The mail had been left on the table in the hall, and Jago walked past but then stopped and went into reverse. If, by some miracle, he managed to cheer himself up this evening, returning to a pile of bills would just depress him again. He might as well open the letters, sink as low as he could go, and then the only way was up. Ha. All five items were for him.
An offer he apparently couldn’t refuse from a double glazing company, which he ripped up; a water bill that made him wince; a request from some historical society wanting to look around the house, which wasn’t going to happen until there was something worthwhile to show them; a letter from Peru from his younger brother, Denzel; and an envelope from Dacre’s Auction House. Jago ripped the latter open.
He pulled out the check and sighed. Just under four and half thousand pounds. His lips curved in a smile. Thank you, Henry. Again. Henry had found an unusual gold ring in the garden, given it to him, and it had been sold a couple of weeks ago. The money was already spent. Rather aggravating that so much went to the auction house and he had to pay tax, but there were few other options to sell it quickly and anonymously.
Jago opened the letter from his brother.
Dear Heir,
Writing as well as e-mailing to make sure you get this because you’ve not responded to my last two e-mails. Why not? I hope you haven’t sold that ring.
Guilt sank its claws into his heart, and Jago gritted his teeth. He wished he hadn’t told Denzel about the ring, because by return of e-mail, his brother had asked him to hang on to it.
Finished work on the orphanage and we’re off traveling for the next six weeks. The kids love the place, and the staff cried when we left. Thanks for the crayons and coloring books. Wish we could bring a few children home.
Jago had lost count of the times he’d had to bail out his brother. Packing Denzel off to set up an orphanage in Peru had seemed like a good idea. Drugs might be easily available there, but the guy was too lazy to go looking. Denzel’s real problem was that he was easily influenced by the wrong sort of people, which was why he’d fallen into trouble at university. Jago had hoped his brother would throw himself wholeheartedly into building the orphanage, just as he did everything else in his life, and he had. Even better, he’d met Liz on a trip to Cusco, and they’d been together ever since. Without even having met her, Jago knew she’d been a leveling influence on his brother in a way he’d never managed.
Good news! I took Liz on a llama trek yesterday, persuaded one of the llamas to hold an envelope in its mouth without eating it, and in it was a note saying—will you marry me? Romantic or what?
Er…no. And not a surprise. His brother was besotted.
So, the ring? Please!!!!
No.
She said yes after I convinced her it was me who wanted to marry her, and not the llama, which then promptly spat on her. I assured her llama spit was good luck. We’ll marry at Sharwood. August the 20th. We can accommodate her family, can’t we? Plenty of bedrooms. Not sure when you’ll get this, but you should have a couple of months to arrange everything.
“Christ Almighty.”
What the hell was Denzel thinking? Even August next year would be too soon to have this place ready. Hard as it was to be angry with his idealistic brother when he’d finally managed to do something selfless, fury bubbled inside him. A year ago Jago had to give up his dreams to rescue Denzel and Sharwood from quicksand. He’d lost Marianne, lost his job, and he was fucking sick of everything.
Here’s some really good news involving MONEY. Liz had an e-mail from an independent documentary maker who wants to make a program about Sharwood weddings over the ages. A TV special. You’ll have put the portraits back on the walls and do a bit of dusting. The producer will give you a call.
Over his dead body. The letter crinkled in his fist as he tightened his fingers. Yet even as thoughts of strangling his brother surged into his head, he was already wondering how much they’d pay.
We’ll be back mid-August. We’re sending the invites from Peru, and I’ll contact the vicar, but I need you to set up the baron’s hall for the wedding and arrange the catering. Sixty guests. Ten of them vegetarians. Be grateful. We whittled it down from a hundred and sixty.
“Jesus Christ.”
Liz would like a faerie theme. (Only kidding.) Though I think she would really. And if you could arrange for a llama to come, that would be great.
