Holiday With The Best Man
Kate Hardy
Two weeks with the billionaire!The moment has come when best man Roland Devereux must follow the bride and groom and dance with bridesmaid Grace Faraday. But as he takes her hand, the chemistry hits him. For the first time since he lost his wife, he lets his guard down.Roland can see that gorgeous wallflower Grace deserves to be swept off her feet. He makes a deal—he'll give her a two-week whirlwind holiday, and Grace will help him learn to date again. Except somewhere between Paris and Venice, Roland realizes two weeks with Grace will never be enough…
Billionaires of London
Finding love in the world’s greatest city!
Billionaire bachelors Hugh Moncrieff and Roland Devereux might not be searching for love, but when the Faraday sisters walk into their lives, they’ll pay a price far greater than their wealth to live happily-ever-after … they’ll lose their hearts.
Billionaire, Boss … Bridegroom?
Meet gorgeous CEO Hugh Moncrieff and the charming and quirky Bella Faraday in this whirlwind office romance!
&
Holiday with the Best Man
Billionaire best man Roland Devereux sweeps bridesmaid Grace Faraday off her feet with the holiday of a lifetime!
Available now.
Holiday with the Best Man
Kate Hardy
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
KATE HARDY has always loved books and could read before she went to school. She discovered Mills & Boon books when she was twelve and decided this was what she wanted to do. When she isn’t writing, Kate enjoys reading, cinema, ballroom dancing and the gym. You can contact her via her website: www.katehardy.com (http://www.katehardy.com).
To Gay, the best stepmum in the world
Contents
Cover (#uc40e6574-0654-5dc8-ba85-54a8371b0b65)
Introduction (#uc27eed91-4914-5991-b3df-172d6d7ddc8f)
Title Page (#uab0eb3c5-0431-52c0-a8ae-7698520e151c)
About the Author (#u7b1c2321-eac2-5cc5-abe6-3a2347db5d71)
Dedication (#u6529883d-85b8-5b4d-bda6-6f60fb77b364)
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EPILOGUE
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#u687e2b29-9f2e-59f4-960c-dc1bd80c965d)
ROLAND’S FACE ACTUALLY ached from smiling, but he knew he had to keep it up. Apart from the fact that it was his best friend’s wedding day—and of course Roland was delighted that Hugh had found the love of his life—he also knew that half the guests were remembering that Roland’s wife had been killed in a car accident nearly two years ago, and were worrying that he was finding it hard to cope with today.
As he’d said to Hugh at the altar, today had brought back good memories of his own wedding day. Roland just hoped that Hugh and Bella would have a lot more years of happiness together than he and Lynette had had—and none of the misery that they’d both kept secret, even from their family and their closest friends.
He knew he ought to make the effort to go and dance with the chief bridesmaid. Even though his friend Hugh had opted to have two best men, and Tarquin—the other best man—was dancing with Bella’s sister right now, Roland knew that he couldn’t use that as an excuse. If he didn’t dance with Grace, everyone would assume that it was because he was thinking of Lynette, and the last thing he wanted right now was another dose of pity. He’d had more than enough of that after the crash.
One dance. He could do that. All he had to do was ignore the fact that the ballroom in the Elizabethan manor house was full of fairy lights, creating the most romantic mood. And to ignore his misgivings about the chief bridesmaid, because it wasn’t his place to judge her—even though the little he knew about her pressed all the wrong buttons. Grace had been so drunk the first time she’d met Hugh, that she’d thrown up over him in the taxi; plus she’d cancelled her wedding at the last minute. Sure, everyone had an off day or made mistakes, but to Roland it sounded as if Grace was a spoiled princess who liked alcohol too much.
And a spoiled, princessy drunk driver had shattered Roland’s life with her selfishness, nearly two years ago. Having to be nice to a woman like that for even a few minutes really stuck in his craw. But he’d do it for his best friend’s sake. His best friend who, even now, was dancing with his bride—and Roland was pretty sure that the glow around Hugh and Bella was due to more than just the fairy lights. This was real happiness.
Which left him to man up and do his duty. Right now Grace looked perfectly demure in her dark red bridesmaid’s dress with its ballerina skirt and sweetheart neckline, and she was even wearing flat shoes rather than spindly heels so she didn’t tower over the bride. Though her dark hair was in a sophisticated up-do with wisps of hair curled into ringlets that framed her face—a seriously high-maintenance style—and her eyelashes had most definitely been enhanced. So maybe Roland was right about the princessy tendencies. And even Tarquin—who saw the good in everyone—had admitted that Grace was nothing like sweet, bubbly little Bella.
One dance, he reminded himself. Do your duty and don’t let your best friend down.
At the end of the song, he walked over to Grace and Tarquin. ‘As the other best man, I believe the next dance is meant to be mine,’ he said, forcing himself to keep smiling.
‘It is indeed,’ Tarquin said, and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘See you later, Grace.’
‘See you later, Tarquin,’ she echoed, then turned to Roland. ‘I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced yet. I’m Bella’s sister, Grace. You’re Roland, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Nice to meet you.’ She held out her hand to shake his.
Thinking, oh, please, just hurry up and let us get this over with, Roland took her hand and shook it. And he was truly shocked to find a prickle of awareness running down his spine.
Close up, Grace Faraday had the most incredible eyes: a deep cornflower blue. Her mouth was a perfect cupid’s bow. Her complexion was fresh, almost dewy. And there was something that drew him to her. Something that made him feel protective.
And that really threw him.
Based on what he’d heard from the two people whose opinion he trusted most in the world, Roland had expected to dislike the woman. Instead, he found himself attracted to her. Attracted to someone he’d been sure was the last woman he’d ever want to date. And he really didn’t know what to do about it.
‘It was a lovely wedding, wasn’t it?’ Grace said. ‘And that song Hugh wrote for Bella—that was amazing.’
‘Mmm,’ Roland said, too confused to string a coherent sentence together, and gave her his best attempt at a smile.
* * *
Grace was shocked by how different Hugh’s two best friends were. Tarquin had been sweet and funny, and she’d felt really comfortable with him; Roland was taciturn to the point of making Grace feel awkward and shy, the way she usually was with strangers.
It didn’t help that she’d felt a weird prickle of awareness when he’d shaken her hand. By any standards, Roland was good-looking, and the tailcoat, dark trousers, dark red waistcoat and matching cravat he wore emphasised it even more. His dark hair was brushed back from his forehead, and his slightly olive skin was clean-shaven. He could’ve been a model for a wedding suit company, and Grace wasn’t sure if she found that more attractive or intimidating.
Maybe if she treated this as work—if she was professional and sensible with him, the way she’d be with a client—they could get through this dance without it being a total disaster.
Not having a clue what to say to him, she went through the motions of dancing with him and really hoped that pinning a smile to her face would be enough to get her through the next song. Just as well she’d talked Bella into letting her wear flat shoes; if she’d worn heels, she would probably have tripped over Roland’s feet and made a complete and utter fool of herself.
Though it felt odd to be dancing with someone who was six inches taller than she was. Howard, her ex-fiancé, had been five foot eight, so she’d always worn flat shoes to make him feel less self-conscious about the fact that she was the same height as he was. Roland was broad-shouldered, where Howard had been slight. Being in his arms made Grace feel petite and feminine—something she wasn’t used to. She was sensible, no-nonsense, and way too tall to be treated as if she was fragile.
