by Liz Fielding
‘I say, Jack,’ Tom interjected. ‘Mel isn’t-’
‘Leave it, Tom,’ Mel said, quickly. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m just leaving.’
She didn’t have to justify what had, after all, just been a bit of youthful horseplay; Tom letting of steam because he’d been saved from his brother’s retribution. She hadn’t encouraged him and she certainly wasn’t about to apologise to his big brother, no matter how intriguing his eyes, or electric his touch. Neither had she any desire to stay around and listen to Tom grovel to the man.
But as she moved to the head of the spiral staircase Jack Wolfe’s tall, broad figure blocked the way.
‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she asked, with studious politeness, ‘I have to collect my clothes from the washing machine.’ On reflection, not the most sensible thing to have said. But he made no comment, nor did he move. He simply continued to regard her with steely, penetrating eyes that did something not entirely pleasant to her insides, as if she had just stepped off a precipice into empty space and was waiting for the crash.
‘Mel?’ he enquired, his forehead puckered in the slightest frown, as if he was trying to remember something. She was very much afraid it was where they had met before.
‘Melanie,’ she elaborated, and immediately regretted it. Her name was none of his business.
‘Like the actress?’ he asked and for one dreadful moment she thought he had finally recognised her.
‘Like no one,’ she replied, forcefully, meeting him head on and daring another head on clash with those unsparing eyes. ‘Melanie is the name my mother gave me, Mr Wolfe. It’s Greek. It means “clad in darkness” ...’
For heaven’s sake, what on earth was she doing? She had to get out of there before she told him her entire life story. Well that would take all of ten minutes; two minutes if she left out her working life. But he hadn’t finished with her.
‘“Clad in darkness,”?’ This seemed to amuse him for some reason. ‘And what, exactly are you hiding from Melanie…?’ His inflection invited her to fill in the blank.
Tom leapt in before she could make him ask. Politely. ‘Devlin. Melanie Devlin, Jack.’
‘Well, Melanie Devlin?’
‘Very well, thank you, Mr Wolfe. Now, if that’s all?’ she replied with all the poise of a princess, intending to put him in his place, but Jack Wolfe was not the kind of man to recognise someone else’s idea of his place.
‘Not quite all, Miss Devlin. But it will do for now.’
Idiot. Putting on the airs of a princess when you were playing the maid was asking for trouble and now the wretched man was laughing at her, not on the surface, but deep down somewhere private.
Not that you would have known. Not unless you were standing up close.
Close enough to see a little flare of something dangerous gleam in the depths of his eyes, as if he could tell precisely what she was thinking beneath the veneer of politeness and was inviting her to lose her head and let it rip.
No way. As if he saw that too, in her face, he unbent a little and glanced around.
‘It was good of you to stay and help clear up. I know Tom’s parties of old, you must have worked very hard to restore this class of order. I hope he thanks you with a suitably large box of chocolates.’
Chocolates? And she thought Luke had been patronising! ‘Oh, he’ll have to do better than that, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh?’ His look was suddenly speculative.
‘Busy Bees will invoice your brother for...’ - she glanced at her watch - ‘...four hours of my time. Plus the extra charge for an emergency call-out.’
‘A what!’
‘I was desperate,’ Tom interjected. ‘And you have to admit it was money well spent.’
Jack Wolfe admitted nothing. ‘You’re from a domestic agency?’ he demanded, making no effort to hide his astonishment. ‘From the fun and games I assumed you were left over from the party.’
Melanie wasn’t sure whether to be affronted or pleased. ‘I’ve never been left over from anything, Mr Wolfe,’ Melanie said, roundly as hot colour once more seared her cheekbones.
Affronted. Definitely affronted.
‘Now, pleasant as it is to stand here chatting with you, I do have more important things to do. If you would be kind enough to let me by?’
‘What about my jeans?’
