Chapter 8

‘All I can say is, she must be outstanding in bed.’

It was the kind of statement you couldn’t help overhearing even when you really weren’t trying to eavesdrop. Nick, currently up a stepladder, had only come over to Hay Hall to change a broken light bulb in the vast high-ceilinged kitchen because the usual handyman was laid up after slipping off the roof of his van on New Year’s Eve. He’d been dancing the macarena at the time.

It was now nine thirty in the morning on the second of January and the current occupants of the hall, a party of old school friends celebrating their collective year of turning fifty, were gathered around the table in white dressing gowns drinking coffee, eating hot buttered croissants and watching a morning magazine-style show on the giant TV up on the wall.

‘Some of us have hidden talents.’ Another of the women cackled with laughter. ‘The quiet ones are always the worst.’

A brunette with her hair in giant rollers said, ‘That rules you out then, Bea.’

‘Yeah, but look at him, he’s a big hairy gangster and she looks like she wouldn’t say boo to a goose. And now she’s gone off with Tommy Kessler, who’s risking everything so they can be together. She must have something going for her.’

The stepladder wobbled beneath Nick as he heard the name.

‘Can’t blame her, though. That Tommy’s a naughty boy but he’s definitely got something about him. I’d give him a go.’ The woman saw Nick looking at them and erupted in another noisy cackle of laughter. ‘Ooh, sorry. Have we shocked you? Cover your ears, young man!’

It was the first time he’d met this group, who’d arrived last night; as far as they were concerned, he was the handyman they’d summoned to fix the broken light. Nick said, ‘Don’t mind me, ladies. What’s the story with Tommy Kessler?’

They indicated the TV, where people on a sofa were evidently discussing the situation, whilst photos of two men dominated the screen behind them. ‘Tommy’s skedaddled with Jed Diamond’s girlfriend. And on New Year’s Eve Tommy’s house was mysteriously set alight. He’s closed down his clubs and no one knows where he and the girl have disappeared to.’

‘Could be dead,’ said one of the other women with relish. Then she saw the expression on Nick’s face. ‘Oh, sorry, are they friends of yours? Of course they aren’t dead.’

‘I don’t know them.’ He shook his head. ‘I just know someone who works for him.’

‘Worked. Past tense,’ a blonde in leopard-print pyjamas pointed out. ‘Now he’s shut down his businesses, everyone’s out of a job.’

The first woman, eyeing Nick with interest, said, ‘Hello, nice to meet you. You’re doing a good job up there. Are you single?’

Nick finished screwing the light bulb into the socket fifteen feet above ground level and pretended not to have heard her question above the sound of the women’s laughter. ‘There, all done. Any other problems, just call the number in the information booklet. I’ll leave you ladies to it.’ He folded up the stepladder and carried it out through the French doors. ‘Have a great day.’

The rest of the morning was taken up with back-to-back meetings. At lunchtime, having googled the names and brought himself up to date with the situation in Manchester, Nick heated up a bowl of pasta puttanesca in his cottage and sent Nella a text.

Have just seen what happened on New Year’s Eve. Scary stuff. Hope you’re OK.

Before he’d had time to twirl a second forkful of spaghetti, his phone dinged with a reply.

Thanks. Hasn’t been the easiest couple of days. I’m OK, apart from finding myself out of a job. Anyway, happy New Year!

He put down his fork. He and Nella had exchanged a couple of brief messages and he’d been glad to hear that the bruise on her temple had disappeared, but that was as far as it had gone. He hadn’t mentioned his conversation with Esme in the Angel and the discovery of her difficult early years. But he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her during the course of the last three weeks.

Ding . Another text arrived. He picked up his phone and read the message on the screen.

Don’t suppose you gave any more thought to setting up a concierge service for your clients? (Asking for a friend who’d fit the bill . . .)

Nick exhaled; if only he didn’t have a conscience. He typed back:

Damn, if only I’d known you’d be interested. I advertised the position before Christmas and offered it to a woman who’s on her way down from London as we speak. She starts work tomorrow. So sorry, terrible timing.

He pressed send, wishing he was the kind of person who wouldn’t think twice about calling Lucy-from-London and breezily informing her there’d been a change of plan, that she no longer had a job because he was giving it to someone else, so if she could just turn her car around and head back to where she’d come from, that’d be great.

