‘In the wedding business, that is,’ she added, losing track of where she had begun. Helplessly, she looked around for a bin, but of course there was nothing so prosaic in Jake’s office.
It was immaculate, she noticed for the first time. Everything was squeaky clean, and the desk was clear except for a telephone and a very small, very expensive-looking computer. Ten years ago, Jake would only have been in an office like this to pinch the electronic equipment, she thought, wondering how on earth the rebel Jake, with his battered leathers and his bike, had made it to this exclusive, perfectly controlled space.
She could see Jake eyeing the tissue askance. Obviously any kind of mess offended him now, which was a shame, given that she was banking her entire future on being able to work closely with him and his fiancée for the next few months. Cassie belonged to the creative school of organising, the one that miraculously produced order out of chaos at the very last minute, although no one, least of all her, ever knew quite how it happened.
Unable to think of anything else do with it, Cassie quickly shoved the tissue back into her bag, where it would no doubt fester with all the other crumbs, chocolate wrappers, pen lids and blunt emery-boards that she never got round to clearing out. She would have to remember to be careful next time she put her hand in there.
Jake’s expression was faintly disgusted, but he offered her the plate of biscuits. Cassie eyed them longingly. She was starving, but she knew better than to take one. The next thing, there would be biscuit crumbs everywhere, and her professional image had taken enough of a battering as it was this afternoon.
‘No thank you,’ she said politely, deciding to skip the coffee as well. At this rate she would just spill it all over herself and, worse, Jake’s pristine leather sofa.
Leaning forward, Jake added milk to his own coffee without spilling so much as a drop. He stirred it briskly, tapped the spoon on the side of the cup, set it in the saucer and looked up at Cassie. The dark-blue eyes were very direct, and in spite of her determination to stay cool Cassie’s pulse gave an alarming jolt.
‘Well, shall we get down to business?’ he suggested.
‘Good idea.’ Delighted to leave the past and all its embarrassing associations behind, Cassie leapt into action.
This was it. Her whole career—well, her job, Cassie amended to herself. She didn’t have a career so much as a haphazard series of unrelated jobs. Anyway, everything depended on how she sold herself now.
Reaching for her briefcase, she unzipped it with a flourish, dug out a brochure and handed it to Jake. ‘This will give you some idea of what we do,’ she said in her best professional voice. It was odd that his fiancée wasn’t here. Joss always aimed her pitch at the bride-to-be; she would just have to make the best of it, Cassie supposed.
‘Of course, we offer a bespoke service, so we really start with what you want.’ She hesitated. ‘We usually discuss what you’d like with both members of the couple,’ she added delicately. ‘Will your fiancée be joining us?’
Jake had been flicking through the brochure, but at that he glanced up. ‘Fiancée?’
‘The bride generally has a good idea about what kind of wedding she wants,’ Cassie explained. ‘In our experience, grooms tend to be less concerned with the nitty-gritty of the organisation.’
‘I think there may be some misunderstanding,’ said Jake, frowning. ‘I’m not engaged.’
Cassie’s face fell ludicrously. ‘Not…? You’re not getting married?’ she said, hoping against hope that she had misheard.
‘No.’
Then how was she to hold on to her job? Cassie wondered wildly. ‘So you don’t need help planning a wedding?’ she asked, just to make sure, and Jake let the brochure drop onto the table with a slap of finality.
‘No.’
‘But…’ Cassie was struggling to understand how it could all have gone so wrong before she had even started. ‘Why did you get in touch?’
‘When Tina told me that you were in the wedding business I was under the impression that you managed a venue. I hadn’t appreciated that you were involved with planning the weddings themselves.’
‘Well, we deal with venues, of course,’ said Cassie, desperate to hold on to something. ‘We help couples with every aspect of the wedding and honeymoon.’ She launched into her spiel, but Jake cut her off before she could really get going.
‘I’m really looking for someone who can advise on what’s involved in converting a house into a wedding venue. I’m sorry,’ he said, making to get to his feet. ‘It looks as if I’ve been wasting your time.’
Cassie wasn’t ready to give up yet. ‘We do that too,’ she said quickly.
‘What, waste time?’
‘Set up wedding venues,’ she said, refusing to rise to the bait, and meeting his eyes so guilelessly that Jake was fairly sure that she was lying. ‘Between us, Joss and I have a lot of experience of using venues, and we know exactly what’s required. Where is the house?’ she asked quickly, before he could draw the conversation to a close.
‘I’m thinking about the Hall,’ he relented.
‘The Hall?’ Cassie repeated blankly. ‘Portrevick Hall?’
‘Exactly.’
‘But…isn’t it Rupert’s now?’
‘No,’ said Jake. ‘Sir Ian left the estate in trust and I’m the trustee.’
Cassie stared at him, her career crisis momentarily forgotten. ‘You?’ she said incredulously.
He smiled grimly at her expression. ‘Yes, me.’
‘What about Rupert?’ she asked, too surprised for tact.
‘Sir Ian’s money was left in trust for him. He hasn’t proved the steadiest of characters, as you may know.’
Cassie did know. Rupert’s picture was regularly in the gossip columns. There was a certain irony in the fact that Jake was now the wealthy, successful one while Rupert had a reputation as a hellraiser, albeit a very glamorous one. He seemed to get by largely on charm and those dazzling good looks.
She forced her attention back to Jake, who was still talking. ‘Sir Ian was concerned that, if he left him the money outright, Rupert would just squander it the way he has already squandered his inheritance from his parents.’
‘It just seems unfair,’ she said tentatively. ‘Rupert is Sir Ian’s nephew, after all. I’m sure he expected to inherit Portrevick Hall.’
‘I’m sure he did too,’ said Jake in a dry voice. ‘Rupert’s been borrowing heavily on exactly that expectation for the last few years now. That’s why Sir Ian put the estate into a trust. He was afraid Rupert would simply sell it off to the highest bidder otherwise.’
‘But why make you the trustee?’ said Cassie without thinking.
‘It’s not a position I angled for, I can assure you,’ Jake said with a certain astringency. ‘But I owe Sir Ian a lot, so I had to agree when he asked me. I assumed there would be plenty of time for him to change his mind, and he probably did the same. He was only in his sixties, and he’d had no history of heart problems. If only he’d lived longer…’
Restlessly, Jake pushed away his coffee cup and got to his feet. There was no point in ‘if only’s. ‘Anyway, the fact remains that I’m stuck with responsibility for the house now. I promised Sir Ian that I would make sure the estate remained intact. He couldn’t bear the thought of the Hall being broken up into flats, or holiday houses built in the grounds.
‘Obviously, I need to fulfil his wishes, but I can’t leave a house like that standing empty. It needs to be used and maintained, and somehow