‘I think I’ve got to face facts, Morgan. James is done for really, isn’t he?’
Morgan nodded.
‘And I can’t tell you how pleased I am about that.’
‘That’s not a nice thing to say,’ Carrie said. ‘You can probably just go out and buy another car, but I can’t.’
‘I think we’re talking at cross purposes,’ Morgan said, grinning at her.
‘Are we?’ Carrie said. She thought she’d heard Morgan ask her to stop the night but what with the stress of James breaking down, and being behind with the job already, she couldn’t be sure.
‘So will you?’ Morgan said.
‘Will I what?’
‘Stop over?’
‘Um …’
‘I could help strip wallpaper or something. I’m not completely useless as a male of the species.’
‘I’ve got a vapour stripper,’ Carrie said.
All this talk of stripping – and in such close proximity to Morgan – was making her feel hot. She tugged at the neck of her T-shirt. But she could see that stopping the night at Oakenbury Hall would mean she’d be able to get a steal on the job. And get a feel for the house.
‘I could stop,’ Carrie said. ‘But not if, you know, me stopping will make things difficult with you and Delphine.’
‘Delphine? My colleague?’
Morgan looked, Carrie thought, genuinely puzzled for some reason.
‘Yes. Her.’
‘Well, you can take it from me: Delphine isn’t going to mind. Delphine is gay. She lives with her girlfriend.’
‘Good. Won’t be a mo, then,’ Carrie said.
Goodness, how deliciously relieved that little bit of information had made her. She threw open the car door, leapt out and ran back to her flat to shove a few things for an overnight stop in a bag.
The vaporised paper stripper made short work of taking off the old paper so she hadn’t needed Morgan’s help. He busied himself in his study sorting out family papers.
I could murder a cup of tea right now, Carrie thought. There was a bell-pull thing in the corner – if she were to pull it would a servant miraculously appear? Carrie giggled – ringing a bell to get someone to make her a cup of tea for goodness’ sake!
‘Oh, there you are … oh my God, what happened?’ Carrie jumped in surprise as Morgan suddenly appeared in the doorway. Deep in thought, she hadn’t heard him coming up the stairs.
Morgan had blood streaked across his cheek, and there was a gash on the top of one hand.
‘I fell. I think it must be years since anyone has been in the barn.’ Morgan put a hand to his forehead and swayed slightly.
‘What were you doing in the barn?’
‘Looking for a ladder. The ceilings are higher in here than on the ground floor.’
Carrie pointed to her extendable ladder, already raised to ceiling height.
‘Not much. I’ve reached this ceiling easily enough. Thanks for looking but it looks as though you’re bleeding to death needlessly.’
‘Am I?’ Morgan said. He put his hand on top of his head.
Carrie leapt to catch him. She stifled a giggle because wasn’t it always the big men who fainted at the sight of blood? – Morgan was just playing true-to-type, and it wasn’t as if it was gallons of the stuff. She grabbed his arm by the wrist and pulled him towards the bed. Not quite the scenario she’d imagined herself having with Morgan a short while ago as she’d covered the satin quilt with the dust-sheets.
Pushing him onto the bed, Carrie pressed Morgan’s head down towards his knees.
‘Oh God, sorry, I’ve got paint on your jeans.’
Morgan didn’t answer, merely groaned, so Carrie kept her hand on the back of his neck, smoothing his skin, willing him not to pass out completely. How blond his hair was so close up, how thick. Carrie resisted the urge to run her fingers through it –the place might have been right, but the timing was definitely way off. And anyway, what would be the point? Carrie Fraser from Flat Two, Laurel House, wouldn’t even be on the longlist of possibles for the role of Mrs Morgan Harrington. Not that she wanted to be because she had a business to build up and a career to get off the ground first.
‘I don’t want to move,’ Morgan said, just as Carrie was beginning to wonder if they were going to have to spend the rest of the day sitting like this. ‘Mmm, that’s nice.’
‘What is?’
‘Your neck-massaging technique.’
Carrie immediately pulled her hand away.
‘If you’re winding me up about this,’ she said, ‘I’ll—’
‘You’ll what?’ Morgan righted himself and looked at her.