He was concerned about a pair of jeans that should have been put in the dustbin aeons ago? ‘Would you like me to take them off now and go home in my underwear, Mr Wolfe?’ He looked as if he might be about to say yes. Before he could, she hurriedly intervened. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, with a firmness that belied the growing sensation of butterflies panicking in her stomach, ‘but since my own clothes are wet I’m afraid you’ll have to trust me to return them. I will of course wash them first.’
‘And my t-shirt. Your agency can send my brother the invoice for that as well.’
She hadn’t intended to charge for the service, simply considering it good manners to wash his clothes before returning them. But she was becoming thoroughly sick of her good manners and looking down at the disreputable t-shirt she wrinkled up her nose.
‘Is it actually worth the cost of the soap powder do you think? It’s barely fit for making dusters.’
‘It’s old,’ he agreed, ‘but I’m particularly attached to it. I’m afraid you’ll have to buy your own dusters.’ And still he didn’t move, but instead regarded her thoughtfully. ‘What are you Melanie Devlin? An actress down on her luck?’
The brothers’ minds seemed to run along similar lines, Melanie thought, irritated by their apparent lack of imagination. Although she seriously doubted that Jack Wolfe indulged in the kind of harmless horseplay that Tom enjoyed. And innocent she might be, but she was uncomfortably aware that no woman he tumbled into his bed would be in any great hurry to get up.
She caught herself. She had offered to wash Jack Wolfe’s clothes merely to annoy him, but the man was winning hands down in that department. He seemed to have the unhappy knack of wrong-footing her, a situation she was not accustomed to.
Her suspicions were confirmed when she snatched a quick glance at him and saw the gleam of amusement in his eyes.
It was disconcerting. She was a member of the one of the great theatrical families, a West End success, a television star. The men she knew flirted with her, sent her extravagant baskets of flowers, indulged her shamelessly and treated her, without exception, like a lady. Not one of them had ever laughed at her.
Jack Wolfe, however, thought she was just doing a little cleaning to keep the wolf from the door. And not above encouraging the wolf inside when she chose.
For a moment she considered telling him just who he was insulting, but some inner sense of self-preservation saved her from doing anything so ridiculous. She had the uncomfortable feeling that even if he knew the truth Jack Wolfe would not be in the least bit impressed.
It was possible that his cynicism was too ingrained to allow him to be impressed by any woman and, since the likelihood of ever meeting him again was so remote as to be negligible, it hardly mattered who or what he thought she was. An actress down on her luck would do well enough.
‘Why don’t you watch the soap powder ads to see if you can spot me, Mr Wolfe?’ she advised him.
‘I don’t have a television set.’
‘Really? Well that’s too bad. Now, since your brother is paying for every moment that you delay me, I think you should take pity on him and let me go.’
‘He doesn’t deserve my pity, but don’t worry, I’ll see that your account is paid.’ He took a black leather wallet from his inside pocket and removed a ten pound note from it. ‘And in the meantime, as a token of my gratitude for doing such a good job, perhaps you’d like to take a taxi home.’
About to tell him to keep his money, that she could pay for her own damned taxi, Mel stopped herself. The suggestion that it was a taxi fare was simply a his way of offering her a tip.
She might not know much ab
out this kind of work but she was pretty sure that cleaners didn’t turn down tips.
She certainly didn’t want to make him think twice about offering ten pounds to some other girl who might seriously need the money. Besides, if Jack Wolfe wanted to ease his conscience for being so unpleasant to a simple working girl, who was she to deny him that privilege?
‘A taxi?’ she murmured, forcing herself to simper a little as she took the note, silently vowing that she’d put it in the first charity box she passed. ‘Well, thank you.’
His eyes narrowed slightly and for a moment she thought she might have overdone the pathetic gratitude, but he finally stepped aside, releasing her and she descended the spiral staircase with as much speed and dignity as her ridiculous outfit would allow. But all the way down a prickling sensation at the nape of her neck warned her that his eyes were following her.
At the foot of the stairs she paused and glanced upwards. She was right. He was watching her, dark brows drawn together in a slightly puzzled frown.
