‘Of course not. It’s only practical to keep on civil terms.’ She gave him a direct look. ‘If only for Tim’s sake.’
‘Point taken. By the way,’ he added, ‘Tim’s been throwing out hints about a wedding.’
‘It’s far too soon to talk about that.’
James shrugged. ‘He’ll tell me soon enough when you name the day. He couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. He’ll be pleased that we had lunch together,’ he added.
‘I’m sure he will.’ She smiled politely. ‘Thank you. It was delicious.’
‘My pleasure. I take a walk round the grounds every morning when I’m here, but I’ve never been lucky enough to meet a fair maiden in need of rescue before.’
‘At one time I could hop across those stones with no trouble at all.’ She pulled a face. ‘My sense of balance was better when I was thirteen.’
He smiled ruefully. ‘I apologise for trying to turn Tim off you all those years ago, Harriet. I just wanted to give him some back-up with the village lads when you weren’t around. Without you he was always like a lost soul.’ The familiar tawny eyes, so like and yet so unlike Tim’s, held hers. ‘Am I forgiven?’
‘Of course,’ she said lightly. ‘Goodbye.’
Harriet chose the more formal route home via the main gates in preference to getting her feet wet again, called in at the village stores to buy another newspaper, and walked back to End House deep in thought. The unexpected picnic had by no means been an ordeal. For most of the time the atmosphere over lunch had been relatively amicable. And Tim would be delighted that she’d thawed even a little towards his brother. Not that she was likely to see more of James while she was here. She knew from Tim that to keep his staff on their toes James made brief unheralded visits to all his properties and at Edenhurst the stable block had been converted into private quarters for the Devereux brothers. But James was the only one to use them. Tim had taken to metropolitan life like a duck to water and kept well away from Edenhurst now it was a hotel.
The two brothers, thought Harriet, could hardly be less alike. Tim was slight and fair, with boyish good looks and a natural charm that made women yearn to mother him. Her lips curved in a cynical smile. Of all the emotions James Devereux stirred up in the opposite sex, maternal leanings probably never made the list.
CHAPTER TWO
HARRIET found a note pushed through the door when she got back to End House.
‘Harriet, if you’re here for the week will you want me on Monday as usual? Regards, Stacy.’
Harriet was more than capable of looking after one small house for a week, especially on her own, without the mayhem Dido created in their London flat. But because Stacy Dyer was a single parent who needed the money Harriet rang to ask her to come in as usual.
After spending the rest of the day in the sunshine in the back garden Harriet had an early night, and next morning, in contrast to the hectic rush of London routine, she read in bed for a while before getting up to enjoy a leisurely bath. But as she lingered over breakfast later she felt a touch of panic. What was she going to do for the rest of the day, let alone the rest of the week? After all her fine talk about living here it was a bit of a blow to find she’d had enough of it already. Living alone here on a permanent basis was very different from odd weekends away from London.
Harriet faced the truth as she washed her breakfast dishes. Her knee-jerk reaction to James’ offer had been ill-advised. She might never get another as generous. And, painful though it was to part with End House, she needed the money as security now she was alone in the world. She would stay until the weekend to save face, and then sell End House to James Devereux.
Harriet found an old cagoule in the closet, put money in the pocket and went off with an umbrella to the village stores to buy a Sunday paper. By the time she got back the sun was out, and she could hear Livvie’s voice reminding her that a garden needed weeding whether she was selling the house or not. Armed with fork and trowel, and a large waste bag for the weeds, Harriet prepared to do battle. End House gave directly onto the street in front, but owned a sizeable garden at the back, with apple trees and flowering shrubs. The laurel hedges were still reasonably neat, courtesy of the man who’d always helped her grandmother, but now Harriet could no longer afford to keep him the lawn needed mowing, and the herbaceous borders were fast getting out of hand.
Harriet got to work, but after only half an hour or so she was sweating and grubby, her neck ached, and only a discouragingly small portion of border was weed-free. She went indoors, gulped down a glass of water, and then set to it once more, determined to clear at least as much ground again before she took another breather. One thing was certain, she found, panting as she tugged and pulled, she’d hit on a sure way to kill time. Gardening looked a lot easier on television. She got to her feet at last to stretch her aching back, and groaned silently in frustration when she saw James Devereux strolling along the side path towards her.
‘Hello, Harriet.’
‘Hi. You’re still here, then.’ Oh, well done, Harriet. Top marks.
‘Interviews this week,’ he said briefly. ‘Am I interrupting?’
‘No, I’ve just finished. Did you want something?’
He looked at her levelly. ‘I just called in to say hello.’
Or to put pressure on her about the sale, more likely. Reminding herself that this was a good thing now she’d made her decision she smiled brightly. ‘Come inside. I’ll just dispose of this stuff first.’ Harriet put her gardening tools away and led her visitor into the kitchen. ‘Would you like a drink, or some tea?’
‘Tea would be good.’
Harriet washed her hands and filled the kettle, wishing that her shorts were longer and less encrusted with mud and sweat. ‘Do sit down,’ she told him as she hunted out teapot and cups.
James took one of the rush-seated chairs at the table, watching her objectively as she laid a tray and put tea bags in the pot. ‘You were the same height at thirteen. I remember those long legs of yours.’
She glanced up in astonishment as she filled the teapot and splashed boiling water on her wrist in the process.
James leapt from his chair at her anguished gasp. ‘Did you scald yourself?’ he demanded, seizing her hand.
‘Not much,’ she said faintly. ‘It’s just a drop or two.’
James turned the cold tap on in the sink and held her wrist under the water. ‘You’re trembling,’ he said gently, and put his arm round her. ‘Shock, probably.’
If so he was making it a whole lot worse. She could feel the heat of his body through the thin shirt, a faint aura of citrus and spice mingled with the scent of warm male skin—and he’s Tim’s brother, she reminded herself in horror, limp with relief when James released her and turned off the tap.
‘That’s better. Sit down, Harriet.’ He put the lid on the pot, poured tea, passed a cup to her, and sat down at the table. ‘Why didn’t Tim come down with you for the weekend before going off to Paris?’
‘I needed time on my own to make my mind up about the house,’ she told him gruffly, utterly floored by the discovery that James Devereux was a man she was attracted to. At least, her body was. Her brain flatly refused to believe it.
James eyed her downcast face thoughtfully. ‘If you change your mind and sell the house to me, Harriet, you could buy a flat of your own. Tim tells me you’re tired of sharing with your friend.’
Tim, she thought irritably, should keep his big mouth shut. ‘It’s a tempting prospect,’ she agreed.
James leaned forward. ‘But frankly it astonishes me that you and Tim haven’t set up house together long before this. Are you waiting