‘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.
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.’