She noticed that Roland’s dark eyes were watchful. Why did he look so wary? Grace wondered.
Then she realised with a sinking heart just why she was feeling so awkward with him: because Roland was looking at her in exactly the same way that Howard’s mother always had. Rather than smiling back at her, his lips were thinned. It was pretty clear that he’d judged her and decided that she wasn’t quite good enough.
No wonder he wasn’t chatting to her, the way Tarquin had. The guy clearly disliked her—even though he’d never met her before.
Well, that was his problem. She’d be polite and dance with him to this song, fulfilling their duty as the chief bridesmaid and the best man. Then she’d make sure she stayed out of his way for the rest of the evening, spending her time with her parents and Hugh’s family.
And as for that weird prickle of awareness just now—well, that was just how weddings made everyone feel. Especially a glitzy wedding like this one, held in the grounds and ballroom of a manor house that had been in Hugh’s family for generations. Yet behind the glamour was a warm-hearted, loving family who adored Grace’s bubbly, slightly unconventional baby sister for who she was. And Grace had seen Roland hugging Bella earlier—with a proper smile on his face—so clearly he liked Grace’s sister.
But this taciturn, slightly forbidding man clearly wasn’t going to extend that warmth to Grace. And she absolutely refused to let it get to her. Why should his opinion of her matter? She didn’t know anything about him, other than that he was Hugh’s other best friend from school and was a sleeping partner in Hugh’s record label. But, even if Roland was single, he was the last man Grace would even consider dating. She wasn’t going to repeat her mistake with Howard. The next man she dated would be one who made her heart skip a beat and who’d sweep her off her feet. Someone who’d make her feel good about herself.
Which meant absolutely not Roland whatever-his-name-was.
Even if he was one of the most good-looking men she’d ever met.
CHAPTER ONE (#u687e2b29-9f2e-59f4-960c-dc1bd80c965d)
Two days later
YET AGAIN GRACE missed Bella. Her little sister was the person she most wanted to call and talk to about her job interview today. But Bella was in San Francisco right now with Hugh and, even without having to take into account the eight-hour time difference, Grace had no intention of interrupting her baby sister’s honeymoon. She’d wait for Bella’s daily ‘postcard’ text, and casually mention in her reply that she thought the interview had gone OK. And hopefully later in the week she’d be able to report good news.
Please let her have got the job.
Temping was fine, but Grace knew that she functioned at her best with a solid structure in her life, and when she was able to plan more than just a couple of days ahead. The last couple of months, since she’d called off her own wedding, had changed her entire life. Not only had her relationship ended, she’d lost her job and her home because of it, too.
Bella was the bubbly one who coped just fine with change and seizing the day, always living life to the full; whereas Grace was more cautious, weighing things up and doing the sensible thing every single time. Even though calling off the wedding had been the right thing to do, it had caused her a huge amount of heartache and guilt. Bella had stood by her, as had their parents. But Grace hated the ensuing chaos.
At least she had a flat of her own again now. She’d been let down at the last minute with the flat she’d managed to find, but Bella as usual had been a bit scatty and forgotten to give her landlord her notice on time. And it had all worked out perfectly for both of them, because the landlord had agreed to let Grace take over the lease; she was just awaiting the paperwork. So that was another little bit of her life rebuilt.
Trying to push away the thought that she wasn’t adjusting terribly well to her new life so far, Grace opened the front door of the house that had been converted into three flats—and saw with horror that the hallway was an inch deep in water. Water that was coming from underneath her front door.
OK. Forget the panic and work with your common sense, the way you always do, she told herself. Turn off the water supply at the mains to stop any more water gushing out from wherever the leak is, turn off the electricity to avoid any problems there, run the taps to make sure the system drains fully, and then find out where the leak is coming from and call the landlord to organise a plumber.
Fortified now she had a plan to work to, Grace opened the flat’s front door to find water everywhere. The carpet was soaked through and she could see from the change in the colour of the material that the water was soaking its way up into the sofa, too. What a mess. She took a deep breath, took off her shoes, and put them on the kitchen table along with her handbag and briefcase so they’d be out of the way of the water.
Stopcock. Where would the stopcock be? The house had been converted into flats, so there was only a fifty-fifty chance that the stopcock would be inside her flat. But, to her relief, when she opened the cupboard under the sink in the hope that it was the most likely place to find the stopcock, the little wheel on the water pipe was clearly visible. She turned it off. Another switch dealt with the electricity supply, and when she went into the bathroom to turn on the taps to drain the system she could see the problem immediately: water was gushing through a burst pipe underneath the sink.
She grabbed the washing up bowl from the kitchen sink and put it there to catch the water that was still gushing from the burst pipe, then turned on the taps in the bath so the system would start to drain.
Those were the most important things. Now to call the landlord—and she really hoped that he’d be able to send an emergency plumber out to fix the pipe tonight. Though, even when the pipe was fixed and the water supply was back on, Grace knew that she was still going to have to find somewhere else to sleep tonight, because the flat was too badly flooded to be habitable. She’d also have to find somewhere to store all her stuff.
Although part of her wanted to burst into tears of sheer frustration and anger and misery, she knew that crying wasn’t going to solve anything. She needed to stick with the practical stuff. Once she’d sorted that out, she could start weeping. But absolutely not until then.
There was a note in Bella’s handwriting underneath a magnet on the door of the fridge, with a telephone number and the words, Call if any problems. Obviously this was the landlord’s number; Grace was truly grateful that for once her little sister had been organised, despite spending the last three weeks knee-deep in plans for her whirlwind wedding to Hugh. Grace grabbed her mobile phone from her bag and called the number on the note.
* * *
Roland didn’t recognise the number on his phone’s screen, so he let the call go through to voicemail. A cold caller would give up as soon as Roland’s recorded message started playing, and anyone who really wanted to talk to him could leave a message and he’d return the call when he had time.
There was an audible sigh on the answering machine. ‘Hello. This is Grace Faraday.’
Bella’s sister? Roland frowned. Why on earth would she be calling him?
‘Please call me back urgently.’ She said her telephone number slowly and clearly. ‘If I haven’t heard from you within thirty minutes, I’ll call an emergency plumber and assume that you’ll pick up the bill.’
Why did she need an emergency plumber? And why on earth did she think that he’d pay for the cost?
Intending to suggest that she called her landlord or her insurance company instead, he picked up the phone. ‘Roland Devereux speaking.’
There was a stunned silence for a moment. ‘Roland? As in Hugh’s other best man Roland?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Um, right—if you didn’t catch the message I was in the middle of leaving, it’s Bella’s sister Grace. There’s a flood at the flat and I need an emergency plumber.’ Her voice took on a slightly haughty tone. ‘I assume that you, as the landlord, have a list of tradesmen you use.’
So that was why she thought he’d pay the bill for an emergency plumber. ‘I’m not the landlord.’
‘Ah. Sorry.’ The haughtiness disappeared, and there was the slightest wobble in her voice. ‘I don’t suppose you know the landlord’s contact details?’
Why on earth would he know something like that? ‘No.’
‘OK. Never mind.’
And there it was.