Jago’s temper built like lava under a volcanic plug. While his brother was off having the time of his life in South America, he’d been wrecking his hands and his heart on Sharwood. Denzel had e-mailed pictures of him and Liz looking happy doing all sorts of interesting things, fun things, things Jago would have liked to try, and then Jago’s laptop died, and he’d almost been relieved not to be regularly confronted by images of his brother’s happiness.
Do a bit of dusting? Arrange a wedding in less than six weeks? Was Denzel insane?
Looking forward to seeing you. Oh, you’ll be my best man, won’t you?
Yours,
The Spare
Jago screwed the letter into a ball, dropped it to kick it, but missed and kicked the table. He grabbed a vase wobbling on the top, but steaming with fury, he threw it at the wall, where it shattered. How the hell was he supposed to turn Sharwood into an acceptable wedding venue in a matter of weeks? More to the point, where was the money going to come from? He stared at the check, but it had already been spent on hiring scaffolding, buying paint, repairing the stained glass window. Fucking hell, Denzel, couldn’t you have just waited? He launched a kick at the largest shard of the vase, and it hit the door and broke again. He’d always hated the bloody thing. It had sat in the same spot all his life. His mother had—
Oh God, I shouldn’t have broken it. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He started at a loud knock, stuffed the check in his wallet, grabbed the crumpled letter from the floor, and pushed it in his pocket. The knocking persisted, and he yanked open the door to see a tall, slim figure in jeans and a red hooded jacket, fingertips poking out the ends of the sleeves. Jago glanced at the bag on the step and huffed out a sigh of aggravation. Over the last couple of days, he’d been plagued by doorstep callers.
“No, I don’t want to look through your collection of reasonably priced household cleaning items despite the fact that you’re out of work, just released from a young offenders institute, and homeless. Nor do I wish to talk about the imminent arrival of Armageddon. I know I’m going to hell, and I don’t fucking care. I don’t need double glazing, aerial shots of the house, or my windows cleaned with some superslick dirt-off solution. I’m not going to sign a petition against a traveler’s site. I don’t wish to buy organic meat nor do have any items to donate to a charity auction.”
Dark green eyes stared steadily at him.
“Are you the butler?” the woman asked. “I think you need to go back to butlering school.” She glanced at the floor behind him. “You should take more care dusting precious objects. Would you give the master my card?” She held out a business card in slender fingers.
“I’m Lord Carlyle, not the bloody butler,” he all but snarled.
When she showed no surprise, he realized she’d been teasing. The bloody cheek of it.
She put her card back in her pocket and curtsied. “Ellie Norwood. Nice to meet you.”
“What do you want?” he asked abruptly.
“I’m looking for somewhere to stay in return—”
“You have any money?”
She shook her head. “Not exactly, but I wanted to talk about—”
“Then find somewhere else.” Jago locked the door and hurried down the steps. By habit, he patted the head of the stone griffin on the right. He usually kicked the one on the left that Denzel rode as a child, but knowing his luck today, he’d break his foot.
The rain came down harder as he strode along the drive to the gatehouse, stepped from side to side to avoid the numerous puddles. He was furious with his brother. How the hell was he supposed to
host a wedding? And with a fucking llama, because he suspected that wasn’t a joke. Bloody Denzel had conveniently gone traveling, so he couldn’t tell him no.
“I wouldn’t be any trouble,” said a voice behind him. “In fact, I can—”
“I said no.” He walked faster, splashed the bottom of his pants in a puddle he’d not seen, and huffed with annoyance. The drive needed repair. It was on the list and not near the top.
He didn’t want TV people here, tsking about the state of the place, but Denzel had left him little choice. It would help pay for the wedding. His burst of fury dissipating, he began to plan.
The baron’s hall would work for the reception. They could use the ancient trestle tables already in there, but how much would the food and alcohol cost? He had to serve champagne. They needed flowers. Were there enough in the garden? Oh God, and a cake. He knew how much those things cost. A thousand pounds for the cake, a thousand for the food, two for the photographer. Cars to get from the village church to Sharwood. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Would Liz’s parents contribute? Would a TV company pay in advance? Could he rent beds? Somehow make the rooms fit to sleep in? Oh fuck.