But he couldn’t do that, no matter how much he wanted to. It would be a terrible thing to do to anyone. And apart from anything else, imagine the bad publicity if she were to spread the word on social media that the director of Starbourne Prestige Properties was a lying, double-crossing dick.

Ding went his phone.

No worries at all, just thought I’d ask. Glad you’re going ahead with the plan and good luck with it. I’ve looked at your website (obviously!) and your properties are stunning. Xx

Ten seconds later there was another ding.

Sorry about the xx. Force of habit.

Nick smiled.

Nick: Not a problem. I hope everything turns out OK for you.

Nella: It will. Everything always turns out OK in the end.

Just over an hour later, Lucy-from-London called to announce that she was two minutes away from Starbourne. Nick, who’d been working on his laptop in the living room of his cottage on the high street, headed outside and waited for her on the pavement.

Lucy pulled up in her pale blue Fiat, climbed out and shook his hand.

‘You have no idea what a joy it is to just be able to park without all the hassle of finding a space and paying a fortune for it,’ she exclaimed. ‘I think I’m going to like it here.’

‘I hope so.’ He’d interviewed her over Zoom and been impressed by her air of efficiency. Her light brown hair was cut into a neat shoulder-length bob, her eyes were grey beneath strong brows, and she was wearing a camel-coloured trouser suit over a crisp cream shirt and highly polished low-heeled brown shoes. He’d hired her because, having worked in hospitality for the last decade, she was eminently qualified for the job.

‘This place is gorgeous.’ Lucy gave an appreciative nod as she gazed around, taking in the high street. ‘What cute little cottages! Which one’s mine?’

Nick indicated the tiny terraced property adjoining his own. It had been occupied by Albert, one of the old employees of the Starbourne estate, until his death a couple of months before Christmas, and had now been cleaned up and repainted. ‘This is yours. And I’m just there, next door.’

‘Perfect.’ She had to raise her voice to be heard above the noise of an approaching helicopter. ‘And do you own both properties? Do I pay the rent to you?’

‘No. They’re owned by the Peverell family.’ He pointed skywards as the helicopter’s blades clattered overhead, then took a key from his jeans pocket. ‘Let’s get you settled in. Can I give you a hand carrying anything inside?’

As she opened the boot of the Fiat and Nick hauled out the two matching suitcases, he imagined how he’d be feeling now if it were Nella arriving to move in and start work. Of course it would be more exciting and he’d be looking forward to whatever might happen in the days and weeks ahead. Then again, it probably made more sense to have hired Lucy, who would be excellent at her job and to whom he absolutely wasn’t attracted. Emotional entanglements between work colleagues might be fun to begin with, but the likelihood of messy endings, uncomfortable working relationships and an ocean of awkwardness when it all went wrong was the opposite of fun and always best avoided. In the past he’d been there and done that, briefly dating a colleague who’d refused to accept that their fling was over and tearfully begged him to change his mind in front of everyone else at work. It was a lesson he’d very much learned the hard way.

The moment she stepped over the threshold, Lucy clasped her hands and exclaimed, ‘I love it. I’m going to be happy here, I just know it.’

Nick felt himself relax; he’d definitely made the right decision. When he regarded his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he didn’t see a handsome face; it was just his face, the one he’d had his whole life. But he was aware that other people regarded him as good-looking and quite often reacted accordingly. He was accustomed to being smiled at and flirted with by women – and sometimes men – in a way that others might not experience. He could tell when they were attracted to him, interested in getting to know him better. Body language – a certain type of smile, a playful glint in the eye, maybe a touch on the arm – made it easy to spot the signs.

And it was noticeable that Lucy wasn’t displaying any of them, which was another point in her favour.

He showed her through to the tiny kitchen. ‘Now, I’ve left milk, bread and a few other items in the fridge, and there’s a small supermarket at the other end of the village, but if you’d like, I could book us a table for dinner at the Angel this evening, or there’s the Bengal Raj if you prefer.’

‘Thanks. Kind of you to offer, but I’d rather get settled in here and make myself something to eat later. I’ve brought my air fryer with me.’ Neatly unzipping the case nearest to her, Lucy lifted it out to show him. ‘See? I couldn’t be without it. So no need to worry about me. I’ll be fine.’

‘If you’re sure,’ said Nick.

‘Absolutely. And I’ll be ready to start work at eight on the dot tomorrow morning.’ She beamed at him. ‘Bright and early. Can’t wait!’

Nick said, ‘I think we’re lucky to have you.’ She was going to be the perfect concierge.

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