The tiniest sob. Muffled quickly, but he heard it.
It brought back all the memories of Lynette. Her heart-wrenching sobs every single month they’d failed to make a baby. The guilt about how badly he’d let her down and how he’d failed her at the last.
Plus Grace was his best friend’s sister-in-law. If Roland’s sister had called Hugh for help, Hugh would’ve come straight to Philly’s rescue. So Roland knew he had to do the right thing.
‘I’m sorry to have bother—’ she began.
‘Grace. How bad is the flood?’ he cut in.
‘You’ve just told me you’re not the landlord, so don’t worry about it.’
He winced, but he knew that he deserved the slightly acidic tone in her voice. But there was one thing that was bothering him. ‘Where did you get my number?’
‘Bella left me a note on the fridge—a phone number for emergencies.’ She sighed. ‘Again, I apologise. I assumed it was the landlord’s number. Obviously I was wrong.’
That didn’t matter right now. He was focused on the flood. ‘Have you turned off the water?’
‘Yes. I’m not an airhead,’ she said drily. ‘I also turned off the electricity supply to prevent any problems there, and I’m currently draining the system to try and stop any more water coming through. I need a plumber to fix the burst pipe, and I also need to tell the people in the flats upstairs, in case the problem in my flat has affected their water supply, too.’
He was surprised that Grace sounded so capable and so organised. It didn’t fit with what he’d been told about her. But she’d said there was a burst pipe, and clearly she didn’t have a number to call for help—apart from his, which Bella had left her in case of emergencies. He could hardly just hang up and leave her to it. ‘What’s the address?’ he asked abruptly.
‘Why?’
‘Because you just called me for help,’ he said.
‘Mistakenly,’ she said crisply. ‘For which I apologise. Yet again.’
‘Bella obviously left you my number in case of emergencies—and a burst pipe counts as an emergency.’ Although Bella had forgotten to tell him she’d given Grace his number, that wasn’t Grace’s fault. ‘Where are you?’
‘Bella’s flat.’
‘I don’t actually know the address,’ Roland explained.
‘Oh. Right.’ Sounding slightly reluctant, she told him the address.
‘OK. I’m on my way.’
‘Are you a plumber or something?’
‘No, but I know a good one. I’ll call him on the way and have him on standby in case you can’t get hold of the landlord.’
‘Thank you,’ Grace said. ‘I appreciate this.’
Roland called his plumber from the car, warning him that it was possibly a storm in a teacup but asking him to stay on standby. But, when he turned up at the flat, he discovered that Grace had been underplaying the situation, if anything. The water had clearly been gushing for a while and the carpets were soaked through; they’d need to be taken up and probably replaced. The sofa also needed to be moved, because water was seeping into it. And he felt another twinge of guilt as he noticed that Grace looked as if she’d been crying. Although she was clearly trying to be brave, this had obviously upset her.
‘Did you manage to get in touch with the landlord?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘His details are probably somewhere in Bella’s shoebox—but I’m not blaming her, because I should’ve checked everything properly myself before she and Hugh left. I live here now, so it’s my responsibility.’
‘Shoebox?’ he asked, mystified.
‘Bella’s not really one for filing,’ Grace explained. ‘She has a shoebox system. Business receipts go in one shoebox, household stuff in another, and you just rummage through the shoeboxes when you want something.’
‘That sounds a bit chaotic.’ And it was definitely not the way Roland would do things. It wasted way too much time.
Grace shrugged. ‘At least she has the shoeboxes now. It took a bit of nagging to get her that far.’
What? This didn’t fit, at all. Wasn’t Grace the drunken, princessy one? And yet right now she was wearing a sober grey suit and white shirt; plus that looked like a proper briefcase on the kitchen table, along with a pair of sensible black shoes and an equally sensible-looking handbag. Her nails weren’t professionally manicured, her dark hair was cut simply in a long bob rather than being in a fussy high-maintenance style like the one she’d had at the wedding, and her make-up was minimal.
Maybe he’d got her totally wrong. More guilt flooded through him.
‘The neighbours aren’t home yet, so I’ve left a note on their doors to tell them what’s happened,’ she said. ‘And I really need to find the landlord’s details and check the insurance.’
Again, there was that tiny wobble in her voice.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked, hoping that she wasn’t going to start crying.
‘I’ve had better days.’ She lifted her chin. ‘And worse, for that matter. I’ll live. Sorry. I would offer you a cup of tea but, as I don’t have water or electricity right now...’ She shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I can’t.’
‘It’s not a problem,’ Roland said. ‘My plumber’s on standby, so I’ll call him again to get him up to speed with the situation—and we need to shift that sofa in a minute before it soaks up any more water, to try and minimise the damage.’
‘And the bookcase. And the bed. And...’ She blew out a breath. ‘It’s just as well my car’s a hatchback. I’m going to have to move everything I can out of here until this place dries out. And find somewhere for storage—though, as all my friends have flats just as tiny as this and none of them have a garage I can borrow, even temporarily. It’s probably going to have to be one of those lock-up storage places.’
‘Give me a moment.’ Roland went outside and made a swift call to his plumber and then to one of the restoration specialist firms he’d used in the past. He also remembered seeing a café on the corner as he’d driven here; he made an executive decision to grab two takeaway black coffees, packets of sugar and two chocolate brownies. It would give them both enough energy to get through to the next stage. And if she didn’t drink coffee—well, now would be a good time to start.
Grace had talked about finding a lock-up place to store the stuff from the flat. At this time of the evening, she’d be lucky to find somewhere to sort it out. And he had more than enough space to store her stuff. Even though part of him didn’t really want to get involved, part of him knew that if something like this had happened to his sister, he’d want someone looking out for her. Grace was his best friend’s sister-in-law. So that kind of made him responsible, didn’t it?
On the way back to her flat, he called one of his team and asked him to bring a van.
She was already loading things into the back of her car when he got there.
‘Coffee,’ he said, and handed her one of the paper cups. ‘I didn’t know if you took milk or sugar, so I got it black and there are packets of sugar.’
‘Thank you. How much do I owe you?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘It’s fine. And I have a van on the way. Do you have some bags, boxes or suitcases I can start filling?’
‘A van?’ she asked, looking puzzled.
‘The flat’s small, but we’re not going to be able to fit its entire contents into your car and mine,’ he pointed out.
‘So you hired a van?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Actually, that makes a lot of sense. I should’ve thought of that. Thank you. Obviously I’ll reimburse you for whatever you’ve paid out.’
‘There’s no need—it’s my van,’ he said.
She frowned. ‘But this isn’t your mess, so why...?’
‘Because you’re Hugh’s sister-in-law,’ he said. ‘If this had happened to my sister when I was out of the country, Hugh and Tarq would’ve looked out for her. So I’m doing the same, by extension.’
‘Considering that you and I didn’t exactly hit it off at the wedding,’ she said, ‘this is really nice of you. And I appreciate it. Thank you.’
Roland was beginning to think that he’d seriously misjudged Grace. If she’d been the spoiled, princessy drunk he’d thought she was, she would’ve been wailing and expecting everyone else to sort out the mess for her—most probably while she swigged a glass of wine and wandered about doing nothing. Instead, while he’d been away, she’d been quietly and efficiently getting on with moving stuff out of the flat. Not liking the guilt that was beginning to seep through him, he handed her a brownie. ‘Chocolate. My sister says it makes everything better.’
