Housekeeper's Happy-Ever-After

by Fiona Harper

  However, it didn’t seem as if she had much choice. If she wanted to keep this job she would have to cater to her boss’s whims, no matter how inconvenient.

  Catering.

  Was that the best place to start? It was so long since she’d had a social life herself, thinking about planning a party seemed as run-of-the-mill as planning a trek up the Amazon.

  She closed her eyes. Remember what you learned at the support group. Don’t panic over the big picture. Take things one step at a time. Start with the obvious.

  Her eyelids lifted again. The cleaners were coming on Friday anyway, so no problem there. And she could get Jim the gardener to help her rearrange the furniture in the downstairs reception rooms, and the florists in the village could provide some arrangements.

  After her initial panic she realised it wasn’t that different from what she’d done when she’d worked as a PA in the City after leaving college. Her cantankerous boss had had a penchant for drop-of-the-hat cocktail parties to impress the partners, where he would swan round being all sweetness and light, then return to being a sour-faced grump the next day. If she could create a party to blow Martin Frobisher’s socks off, she could certainly succeed with a lovely backdrop like Larkfield.

  Yes, but that was before…

  Shut up, she told herself. It’s all there inside your head still. She was just going to have to do a little…archaeology to uncover the buried bits.

  She could do this.

  Her brain began to whirr with excitement as menu ideas sprang up in her mind. This was her chance to prove to Mark Wilder that she wasn’t a loose cannon, that she could do this job.

  She reached for the phonebook and flipped it open to ‘F’ for florists, her smile wide. Passwords could wait for later. For now she would use the phone.

  If Mr Wilder wanted a party, she was going to give him a party!

  Ellie slipped the straps of the little black dress she’d borrowed from Charlie over her shoulders. She wasn’t looking forward to this evening one bit. She’d tried hard to talk him out of it, but Mark had insisted she attend the party—partly to keep an eye on the caterers and whatnot, but partly to ‘have a bit of fun’. She’d have much preferred to stay holed up in her apartment with a packet of biscuits and a chick-flick.

  She smoothed the bodice of the dress over her torso and looked in the mirror. She turned from one side to the other, scrutinising her reflection. Not bad. The simply cut black dress accentuated her curves, but didn’t cling in desperation. She slipped on a pair of strappy high heels—also borrowed from Charlie. Her ankles wobbled as she adjusted to the altitude.

  Tyres crunched on the gravel outside. She exhaled wearily. Guests were starting to arrive, which meant it was her cue to go downstairs. While it wasn’t her place to welcome the guests, she wanted to make sure that the pair of local girls she’d hired to help with coats and suchlike had retained the pertinent information from their briefing yesterday.

  Perhaps she could just stick it out for an hour or so and then slope off when he—when no one—was looking.

  She left her room and headed for the main staircase. It wound down into a hall that was larger than the living room in her cottage. The banisters were solid oak, and still as sturdy as the day they’d been made. Ellie was rather grateful for them as she made her way down the stairs in Charlie’s disobedient shoes. They seemed to have a mind of their own. She watched each foot carefully as she planted it on the next step, and it was only as she neared the bottom that she looked up and caught a glimpse of Mark, standing by the huge marble fireplace, chatting to the first of the arrivals.

  Unfortunately she’d discovered when he’d returned home the previous evening that time and distance had done nothing to dilute the sheer physical impact the man had on her. It was pathetic, really, it was. She knew better, knew what sort of man he was, and yet here she was, twittering along with every other female in a five-mile radius. She comforted herself with the knowledge that at least she had a medical reason for behaving this way.

  She looked over at Tania and Faith, the girls from the village. Neither of them had thought to relieve any guest of a coat or a wrap; they were too busy standing in the corner and getting all giggly over a certain member of the male species.

  Ellie forced herself not to look at Mark as she made her way across the hall and reissued her instructions to the two girls in a low, authoritative voice. They instantly sprang into action, relieving guests of their outerwear and delivering the items to one of the smaller rooms on the ground floor where Ellie had set up some portable clothing racks.