Melanie bit down hard as she quickly collected her clothes from the washing machine and stuffed them into a plastic bag she found in a drawer. Then, as she passed an exquisite Art Nouveau mirror by the door she caught sight of her reflection and gave a small exclamation of dismay at a streak of dust swooping across her cheek.
No wonder Jack Wolfe hadn’t been impressed by her princess routine. Not that it mattered, she hadn’t been employed as a social butterfly but as a cleaner, she reminded herself ruefully, rubbing the dirt off with the hem of the t-shirt.
Richard Latham was right, living someone else’s life was an education, but if a wimp like Cinderella could handle it with a smile on her face and a song in her heart, so could she.
There was just one difference; she had learned at her mother’s knee one basic truth.
Not that Prince Charming didn’t exist, he did, she’d found him in Edward Beaumont. But that happy ever after was not guaranteed.
*****
As the door closed, Jack Wolfe turned to his brother, regarding him with irritation. ‘Can’t I leave you here for a few days without you turning the place into a bear garden?’
‘I didn’t! I asked a mate to bring over a television so that we could watch the match. He suggested a few beers and it just sort of snowballed. You know how it is.’
‘Do I?’
Tom shrugged. Then said, ‘No, Jack. I don’t suppose anyone would dare to crash a party you gave. And if they did you could wither them with a look.’
‘Really?’ he enquired heavily. ‘What a pity it doesn’t seem to have the same affect on you.’
‘I’m your brother, Jack. You can’t fool me.’ He grinned. ‘Or maybe you’re just losing your touch. Mel Devlin wasn’t exactly withered either, was she?’
‘Miss Devlin...’ He stopped. For some reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on, he preferred not to discuss Melanie Devlin with Tom. ‘You’d better give me the name of the agency you used so that I can settle your account,’ he said, changing the subject.
‘I told you, I’ll pay.’
Jack made an impatient gesture. ‘I know, I know. But since you will undoubtedly have to ask me for the money eventually we might as well save the bank charges.’
‘I’ll get a job in the summer, Jack. I’ll pay you back then.’
‘Yes, you will. I’ll make damned sure of it, even if it means having to give you one myself.’
Tom blenched. ‘That won’t be necessary, really. I’d better get going. I’ve a lecture first thing.’
Jack clicked his fingers. ‘The name of the agency?’
‘I used the one in your book. Busy Bees.’ Then he grinned. ‘You know I think you should take that girl on full time, Jack. You need someone who can stand up to you.’
‘That’s your opinion, based on eighteen months of a psychology degree, is it?’
‘No. It’s my opinion as your brother.’ Then, ‘It might be fun.’
‘Oh, I see. You think I should employ Miss Devlin for fun? Whose fun precisely did you have in mind?’
‘Mel Devlin? You’re joking, she’s way out of my class.’
‘It didn’t look that way when I came in.’
‘We were just having a giggle. It’s not a crime, Jack. If you tried hard enough you might remember how it’s done.’
‘More amateur psychology?’
‘No, just some more brotherly advice.’
‘Thank you. I’ll bear it in mind.’
‘And underneath all that dust Melanie is quite a dish. She certainly brightened this place up.’ Jack looked doubtful. ‘You should have seen her when she stripped off.’
‘When she did what!’
‘Just to her underwear,’ Tom said, hurriedly. ‘I tipped curry over her.’
‘You’re an idiot, Tom.’
Tom’s eyes gleamed. ‘Maybe. But being an idiot has its advantages. I promise you underneath those old clothes of yours she’s an absolute poem in satin and lace. And her legs... Well, they were the real thing, you know, with shape.’ He was grinning idiotically now. ‘She quite took my breath away.’
Jack Wolfe regarded his brother with growing irritation. ‘I think you’re confusing her with the quantities of alcohol you consumed. And I like my place just the way it is.’ Tom was hovering in the doorway. ‘To myself.’
‘I’m going, I’m going.’ He gave an awkward little shrug. ‘The thing is I spent the last of my dosh on that curry. If you could just loan me the bus fare?’