Then she smiled—the first real smile he’d seen from her—and he was shocked to discover that it made the street feel as if it had just lit up.
‘Your sister sounds like a wise woman.’
‘She is.’
* * *
Roland Devereux was the last person Grace had expected to come to her rescue, but she really appreciated the fact that he had. And today he was very different from the way he’d been at the wedding. This time, he didn’t make her feel the way that Howard’s mother always made her feel. He treated her like a human being instead of something nasty stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
Fortified by the coffee and the brownies, between them they had most of Grace’s things outside in boxes and bags by the time Roland’s van arrived. And in the meantime, Grace’s neighbours had returned, offering sympathy when they saw the mess and thankfully finding the landlord’s number for her.
She called the landlord, but there was no answer, so she left a message explaining what had happened and giving him her mobile number, and continued moving stuff out of the flat.
Roland’s plumber arrived and took a look at the burst pipe.
‘It’s very old piping around here,’ he said. ‘The system probably got blocked somewhere along the line, and this pipe had a weaker joint that couldn’t cope with the extra pressure.’
‘So it wasn’t anything I did wrong?’ Grace asked.
‘No, love—it was just one of those things. I can do a temporary repair now, and then sort it out properly tomorrow.’
She nodded. ‘Thank you. Let me have an invoice and I’ll pay you straight away.’
‘No need—the boss is covering it.’
‘The boss?’ she asked, mystified.
‘Roland,’ the plumber explained.
What? But it shouldn’t be Roland’s bill. OK. Right now she didn’t have time for a discussion. She’d sort it out with him later.
She’d just left the plumber when a restoration specialist turned up and introduced himself. He took photographs of everything, and asked her to hold a metal ruler against the wall to show the depth of the water. ‘For the insurance,’ he explained. And then he brought a machine from his van to start sucking up the water.
‘I really appreciate everything you’ve done to help me,’ Grace said to Roland. ‘Just one more thing—do you happen to know the number of a good lock-up place as well?’
He shrugged. ‘There’s no need. You can store your things at my place.’
She blinked. ‘But you don’t know me. You only met me once before today. For all you know, I could be a thief or a fraudster.’
He shrugged again. ‘You’re my best friend’s sister-in-law—that’s good enough for me.’ He paused. ‘You really can’t stay at the flat until it’s dried out properly.’
‘I know.’ She grimaced. ‘Hopefully I can persuade one of my friends to let me crash on their floor tonight, then I’ll find a hotel or something to put me up until the flat’s usable again.’
* * *
It was a sensible enough plan, and if Roland agreed with her he wouldn’t have to get involved.
But something in her expression made him say, ‘I have a spare room.’
She shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I’ve already imposed on you far too much.’
‘It’s getting late,’ he said, ‘plus your stuff’s all in the back of your car, my car, and the van. You can’t do anything else here until the landlord calls you back and the insurance assessors turn up—which won’t be until at least tomorrow. And you said yourself that none of your friends have the room to put you up, let alone store your stuff as well. So come and stay with me.’
‘That’s—that’s really kind of you.’
He could see her blinking back the tears and lifted his hands in a ‘stop’ gesture. ‘Don’t cry. Please.’ He didn’t cope well with tears. He never had. Which had been half the problem in that last year with Lynette. He’d backed away when he shouldn’t have done. And she’d paid the ultimate price.
Grace swallowed back the threatening tears and scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘OK. No more tears, I promise. But thank you. I owe you.’
CHAPTER TWO (#u687e2b29-9f2e-59f4-960c-dc1bd80c965d)
ONCE THE RESTORATION man had finished getting rid of the worst of the water and Grace had locked the flat, she programmed Roland’s address into her satnav in case she got stuck in traffic and lost both him and the van on the way, then followed him back to his house—which turned out to be in a swish part of Docklands. Once she’d parked behind his car, outside what looked like a development of an old maltings, Roland and the van driver helped her transfer her things from their cars and the van to his garage.
‘Everything will be safe here for tonight,’ he said when they’d finished.
‘And dry,’ Grace added. ‘Thank you.’
There was a row of shops on the ground floor of the building, and Grace assumed that Roland had a flat on one of the upper floors; to her surprise, she discovered that his house was at one end of the building. And when he showed her into the townhouse itself, she saw that the entire back of the house was a glass box extension. It was incredibly modern, but at the same time it didn’t feel out of place—and the views over the river were utterly amazing.
‘This place is incredible,’ she said.
He looked pleased. ‘I like it.’
‘But—’ she gestured to the floor-to-ceiling windows ‘—no curtains? Don’t you worry about people peering in?’
‘I have a little bit of trickery instead. It’s much cleaner, design-wise. And I loathe frills and flounces—my idea of hell is those swags of fussy fabrics.’
And those were just the kind of thing Grace had in mind for her own dream home—a pretty little Victorian terraced house, with sprigged flowery wallpaper and curtains to match, and lots of cushions in cosy armchairs.
He flicked a switch and the glass became opaque, giving them complete privacy.
‘Very clever,’ she said. And although she would’ve preferred the kind of curtains he hated, she could understand what he liked about it. ‘Did you have an architect design this for you?’
‘That,’ Roland said, ‘would be me.’
Grace stared at him in surprise. ‘You’re an architect?’
He nodded. ‘I designed Hugh and Tarquin’s offices,’ he said, ‘and I had a hand in remodelling Hugh’s place so it’s soundproof—for the sake of his neighbours, if he gets up in the middle of the night and starts composing on the piano.’
‘This is amazing.’ She shook her head. ‘What an idiot I am. I thought you were some sort of builder, given that you had a plumber and a van.’
He smiled. ‘You weren’t that far off. I’m in the building trade, and I was pretty hands-on with this place. I guess this was my prototype.’
‘How do you mean, prototype?’ she asked, not understanding.
‘My company makes eco-prefab buildings—either extensions or even the whole house. They’re all made off site, and they can be put up in a matter of days.’
‘You mean, like the ones you see on TV documentaries about people building their own houses or restoring old industrial buildings and turning them into homes?’ she asked.
‘They’ve been featured on that sort of programme, yes,’ he said.
‘That’s seriously impressive.’
He inclined his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. ‘I enjoy it. Let me show you to the guest room.’
Like the rest of the rooms she’d seen so far, the bedroom was very modern, simply furnished and with little on the walls. But, with one wall being pure glass, she supposed you wouldn’t need anything else to look at: not when you had a whole panorama of London life to look at. Water and people and lights and the sky.
There was a king-sized bed with the headboard set in the middle of the back wall, a soft duvet and fluffy pillows. The bed linen was all white—very high maintenance, she thought. The en-suite bathroom was gorgeous, and was about six times the size of the bathroom in Bella’s flat; Grace still wasn’t quite used to thinking of Bella’s old place as her own flat.
She took the bare minimum from her case—it seemed pointless to unpack everything just for one night, when tomorrow she’d be moving to a hotel or whatever alternative accommodation the insurance company offered—and hung her office clothes for the next day in the wardrobe so they wouldn’t be creased overnight. Just as she was about to go back downstairs in search of Roland, her phone rang; thankfully, it was the landlord, who’d spoken to the insurance company and could fill her in on what was happening next.