  The only problem was that Tania and Faith were now so intent on proving themselves efficient they’d both darted off at once, leaving Ellie no choice but to act as hat-check girl herself when the next huddle of guests piled through the door. She approached the group that had just crossed the threshold.

  Mark moved forward to greet them at the same time, and Ellie couldn’t avoid meeting his gaze. It was like being hit in the chest with one of those Taser guns. Her heart stuttered, fizzing with a million volts, and she disguised the resultant quivering in her limbs by breaking eye contact and smoothing out a non-existent wrinkle on her dress. All the same, the hairs at the back of her neck lifted, full of static. She just knew he was still looking at her. He inhaled, as if he was about to say something, but before the words left his mouth, another voice gatecrashed the moment.

  ‘Mark, you old dog!’ bellowed a good-looking blond man in a dinner jacket, slapping him across the shoulders.

  ‘Hello, Piers,’ Mark replied in his good-humoured tone. ‘Come in and find yourself a drink. What do you think of my new place?’

  ‘Bloody difficult to find, that’s what I say!’ he roared, slapping Mark a second time.

  Ellie was standing there still waiting to take any coats. She felt like a prize lemon.

  ‘Let me introduce you to this trinity of lovelies,’ Piers continued, ushering a group of bejewelled women into the house. ‘Carla, Jade, and of course you already know Melodie.’

  Of course. Ellie recognised her as the woman from the television. She didn’t say anything, but silently willed Melodie to hurry up and hand that pashmina over. Ellie wanted an excuse to make herself scarce.

  Mark didn’t falter as he offered a polite greeting to all three women, but Ellie had a sense as she took hold of their wraps and coats that he wasn’t as comfortable as his relaxed stance implied. She was just about to scamper away to the temporary cloakroom when the pair of girls returned and relieved her of her only legitimate means of escape.

  Then, just to make matters worse, Mark turned to her and asked her something. She saw his lips move, heard the words, but her brain retained none of the information. Why had he done that? She was the help. And she’d actually like to keep their relationship on that footing, thank you very much. Things were complicated enough as it was.

  Just then a waitress with a large tray walked past the entrance hall en-route to the drawing room. Caterers! She was supposed to be here in a professional capacity, after all. She would inspect each and every trayful of over-priced morsels and make sure they were just what she’d ordered. She mumbled something about food, not so much to Mark but to the room in general, then fell into step behind the waitress, lengthening the distance between her and the group at the doorway. As she rounded the corner she could still hear Piers’s booming upper-class drawl.

  ‘Ding-dong!’ he said with a whistle. ‘Who was that?’

  She didn’t wait to hear Mark’s explanation of her existence, but scuttled away even faster—high heels permitting. The last thing she wanted to do was actually have to talk to people tonight. They would expect her to be dazzling and witty. And if she had ever been dazzling and witty in her previous life she had certainly forgotten by now. Socialising was something other people did. Even the prospect of a night down at the Anglers’ Arms in Barkleigh filled her with fear and trembling. In comparison, this party was like purgatory with canapés.


  A few dozen guests? Someone had underestimated a little.

  The drawing room was like a Who’s Who of popular music. Wasn’t that…? You know, the guy who always seemed to be at number one? And that girl over there—Ellie had seen her latest music video only the other night on TV. Normal party nerves escalated into something far bigger and scarier. It would be really great if she could think of the girl’s name—if she could recall anyone’s name, actually. These were the sort of people who expected to be remembered.

  She circled the drawing room, ‘fluffing’ the floral arrangements, hoping that no one talked to her and expected her to know who they were. But she wasn’t really looking at what she was doing, and more leaves fell off due to her attention than she cared to notice. As soon as she could she slipped out and made her way to the kitchen.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THERE was a strange calm to be had amidst the noise and movement of the kitchen. At least in here Ellie knew what she was doing. Her lists and charts were pinned to the cupboard doors, her timetable clung to the fridge door with the help of a few magnets, and waiters and waitresses were all jostling each other, doing exactly as they were supposed to.

