Hoping he would put her high colour down to the warmth of the fire, she said, ‘The trip to the bathroom woke me up.’
He smiled at her. ‘In that case, I’ll join you by the fire for a while …’
Caris had heard no sound, but something—a kind of awareness that she was no longer alone—brought her back to the present with a start.
While she had been sitting in Gracedieu’s kitchen immersed in the past the sky had turned as black as night. The kitchen was in semi-darkness as she looked up, Zander’s smiling face still filling her mind.
Dressed in smart casuals, he was standing there in the gloom as though her thoughts had conjured him up. His hair was still the colour of ripe corn, and his handsome face was just as she remembered, but he wasn’t smiling. In fact, she had never seen his expression so grim and set.
For an instant shock seemed to stop her heart. Then, unable to believe what her eyes were telling her, she blinked to clear her vision.
But he continued to stand there staring at her.
For what seemed an age she simply gaped at him, unable to take it in, more than half-convinced he was simply an hallucination.
Then, her heart racing, she croaked, ‘Zander?’
Still he didn’t speak. Rising to her feet, she said through stiff lips, ‘What are you doing here?’
His attractive voice brusque, he answered, ‘Waiting to see over the manor.’
Still her brain refused to kick into action. ‘See over the manor …?’ she echoed.
Taking in her neat appearance—the coiled hair, the leather court-shoes, the businesslike suit and briefcase—he said, ‘Surely you’re here to represent Carlton Lees estate agency?’
‘Well, yes,’ she agreed weakly. ‘But my appointment was with a Mr Grayson.’
‘I’m here in his place.’
‘Here in his place?’ she echoed. Half-shaking her head, she said, ‘You don’t mean you work for him?’
‘No. He works for me. You see, while he’s the nominal head of Grayson Holdings, I own it.’
So it was Zander who was interested in buying Gracedieu. If only she had known that, wild horses wouldn’t have dragged her here.
‘How did you know where to find me?’ The moment the words were out, she realized what a foolish question it had been and felt her colour rise.
He gave no quarter. ‘I was expecting you to be somewhere in the vicinity, and I could hardly miss the car parked outside,’ he replied sardonically.
There was something in his manner, a kind of grim satisfaction, that made her wonder: had he known exactly who would be representing Carlton Lees?
While she had been knocked sideways to see him, he didn’t seem at all surprised to see her. Was it simply that he was better at hiding his feelings? Or was it possible that he had planned this meeting?
No, why should he have?
When they had parted three years ago there had been distrust and animosity on both sides, and nothing had happened to change that.
In any case he couldn’t have known she was living in England. No one knew. And, if he’d thought about it at all, he would have been expecting her to follow a career in law, not be working as an estate agent. So it had to be just a devastating coincidence.
Becoming aware that he was standing quietly waiting, his eyes on her face, she struggled to pull herself together. No matter how difficult she found the situation, she still had a job to do.
Trying for a businesslike manner, she asked, ‘I presume you would like to look over the house first before you see the estate and the cottages?’
‘It seems the logical way to do it,’ he said, making her feel a complete fool for asking.
Flustered, she went on, ‘It’s quite dark in here, though I’m afraid I didn’t think to bring a torch and the electricity’s been turned off.’
‘No electricity, dear me!’
As she gritted her teeth, annoyed that he was making fun of her, he drawled, ‘Oh well, I dare say we’ll manage somehow.’
Wanting desperately to turn and run, but feeling forced to go through with the viewing, she took a steadying breath. Outwardly calm and collected in spite of the emotional turmoil that raged inside, she turned to lead the way.
‘Then if you’d like to follow me …?’
It sounded ridiculously pompous and, realizing she was making things worse, she felt her face grow hot; she was pleased that the shadows hid her embarrassment.
Caris paused to open the door when a cool hand touched her burning cheek, making her jump convulsively. She took an involuntary step backwards and, her heart racing, found herself trapped in the angle between the door and wall.
Zander was even taller than she remembered, his shoulders broader, his closeness overpowering as he stood blocking her escape route.
His fingers lingering lightly on her cheek, he commented softly, ‘So you still blush … Seeing you look so businesslike and composed made me wonder.’
Finding it almost impossible to draw air into her lungs, she stood still as any statue.
Innocently, he asked, ‘Something wrong?’
‘No, nothing,’ she lied breathlessly.
‘That’s good.’
When he removed his hand she hurried to make her escape into the hall, with a gasp of relief she feared was audible.
But at once he was with her, much too big, much too male, and she felt half-suffocated by his nearness.
‘Let me see, there are how many rooms?’ he queried casually.
Convinced that he already knew quite well how many rooms there were, she drew a deep, steadying breath and said, ‘Twenty-three. Downstairs, apart from the hall, there are two good-sized reception rooms, the living-kitchen you’ve already seen, a formal living-room, a breakfast room, a dining room, a study-cum-library and two bathrooms. Upstairs there are eight bedrooms, three dressing rooms and two bathrooms.
‘The attics were once the servants’ quarters, but what used to be a large stable block has been converted into garages with modern accommodation above it for the household staff.’