* * *
Roland was sitting at the kitchen table, checking his emails on his phone, when Grace walked into the kitchen, looking slightly shy.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked.
‘No, thanks. I’m fine,’ she said. ‘The landlord just called me. He’s talked to the insurance company and they’re getting a loss assessor out to see the flat—and me—tomorrow morning at eleven.’
She sounded a little unsure, he thought. ‘Is getting the time off work going to be a problem for you?’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m temping at the moment—but if I explain the situation and make the hours up, I’m sure they’ll be fine about it.’
He was surprised. ‘Temping? So you’re what, a PA?’
‘An accountant,’ she corrected.
Which made it even more surprising that she didn’t have a permanent job. ‘How come you’re temping?’
‘It’s a long and boring story. It’s also why I’ve moved into Bella’s flat.’ She flapped a hand dismissively. ‘But it’s not because I’m a criminal or anything, so you don’t need to worry about that. I just made some decisions that made life a bit up in the air for me.’
He wondered what those decisions had been. But she was being cagey about it, so he decided not to push it. It was none of his business, in any case. ‘You can keep your stuff here as long as you need to, so that isn’t a problem.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘You must be hungry. I certainly am, so I was thinking of ordering us a takeaway.’
‘Which I’ll pay for,’ she said immediately.
‘Hardly. You’re my guest.’
‘You weren’t expecting me,’ she pointed out. ‘And I’d feel a lot happier if you let me pay. It’s the least I can do, considering how much you’ve done for me this evening.’
He could see that she wasn’t going to budge on the issue. In her shoes, he’d feel the same way, so he decided to give in gracefully. ‘OK. Thank you.’
‘And I’m doing the washing up,’ she added.
‘There’s no need. I have a housekeeping service.’
She scoffed. ‘I’m still not leaving a pile of dirty dishes next to the sink.’
A princess would’ve taken a housekeeper for granted. Grace didn’t, and she clearly wasn’t playing a part. How on earth had he got her so wrong? ‘We’ll share the washing up,’ he said, feeling guilty about the way he’d misjudged her. ‘What do you like? Chinese? Pizza?’
‘Anything,’ she said.
So she wasn’t fussy about food, either.
And, given the way she was dressed...it was almost as if she was trying to blend in to her surroundings. Minimum fuss, minimum attention.
Why would someone want to hide like that?
Not that it was any of his business. He ordered a selection of dishes from his local Chinese takeaway. ‘It’ll be here in twenty minutes,’ he said when he put the phone down.
It felt very odd to be domesticated, Roland thought as he laid two places at the kitchen table. For nearly two years he’d eaten most of his evening meals alone, except if he’d been on business or when Hugh, Tarquin or his sister Philly had insisted on him joining them. Being here alone with Grace was strange. But he just about managed to make small talk with her until the food arrived.
His hand brushed against hers a couple of times when they heaped their plates from the takeaway cartons, and that weird prickle of awareness he’d felt at the wedding made itself known again.
Did she feel it, too? he wondered. Because she wasn’t meeting his eyes, and had bowed her head slightly so her hair covered her face. Did he fluster her, the way she flustered him?
And, if so, what were they going to do about it?
Not that he was really in a position to do anything about it. He’d told Hugh and Tarquin that he was ready to date again, but he knew he wasn’t. How could he trust himself not to let a new partner down, given the way he’d let his wife down? Until he could start to forgive himself, he couldn’t move on.
‘Don’t feel you have to entertain me,’ she said when they’d finished eating and had sorted out the washing up. ‘I’ve already taken up more than enough of your time this evening, and I don’t want to be a demanding house guest. If you don’t mind, I’m going to sort out Bella’s shoeboxes for her so all her papers are in some sort of order.’
So Grace was the sort who liked organisation and structure. That made it even stranger that she’d call off her wedding only three weeks before the big day. There was a lot more to that story than met the eye, Roland was sure; but he didn’t want to intrude on her privacy by asking.
‘I’ll be in my office next door if you need me. Feel free to make yourself a drink whenever you like. There are tea, coffee and hot chocolate capsules in the cupboard above the coffee machine.’ He gestured to the machine sitting on the work surface.
‘Thanks.’ For the first time, she gave him a teasing smile. ‘Now I’ve seen your house, I’m not surprised you have a machine like that.’
‘Are you accusing me of being a gadget fiend?’ he asked.
‘Are you one?’ she fenced back.
He grinned. ‘Just a tiny bit—what about you?’ The question was out before he could stop it, and he was shocked at himself. Was he actually flirting with her? He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d flirted with anyone.
‘I use an old-fashioned cafetière and a teapot,’ she said. ‘Though I might admit to having a milk-frother, because I like cappuccinos.’
Tension suddenly crackled between them. And Roland was even more shocked to find himself wondering what would happen if he closed the gap between them and brushed his mouth very lightly over Grace’s.
What on earth was he doing? Apart from the fact that his head was still in an emotional mess, Grace was the last person he should think about kissing. He’d just rescued her from a burst pipe situation. She was as vulnerable as Lyn had been. He needed to back off. Now. ‘See you later,’ he said, affecting a cool he most definitely didn’t feel, and sauntered into his office.
Though even at the safety of his desk he found it hard to concentrate on his work. Instead of opening the file for his current project, he found himself thinking of a quiet, dark-haired woman with the most amazing cornflower-blue eyes—and he was cross with himself because he didn’t want to think about her in that way. Right now he couldn’t offer a relationship to anyone. Who knew when he’d be ready to date again—if ever.
* * *
Grace sorted through the contents of Bella’s shoeboxes at Roland’s kitchen table, putting everything in neat piles so she could file them away properly in a binder. She tried to focus on what she was doing, but the mundane task wasn’t occupying anywhere near enough of her head for her liking. It left way too much space for her to think about the man who’d unexpectedly come to her rescue.
And now she was seeing Roland Devereux in a whole new light. He’d been cold and taciturn when she’d first met him. She would never have believed that he was a man with vision. A man who could create such a stunning modern design, which somehow didn’t feel out of place in its very traditional setting; he’d merged the old and the new perfectly to get the best of both worlds.
She couldn’t resist taking a swift break and looking him up on the Internet. And she liked what she saw on his company website, especially the way they paid attention to detail. Although the houses they built were prefabricated, the designs didn’t feel as if they were identikit; from the gallery of pictures of the finished houses, Grace could see that Roland’s company had added touches to each one to make it personal to the families who’d wanted to build them. And not only was he great at design, he’d worked with conservation officers on several projects. One in particular involved an eco extension that had enhanced the old building it was part of, rather than marring it, and he’d won an award for it.
There was much more to Roland Devereux than met the eye.
And she had to push away the memory of that moment when he’d flirted with her in the kitchen. Right now, her life was too chaotic for her to consider adding any kind of relationship to the mix. And, although Roland seemed to live alone, for all she knew he could already be committed elsewhere.
So she’d just put this evening down to the kindness of a stranger, and consider herself lucky that her brother-in-law had such a good friend.
* * *
Roland had already left for the day when Grace got up the next morning, even though she’d planned to be at her desk by eight. He’d left her his spare door key along with a note on the table asking her to set the house alarm, giving her the code. He’d added, Call me if any problems.