  It didn’t take long before one of the catering company staff appeared with a question, and Ellie found herself busy for what seemed like a half an hour but turned out to be almost two hours. Eventually tiredness washed over her, the mind-fogging fatigue she knew she shouldn’t ignore. Dodging dashing bodies and clattering trays suddenly became too much of an effort and she crept up the back staircase. Before she went to her room she carried on along the landing and looked over the banisters into the hall, where the party was still in full swing. She’d done well this evening, and she wanted one last mental picture of her achievement, to cement it firmly in her memory before she fled back to her bedroom and shut the door firmly behind her.

  From her vantage point on the landing she watched the glittering crowd ebb and flow. The clink of champagne glasses and jumble of conversation drifted up from below. Surprisingly, she found the sound soothing now she was no longer in the thick of it.

  Her eyes drifted here and there, searching. It wasn’t until they fixed on Mark that she realised she’d been looking for him. He was the perfect host—she’d give him that. He was charming and smooth, always with a crowd around him. The group he was with laughed at something he said. So he was good company too, it seemed. But he didn’t dominate the gathering, forcing people to look at him. They just flowed around him, accepting the good time he offered them.

  That woman from the awards ceremony was talking to him now, batting her lashes and jutting her ample chest under his nose. Ellie rolled her eyes. And, funnily enough, when the woman turned to grab herself a cocktail from a passing tray, Mark did a microscopic version of the same expression. That made her smile. It also made her look a little closer.

  He smiled. He talked. But every now and then he just drifted off and stared at nothing for a second, until the next excited guest drew him back into the conversation. It was almost as if…

  No. That was a stupid idea. Why would someone throw a party if they didn’t actually want to be at it themselves?

  ‘What are you doing skulking up here? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’

  Ellie stopped breathing momentarily as Charlie appeared from nowhere.

  ‘Don’t do that!’ Ellie whispered sharply, pressing her palm to her chest in an effort to slow her galloping heart. ‘And I’m not skulking.’

  Charlie stopped smiling and looked concerned. ‘You’re a bag of nerves,’ she said, while giving Ellie’s arm a reassuring rub. ‘Come on, chill out. It is a party, after all…’

  Ellie nodded. ‘I know. But I need this to go well. I can’t lose this job, Charlie, I can’t—’

  Without warning her eyes filled, and the party below glittered even harder than before.

  ‘Hey!’ Charlie’s voice was gentle and her arm rested around Ellie’s shoulders, pulling her close. ‘What’s all this about?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Did you tell him…Mark Wilder…about me?’

  Charlie’s three frown lines appeared above her nose. ‘All I told him was that you were an old friend of mine and I thought you’d be perfect for the job. I wasn’t lying, Ellie.’

  Ellie scratched at a non-existent mark on the banister with a blunt fingernail. ‘No. I mean, did you tell him about how I have problems with…about my…?’

  Charlie’s voice was low when she answered. ‘No, I didn’t tell him about the accident or how it’s affected you. It’s up to you whether you want to share that information with him.’

  Okay, so Charlie had believed her when she’d sworn blind she had it in her to be a top-notch housekeeper. Now she just had to prove her right. Ellie’s chest rose then fell deeply as she let out a huge breath. ‘Right. Thank you.’

  A soft look appeared on Charlie’s face. ‘Do you really think being here, moving away from home, will help you…you know…get over things?’

  Suddenly Ellie needed to sit down. Her legs folded under her with the grace of a collapsing deckchair and she grabbed on to the banister with both hands. Charlie’s arm appeared, firm and protective, around her shoulders.

  ‘There’s more to this sudden desire for a new job than just needing fresh scenery, isn’t there, Ellie? Why did you really want to leave Barkleigh in such a hurry?’