‘Know the dimensions?’
‘Certainly …’ In her most businesslike manner, she reeled off the information.
‘How very brisk and efficient,’ he murmured with mock admiration.
‘How very nice of you to say so,’ she responded sweetly.
He gave her a sharp glance and said no more.
She was just congratulating herself on keeping her cool when a flash of lightning followed by a loud clap of thunder made her flinch; rain began to beat against the mullioned windows.
As they moved through the low-ceilinged rooms, the light was so bad that they could hardly see where they were going.
From time to time, whether intentionally or accidentally, Zander’s arm brushed hers. Whenever they paused he seemed able to herd her into a corner so that she felt confined, trapped.
Indicating the dark shapes shrouded in dust sheets, he queried, ‘Why is there still furniture here?’
‘The beneficiary lives in Australia,’ Caris explained. ‘As he hates flying, he didn’t want to make the trip over to England, so he decided to have the most valuable things removed for auction. As he’s hoping for a quick sale, he left everything else in situ for the new owner to dispose of as he or she wished.’
‘Then he’s not likely to change his mind about selling?’ Zander asked.
‘No. He has no interest whatsoever in the house or the estate. All he cares about is getting his money as quickly as possible.’
‘Does that mean he might be willing to drop the price?’
‘He won’t need to,’ she said with certainty. ‘There’s already a lot of interest in the property, and several people waiting to view.’
‘And are all your prospective clients willing to purchase the entire estate as it stands?’ Zander asked shrewdly.
He had unerringly put his finger on the main stumbling block. With such an enormous amount of money involved, at least two of the
people on her list only wanted to buy the manor itself.
The beneficiary, whilst wanting to get rid of the entire estate, didn’t mind if the land and the cottages were sold off piecemeal.
But Caris thought it would be a great pity, and was hoping to find a buyer who could and would keep the estate together.
‘So are they?’ Zander pressed.
‘Are you?’ she countered.
‘To my mind, breaking up the estate would be like breaking up a perfect, irreplaceable diamond.’
‘That’s exactly how I feel.’
The moment the words were out she could have bitten her tongue. As he clearly had no very friendly feelings towards her, she should have kept her sentiments to herself.
A further disturbing thought struck her: would the fact that she owned the agency make any difference to his decision whether or not to buy Gracedieu?
No, surely not? If he was really interested in the place, it was unlikely that he would allow personal considerations to influence him.
And she certainly couldn’t accuse him of lack of interest, she thought impatiently; he lingered to examine everything with a calculated deliberation that began to fray her nerves.
The first of the downstairs bathrooms had an old claw-footed bath and obsolete fittings and didn’t appear to have been used for years.
The one next door to the kitchen, however, had been especially adapted to meet a disabled person’s needs, and was quite up to date. Only the original heavy oak door had been retained, its ornate key still in the lock.
Reaching out a hand, Zander experimentally turned one of the gleaming taps and water splashed into the wash-basin.
The silence was becoming oppressive, and when he remarked on the walk-in bath and shower she was glad to explain that the previous owner had been a very old man.
‘It seems he was a bit of a recluse and extremely independent. The only person he would allow in the house was a woman from the village, who did his cleaning and his shopping.
‘Though his health was starting to fail, he wanted to stay in the home he loved without any outside “interference”, so when he could no longer manage the stairs he decided to have a wet-room put in and turn the kitchen into a kind of bedsit.’
‘I wondered what a bed was doing in there,’ Zander remarked, adding, ‘And was he able to? Stay in his own home, I mean?’
‘Yes, apparently he managed quite well for a while,’ Caris answered as she led the way across the hall and began to climb the stairs. ‘But last winter he caught pneumonia and died in hospital at the age of ninety-eight.’
Apart from their footsteps on the oak boards, the only sound was that of the storm raging outside. She was very aware of them being so alone, so isolated, cut off from the rest of the world.
She had hoped that Zander would take a more or less cursory walk through the upstairs rooms, but in spite of the chill air he seemed inclined to linger.
Growing restive, she made a determined attempt to speed things up. But, refusing to be hurried, he took his time.
When finally the tour was over and he allowed himself to be led down the servants’ stairs and back to the kitchen, Caris breathed a sigh of relief.
She couldn’t wait to get away.
Pausing only to close and latch the window she had opened earlier, she gathered up her belongings and said crisply, ‘Well, now you’ve seen over the house, would you like to take a look at the garage block?’
Prowling round the kitchen, peering into drawers and cupboards, he shook his head dismissively. ‘The garage block isn’t important; it can wait.’
‘Then shall we move on?’
‘Move on?’
‘I presume you want to take a tour of the estate?’
‘In this weather?’ His tone held incredulity.
As though to add weight to his objections, a particularly fierce gust of wind and rain beat against the casements.
‘Well, if you’d prefer to leave it for another day?’
‘I wouldn’t,’ he said categorically.
Momentarily at a loss, she asked, ‘Then what do you suggest we do?’
‘Stay here and wait until the storm’s over.’
Seized by a sudden panic, she cried, ‘Oh no, I really can’t!’