They were so close – kissing close. Carrie was certain Morgan would be able to hear her hastening heartbeat.
‘I’ll put iodine on that cut instead of tea tree oil and give you something to really groan about!’
‘You wouldn’t?’
‘Try me,’ Carrie teased.
She got up and fetched her first aid kit, which she carried everywhere when she was working.
‘Good heavens, you’ve got everything in there,’ Morgan said as she rifled through it looking for swabs, dressings and the tea tree oil. ‘Actually, the cuts aren’t so bad, but I did knock myself out for a few moments.’
‘Right.’ Carrie said. She grabbed a small torch. ‘I’ll have to check for concussion. I’m insured against injuries to myself or other parties while I’m working. And I’m up to date on my first aid certificates. Back on the bed.’
Back on the bed … had she really said that?
‘Anything you say, nurse,’ Morgan said, grinning broadly.
Hmmm, Carrie thought as she checked Morgan for concussion – he was fine – and took his pulse, which seemed to be deep and slow and regular. She wondered what her own pulse was like right now and she prayed Morgan wouldn’t jokingly suggest he take it.
‘You’ll live,’ Carrie said. She ripped open a swab sachet and cleaned Morgan’s wound. ‘I think the air will heal that more quickly than any creams.’
‘You sound like you know what you’re talking about.’
‘My father was a doctor.’
‘Was?’
‘He died when I was sixteen.’
It had been a horrible time, but almost another sixteen years had passed since then – she’d lived as many years without her father as with him.
‘I’m sorry,’ Morgan said. He touched Carrie briefly on the back of her wrist. ‘I expect you’ll think I’m losing it, but I thought I heard my father calling my name as I was coming round in the barn.’
‘You’re not losing it,’ Carrie said. ‘There’s lots we don’t understand. Lots we’ll never know about.’
There was a moment’s silence between them, a heartbeat – yet for Carrie it was a comfortable silence, as though at that precise time they were both on the exact same wavelength. She smiled at Morgan encouragingly, but he grinned back.
‘You’ve got paint on the end of your nose,’ he said. ‘Did you know?’
Carrie’s hand flew to her nose, but Morgan grabbed it.
‘You’ll only make it spread – you can’t see where exactly.’
‘Morgan,’ Carrie said, ‘I know where my nose is and doing the job I do, a bit of paint here and there is par for the course.’
Still holding Carrie’s hand, Morgan took a fresh swab from the packet and wiped the paint away. And Carrie let him without protest; she loved the feeling of someone caring enough to do it for her. A lump came to her throat, and threatened to choke her. Morgan was looking down at her, and she couldn’t take her eyes away. He was oh-so-kissable close again. But he was only flirting with her, wasn’t he? A man like him, so good-looking, so rich, so charismatic, probably did this sort of thing on automatic pilot. It would mean nothing to him if she were to reach up and kiss his full, beautifully shaped mouth. It would be a short hop and skip until the dust-sheets were whisked off the bed and they were in it and he was making – probably very expert
– love to her.
‘A nursery, Carrie,’ Morgan said, startling Carrie back to reality. ‘Can you add that to your brief?’
‘A nursery?’ Carrie almost choked on the word. ‘Babies or flowers?’
‘Oh, I think you know which.’
‘Which room?’ Carrie squeaked.
‘You choose,’ Morgan said.
‘Next to this one, I think,’ Carrie said, immediately going into professional mode again. ‘I wouldn’t want my children down the end of a long corridor.’
And that was another thing – the corridor would need to be painted in a much lighter shade than the mid-green it was now – a rather nauseating mid-green in Carrie’s opinion. And more lighting was needed. As far as Carrie could remember, offhand, there was only one light at each end of the corridor – and high up. Wall lights would look good. Hmm, she could do so much with this house, given free rein and a decent budget.
‘You wouldn’t? Is that a personal or professional answer?’
‘Personal. People who own houses like this probably want their children miles away and with someone else to look after them.’
‘Don’t put us all in the same box, Carrie,’ Morgan interrupted. ‘But as it happens, I agree with you. The room next to this one it is then.’