She texted him to say that she’d set the alarm and thanked him for the loan of his key, then headed for the office. At work, she explained the situation to her boss, who was kind enough to let her reorganise her work schedule so she could meet the loss assessor at the flat.
But the news from the loss assessor wasn’t good. It would take a couple of weeks to dry out the flat, even with dehumidifiers, and there was a chance they might need to take all the plaster off the walls to stop mould developing, and then re-plaster the walls. Which in turn would take time to dry. And the landlord would probably have to look into replacing the plumbing completely in the very near future. And that meant even more disruption.
How could a burst pipe cause so much chaos?
And she could hardly invite herself to stay with Roland for an unforeseeable amount of time. Her parents lived too far out of London for her to be able to commute from their place, and she knew her friends didn’t have the room to put her up, so she’d just have to find a room in a budget hotel. Hopefully Roland wouldn’t mind her leaving her stuff in his garage for another day or so until she could organise storage.
She called in to a specialist wine shop to buy a thank-you gift for him on her way back to the office, then worked through her lunch hour and left late that evening to make up the time she’d had to take out to meet the assessor. When she returned to the house in Docklands, Roland was in the kitchen, making himself a coffee.
‘Hi. Coffee?’ he asked, gesturing to the machine.
‘Thanks, but I’m fine. Oh, and I got this for you.’
She handed him the bottle bag, and he blinked in surprise. ‘What’s this?’
‘To say thank you,’ she said. ‘I have no idea if you prefer red or white wine, so I played it safe and bought white.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ he said.
But she noticed that he hadn’t even opened the bag to look at the wine. ‘Sorry. Obviously I should’ve gone for red.’
‘Actually, I don’t drink,’ he said.
Grace wished the ground would open up and swallow her. ‘I’m so sorry.’ And she wasn’t going to ask him why. It was none of her business.
‘You weren’t to know.’ He opened the bag and looked at the label. ‘Montrachet is lovely. I know a certain woman who will love you to bits for bringing this.’
His girlfriend? Grace squashed the seeping disappointment. So not appropriate. And it raised another issue. ‘I hope your girlfriend doesn’t mind me staying.’
‘No girlfriend. I was talking about my little sister,’ Roland said. ‘Just because I don’t drink, it doesn’t mean that I make everyone else stick to water.’
And the little rush of pleasure at discovering he was single was even more inappropriate. ‘Uh-huh,’ she said, knowing she sounded awkward, and wishing yet again that she could be as open and spontaneous as her sister.
‘So how did it go with the loss assessor?’ he asked.
‘Not great.’ She told him what the loss assessor had said. ‘So if you don’t mind me staying here again tonight, I’ll sort out a hotel room for tomorrow night onwards. I’ll find a storage place, and it shouldn’t take me too many trips to ferry all my stuff there.’
‘Why go to all that trouble when I’ve already said you can stay in my spare room and store your stuff here?’ he asked.
‘Because I can’t impose on you for an open-ended amount of time,’ she explained. ‘I know you’re my brother-in-law’s best friend, but this is way beyond the call of duty, and I’d rather stand on my own two feet.’
‘Noted,’ he said, ‘but you said yesterday that you’d made some choices that made life a bit up in the air for you. I think we all have times like that, when we could maybe use a friend.’
‘You’re offering to be my friend?’
He looked at her, his dark eyes full of questions, and suddenly there didn’t seem to be enough air in the room.
Was he offering her friendship...or something else? She didn’t trust her judgement to read the situation properly.
And then Roland said, ‘Yes, I think I’m offering to be your friend.’
‘But we don’t know each other,’ she pointed out.
‘I know, and I admit I took you the wrong way when I first met you.’
She frowned. ‘Meaning?’
He winced. ‘Meaning that I’ve been a bit judgemental and I can see for myself that you’re not what I thought you were.’
‘You’re digging yourself a hole here.’
‘Tell me about it,’ he said wryly. ‘And I’m sorry.’
‘So what did you think I was?’ she asked.
‘Are you sure you want to hear this?’
No, but she’d gone far enough to have to keep up the bravado. ‘I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.’
‘OK. I thought of you as the Runaway Bride,’ he said.
He’d thought what? Obviously he knew that she’d cancelled her wedding quite late in the day—but he’d assumed that she was some kind of spoiled brat? She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘You’re right, that’s judgemental and that’s not who I am—and, for your information, I didn’t leave my fiancé at the aisle or even close to it. In fact, I hadn’t even bought a wedding dress.’
It was his turn to frown. ‘But Hugh said you cancelled the wedding three weeks beforehand. And I’ve seen by the way you’ve dealt with the flood that you’re organised. This doesn’t add up. Why didn’t you have a wedding dress that close to the big day?’
‘It’s a long and very boring story,’ she said.
‘I don’t have anything better to do—do you?’ he asked.
She blew out a breath. ‘Maybe, maybe not. And I guess if I’m going to stay with you, you probably need to know why my life’s a bit chaotic.’
‘Let’s talk over pizza,’ he said, ‘and maybe a glass of wine. We could open this bottle now.’
‘You just told me you didn’t drink.’
‘I also told you I don’t make everyone else around me stick to water.’
‘I don’t actually drink that much,’ she admitted.
He looked at her. ‘But the first time you met Hugh...’
Oh, no. Well, he was Hugh’s best friend. Of course he’d know about what happened. ‘I threw up over Hugh because I’d drunk three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach. Which is more than I would usually drink in a month.’ Shame flooded through her at the memory. ‘Does everyone know about that?’
‘Tarq and I do.’
‘Tarquin never mentioned it when he met me.’
He gave her a wry smile. ‘Probably because Tarq’s nicer than I am.’
‘I’m reserving the right to stay silent.’ Because Roland had come to her rescue, and he was offering her a place to stay. But she was still annoyed that he’d thought so badly of her without even waiting to hear her side of the story. Maybe she’d been right in her first impression of him, too, and he was firmly in the same box as Cynthia Sutton: cold, judgemental and obsessed by appearances.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Isn’t the rest of that speech along the lines that if you want to rely on something later in court, you have to speak now?’
‘Am I on trial?’ she asked.
‘Of course not.’ He shook his head. ‘Pizza it is, then. And mineral water.’
‘Provided I pay for the pizza. I don’t want you thinking I’m a freeloader as well as being the Runaway Bride and a lush to boot.’
The slight colour staining his cheeks told her that was exactly what he’d thought of her. Which was totally unfair—he’d jumped to conclusions without even knowing her. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’d come to her rescue last night and been kind, right at that moment she would’ve disliked him even more than she had at the wedding.
‘I know now that you’re none of those things. And you insisted on paying last night, so this is on me,’ he said.
‘If you buy the pizza,’ she said, still cross that he thought she was one of life’s takers, ‘then I want an invoice for the use of your van yesterday.’
‘How about,’ he suggested, ‘we go halves on the pizza?’
She folded her arms. ‘I’d prefer to pay.’
He met her glare head-on. ‘Halves or starve. That’s the choice.’
And how tempted she was to choose the latter. On principle. Except she was really, really hungry and it was pointless spiting herself. ‘OK. Halves. But I do the washing up. And, tomorrow, I cook for us.’