“I can help you with the house,” said the woman.
“Fuck off.” He winced as the words came out. There was no reason to be rude, but he didn’t need another leech using the hot water and doing bugger all, particularly one who couldn’t pay. If he could have afforded to, he’d have told the lodgers to leave.
He spotted Henry’s old Land Rover parked in the yard of the gatehouse and hesitated. It was a long, wet walk to the village. He wanted to go to a place where no one would recognize him, because it wasn’t a drink he needed. There was no bus for another hour. Henry’s vehicle would take him to Harrogate for nothing because even if Jago offered money for fuel, Henry wouldn’t take it. Jago knocked on the door.
“Jago! Come in.” Henry beamed and stepped back.
Henry looked genuinely pleased to see him. The only person who ever did. Jago stayed where he was, his hands buried in his pockets, one fist clamped around Denzel’s letter. He caught the aroma of freshly baked bread, and his stomach growled.
“I received the check. Just under four and half thousand. Thanks, Henry. I appreciate it.”
“Every little bit helps, right?”
“Yep. Can I borrow the Land Rover?”
“Where do you need to go? Rather I give you a lift?”
Jago bit his cheeks. Henry always made him feel like an awkward teenager. “Harrogate. Someone I have to see. I can drive.”
Henry sighed, reached into his pocket, and handed over the keys. “We made good progress on the herb garden before the rain started. You should come and look.”
“Yeah. Great,” Jago muttered and turned away. He glared when he saw the woman.
She looked at Henry over Jago’s shoulder. “He wouldn’t listen.”
“It takes a while to get through to him,” Henry said. “You can stay with me, Ellie, and try again tomorrow. He might be in a better mood.”
Jago’s jaw dropped. Henry was the one always nagging him to make his lodgers pay more. Plus the guy had lived on his own forever. He’d never married, never had a girlfriend. He’d laughed when Denzel asked if he was gay.
“Jago, come in and have some supper,” Henry said. “I’ve made vegetable soup and granary bread. I’ll open a bottle of wine. We can have a chat. You can hear—”
“No, thanks. I’ve already eaten.”
The thunderclap was so loud it made all three of them jump. Jago suspected both Henry and the God he didn’t believe in knew he’d lied.
“Drive carefully,” Henry said.
“Actually I thought I’d drive on the wrong side of the road and practice a few handbrake turns.” Jago instantly regretted his childishness.
Henry raised his eyebrows. “Well, try not to scratch the paint.”
The woman pulled down her hood as she moved under the cover of Henry’s porch and then turned to look at Jago. Oh shit, this is the lightning strike finally hitting me. His knees trembled, and his lungs locked. She had the sweetest face he’d ever seen. Huge sparkling eyes, cute nose, and dimples in her cheeks. Her long silky fair hair was pinned up in an untidy knot, and wet tendrils stuck to her cheeks and forehead, curling like letters of an ancient language. Blood rushed south, and he spun round and headed for the Land Rover.
No to letting her stay. No to the meal. What else was he going to fuck up tonight? Better say yes to everything from now on.
Chapter Three
Ellie stared after the Land Rover as it roared away spitting gravel in its wake. She swallowed hard and flattened her hand over her pounding heart. She’d never felt such an instant attraction to anyone. She’d stood tongue-tied on the doorstep while he railed at her. No way would she usually put up with that. He wasn’t the one she was supposed to fall in love with, but…oh damn.
“Are you okay?” Henry asked.
She wasn’t sure she’d ever be okay again. “Will he be all right?”
“I hope so. He isn’t always quite as bad tempered as that. Come in. Fancy a bowl of soup?”
Henry gestured her inside. He looked kind and he was. He wanted to help Jago, and Ellie felt bad that in asking her to come here, Henry thought that was exactly what he was doing. In reality, she’d manipulated him over the phone into inviting her, though she hadn’t thought he’d let her stay with him. Maybe he was embarrassed by Jago’s behavior.