Morgan gave Carrie the benefit of his mega-watt smile and her heart flipped over.
‘I think,’ Carrie said, her voice husky with desire, ‘I’d better get on, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Morgan said, and Carrie couldn’t help noticing that his voice was just as husky, if deeper. ‘I think it would be for the best if you did. I’ll call you when supper’s ready.’
‘In here?’ Carrie asked.
She peered around the doorway. The dining room table was set with what looked to her like a cupboard full of crockery and cutlery. It was all gleaming in light cast from a massive candelabra on the table – too many candles for her to count from where she stood. This was by far the nicest room she’d seen in the house so far. There were half a dozen or so still lifes – all of fruit or flowers – on the walls, all top-lit by strip lights. The walls themselves were painted a deepish maroon which gave the room an intimate feel.
Too intimate for Carrie at that moment.
‘Why not in here?’ Morgan said. ‘It’s where we eat in Oakenbury Hall.’
‘All the time? Breakfast, lunch, everything?’
‘Well, not breakfast except at weekends. But then, yes – breakfast is always served here.’
Morgan gestured for Carrie to walk on through.
‘But I’m still in my overalls. I can’t eat in here in overalls.’
‘As you see, I’m wearing what I’ve been wearing all day and haven’t changed for dinner.’ Morgan made an ushering gesture but Carrie stayed where she was.
‘No,’ Carrie said, taking in Morgan’s jeans, still with the blob of paint from when she’d been seeing to his cuts, and his blue and white fine-striped shirt, open at the neck, revealing a few blond hairs that she had an urge to reach out and tuck away for him. ‘But you still look a lot smarter and cleaner than I am.’
‘If it makes you feel better you can go and change. Dinner won’t spoil.’
Change? All Carrie had brought with her was clean underwear, and something to sleep in – her oldest winter PJs at that because she’d noticed the heating hadn’t been on in Oakenbury Hall when she’d come to do the estimate. Underneath her overalls she was wearing an ancient pair of very faded navy combats and a T-shirt that had once been bright raspberry but had faded to a shade closer to raspberry milkshake, it had been through the wash so many times.
‘I didn’t think dinner would be so, well, dressy,’ Carrie said. ‘I’ve only got what I’m standing up in, more or less.’ She lifted one leg of her overalls to reveal her combats underneath.
Morgan smiled.
‘You look fine to me. But if it makes you feel better then I’m sure there’s a dress, er … someone … left behind somewhere …’ His voice trailed away.
Georgina’s dress, no doubt, Carrie thought – no way was she going to wear his ex-lover’s dress.
‘It’s okay,’ Carrie said. ‘I’ve decided I’m fine as I am.’
‘Then come and sit. I’ll be waiter, chef and host all rolled into one tonight.’
He waved towards the dresser and a cut glass bowl full to the brim with fresh fruit salad – her favourite dessert.
‘Who …’
‘Me.’
Carrie laughed.
‘But we’re never going to eat our way through that lot! Well, not tonight.’
‘Okay,’ Morgan said, ‘so I overestimated the quantity. You can have some for breakfast too. But you’ll have to forgive me. I’m your stereotypical spoilt little rich boy who’s never made so much as a sandwich before.’
‘But,’ Carrie said, ‘you made it for me?’
‘Yes. Now come and eat.’
‘I’ll, um, just take my overalls off then,’ Carrie said.
She unzipped them, and holding on to the door frame for support, she stepped out of them, draped them over a chair in the hall – all the time conscious that Morgan was watching her. She felt exposed, naked, and yet it wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling.
‘And I’d better take my hat off.’
She pulled off the baseball cap she always wore when decorating, and her hair – which she’d bundled roughly on top of her head – tumbled down. She shook her head to loosen the strands and ran her fingers through it.
‘Chestnuts,’ Morgan said.
Carrie pulled a face. She hated chestnuts, even in stuffing at Christmas. She hoped against hope he wasn’t going to serve her chestnuts.
‘Er, is there something else?’ she said. Time for a little white lie. ‘To eat, I mean. I’m allergic to chestnuts.’