‘You can cook?’ He looked taken aback.
She could guess why. ‘I love my little sister to bits,’ she said, ‘but Bella’s a bit of a disaster in the kitchen. If she’s cooked for you, then I understand why you’re surprised—but her culinary skills don’t run in the family.’
‘She hasn’t cooked for me. But Hugh told me how bad her stir-fry is,’ he admitted.
‘In her defence, she does make great pancakes and cupcakes.’
He smiled. ‘But you can’t live on pancakes and cupcakes alone.’
‘Exactly. Is there anything you don’t eat, or do you have any food intolerances or allergies?’
‘No—and you can use anything you like in the kitchen.’
‘I’m glad you said that, because your kitchen is gorgeous and it’ll be a pleasure to cook here.’ She gestured round. ‘So do I take it that you’re a cook, too, or is this just for show?’
* * *
Roland thought back to the times when he and Lynette had cooked together. Never in this kitchen—he’d still been renovating the place when the drunk driver had smashed into his wife’s car. And he hadn’t had the heart to cook since. Most of the time he lived on sandwiches, takeaways or microwaved supermarket meals; apart from when his family and his best friends insisted on seeing him, he filled the time with work, work and more work, so he didn’t have the space to think. ‘I don’t cook much nowadays,’ he said.
‘Fair enough.’ To his relief, she didn’t pry.
‘But if you can text me and let me know what time you want to eat tomorrow,’ she added, ‘that would be helpful.’
‘I’ll do that,’ he said. Though it felt weirdly domestic, and it made him antsy enough not to press Grace about the reason why she’d moved to Bella’s flat—just in case she expected him to share about his past, too. The last thing he wanted was for her to start pitying him—the poor widower who’d lost his wife tragically young. Especially because he didn’t deserve the pity. He hadn’t taken enough care of Lyn, and he’d never forgive himself for that.
Grace’s phone pinged. ‘I’m expecting something. Can I be rude and check my phone?’ she asked.
‘Be my guest.’
She glanced at the screen and smiled. ‘Oh, I like this. Today’s Bellagram is the Golden Gate Bridge,’ she said, showing him the photograph of Bella and Hugh posing with the iconic bridge behind them.
‘Bellagram?’ Roland asked, not quite understanding.
‘Postcard. Telegram—the modern version,’ Grace explained. ‘Bella likes puns.’
‘She texts you every day?’
Grace nodded. ‘We always text each other if we’re away, sending a photo of what we’ve been doing. Bella forgot about the time difference for the first one, so it woke me at three in the morning.’ She laughed. ‘But that’s Bella for you. It’s great to know they’re having a good time.’
‘Have you told her about...?’
‘The flood? No. I don’t want her worrying. I just text her back to say I’m glad she’s having fun and I love her,’ Grace said.
Which was pretty much what his own family had done when he and Lyn had sent a couple of brief texts from the rainforest on their honeymoon, purely to stop everyone at home worrying that they’d got lost or been eaten by piranhas. Another surge of guilt flooded through him. He’d taken care of Lyn then. Where had it all gone so wrong?
He was glad when Grace was tactful enough to switch the subject to something neutral and kept the conversation easy.
Though later that evening Roland still couldn’t get her out of his head. He lay awake, watching the sky through the glass ceiling of his bedroom—a ceiling that wasn’t overlooked by anyone or anything—and thinking of her.
What was it about Grace Faraday?
He’d misjudged her completely. Far from being a spoiled, princessy drunk, Grace was a capable and quietly organised woman with good manners. She was a little bit shy, very independent, and nice. Easy to be with.
Which was why he probably ought to find somewhere else for her to stay. Grace Faraday was dangerous to his peace of mind. She was the first woman in a long time to intrigue him. Or attract him. And for someone like her to call off a wedding only three weeks before the ceremony... Something had to have been very wrong indeed. Even though it was none of his business, he couldn’t help wondering. Had she discovered some really serious character flaw in her husband-to-be?
She’d been going to tell him about it, and then they’d been sidetracked. Maybe she’d tell him tomorrow.
And maybe that would be the thing to keep his common sense in place and stop him doing something stupid.
Like acting on the strong pull he felt towards her and actually kissing her.
CHAPTER THREE (#u687e2b29-9f2e-59f4-960c-dc1bd80c965d)
THE FOLLOWING EVENING, Roland opened his front door and stopped dead. It was strange to smell dinner cooking; he could definitely smell lemons, and possibly fish.
Then he realised he could also hear music; clearly Grace had connected her MP3 player to his speakers in the kitchen. Odd; he’d half expected her to like very formal classical music, but right now she was playing vintage feel-good pop songs. And she was singing along. He smiled as she launched into ‘Build Me Up, Buttercup’, ever so slightly out of key.
But were the song lyrics a warning to him that she didn’t want her heart broken? Not that he should be thinking about a relationship with her anyway. His smile faded as he went into the kitchen. ‘Good evening, Grace.’
‘Oh! Roland. Hello.’ She looked up from whatever she was doing and smiled at him, and to his shock his heart felt as if it had done a somersault.
When had he last reacted to someone like this?
Then her face went bright red as she clearly thought about what she’d been doing when he’d opened his front door. ‘Um—I apologise for the singing. I’m afraid I can’t hold a tune.’
‘That’s not a problem,’ he reassured her. ‘You can sing in the kitchen if you like—though actually I had you pegged for a classical music fiend.’
‘The boring accountant who likes boring stuff?’ she asked with a wry smile.
‘Not all classical music is boring. Have you ever heard Hugh play Bach on the piano? It’s amazing stuff.’
‘No—and, actually, I do like classical music. Not the super-heavy operatic stuff, though,’ she said. ‘I’ve always wanted to go to one of those evenings where they play popular classical music to a background of fireworks.’ She paused. ‘Not that you want to be bored by my bucket list. Dinner will be about another ten minutes.’
Why did Grace think she was boring? Though Roland wasn’t sure how to ask her, because she seemed to have gone back into her shell. Clearly she was used to being the shy, quiet older sister, while Bella was the bubbly one. He fell back on a polite, ‘Something smells nice.’
‘Thank you. I wasn’t sure if you’d prefer to eat in the dining room or the kitchen, so I guessed that here would be OK—though I can move it if you like.’ She gestured to the kitchen table by the glass wall, which she’d set for two.
It was definitely less intimate than his dining room would be, he thought with relief. He wasn’t sure if he could handle being in intimate surroundings with her, at least not until he’d got these weird, wayward feelings under control. ‘The kitchen’s fine,’ he said. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘Everything’s pretty much done,’ she said. ‘Can I get you a coffee or something?’
‘It’s fine. I’ll make it,’ he said. ‘Do you want one?’
‘That’d be nice.’ She smiled at him and went back to scooping the flesh and seeds out of passion fruit. ‘Thank you.’
This felt dangerously domesticated, working in the kitchen alongside her. Roland made the coffee in near silence, partly because he didn’t have a clue what to say to Grace. His social skills outside work had really atrophied. Right now, he felt as gauche as a schoolboy.
‘How was your day?’ she asked.
‘Fine. How was yours?’
‘As exciting as any temporary accountancy job can be,’ she said with a smile.
‘Are you looking for something permanent?’
