caretaker’s cottage.”
Harriet glanced about, taking in the plain surroundings. The cottage appeared to consist of one large room with a bathroom and a main bedroom leading off. A spiral staircase wound upstairs, probably to a couple more attic bedrooms. The place was neat and freshly painted, but rather spartan. A couch, a television, a wooden kitchen table and a rustic dresser were scattered around the room. One corner was taken up by a small, functional kitchen. Another corner held a desk with a computer and files. There was a plain carpet, a few paintings and books, but no cushions or plants or framed photographs. It looked like a place where Adam slept, ate and did his paperwork, but little else. It didn’t look like a home at all.
“What do you think?” Adam’s voice cut in on her musings. “A big come-down from the mansion on the hill, isn’t it?”
She couldn’t stop the flush mounting her neck, because that was exactly what she’d been thinking. But she’d rather die than admit that.
“Not at all.” She strolled around the room. “It’s a nice place. I like the wooden floors and the big picture windows and that old stone fireplace. It just needs a little…accessorising.”
She looked around her again. With a few cushions and pots of geraniums on the windowsills and maybe a marmalade cat it would be a really cosy place. She’d be perfectly happy in this cottage. But then again, for her it was no big come-down.
He grunted, seeming a little surprised. “I don’t exactly have the time for ‘accessorising.’ I have my hands full with that.” He nodded his head in the direction of the main house, which was visible through the windows above the kitchen sink.
Harriet stepped over for a closer look. From here she could see the back of the house and the signs of decay were even more apparent. “I don’t understand. Why is it so dilapidated?”
The chill that descended over him was palpable. “It’s a long story.” He turned away from her, his shoulders rigid. “Do you have anything else to bring in?”
“Just one more box,” she replied, regretting his change of mood.
“I’ll get it.”
She frowned after him. Not exactly an auspicious start. With a sigh she pulled out her apron from one of the boxes and tied it on before she started unpacking her supplies. Focus, she told herself. Focus on the task at hand and stop dwelling on Adam living in this utilitarian cottage within view of his crumbling family home. But it was hard to do that when she was so hyper-conscious of his every movement. When he returned with the last box, she had her back turned to him, but she knew without looking where he was and sensed him studying her from across the room.
What was he thinking? What did he make of her? Was he comparing her to her sister? Or his cousin? Her skin crawled at the thought. She busied herself grabbing containers and ingredients out of the boxes and flicking on the oven.
Last night she’d agonised for hours over what to serve him for lunch. Adam might be a down-to-earth builder these days, but once upon a time he’d been accustomed to the finest food and wine, and a discerning palate didn’t disappear just because wealth did. She would have to work hard if she wanted to impress him. This made her even more anxious, so much that she could barely keep still, and she found herself hopping from one foot to the other as she went about her preparations.
She took out her chef’s knife and began chopping some hazelnuts. The sound of the blade whacking the board echoed through the room. She heard Adam shift his weight, and instantly her fingers tightened on the knife. This wouldn’t do. If she didn’t relax soon she’d slice off her thumb, and that wouldn’t help matters at all.
“Um, guess who I ran into at the shops this morning?” she said, babbling just a little. “Sister Joseph. You remember, from Brescia High? She looks just the same—the most terrifying nun I ever had to
Harriet glanced about, taking in the plain surroundings. The cottage appeared to consist of one large room with a bathroom and a main bedroom leading off. A spiral staircase wound upstairs, probably to a couple more attic bedrooms. The place was neat and freshly painted, but rather spartan. A couch, a television, a wooden kitchen table and a rustic dresser were scattered around the room. One corner was taken up by a small, functional kitchen. Another corner held a desk with a computer and files. There was a plain carpet, a few paintings and books, but no cushions or plants or framed photographs. It looked like a place where Adam slept, ate and did his paperwork, but little else. It didn’t look like a home at all.
“What do you think?” Adam’s voice cut in on her musings. “A big come-down from the mansion on the hill, isn’t it?”
She couldn’t stop the flush mounting her neck, because that was exactly what she’d been thinking. But she’d rather die than admit that.
“Not at all.” She strolled around the room. “It’s a nice place. I like the wooden floors and the big picture windows and that old stone fireplace. It just needs a little…accessorising.”
She looked around her again. With a few cushions and pots of geraniums on the windowsills and maybe a marmalade cat it would be a really cosy place. She’d be perfectly happy in this cottage. But then again, for her it was no big come-down.
He grunted, seeming a little surprised. “I don’t exactly have the time for ‘accessorising.’ I have my hands full with that.” He nodded his head in the direction of the main house, which was visible through the windows above the kitchen sink.
Harriet stepped over for a closer look. From here she could see the back of the house and the signs of decay were even more apparent. “I don’t understand. Why is it so dilapidated?”
The chill that descended over him was palpable. “It’s a long story.” He turned away from her, his shoulders rigid. “Do you have anything else to bring in?”
“Just one more box,” she replied, regretting his change of mood.
“I’ll get it.”
She frowned after him. Not exactly an auspicious start. With a sigh she pulled out her apron from one of the boxes and tied it on before she started unpacking her supplies. Focus, she told herself. Focus on the task at hand and stop dwelling on Adam living in this utilitarian cottage within view of his crumbling family home. But it was hard to do that when she was so hyper-conscious of his every movement. When he returned with the last box, she had her back turned to him, but she knew without looking where he was and sensed him studying her from across the room.
What was he thinking? What did he make of her? Was he comparing her to her sister? Or his cousin? Her skin crawled at the thought. She busied herself grabbing containers and ingredients out of the boxes and flicking on the oven.
Last night she’d agonised for hours over what to serve him for lunch. Adam might be a down-to-earth builder these days, but once upon a time he’d been accustomed to the finest food and wine, and a discerning palate didn’t disappear just because wealth did. She would have to work hard if she wanted to impress him. This made her even more anxious, so much that she could barely keep still, and she found herself hopping from one foot to the other as she went about her preparations.
She took out her chef’s knife and began chopping some hazelnuts. The sound of the blade whacking the board echoed through the room. She heard Adam shift his weight, and instantly her fingers tightened on the knife. This wouldn’t do. If she didn’t relax soon she’d slice off her thumb, and that wouldn’t help matters at all.
“Um, guess who I ran into at the shops this morning?” she said, babbling just a little. “Sister Joseph. You remember, from Brescia High? She looks just the same—the most terrifying nun I ever had to
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