Morgan made a strange sort of sound – somewhere between the beginnings of a laugh and a low growl.
‘Not to eat,’ he said – rather huskily Carrie thought. ‘Your hair as you shook it out reminded me of chestnuts, fresh from their prickly cases.’
‘Phew! That’s all right then,’ Carrie said.
Morgan smiled at her.
‘Dinner,’ he said, ‘without chestnuts, is served.’
He made a v of his arm and Carrie slipped her hand through it, and he led her to her seat at one end of the table. She was so close to tears now – so moved that Morgan had gone to so much trouble for her. She would have to eat as much of it as she could, and with good grace – whatever it tasted like.
‘That was delicious,’ Carrie said.
‘Apart from the rather rustic fruit salad, I can’t take any credit, I’m afraid,’ Morgan said. ‘Mrs Dawkins keeps a full freezer, always.’
‘Mrs Dawkins?’
‘My late father’s housekeeper. She’s in Bristol visiting her sister at the moment.’
Carrie smiled at him as he began to refill her glass with the best white wine she’d ever tasted.
‘Whoa!’ she said, putting a hand over the top of her glass. The last thing she wanted was to drink too much and make a fool of herself. Right now, Morgan looked like a Michelangelo angel, or a Greek statue, with the flickery, soft candlelight highlighting his blondness.
‘Penny for them,’ Morgan said. ‘You were miles away.’
‘Oh, they’re worth a bit more than that,’ Carrie said. She peered into her drink, afraid to catch Morgan’s eye in case he saw her longing for him in them.
‘Nightcap?’ Morgan said and Carrie thought he sounded nervous.
‘No thanks. I’ve drunk enough already. And the food was delicious. Thank you.’
‘It was no trouble. The table and all the paraphernalia on it was here, the food was in the freezer, the wine in the cellar.’
He hadn’t gone to any trouble just for her, had he? It was of no consequence to Morgan, was it? She’d been stupid to be so touched by it.
‘I think I’ll get an early night,’ Carrie said. She swallowed the last
of her wine.
‘Carrie, it’s only half past nine! Was it something I said?’
‘No, of course not. I’ve been very busy today, as you know, and I’m tired. And I need to think what I’m going to do about getting another car, and …’
‘Carrie. Stop.’
Morgan got up from his chair on the opposite side of the table to Carrie and came to sit beside her. He prised her hands off the glass she knew she was clinging to like a life-raft. Then he took her hands in his and held them. And it felt good, so good – almost treacherously good.
‘I’m still going to have an early night,’ Carrie said. She wriggled her hands from Morgan’s.
‘Why?’
‘I’ve just told you.’
‘It’s more than that, isn’t it?’
Carrie pressed her lips together because she couldn’t trust herself to speak. Socially, they were poles apart, weren’t they? Oh, she wasn’t so naïve as to not know which knife and fork to use or any of that sort of thing, but there would be differences – if not a chasm – between them always. Besides, she’d yet to tell him about her mother and the care she would need for the rest of her life. And yet she was drawn to him in a way she’d never really been drawn to Aaron, she knew that now.
Carrie pushed back her chair, but Morgan leapt to his feet to hold it for her.
‘Well then, Carrie, if I can’t tempt you to a nightcap then I’ll say goodnight.’
Morgan placed his hands on her shoulders and Carrie felt herself freeze, but in the same instant Morgan kissed the top of her head and she melted again.
‘I have never, ever, forced a woman to do something she didn’t want to do, and I’m not going to start now.’
‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ Carrie said, her voice a whisper as she summoned every last ounce of her self-control.
Chapter Five
Carrie was up, showered and dressed for work, by 7 a.m. She listened for any sound of Morgan moving around anywhere, but all she could hear was birdsong drifting through the fanlight window she’d left open all night.
How peaceful it was here – a world away from her flat on a busy street.
Through apple trees just coming into blossom, Carrie could see the shimmer of light on water in the distance. A river perhaps, or maybe a lake. She had a sudden urge to be outside: to smell the blossom, to walk across the massive expanse of grass and feel it soft beneath her feet.
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