Yikes. She downed the rest of her whisky. ‘I thought you said he’d been working in Australia?’
‘He has been for the past couple of years. The landlady of the pub in the village has a cousin who runs a bar in Bells Beach in Victoria. She reckons Jago used to hang out in his bar for a while. But I don’t think he’s been actually working, unless you call surfing “work” and I think there was some trouble with women but I don’t know the details.’
Trouble with women, plural? That seemed feasible. Jago probably only had to flutter an eyelash to have girls queuing up to see his enormous inheritance.
She sipped her whisky, feigning indifference to Jago’s alleged charms. ‘And he’s never been back to see his mother?’
‘Not while you’ve been around, no, and I can’t recall ever seeing him since I’ve started. I think his graduation ceremony was pretty much the last Lady St Merryn saw of him.’
Now he was back, Miranda had hoped he might have changed his ways but her first impressions weren’t very promising.
Ronnie carried on. ‘God knows why he’s crawled out of whatever stone he was hiding under and come back to the Mount.’
‘Yes, I’m wondering why I bothered myself.’ Jago loomed in the doorway to the office. His T-shirt, dusty from the armoury floor, had seen better days but clung to a torso in its prime. His hair, freed from the ponytail, was tousled from sun, surf and a scuffle with two sarcastic security guards. ‘Veronica isn’t it?’
Ronnie glared at him. ‘Everybody calls me Ronnie.’
‘I’m not everybody.’
The hostility crackled through the air and yet Miranda simply couldn’t take her eyes off him. He glared back at her from dark eyes fringed by lashes that had no need of the mascara wand. She knew then, how D’Artagnan might have looked if Levis had been invented.
He loomed over above the desk. ‘OK, Veronica, do you mind leaving us alone? Ms Marshall will be quite safe. As you can see, I am unarmed.’
Acting as if Jago didn’t exist, Ronnie patted Miranda’s arm. ‘Are you OK, hun?’
‘Of course.’
‘And you’re fine with me leaving you alone with him?’
‘She is,’ Jago cut in.
‘I’m fine and, anyway, I’m sure Lord St Merryn doesn’t plan on staying down here in the office for long.’
Jago grinned. ‘There you are then, Veronica. Miranda isn’t afraid of me.’
Ronnie banged down her mug. ‘Well, you know where the panic button is if you need me.’ She marched out, slamming the door to the office behind her.
Jago raised his eyebrows as the partition wall vibrated. ‘What charming staff. Pray, tell me what people skills course do you send them on?’
Miranda didn’t tell him that people skills courses were beyond the Mount’s budget too but she still winced at the war raging between her best friend and her new boss. Jago obviously wasn’t here on a charm offensive but then again, Ronnie had sat on him.
‘I’m sorry if you find us all a little off guard,’ said Miranda, heating up at the thought of being astride Jago, ‘but your arrival was rather unexpected.’
‘So I’ve gathered. It was rather unexpected to me too.’
‘I think Ronnie’s secretly rather embarrassed at having pinned you to the floor.’
‘And you’re embarrassed at having called security on me?’ His dark-brown eyes crinkled at the corners and his mouth twitched in a half-smile. Miranda decided he’d seemed less threatening while he’d waved a sword at her.
‘Actually, no. You might have been dangerous for all I knew. I followed the correct procedures and if you’d said who you were from the start, I wouldn’t have had you restrained.’
‘Come on, would you have believed me if I had said who I was? Do I look like a lord?’
‘No. You’re far too scruffy, but you could have tried to convince me.’
He rested a jeaned buttock on the edge of the desk. ‘I’m genuinely sorry for frightening you. Once you’d found me, I had an inkling of what would happen and I knew I had no means of proving who I was. Alas, I have no royal birthmark on my backside that I could whip out to show you.’
‘Or a passport? Driving licence?’ she managed, trying not to envisage Jago whipping out anything in front of her.