He raised a well-defined brow. ‘Does that mean you want to call the whole thing off?’
‘No, certainly not,’ she denied hastily. ‘But, as the weather’s so bad, instead of wasting both your time and mine surely it would be preferable to make other arrangements to see over the estate?’
‘It may be months before I’m back in this country; though I felt that Gracedieu might exactly suit my needs, there are other possible places on the market. But it’s up to you,’ he ended blandly.
She hesitated, more than reluctant to remain here in his company while he watched her in silence, a glint in his eye.
Finally, knowing that he held the whip hand, she agreed, ‘Then, of course I’ll stay.’
His little smile acknowledging that he knew it too, he said, ‘I thought you might.’
‘For a while at least,’ she qualified, unwilling to be browbeaten.
He gave her a quick glance but said no more.
It had been a terrible shock to find she was dealing with Zander, but now circumstances were turning the whole thing into an absolute nightmare.
Seeing the involuntary shiver that ran through her, he enquired solicitously, ‘Cold? Don’t worry; I’ll soon get the stove going.’
Not wanting him to get too settled, she objected, ‘But surely you won’t be able to. I mean … won’t everything be damp?’
‘We’ll see.’
While she hovered unhappily, he unearthed some kindling from a nearby log-basket, remarking with a prosaic tone, ‘This seems dry enough.’
She could see no sign of any matches, and she was just breathing a sigh of relief when he found a box.
He soon coaxed the kindling into life and it took only a second or two for a few small, carefully placed pieces of wood to catch fire. They were followed by a selection of split logs, and in a very short space of time the leaping flames were providing some much-needed light and warmth.
Pulling the armchairs closer to the blaze, he suggested, ‘Why don’t you come and sit down where it’s warm?’ His tone was neutral, neither friendly nor unfriendly.
Seeing nothing else for it, she reluctantly joined him by the fire.
As soon as she was seated, Zander sat down in the chair opposite and, leaning back, stretched his long legs towards the blaze and crossed his ankles.
He appeared to be quite comfortable, relaxed, but she could sense an underlying tension that told a different story, and the green eyes fixed on her were clouded with sombre thoughts.
Though she tried her hardest not to look in his direction, her furtive gaze was drawn irresistibly to his face.
He was as handsome as ever, those long, heavy-lidded eyes just as fascinating, while above a fine black polo-necked sweater his hair looked even fairer than she remembered.
Yes, he was the same, yet not the same. The carefree young man she had known was gone. Now he appeared older and there were lines of strain beside his mouth that hadn’t been there three years ago.
She found herself wondering what had caused them.
There was so much between them that had been left unsaid. With mingled feelings of trepidation and inevitability, Caris waited for him to speak, to bring up the past. To ask the question she was dreading having to answer.
But the seconds ticked away and still he said nothing, merely watched her.
Totally unnerved by that brooding scrutiny, she sought for a safe topic of conversation. But the silence stretched between them, dangerous as a minefield, and try as she might she could think of nothing to say or any way to defuse the situation.
All at once the storm raging outside and the tension inside took her back to Owl Lodge and that first night when, reluctant to go to bed, she and Zander had been
sitting by the fire in silence …
The tension, a sexual one, had been almost tangible until the storm that had been threatening all evening finally broke, snapping like an overstretched rubber band.
Rain began to drum on the roof and beat against the windows, while drops falling down the chimney hissed as they hit the burning logs.
Jumping to his feet, Zander exclaimed, ‘Hell! I forgot to close the car roof.’
Pulling on his damp shoes and an oilskin that hung behind the door, he hurried out into the darkness.
He returned quite quickly, the oilskin gleaming in the lamplight, his hair darkened by the wet drops of rain running down his face.
‘Everything all right?’ she asked,
‘Not too bad, considering. Though it’s a bit wild out there.’
Hanging up the oilskin, he fetched a towel to rub his hair and dry his face before resuming his seat by the fire and leaning back at his ease, his eyes half-closed.
With his thick, curly lashes almost brushing his hard cheeks, his hair slightly rumpled, his lips a little parted and a golden stubble adorning his chin, he looked incredibly sexy.
In spite of all her efforts to stay unmoved, Caris’s breathing grew laboured and her pulse-rate quickened as she imagined those beautiful, sculptured lips touching hers …
‘Penny for them.’
Flustered by the intent way he was studying her face, she found herself blushing furiously.
‘Sorry,’ he apologized, proving he didn’t lack sensitivity. ‘I didn’t mean to stare. But you looked so …’ He broke off.
Knowing that her nose was shiny and the thick braid hanging over one shoulder must look schoolgirlish to a sophisticated man like Zander, she said, ‘I imagine I look an absolute fright.’
He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’
‘Then what would you say?’ she asked, without really thinking.
Smiling, he told her, ‘That you look utterly enchanting, seductive, sweet and sensuous, like a woman who’s longing to be made love to …’
Panic bringing her to her feet, she said jerkily, ‘I’m starting to feel really tired now, so I think it would be better if I went to bed after all …’
Realizing that she was babbling, she broke off abruptly, biting her lip.
Running From the Storm Page 8
