‘Well, you aren’t,’ Elizabeth said more sharply than she intended, sighing as Mary looked hurt by her attitude. ‘I’m sorry, Mary,’ she dismissed. ‘But there are several other things I would rather be doing today than having lunch with Mr Taylor.’
‘I’d give a whole year’s wages just to be able to say I spoke to him,’ Mary said longingly.
Considering that the wages paid to the household staff at the Hall were some of the highest in the area, Mary’s sacrifice wouldn’t be a small one, and all for the opportunity to talk to a man who probably didn’t deserve her hero-worship in the first place.
She gave the young girl a rueful smile. ‘Tell Cook I said you were to help serve lunch today—without sacrifice of wages,’ she added teasingly.
Mary’s face lit up as if the lights on a Christmas tree had just been switched on. ‘Really?’ she gasped disbelievingly.
‘As long as you don’t mind going off for your own lunch now so that you can be back in time,’ she nodded.
Mary’s eyes were wide brown orbs. ‘I don’t mind not having any lunch at all if I can just get to see Quinn Taylor close up,’ she said weakly.
Elizabeth smiled. ‘Run along and get your lunch now. You wouldn’t want to faint at Mr Taylor’s feet, now would you?’ she teased, suddenly sure that the enchanted girl would enjoy nothing better than fainting in Quinn Taylor’s arms. ‘On second thoughts, perhaps you would,’ she acknowledged drily. ‘But don’t, hm?’ she prompted gently.
‘No, Miss Elizabeth.’ The young girl left with a dreamy smile to her lips.
Elizabeth shook her head, gazing out of the window of the morning-room to where she could see the west lawn in the distance as the crew frantically worked to finish the staging in time for the concert at the weekend.
All that work and adoration for a man who undoubtedly had a good voice, but who was still just a man after all. Personally, she didn’t understand what all the fuss was about, although the thousands of Quinn Taylor fans who were said to be going to attend the concert obviously thought that they did.
But she wasn’t the only one who wasn’t exactly overjoyed about the invasion planned for the weekend; Giles was disgusted that her grandfather could even be thinking of allowing such a thing at the Hall. She smiled a little as she remembered that her grandfather hadn’t been too thrilled by the criticism. If Giles had serious thoughts about becoming her husband and Gerald Farnham’s grandson-in-law then he would do well to learn that her grandfather disliked criticism of any sort, was just as likely to do something he wouldn’t normally have done just because someone suggested he shouldn’t.
And she was pretty certain that Giles did have serious intentions of asking her to marry him. What her answer to him was going to be when he did ask she hadn’t yet decided. Oh, he was a nice enough man, quite good-looking with his curly blond hair and dark brown eyes that could look so soulful, but she wasn’t sure yet whether or not she was in love with him. But there was no rush to decide, they had only been going out together for a few months. She was certainly in no hurry to marry anyone.
‘Darling, isn’t it time you changed for lunch?’ her grandfather prompted softly from the doorway. ‘Our guests should be arriving in half an hour or so, and for some reason it seems to take you women at least that long to change a few clothes,’ he added drily.
Elizabeth turned to smile at her grandfather, giving up any idea of being able to deal with her mail any further today. None of it was that important anyway. ‘I thought I looked fine as I am,’ she drawled, standing up to cross the room and kiss him on one leathery cheek.
At almost seventy her grandfather still stood straight and tall at just over six feet, his hair deeply thick and iron-grey, hazel eyes twinkling down at her with affection as he held her at arm’s length to take in her appearance.
‘You look charming—as usual, my dear,’ he said lightly, about the pink floral dress. ‘But I had something a little more—formal in mind, for the mistress of the house,’ he added encouragingly.
‘I doubt a Canadian pop-singer knows the difference between a Laura Ashley and a St Laurent,’ she said drily.
Her grandfather gave her a reproving look. ‘That wasn’t worthy of you, Elizabeth,’ he told her softly.
‘No,’ she sighed heavily, putting her arm through the crook of his as they walked out into the large entrance-hall. ‘I just wish you had excused me from this luncheon as I asked you to,’ she grimaced. ‘I have no idea what we’re going to talk about. It isn’t even as if I’m a fan,’ she shrugged.
‘No doubt the man talks about himself all the time,’ her grandfather derided.
She looked up to return his smile. ‘If he does it will save me having to try and make conversation!’
‘Minx!’ he chuckled.
She ran lightly to the foot of the wide stairway. ‘I promise to try not to embarrass you.’
‘Elizabeth,’ he stopped her as she reached the gallery at the top of the stairs. ‘You could never, ever embarrass me,’ he told her gruffly.
She gave him a warm smile, blowing him a kiss before hurrying to her bedroom.
She and her grandfather were so close, and that closeness was another reason she was in no hurry to think about marriage; she was all her grandfather had now, since his son, her father, had been killed five years ago while racing his car at over a hundred miles an hour. She and her grandfather had been drawn together after the tragedy, their affection for each other something really special. A husband would surely try to intrude upon that special relationship; Giles had already shown signs of impatience at the amount of time she chose to spend at home.
After years of knowing exactly what was right to wear for each and every occasion, she was suddenly at a loss as to what one wore to have lunch with a pop-singer, disgarding one outfit after another in her wardrobe as either too formal or too casual. What could she wear to have lunch with Quinn Taylor and his manager?
It wasn’t like her to be so indecisive. Surely she wasn’t as affected by the man’s expected arrival as everyone else seemed to be? Certainly not, she instantly answered herself, she was just irritated at having to put herself out for the man!
She chose her outfit at random from the row of day clothes in the full-wall-length wardrobe and was just zipping the green skirt over her slender hips when she heard the sound of a car in the driveway; she tucked the matching pale green blouse into the narrow waistband before moving to glance out of the window. If it was Quinn Taylor he was early, but perhaps no one had bothered to explain to him that it was just as rude to arrive early as it was to arrive late.
The Rolls-Royce that had just come to a stop in front of the house was certainly impressive enough—if one were the type to be impressed by such an obvious show of wealth, which Elizabeth certainly was not.
She watched curiously from the window as instead of the chauffeur alighting from behind the wheel as she had expected, a tall dark-haired man in his late thirties, instantly recognisable as Quinn Taylor, stepped out on to the gravel driveway. Even if he hadn’t been, it was obvious that the short, slightly plump man who was getting out of the passenger side certainly wasn’t the singing star, which meant he must be the manager, Bruce Simons.
The shorter man walked around the car to join Quinn Taylor, pointing across the grounds to the west lawn where work was visibly in progress.
Elizabeth observed them curiously, noting that Bruce Simons seemed slightly ill at ease in the brown suit he wore, obviously especially for the occasion, pulling at the restriction of the collar of the tan shirt as it obviously irritated him.
Quinn Taylor turned to grin at him as he said something, wearing his navy blue suit with