Jack sighed and opened the wallet he was still holding. ‘Here,’ he said, handing his brother two crisp twenty pound notes. ‘But don’t spend it all on beer and pizza. They say that fish is good for the brain. You might try it.’
‘Thanks. I will. Sorry about the mess. I won’t do it again.’
‘That I can guarantee.’
Tom opened his mouth to protest, then hurriedly closed it. House-sitting his brother’s apartment was not high on his list of pleasures and it suddenly occurred to him that it wasn’t in his best interests to be too convincing. ‘Right. I’ll be going then.’
Jack kept up the stern expression until his brother had closed the door behind him, then his face relaxed into a smile as he looked about him. What mess? The place was immaculate.
He wouldn’t dream of telling him so, but maybe Tom for once in his young life was right.
Melanie Devlin might have a lot more lip than the average daily, but she certainly knew how to do her job which was more than could be said of the last woman he’d employed, whose excellent references he suspected had been written by employees so desperate to get rid of her that they were prepared to perjure themselves.
It wasn’t as if he would have to see much of her. Not as much as Tom, anyway. Despite the boy’s well meant advice he certainly wasn’t about to encourage the girl to strip to her underwear. Not even for the pleasure of a pair of legs capable of taking a young man’s breath away.
Young men, as he knew from experience, were notoriously easy to please. His smile faded as he walked across to the phone, found the agency number and punched it in before he could change his mind.
‘Busy Bees, Janet Graham speaking. How can I help you?’
‘Mrs Graham, Jack Wolfe.’
‘Oh, good afternoon, Mr Wolfe. What can I do for you?’
‘My brother called you earlier for help cleaning up after a party.’ He gave the address.
‘Good gracious, I didn’t realize that was your apartment. The young man was your brother? I’m sorry but he wasn’t terribly coherent. To be honest I thought it might have been a hoax.’
‘My brother is rarely coherent, except on the subject of rugby.’ And having fun.
‘Oh, I see. Well I hope there’s no problem?’
‘None at all. I’m calling to tell you that I would like Miss Devlin to do some general cleaning for me on a permanent basis. Say two hours, three afternoons a week? If that isn’t sufficient time we can adjust the hours later.’
<
br /> Janet Graham hesitated. Jack Wolfe was an important business client and she would do anything to keep him happy. Yet despite an apparently satisfactory performance she had no intention of taking on Melanie Devlin.
The only reason she’d given her the job this afternoon was because she’d been almost certain that it was a hoax. If she’d had any idea who she was dealing with she would have pulled someone in from another job. Someone she could trust. She certainly wouldn’t have sent the Devlin girl.
There was something about her. Something that spelled trouble.
‘Unfortunately Miss Devlin is not a regular member of staff, Mr Wolfe. However, I could arrange for one of our most experienced ladies to clean for you.’
But Jack Wolfe wasn’t interested in one of Janet Graham’s “experienced” ladies.
‘By “not regular”, I assume you’re referring to the fact that Miss Devlin is an actress?’ The girl had been careful neither to confirm nor deny that, he’d noticed. Not that it bothered him, he just liked to know a little more than people thought he knew. It was a philosophy that kept him one step ahead of the game.
An actress? Janet Graham considered the possibility. Maybe. It would certainly explain her flippancy, her couldn’t-care-less air of self-assurance. ‘Such girls tend to be unreliable.’
‘But they have to eat, Mrs Graham.’
‘Maybe they do, but they’re always asking for time off to go to auditions. I wouldn’t want you to be let down.’
‘I’m relying on you to make sure I’m not. Shall we say Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays? From two until four. I’ll be here on Monday to run through things with Miss Devlin.’
He replaced the receiver without waiting for her to confirm the arrangement. He had made his mind up that he wanted Melanie Devlin and he wasn’t taking no for an answer. It wasn’t until later, after he’d poured himself a Scotch and taken it with him to the shower that it occurred to him to wonder why.
*****
Melanie reached the street before she let out a long, slow breath. Dangerous? Whatever had made her think it would be a bit of a lark to try dangerous?
