‘It’s for the Grovers’ brand-new grandson,’ she said, laughing.
‘Pity. I quite fancy the teddy—hell, I just noticed the time. Got to go, Sarah. Be punctual tomorrow.’
‘I will be, if your directions are accurate.’
‘Of course they are. You can’t miss it. Turn left past the church, follow the signs for Glebe Farm, and my place is the first turning on the right.’
‘I’ll ring if I get lost.’
‘Why not just let me come and fetch you?’
‘I’d rather come under my own steam.’
‘So you’ve got a getaway car if you need to escape?’
‘Of course not,’ she lied. ‘See you tomorrow.’
CHAPTER NINE
BY THE time she was ready the following evening Sarah was running late. Far too much time had been wasted in trying to tame her hair, also dithering about whether to wear the new stretch sequin mini-dress on its own. In the end she lost her nerve, wore it over slim white jeans and locked up the flat. She tossed a long cardigan and a rain jacket in the back of her car, propped Alex’s directions on the dashboard and set off.
The journey was more complicated than it looked on his diagram, but eventually she came to the church he’d marked and turned down a lane with a sign for Glebe Farm. She took the first turning on the right, as instructed, her eyes like saucers when she spotted Alex leaning against a gate in front of a large and very beautiful barn conversion. The sleeves of his blue chambray shirt were rolled up, his faded old jeans fitted him very exactly, and his eyes danced as he waved her through. He shut the gate and sprinted after her as she drove on to park in the forecourt between two mushroom-shaped stones in front of the building.
Alex opened her door and gave her a quick kiss as he helped her out. ‘You’re late, but welcome anyway.’
‘You never thought to mention you lived in a barn conversion?’ she demanded hotly.
‘Of course I did, but I decided to spring it on you as a surprise instead.’
‘Is this the only one on the farm?’
‘The only conversion, anyway. Matt Hargreaves uses the other barns for their original purpose, and sold me this one years ago. His farm is half a mile down the road, so I buy milk and eggs from him, but otherwise I don’t get in his way much.’
Sarah leaned against the car, taking in every detail of his home’s beautifully maintained exterior. Glass panels had replaced the wood in the original barn doors, and a flight of worn stone steps led up alongside the entrance porch to a window set in the former entrance to the old hayloft.
‘It’s just wonderful, Alex,’ she said with a sigh, and smiled at him. ‘Come on, then. Give me the guided tour.’
He opened the porch door into a small entrance hall with a small shower room to one side of it, and mouth-watering dinner smells coming from a kitchen on the other. ‘The rest is through here.’ He ushered her into a vast, open-plan space with a vaulted ceiling and exposed beams. Light poured through the tall glass doors and from the windows at the rear, highlighting the treads of a spiral stair which wound up in shallow, leisurely curves to a galleried landing. To one side of the staircase on the ground floor a handsome stone fireplace had been built into the end wall. In front of it a Persian rug in glowing colours warmed the stone floor between a pair of sofas with end-tables and lamps, and a carved cupboard against the outer wall. In the other half of the room the wall backed a long credenza table, and solid oak chairs were grouped round a long refectory table already laid for dinner, with an open bottle of wine and a board with a rustic looking loaf and a hunk of cheese already in place.
The first, overwhelming impression was of space and light. Sarah gazed up in rapture at the vaulted ceiling. ‘I’m so impressed by the way you’ve done the beams, Alex.’
‘They were too dark as they were, so I had them stripped and treated, then lime-washed to get this bleached effect. The idea was to look almost like a ghost of the original structure. Would you like to see the bedrooms?’ added Alex, watching her face.
Sarah nodded eagerly, and started up the stairs. Along with his enjoyment of her trim back view, Alex felt a deep sense of satisfaction as he followed her. Unless he was much mistaken, Sarah Carver lusted after his house. Just as he’d hoped. The next step was to get her to lust after its owner. No, he thought, frowning. Not lust. That was too raw and basic for the feelings he wanted to arouse in her. Not that thinking of arousal of any kind was a good idea right now, when he was about to show her his bedroom.
Sarah stood at the gallery rail, admiration in her eyes as she gazed down at the floor below. ‘Did you do all this yourself?’
‘I was involved at every stage, certainly,’ he said, leaning beside her. ‘The interior design is mine, the staircase and so on. And the extra windows. Like you, I’m hooked on light and space.’
Sarah shook her head. ‘My room can hardly compare with this.’
‘But you worked on it yourself, so it’s your baby as much as this place is mine. I used to slog away here every weekend I could, and the occasional evening when the job allowed. Some weekends Kate Hargreaves took pity on me, and sent a hot meal over from the farm.’ Alex shrugged. ‘My father left to oversee the manufacturing side from the London office soon after I acquired this place, so I didn’t have too much time to spare for building work.’
‘Did you have a pleasant evening, by the way?’
‘Relatively, yes.’ Alex took her hand. ‘Take a look at the bedrooms, then I’ll feed you.’
To offset the dark wood of his plain, masculine bedroom furniture, the bedcovers in all the rooms were white. The master bedroom was large, as Sarah had expected, but the two guest rooms were anything but small, and all three had their own bathrooms, fitted to a standard her practised eye could now price very accurately.
‘My father thinks I went overboard with the white look,’ said Alex. ‘Too stark and monastic for his taste. His place in London leans to opulence and colour.’
‘I think yours is exactly right,’ said Sarah, and smiled at him. ‘Will you object if I take a leaf out of your book and do something similar at Westhope?’
‘I’ll consider myself flattered.’ He went out on to the landing, beckoning her to follow. ‘Come on, let’s eat. I’ll just throw some pasta in a pot and dinner will be ready.’
Sarah smiled as she followed him down the elegant curving stair. In the past the only meal a man had ever made for her had been pasta with sauce from a jar. Apparently the vice-chairman of the Merrick Group was no more inventive in his smart kitchen than the boyfriends who had worried her father so much at one time.
Alex pulled out a chair at the dining table. ‘Sit down, madam, and I shall bring in the food in exactly five minutes.’
‘What are we having?’
‘Nothing fancy.’ Alex lit two candles in heavy glass holders and went off to the kitchen. When he came back with two steaming bowls, Sarah received hers with a mental apology to the chef.
‘Gnocchi di patate pomodoro e rucola,’ he announced grandly. ‘Potato dumplings with tomato sauce and rocket.’ He poured the wine and sat down, smiling at her as he raised his glass. ‘Your health, Sarah.’
‘Yours too,’ she said, toasting him. She eyed her meal with respect. ‘This looks—and smells—wonderful.’ She drank some wine, grated cheese over the gnocchi, and then put the first fluffy, melting forkful in her mouth. ‘Mmm,’ she said indistinctly, as the flavour of the sauce hit her tastebuds. ‘It tastes wonderful, too.’
‘Good. I enjoy seeing a woman eat.’
‘It’s