‘I have both, as a matter of fact, but they’re in my rucksack up in the tower. When I got off the boat, I came up the back route to the living quarters, dropped my stuff in my old room then went straight to the armoury once the castle had closed.’
‘But why choose the armoury?’
‘Perhaps because I’m a closet serial killer? I really have no idea.’
‘And you didn’t think to introduce yourself to anyone?’ Miranda went on, feeling more and more like a headmistress telling off a naughty student. She didn’t care; Jago deserved all he got.
He shrugged. ‘Actually, I didn’t see anyone. The place was as deserted as the Mary Celeste.’
‘That’s because we were doing a property sweep to check there was no one left behind.’ Miranda thought it better not to mention the almost-stolen bestiary to her new boss. ‘Fortunately, the team spotted us on the CCTV system.’
‘Yes, and I was almost having fun until the Kray twins arrived.’
‘They were only doing their job.’
He shifted his other cheek onto the desk, obscuring a memo from the Health & Safety Executive. Miranda pushed her mug away from his bottom, a little uncomfortable at being found drinking, even if it was off duty. She didn’t want Jago to think he’d unsettled her for a moment but inside, her stomach was churning and not only because she fancied the aristocratic pants off him. After hardly setting foot in the place for ten years, he must have a very good reason to return now, and she had a feeling that it couldn’t be anything pleasant.
She stood up, refusing to be intimidated. ‘Setting aside our earlier meeting, what can I do for your lordship?’
He shook his head. ‘You can stop all of that lord shit for a start. Call me Jago or I’ll have to have you thrown in the castle dungeon.’
‘We don’t have a dungeon, your lordship.’
He scowled at her. ‘If you really want to play this game, you know perfectly well that I’m an earl, and that the correct form of address to me is “my lord”.’
Miranda smiled sweetly. ‘Of course. How silly of me! So what can I do for you, my lord?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Miranda!’
‘I’d really prefer Miss Marshall.’
Outside, the evening sun broke through a cloud and filled the tiny office in warm light. Finally he gave a rueful smile and Miranda’s stomach flipped, not once but twice.
‘You know, it would be better if we downed weapons now and spoke to each other like grown-ups.’
‘I think that would be a very good idea.’
‘At least we agree on something, but let’s go outside to talk. I’d like to see what I’ve missed over the past ten years. Take me on a tour and I’ll introduce myself properly. What’s the matter? You seem surprised?’
‘I’m just a little taken aback that you want a tour of your own home.’
She half-expected him to deny the place was his home but he didn’t, starting a flutter of unease in her stomach.
‘It’s been a long time. Things have probably changed quite a bit.’
As he followed Miranda out of her office and onto the quayside, Jago knew that things wouldn’t have changed because St Merryn’s Mount could never really change. Every flagstone, every beam and family heirloom resonated with the past and expectations of a dozen Lord St Merryns before him. His father, Patrick, had died of a heart attack some years before, leaving Jago and his mother alone and mistresses wailing throughout London and the West Country. The mistresses were probably wailing because his mother and Jago had inherited all his money. His father had been a stickler for tradition in that respect.
Even before he’d been packed off to boarding school, Jago had picked up on the signal
s that his parents’ marriage was more horror story than fairy tale. In his vacation visits home, he’d spent most of his time down on the quay trying to avoid the rows and silences up at the castle. His mother had thrown all her youth and energy into running the castle. His father liked to handle the financial elements of the business but it was his mother who was the heart of the place. It was she whom the staff respected and liked and put in the hours of work. When his father collapsed outside his mistress’s flat in Mayfair, everyone at the Mount kept up the pretence that Lady St Merryn was his one true love.
At the funeral, Jago followed the coffin to the family tomb in the parish church, his mother on his arm. He couldn’t remember her shedding a single tear. Perversely, he’d sobbed his heart out for the old bastard despite the fact that his father had been a strict disciplinarian, who thought showing affection for his son was almost a crime. Perhaps Jago had been crying for what he’d never had, rather than what he had lost.
