‘I’m interested.’
Folding her arms across her sky-blue sweater, Liadan smiled. Brave it out, she told herself. Don’t let him frighten you off with those foreboding dark glances of his.
‘You don’t like my books. There are no happy endings, remember? Only the inevitable conclusion that life is dark and ultimately dangerous and we’d better arm ourselves in any way we can to deal with it.’
‘That’s a very sad and pessimistic outlook, if you don’t mind my saying.’
Adrian shrugged. ‘You can say what you like. It’s the truth.’
‘No, it isn’t.’ Her passionate conviction that he was so wrong prevented Liadan from being more cautious. Feeling heat rush into her face, she forced herself to meet his suddenly hard, unflinching glance.
‘Life is what you make it. The old saying is true. If you believe everything is dark and dangerous and you should be prepared to meet the worst, then that’s what you’ll probably pull towards you. But if you nurture optimism and expect the best—then that’s what you’ll attract. I know you must have been hurt in the past and you’ve seen some things in your career that no one should ever have to witness, but you shouldn’t let it colour your future. Whatever happened.’
Pain cramped his throat as old, hurtful memories suddenly deluged him—in particular Nicole lying on that hard sun-baked sidewalk, her beautiful hair caked in blood…Adrian got up from his chair and paced angrily to the window. Just who the hell did this woman think she was, walking in here and telling him he shouldn’t let his past colour his future? She hadn’t even lived yet!
‘Do me a favour, will you? Keep your cosy little homilies about life to yourself, Liadan. I hired you to be my housekeeper—not my life coach. If I feel the need to converse with someone like that I’ll go and see a professional. Understood?’
Staring at his coldly handsome face as he glared back at her, Liadan tried bravely to field the hurt and embarrassment that washed over her. She’d only been trying to help—not fix his life. Did he really think she had the audacity to do that? She knew her own limitations. Her own life was hardly perfect. Yet, no matter what happened, she knew what she’d said was true. Life was what you made it…
‘I’m sorry you feel that way. I meant no offence, I was only trying to help.’
‘The best way you can help me is to remember what I hired you for. Do that and we’ll get along just fine.’
Having been put firmly in her place and knowing it was useless to say another word, Liadan nodded briefly, then turned and walked away. Just as her hand pushed at one of the double doors to open it she remembered something she’d been going to ask earlier but had forgotten. In the light of what had just transpired, the question seemed even more imperative.
‘I’ve got to go into the village this afternoon for some groceries. Would you mind if I took an extra half hour just to pop back to my cottage to check on things?’
‘No. That’s fine.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Liadan?’
‘What?’ Her back stiffening, she steeled herself against another admonition.
‘If you come across any reporters lurking about or trying to hassle you in any way, come straight back here, do you understand? Forget the groceries until tomorrow.’
‘I can deal with—’
‘No. You can’t. You have no idea what these people can be like. Just do as I say, will you?’
Emotion threatening to overwhelm her, Liadan bit her lip and nodded reluctantly. It would be a big mistake to imagine for even one second that he was concerned for her welfare. He was only trying to protect himself by suggesting she didn’t talk to reporters. Did he think she would tell them anything? Sad that there was obviously such a lack of trust, she hurried back down the corridor to the kitchen, suddenly desperate to be out in the fresh air and on her way to the village.
As soon as Liadan arrived at the cottage Jack Kempsey, her lovely elderly neighbour, came round with Izzy, the petulant long-haired Persian she had acquired from the Cats Protection League. As Liadan sank gratefully onto her overstuffed couch with its startling array of vividly bright cushions, her gaze drinking in the cosy front room that she had so missed these past few days, she cradled Izzy on her lap, her fingers stroking the silky fur with unashamed enjoyment.
‘I didn’t expect to see you so soon.’ Jack smiled. ‘Got time for a cup of tea before you go back, love?’
‘Oh, Jack, you’re a godsend! Yes, please. How has Izzy been behaving herself?’
‘You don’t need to worry about her, Liadan. She’s been spoiled rotten, she has! Comes over to me during the day to be fed and acts like the Queen of Sheba, then at night she comes back home through the cat-flap and acts like she’s guarding the place for you until you get back.’
‘That’s my girl.’ Tickling the contentedly purring feline beneath her chin, Liadan felt herself shrug off the tension of the morning. Coming home, even briefly, anchored her somehow, reminded her that if things didn’t work out up at the big house, then she still had a home to return to. No matter what happened, what kind of work she had to do, she would do it to keep this little house. It was her haven. ‘Drowsy Haunt’, it was named, and as soon as Liadan was back within its four walls all her cares and concerns seemed to melt away.
‘How are you finding it working up there with the writer fellow?’ Jack called from the kitchen.
On a scale from one to ten? Below zero…Liadan reflected silently. Then she pulled herself up short, reminding herself that it wasn’t all bad. It was a beautiful house to work in, the work was, on the whole, second nature, and Adrian Jacobs…could be worse. She let loose a wry laugh at that.
‘What did you say, love? I didn’t hear you.’ Popping his head round the door, Jack’s wrinkled brow creased in puzzlement.
‘I said it’s fine, Jack. Everything’s fine.’
‘Good. It does my heart good to see you smile again. When you were with that Michael fellow, I missed your smile.’
For the umpteenth time that afternoon Adrian glanced at his watch and for the umpteenth time was unable to suppress the sense of worry and anxiety that surged into his chest. Where was she? She’d been gone too long even if she had popped back home to her cottage. The perfectly made chicken sandwiches she’d brought him earlier lay curled up and uneaten on the plate and his coffee too had been left to grow cold and congeal in its brightly patterned cup and saucer. After the events of this morning and that scene with Liadan before she’d left to go to the village, the last thing Adrian could stomach was food. The darkly dramatic themes of his current work in progress, instead of exciting or enthusing him, just filled him with melancholy and a silent rage at the futility of his life that was growing daily. Why couldn’t he have been the one who’d been left waiting on the sidewalk when the bomb had gone off? Why had it had to be Nicole—vibrant, beautiful and only twenty-nine? She would have been his wife…the mother of his children.
Stalking restlessly from his study, Adrian headed to the kitchen and prowled there, noting the spotlessly clean worktops, meticulously swept floor and newly laundered tea towels folded neatly over the rail of the Aga—all signs that Liadan was completely professional and adept at doing her job. The job he’d hired her to do. He should feel gratified, he told himself. When he’d first seen her he’d doubted she would last a day, never mind impress him with her efficiency. And now he would do well to remember that she was only his housekeeper, not someone he could get close to, whom he might confide in—no matter how beguiling that gentle voice or how kind that beautiful face.
Tapping his fingers against the tabletop, Adrian couldn’t resist another glance down at his watch. Where the hell was she?