gourmet, remember? And then you bought me all the products for my birthday.”

  “Right.” Max’s eyes twinkled. “I’m a good sister, huh?”

  “When you don’t make me want to kill you? You’re the best.”

  “As soon as you’re ready, come back and I’ll do your hair for your big dinner date tonight.”

  She bent to pull off the boots. “Why are you doing this? You just warned me about Jack and now you’re wrapping me up like a Christmas gift.”

  Max inspected her nails. Then glanced up. “Truth?”

  “No. I want you to lie to me like you usually do.”

  Her sister took a breath. “The truth is you’ve seemed happier since he wandered into your kitchen than you have since you got here. I’ve told you what he’s like. You’re a big girl and can make your own decisions.”

  Sometimes, she forgot how perceptive her sister was. She walked over and perched beside her on the bed. “I won’t break my heart over him.”

  “Of course not.”

  She traced a unicorn in the blue tapestry bedspread. “But I might be interested in some uncomplicated vacation sex.”

  Max stared at her for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Like I said, England has a fine tradition in turning out studs.”

  “So you’re not going to give me a hard time about this?”

  “As your big sister, I reserve that right into perpetuity.”

  Rachel felt suddenly and unaccountably misty. “I have missed you so much,” she said, throwing her arms around Maxine.

  “Me, too.” They hugged tightly. “Everything’s going to work out. You’ll see.”

  “I’m unemployed, broke, divorced and wearing a borrowed dress to dinner in a castle.”

  “Things worked out okay for Cinderella,” her upbeat sister reminded her.

  A knock on the door had them pulling apart. “Come in,” Maxine said, and George appeared. “Ah, sorry, didn’t know you had company,” he said and prepared to depart.

  “No. Don’t leave,” Rachel said. “I was on my way out.”

  “I hope you don’t mind having one more guest for dinner.”

  “Not at all. I only hope my cooking’s okay. I’m not used to the oven.”

  “I’m sure it will all be lovely. And if it isn’t, we’ll blame poor old Mrs. Brimacombe,” he promised her,
with his charming grin.

  “Jack seemed very eager to – um, sample Rachel’s wares,” Maxine said.

  “Yes.” George glanced at her. “He’s quite taken with you.”

  “Did you tell him to stay tonight?”

  “Yes, of course.” He walked over and put a hand on Maxine’s shoulder. They were always touching each other, Rachel noticed. A brush of the fingers here, a pat there. She doubted they were even aware of it. They weren’t a couple you’d have imagined would work. They were so different, and yet, looking at them together, she knew the mysterious couple thing she’d never been able to get right, worked for them.

  “Do you know,” George said, “he keeps a packed case in his Jag? He often has to fly to the continent with only a couple of hours’ notice.”

  “What does he do exactly?”

  “He’s a financier. Always doing complicated things with money. I think he’s involved with hotels at the moment. Or is it vineyards?” George shook his head. “Both, I expect.”

  Jack was rather looking forward to dinner as he crunched across the gravel parking area to fetch his case. In it was a change of clothes, toothbrush, toiletries, even a modest supply of condoms. Jack didn’t believe in missing opportunities, in business or in pleasure.

  The housekeeper showed him to his room. It was done in greens, and the earl’s coat of arms was emblazoned on the mantel of the stone fireplace which had, fortunately, been modernized so he could flick on a gas fire if he wanted heat or atmosphere.

  The bed looked as ancient as the mantel, but he was pleased to find a new and firm mattress beneath the heavy carved oak headboard.

  He made a couple of calls and text messaged Chloe to let her know that the tent was going to be brilliant, and that the chef catering her wedding had been brought over from America specially from a five star restaurant. That ought to appeal to her. She was dreadfully spoiled, his little sister, and everyone knew it, including Chloe.

  Duty done, he showered in the ensuite bath and dressed.

  They were meeting for drinks in the drawing room, and there he wandered after first checking his watch to make certain the public visiting hours were over. He’d once been trapped by a school teacher from East Grinstead who’d mistaken him for the earl and harangued him for twenty minutes about organic farming practices.