He was sure his father’s death had come almost as a relief to his mother. He’d told himself that when he’d left for university. At eighteen, he’d found it easy to crush any guilt he felt at leaving her to run the Mount because all those years ago his mother had been strong-willed, still in good health and relatively young. She hadn’t needed him, she’d convinced him of that so he’d gone away and he’d stayed away.
He suspected that Miranda had already formed an opinion of him, fuelled by the gossip and rumours that would already be spreading through the castle like wildfire. He hadn’t helped his cause by behaving like a total wanker in the armoury. He still wasn’t sure what had possessed him to scare the woman like that, God knows she’d done nothing to him. It was this bloody place that had made him stupid and reckless, or maybe he’d felt some perverse need to live up to the reputation that had surely preceded him. Perhaps, he told himself, acting the idiot was easier than revealing the true Jago, not that he was sure who his real self was any more.
‘Lord St Merryn?’
Miranda’s voice, hesitant and unsure, snapped him out of his thoughts. She’d stopped outside a row of old fisherman’s net lofts on the quayside.
‘As you can see, we’ve upgraded the Visitor Centre, added a new café and shop since you left,’ she said.
‘Sorry?’
She was a bit pissed off that he’d gone AWOL while she was talking and he didn’t blame her.
‘These buildings were expanded last year. We won an eco-award for them. Look, they have a green roof and we recycle the grey water in the washrooms.’
He flashed her a brief smile. ‘Well done. Very smart.’
He knew he should be impressed but he’d hardly even glanced at them. His eyes were drawn to the harbour, with its boats bobbing. When the tide was out, you could walk from the mainland to the castle but a boat was the only means of escape when the sea closed in. To visitors, the place seemed the ultimate in romantic isolation but Jago had always found it no more than a luxurious prison.
‘We invested in extra visitor boats last season to meet up with demand,’ Miranda explained in her ‘professional voice’. He feigned an interest in the new fleet as she went on. ‘You’ll be pleased to know that visitor numbers are up thirty per cent on three years ago.’
‘And our turnover is up fifteen point five per cent and you’ve won South West Tourist Attraction of the year three years running and been nominated for a tourism marketing award.’
Her mouth opened in a small ‘o’ of surprise, her eyes full of confusion. She clearly didn’t know how to take his remarks.
‘I did have access to the internet on my travels and I’ve read the report on how well the Mount is doing,’ he said. ‘And my mother has been singing your praises.’
Her cheeks coloured and Jago had a sudden, unbidden urge to know what lay beneath the buttoned-up exterior of Ms Miranda Marshall. He wondered what she looked like with her hair loose and out of the tailored shorts and polo shirt that were far too prissy for her. That uptight act must hide a wilder side. She surely couldn’t maintain the facade twenty-four seven?
‘Would you care to see the new security centre, my lord?’ Her pretty face tilted up to his, her eyes innocent, not a trace of irony in her voice. Yet Jago knew he was being slapped down, and found himself at a loss for a flippant reply. Perhaps she really was every bit as uptight as she seemed. No matter, he hadn’t come here to delve into the desires and motivations of the Mount’s staff, no matter who they might be. In Miranda’s case, it was better if he knew as little about their personal lives as possible, considering what he had planned for them. He was already regretting his arrogance in the armoury, he’d behaved like a grade A shit and genuinely scared her for a little while. From now on, he’d try to conduct himself in a businesslike manner, even if it killed him.
‘Not now,’ he said, his throat suddenly dry as he realised just how difficult his job was going to be and how hard he’d have to try to avoid getting closer to anyone affected by his decision. ‘But I’d appreciate seeing the grounds.’
‘Really? I hadn’t thought of you as a gardener.’
‘I’m not, but I’d like to look round my property.’
It was excruciating to place that slight emphasis on the ‘my’, but he’d had to do it. He really had to place some distance between himself and Miranda, even it meant she thought him brusque and cold.