She went still. ‘Roland, if you’re just about to offer me a job out of pity, please don’t. I’m perfectly capable of finding myself a job.’
‘Actually, I don’t have anything right now that would match your skill set,’ he said. ‘But if I did and I offered you an interview, then I’d expect you to be better than any of the other candidates before I offered you the job.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘And I guess it was a bit previous of me to jump to the conclusion that you were going to offer me a job—but you’ve already rescued me this week and...’ Her voice trailed off and she looked awkward. ‘Sorry.’
‘And sometimes rescuers don’t know when to stop and let someone stand on their own two feet. I get it,’ he said. ‘And no offence taken.’
‘Thank you. Actually, I did have a job interview the other day. And I think it went well.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘But then I came home to find myself flooded out, so I haven’t really thought about it since then.’ She shrugged. ‘I probably haven’t got the job, or I would’ve heard by now.’
‘That depends on how many they’re interviewing,’ Roland said.
‘I guess.’ She brought a jug of what looked like sparkling elderflower cordial over to the table, and then two plates. ‘I thought we could have fig, mozzarella and prosciutto skewers to start.’
‘Impressive,’ he said.
She laughed. ‘There’s nothing impressive about threading things onto skewers.’
‘It’s nicely presented, anyway.’ He took a taste. ‘And it’s a good combination.’
She inclined her head in acknowledgement of the compliment. ‘Thank you.’
The citrus-glazed baked salmon with sweet potato wedges, caramelised lemons, spinach and baby carrots was even nicer. ‘Now this you did have to cook. Don’t tell me this isn’t impressive.’
‘Again, it’s much simpler than it looks. I was kind of guinea-pigging you,’ she confessed.
‘Guinea-pigging?’
‘I’m going to teach Bel to cook,’ she said. ‘So the food needs to look pretty—but it also has to take minimum effort and not involve planning the cooking time for more than two things at once.’
He smiled at her. ‘You’re obviously a foodie—so why are you an accountant rather than, say, running your own restaurant?’
Because numbers were safe.
Though Grace didn’t quite want to admit that. ‘I was good at maths when I was at school, and accountancy has good employment prospects,’ she said. ‘Plus that way I could study for my qualifications in the evenings while I earned money, rather than ending up with a pile of student debt. It made sense to choose accountancy as my career.’ And that was who she was. The sensible, quiet older sister who was good at sorting things out.
‘Do you enjoy your job?’
She smiled. ‘Bella always groans and says she doesn’t get why, but actually I do—I like the patterns in numbers, and the way everything works out neatly.’ She paused. ‘What about you? Why did you become an architect?’
‘Because I love buildings,’ he said simply. ‘Everything from the simplest rural cottage through to grand Rococo palaces.’
She looked at him. ‘I can imagine you living in a grand Rococo palace.’
He smiled. ‘They’re not all they’re cracked up to be. They’re very cold in winter.’
She blinked. ‘So you’ve stayed in one?’
‘The French side of the family owns a chateau or two,’ he admitted.
She felt her eyes widen. ‘Your family owns castles?’ Roland had a posh accent, but she hadn’t realised just how posh he was. Way, way outside her own social circle.
‘Chateaux tend to go hand in hand with vineyards, and our French family produces wine,’ he said. ‘Christmas in France when I was young was always magical, because there was always the most enormous Christmas tree with a silver star on the top, and there were roaring open fires where you could roast chestnuts and toast crumpets.’
Now she knew he was teasing her. ‘Since when do they eat crumpets in France?’
He spread his hands. ‘What can I say? We tend to mix the traditions a bit in my family, so we get the best of both worlds. But, seriously, that was probably where the architecture stuff started. Apart from the fact that I liked the lines and the shapes of the buildings and I was always drawing them as a boy, waking up in a freezing cold bedroom with ice on the inside of the windows made me think about how it could be made better. How we could have all the modern conveniences we were used to in London, but without damaging the heritage side of the building.’
‘And that’s how come you’re so good at mixing the old and the new,’ she said. ‘The front of your house is an old maltings, but the back half is as modern as it gets.’
‘All the new stuff is eco,’ he said, ‘and all the old building is maintained properly.’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps I’m greedy, but I like having the best of both worlds. All the comfort and convenience of the modern stuff, and the sheer beauty of the old.’
She smiled and brought over dessert—passion fruit cream with almond cantuccini.
‘This is seriously nice,’ he said.
‘Thank you.’
When they’d finished eating, he made them some more coffee.
‘You were going to tell me yesterday,’ he said, ‘why your life got turned upside down. It’s a bit unexpected for someone who likes order and structure to make a decision that makes everything messy.’
This time, he didn’t sound judgemental, and Grace felt comfortable enough with him to tell him. ‘I don’t like myself very much for what I did. I know I hurt Howard and I feel bad about that.’ She grimaced. ‘But if I’d married him it would’ve been so much worse.’
‘For what it’s worth,’ he said, ‘I’ve already worked out that you’re not a spoiled princess. Not even close. So that must’ve been a serious case of cold feet.’
She nodded. ‘If I’m honest, I’d been feeling that way for quite a while, but I thought I could still go through with it.’
‘So what happened to change your mind?’
She took a deep breath. ‘The Fifty Shades of Beige party.’
* * *
Roland almost choked on his coffee. Had he just heard right? ‘The what?’
‘Howard—my ex—it was his parents’ golden wedding anniversary,’ Grace explained. ‘I wasn’t looking forward to the party, and Bella drew me this cartoon to make me laugh. She called it “Fifty Shades of Beige”.’
He smiled. ‘From what Tarq says about her, I can just see Bella doing that.’
‘Except the awful thing was that she was right,’ Grace said. ‘I was the only woman there not wearing beige.’
‘And it was a problem?’ he asked.
‘Not for me. For... Well.’ She grimaced. ‘Don’t get me wrong—I did love Howard. But that’s when I finally realised that I wasn’t in love with him.’
‘And there’s a difference?’
‘A very big difference,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t fair to marry him, knowing that I didn’t love him enough—I didn’t love him the way he deserved to be loved. I think we were each other’s safe option. We were settling for each other instead of looking for what we really wanted.’
‘Why did you need a safe option?’ He only realised he’d spoken the question aloud when he saw her wince. ‘Sorry. That was intrusive and you don’t have to answer,’ he said hastily.
‘No, it’s fine. Just don’t tell Bella any of this, OK?’
He frowned. From the way Grace talked, she was clearly very close to her sister. ‘Why doesn’t Bella know?’
‘Because,’ Grace said, ‘she’s my little sister and I love her, and I don’t want to burden her with it. Basically, my dad’s really unreliable and I didn’t want to be like my mum. I wanted my partner to be someone I could trust.’
Roland frowned. ‘But I met Ed at the wedding—he seemed really nice and not at all unreliable.’
‘Ed is utterly lovely. He’s Bella’s biological dad, but he’s my stepdad and he adopted me after he married Mum,’ Grace explained. ‘I think of him as my real dad, and he’s been a better father to me than my biological dad could ever have been. But the first time round my mum married a charming man who let her down over and over again. He was terrible with money and he never kept his promises. He hardly ever turned up when he’d promised to be there to see me. We’ve pretty much lost touch over the years. I just wanted to avoid making my mum’s mistake.’
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