CHAPTER TWO
THE house Jed Cannon had opted to view first was a beauty. Eight bedrooms, six bathrooms, three reception rooms, huge study, enormous sun lounge overlooking the covered swimming pool—the list of attributes was endless. The price took a while to say too, with all the noughts it necessitated...
Tamar met him outside the towering nine-foot wall surrounding the property on the outskirts of Windsor, making sure she was there and waiting in plenty of time. He had offered her a lift when she had phoned earlier with details of the meeting, but she had refused, insisting she would make her own way, due to a previous appointment meaning she would be in the area. It was a lie, and the exorbitant taxi fare was just punishment.
She saw the Mercedes the second it rounded the corner in the far distance, the shimmering heat turning the magnificent car to fluid bronze, but waited until it was almost level with her before she spoke into the little box on the gate, stating their names and the reason for their visit to Greenacres. The gates opened immediately. ‘Hop in.’
Jed Cannon was in the back of the vehicle, a host of papers scattered around him as he worked away on a small computer, and he leant across to open the far door for her, the chauffeur sitting impassively in his glass-partitioned isolation.
‘Thank you.’ It was a little breathless, but the overall authority of him was magnified rather than lessened by the sight of him working, shirtsleeves rolled up and his tie loose round his collar, in the confined space.
‘Where’s your car?’ he asked abruptly as she closed her door and settled down in the luxurious depths.
Her little old banger had failed its MOT the week before, and at present was in a car hospital having major surgery—something she could ill afford—but she wasn’t going to tell him all that. ‘Flat tyre,’ she replied economically. It was true, in a way, but there were about a hundred and one other defects that were being attended to at the same time.
‘And you haven’t got a back-up?’
No, and she didn’t have a Mercedes, a vintage Rolls, and a snazzy little Ferrari either. Unlike him. Perhaps three cars per multimillionaire wasn’t too excessive, but it had still grated when she’d first discovered it, and it rankled even more right now.
‘No, I haven’t,’ she replied shortly, her chin rising a notch. ‘Few working girls have, I should imagine.’
There was silence for a moment and then, ‘I’m sorry, Tamar, I put that incredibly badly.’
His voice was soft and genuine, and as she glanced at him she saw he was truly embarrassed.
‘What I meant was, I would have thought the firm you work for would have provided a vehicle for just such an emergency,’ he said quietly. ‘A car must be pretty essential for your day to day business?’
‘It helps.’ She was flustered, and hot and sticky—she had been waiting fifteen minutes for his car to arrive, so nervous had she been of being late, and there had been no shade from the fierce afternoon sun—but it was the look on his face and the softness of his voice rather than the heat which was making her uncomfortable.
She inclined her head slightly now, her voice mellowing as she said, ‘It just happened that everyone needed their own car today, and there isn’t a pool vehicle-not yet at any rate,’ she added hastily. The last thing she wanted to do was give Jed Cannon the impression that Taylor and Taylor was just a little tinpot kind of business. ‘But Richard and Fiona are working on it,’ she said positively.
‘And they are?’ he asked expressionlessly.
‘Taylor and Taylor.’
‘Right.’
Oh, damn, what was he thinking now? She risked a sidelong glance from under her eyelashes as the beautiful car nosed its way along the winding tree-lined drive towards the palatial house some hundred yards away. Did he think Taylor and Taylor weren’t big enough to handle this kind of property, that they were cowboys, or—?
‘So, most of the ground is at the front of the house, with just the swimming pool and tennis court at the back?’ Jed asked quietly, raising his head from his work and leaning back in the seat as he spoke.
‘Yes.’ Oh, she should have been giving him the sales pitch rather than daydreaming, Tamar cautioned herself irritably, and she went on to list the rare trees and flowers the garden boasted.
She continued to point out each advantageous feature of the property—the genuine solid oak beams in the reception rooms, the wonderful stained glass windows in the entrance hall and on the first and second floor landings, and so on—and by the time they had finished the inspection she had spoken herself almost hoarse.
It hadn’t helped that the owner—an aristocratic and hopelessly dotty old colonel-type, who had more money than sense—had completed the tour with them, helpfully pointing out the rising damp in the study, the crumbling brickwork in the west wing, and the failing filtering system in the pool.
She had sensed more than once that Jed Cannon was being vastly entertained. There was something about the studiously straight face and faintly strangled note to his voice that suggested smothered amusement—especially when she found herself arguing with the owner on the merits of a south-facing garden—and when they stepped out of the front door again, after the requisite sherry and dry biscuits, Tamar really didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry.
She did neither, inclining her head towards Jed as they walked across the scrunchy drive towards the Mercedes and saying, without any preamble, ‘Well, did you like it?’ her voice flat.
‘Very much.’ The silver eyes were positively wicked as he added, ‘And Gerald Biggsley-Brown proved to be a very honest and upright individual, don’t you think?’
She glanced at him sharply, but the handsome face was bland and innocent—too bland and too innocent.
‘Yes, he’s very nice,’ Tamar said primly. Why, oh, why, had she started this? She was way out of her league here. How on earth could she ever get a man like Jed Cannon to fancy her anyway? She must have been mad. But she would tell him what she thought of him; she could still do that at least.
‘Okay, set the ball rolling,’ Jed said easily.
‘What?’
Tamar stopped stock-still in the middle of the horseshoe forecourt, so that Jed had actually walked on a few paces before he realised she wasn’t with him. He turned to face her, taking in the wide dark eyes and partly open mouth with more secret amusement.
‘What did you say?’ she asked again.
‘I said, set the ball rolling—start the negotiations,’ he replied patently. ‘However you want to describe it.’
‘But ... but what about the damp, and the brickwork and...everything?’ she stuttered disbelievingly.
‘Tamar, are you trying to sell me this house or do a hatchet job?’ Jed drawled drily. ‘If you insist, I’ll sacrifice some more of my valuable time to traipse around a few properties, but the end result would be the same. I like this house. I want it at the right price of course—and I shan’t change my mind about that I’ve always prided myself on being a man who knows what he wants when he sees it, and then acquiring it. I’ve seen it.’
‘You have?’ She suddenly realised how hopelessly unprofessional she must sound, and forced a bright, positive note into her voice as she added, ‘Of course you have. This is a wonderful house. The oak beams—’
‘Were pointed out masterfully, along with the stained glass windows, the new fitted kitchen, and, of course, the south-facing garden.’
He was laughing at her, she knew it, but she was too surprised at the easy sale—and what a sale—to be angry. The commission she would make on this one deal was more than she normally earned in months.
‘Now, shall we sit