Unknown by Unknown Page B

herself that this was great exercise for the heart, she opened her pad and began working. The idea she had been considering for her next painting, however, refused to materialise. In place of the tree-lined landscape she had meant to portray, a man’s profile began to take form. Tearing off the first sheet, she threw it away and determinedly drew a tree, then right next to it again discovered herself redrawing the profile.
    ‘It’s no use,’ she admitted to the empty room five sheets of paper later. ‘I’m going to have to do his face.’ Assuring herself that nothing more than an artistic urge was involved in this decision, she decided to use clay as her medium.
    With the pot roast cooking slowly, she determined that she had plenty of time to run out and pick up the necessary materials. When she had an urge as strong as this, she knew it would only prolong the agony to put it off.
    Carrying one of the heavy boxes of clay into the kitchen a little less than an hour later, she found Brad pouring himself a cup of coffee.
    ‘I’ll have your dinner on the table at seven as you requested,’ she promised, nearly dropping the box of clay as she deposited it on the floor and hurriedly washing her hands before checking the roast in the oven. ‘I had to run out to the art supply store for some material.’
    ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’ He shook his head in disbelief, leaning against the counter and watching her. ‘After all that stuff we carried up this morning?’
    Whenever the opportunity arose he watched her, and she wondered if this was his way of getting back at her for following him around at the ball. If so, it was working. She found it totally unnerving to have someone continually observing her as if she was a curiosity to be studied. ‘It’s clay,’ she explained self-consciously while carefully lifting the heavy pot containing the meat and vegetables from the oven. ‘I don’t normally keep it in stock.’
    Placing the pot on top of the stove, she gathered up a place setting and went into the dining room. Brad joined her with a second.
    ‘Are you expecting company?’ she Questioned innocently.
    ‘When we’re the only two people in this house, it’s ridiculous for us to eat at two different tables,’ he replied arranging the setting at the place to his right.
    ‘Did you eat with your other housekeepers?’ she demanded, facing him squarely, determined to keep as much distance as possible between herself and this man.
    ‘To be perfectly honest, you’re the first housekeeper I’ve had.’
    Her eyes widened. ‘But you said ...’
    ‘I said the position was open,’ Brad interjected before she could finish.
    ‘But you implied that you’d had housekeepers before,’ she glared.
    ‘You obviously misinterpreted my words.’ His manner was dry. ‘I’ve always considered filling the position but have never taken the time to find a suitable person.’ Sara’s back stiffened. ‘Was it also a misunderstanding on my part when I thought you’d agreed that I was to be your housekeeper and only your housekeeper?’
    ‘Sharing a meal is not the same thing as sharing a bed,’ he pointed out, a note of exasperation in his voice implying that he found her behaviour exceedingly childish.
    ‘You’d better understand right now that I have no intention of sharing anything with you, Mr Garwood,’ she said, pronouncing each word distinctly as she fought to control her anger. ‘We have a formal business arrangement, and that’s the extent of our relationship.’
    His expression darkened momentarily, then with an angry intake of breath he picked up the place setting and returned it to the kitchen.
    ‘I’ll carry this clay up to your studio,’ he growled depositing the dishes on the counter and turning to leave. As he lifted the box a look of surprise came over his face. ‘This is heavy. It’s a wonder you didn’t fall and break your neck carrying this kind of stuff up and down those rickety stairs at