  Blast. Why did Charlotte Maxwell have to be so perceptive under her devil-may-care exterior? Ellie stared at the milling guests below. Their only problems were deciding which diamond to wear or which sports car to drive.

  A feeling of loss washed over her, so deep, so overwhelming that she thought she might just dissolve into nothing right there on Mark Wilder’s landing.

  Sometimes she wished her brain would just finish the job and give up working all together. Then she could just evaporate. She’d be happy then, feeling nothing, remembering nothing. It was this half-in, half-out thing her memory did that was driving her to distraction.

  ‘I can’t go home,’ she whispered. ‘I just can’t.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Remember Ginny? Chloe’s godmother and my oldest friend?’

  Charlie nodded. ‘Yes, I remember her.’

  Ellie didn’t want to say it. Hearing the words spill out of her own mouth would remind her of everything she’d lost. Of everything she longed for.

  ‘She’s pregnant.’

  She didn’t look up. Couldn’t.

  Charlie’s hand stopped stroking her arm and slid down over her wrist until their fingers meshed, Charlie’s red fingernails bright against her pale skin. Ellie gripped her hand, hanging on to it as if it would anchor her.

  ‘I know it’s awful, but I think if I have to see her every day for the next eight months, seeing her grow bigger, seeing how happy she is with Steve, I might just go properly bonkers. I just had to get away.’

  She was happy for Ginny and Steve, really she was, but how could she watch them add to their happy little family when her own had been wiped from the face of the earth? It was too…too…blatant.

  Charlie didn’t say anything, just hugged her tight. ‘Do you want me to get you anything? A glass of water?’

  Ellie shook her head. ‘No. I’m just tired. I think I’ll just stay here for a few seconds and then go to bed. You go on and enjoy the party.’ She nodded to the hall below, where the rather good-looking man she’d seen Charlie with earlier was searching the crowd. ‘I think someone’s looking for you.’

  Charlie smiled, and her eyes never left the man as he moved this way and that. ‘If you’re sure?’ she said.

  ‘I’m sure.’ Ellie gave her a shove in the right direction and Charlie headed off down the stairs. The man spotted her, and the look he gave her as she descended was pure magic. Ellie sighed. At least someone was happy.

  She moved a little further to the left, so she could see more of the hall. Mark was still leaning on the mantelpiece, and he had that distant look in his e
yes again.

  Her mind wandered back to his smile in the wedding photo. She’d seen him smile plenty of times tonight, but not one of those smiles had lit up his face like his smile for the woman in the wedding photo. Where was she now? What had happened? For the first time she realised there were scars beneath his good-humoured persona. From wounds that maybe hadn’t fully healed. Her hand flew to the locket around her neck. She knew all about the pain those kinds of wounds could cause.

  As if he sensed she was watching him, Mark paused, his glass raised halfway to his lips. And then he turned his head and met her gaze. She froze. Could it be any more obvious she’d been staring at him and only him? She didn’t think so.

  Still, he didn’t look cross. He wasn’t smiling that irritating twinkly smile—wasn’t mocking her. The other occupants of the room melted away, their conversation drowned out by a loud thudding sound.

  Oh. That was her pulse.

  Heat crept up her cheeks, but still she hadn’t moved. And moving at this point would be a really good idea.

  Still staring at Mark, she took a couple of wobbly steps backwards, then turned and fled along the corridor. For some reason she ignored her bedroom door and headed for the back staircase. She needed space, distance. And she didn’t think she’d get that with only a ceiling and a couple of walls separating her from Mark Wilder.

  The stupid stilettos strangled her ankles as she clattered down the back staircase. She paused at the bottom. No one was around, so she tiptoed down the corridor into the kitchen.

  Ellie stole a smoked fish thing off a platter of canapés and popped it in her mouth. As she slid past a waitress carrying a tray of cocktails she pilfered one of those too, knocking it back and shuddering as whatever it was hit the back of her throat.