She led the way, reeling off facts about the grounds, pointing out the subtle but well-thought-out improvements that had been made while she’d been there. As she spoke, her eyes sparkled with life and enthusiasm. Her cheeks coloured and her delicate, almost prim features, seemed to open like a flower. She waited by a wall overlooking the terraced gardens that hung above the sea. The sun was slipping towards the horizon where the Atlantic Ocean beckoned.
‘And this must be the most beautiful view in England.’ She turned to him and suddenly seemed hesitant. ‘At least, I think it is.’
Jago smiled and was rewarded with her glancing away from him, slightly embarrassed by her own enthusiasm. Perhaps she sensed his discomfort. It would certainly make it easier for him to carry out his plans if she’d been incompetent or uninterested in her job. What he had to do would be tough and unpleasant but he’d faced harder decisions before … much harder.
Miranda cleared her throat and started off up the steps that led to the main castle gatehouse. ‘We haven’t done any major rearrangement of the gardens. Much of it was laid out in these terraces during the fifth lord’s time – but, of course, you’ll know all about that.’
‘I had my heritage drummed into me by my father.’
‘Yes. I expect you did.’ Miranda laughed.
She obviously thought he was joking and why wouldn’t she? His mother clearly hadn’t decided to go all confessional with Miranda Marshall, but then again, Jago knew she would rather die than share the family’s dirty laundry with a member of staff. In truth, the ‘drumming in’ of his heritage had been literal at times. He’d grown used to the back of his father’s hand, but he’d never accepted his father’s emotional abuse of his mother.
He realised his hands had tightened to fists at his sides. God, why had he come back? The answer flew back instantly as it had every time since his mother had called, begging him to return: because the alternative would cause far more damage.
Chapter Four
‘Come in.’
Lady St Merryn turned from the window where she’d been gazing out to sea.
‘Hello, my dear.’
Miranda smiled but her heart sank. Since Jago had arrived, his mother seemed even more bowed down. Her shoulders slumped and she leaned more heavily on her stick. Miranda guessed that years of running the castle, of never showing any weakness despite her arthritis, had taken their toll more than she’d ever noticed before.
‘I have some good news. The visitor figures so far this season,’ she said, deciding to act as if all was normal.
‘What?’
‘The visitor numbers for the cas
tle are up by ten per cent and it’s only mid-May. We could consider opening longer once June starts.’
Lady St Merryn leaned on her stick. ‘Yes, good idea. Well done.’
‘Shall I get the website updated and rearrange the staff rota?’
‘If you think so.’
Taken aback, Miranda hesitated. Lady St Merryn usually wanted detailed justification for even the slightest change to opening hours or staffing. But she’d already turned back to the window, one hand on her stick, the other grasping the stone ledge for support.
‘Are you feeling well?’
There was a pause then she said: ‘Quite well. That will be all, Miranda. Thank you.’
Dismissed? Just like that? Like a child? Miranda picked up her document wallet, puzzled and disturbed.
There was a quiet knock at the door and Jago walked in. Her stomach swirled as his eyes lingered on her. Hmm. That wolfish look was probably him deciding to make her redundant when he took over the reins of the Mount. She was convinced now that Lady St Merryn had decided to retire and summoned Jago back to rule the place with a rod of iron.
‘Hello, Miranda.’
‘Jago.’ She resisted the urge to curtsey and a smile tilted the corner of his lips as she used his name. After some sleepless nights, she’d decided that new tactics were required if she were to keep her job. Antagonising him more than was necessary was probably not the best policy.
Lady St Merryn’s back was still turned, as if Miranda and Jago weren’t even there.
‘I’ll be going then, if that’s all?’
A small sigh and a wave of the hand told Miranda she was dismissed. She tried to avoid Jago’s eyes but could hardly back out of the room without speaking to him.
‘Is there anything you want to discuss, Jago?’
Miranda's Mount Page 3