After she and her father had researched Sharwood Hall and read about the need for restoration, they’d come up with a plan to get her access to the building. When the time was right, she’d steer the conversation toward the ring. The family’s hopes rested on the Kewen being here, but they’d decided it must have been hidden, or Jago would have sold it before now. What they didn’t know was whether he’d found all of it, or just that one piece.
Her parents had been so excited when she’d turned up with the ring. Her mother had sobbed, and her father told her he’d never been prouder, never loved her more. They’d celebrated late into the night. Her mother got drunk for the first time that Ellie remembered, but a sad drunk, not a happy one. She wondered about that, but the next day her mother reassured her, told her how happy Ellie had made her father. But not her?
She followed Henry down a hallway.
“You can sleep in here,” he said.
Henry was in his early fifties with thick gray hair, a tanned face, strong chin, and gentle eyes. He was good-looking but tired and worried, rather like Jago.
She looked at the double bed, blue curtains splattered with gold stars, and shelves full of books. “Perfect.”
“There’s a bathroom through there. Towels in the linen closet. When you’re ready, come and find the kitchen.”
“Thank you.”
Ellie put down her bag and unzipped it. She hung her red jacket over the tub to catch the drips and then followed her nose. Henry ladled out two steaming bowls of soup and cut chunks of bread. She sat at the old wooden table and smiled across at him.
“You’re much younger than I expected,” he said.
“I’m older than you think.” A lot older. She inhaled the aroma of the soup and bread. “Smells delicious.” It tasted delicious too.
“What did Jago say?” Henry asked.
“More or less what you thought. I think he missed out cavity wall insulation.”
Henry laughed. “He’s always been broody and unreadable, but he didn’t used to be quite so intolerant. He has a lot to deal with.” He exhaled. “Is this something you can handle? A country house rescue? Making Jago see sense?”
“What sort of sense do you want him to see? To find a way to keep Sharwood or to sell it?”
“Whatever is best for him.”
“He has to want to be helped.”
Henry sighed. “That’s the problem. He doesn’t know what he needs. One moment he’s trying to sell it, the next he’s not.”
Actually, she didn’t care whether
he wanted to be helped or not. This was a guy who didn’t know what was good for him, and she could show him the world was a better place than he thought. Her purpose for being here had expanded. She wanted to find the Kewen and help Jago as well, because the black-haired owner of Sharwood with a face like a rainstorm and a temper to match had jumped straight into her heart. Love at first sight. Ellie’s heart blazed like a furnace.
“What about payment?” Henry raised his eyebrows. “I’m on a limited budget here.”
She swallowed. “Although I’m experienced in business solutions and life coaching, this will be the biggest project I’ve undertaken.” She’d sorted out her siblings often enough, and common sense went a long way when people couldn’t see the wood for the trees. “If you or Lord Carlyle could give me a reference at the conclusion, it would mean more to me than payment. And if I could save money by staying here and you’ll sometimes feed me, or let me cook for you, that’s as much as I require.”
Henry frowned, and Ellie wondered if she’d made a mistake not asking for money. Had she made him suspicious?
“That’s very generous, Ellie.”
Guilt churned her stomach because she was a fraud.
“I don’t know what’s going to give you the most difficulty. Jago or the house. Sharwood doesn’t look too bad from the outside, but inside, apart from the restored rooms, it’s falling apart. The whole situation has brought Jago down. He needs help to decide what to do, but is reluctant to ask for it, and I’m not the right person to guide him. He thinks money is the answer to everything, but there’s more to it than that.”
Money, wealth—it was the same story everywhere, in this world and the other. Ellie put a smile on her face.
“This is what I do for a living, bring things back to life. Well, apart from dead bodies. I don’t do those. I’m not keen on zombies. Bits are always dropping off, and they make horrible messes.”
Henry laughed, but she wasn’t entirely joking.
* * * *
The moment Jago pulled away from the gatehouse and could no longer see it or the hall, a weight lifted from his shoulders. He felt bad about turning the woman away, because Henry clearly hadn’t wanted him to, but he couldn’t give a home to every waif and stray no matter how hard they made his cock.
Jumping in Puddles Page 3
