Chapter 3
Chapter three
Lucy
Alex Kincaid, Lucy thought, looked nothing like she’d expected him to. Forget balding or bushy eyebrows or a nasal drip. The man was amazingly and irritatingly sexy.
It seemed an entirely inappropriate word to attribute to a head teacher, of a primary school no less, but it popped into her head just the same. Dark brown hair cut very short. Navy eyes with thick lashes. And a body that even in a conservative suit looked toned and muscular and, well, hot.
Alex Kincaid’s good looks were an unexpected perk.
She could use a little distraction, not just from everything she’d left in Boston, but from this new life in Hartley-by-the-Sea she was trying hard to like.
It wasn’t easy. In the eighteen hours since she’d shown up at Tarn House, Juliet hadn’t warmed to her in the slightest.
Lucy hadn’t expected some kind of homecoming, of course, but she’d thought Juliet would be at least a little happy to see her.
She’d assumed her sister’s invitation meant that Juliet actually wanted her here.
And all right, yes, perhaps she’d imagined her sister running her deep bubble baths and pampering her a bit.
Was that so wrong? Her life had just been destroyed.
She could do with a tiny bit of coddling, the odd glass of wine pressed into her hands, assurances that she was here to relax, to be restored.
If anything, Juliet seemed to resent her presence.
After sleeping for three hours yesterday afternoon, Lucy had stumbled downstairs to find her dinner of beef stew left in the warming oven of the Aga, with a note on the table asking her to put her plate in the dishwasher when she was done. Juliet had gone to walk the dogs.
Lucy had eaten alone in the kitchen, feeling once more like a scolded child, the house quiet and creaky all around her.
The wind rattled the windowpanes and sent drops of water spattering on the glass, a sound that felt unfriendly.
The sun was just starting to set at eight o’clock, but Lucy could barely see its weak rays from behind the heavy gray clouds.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt quite so alone.
She’d told herself to stop being so melodramatic, and turned on a lamp by the deep window seat that overlooked the gloomy pasture. She felt a little better then, and she made sure to rinse her plate and put it in the dishwasher as Juliet had instructed.
Then she’d heard Juliet come in, her quick, purposeful step, and she’d appeared in the kitchen doorway, hands on her hips.
“Did you get enough to eat?”
“Yes, thank you—”
Juliet had nodded and turned away before Lucy could stumble through any more thank-yous. She’d turned off the lamp Lucy had just switched on and then fished a tiny piece of beef from the kitchen drain and pointedly deposited it in the bin. Lucy had bitten her lip to keep from apologizing.
An hour later Juliet had knocked on Lucy’s bedroom door and handed her a sheet of paper, the rota she’d mentioned earlier. Lucy scanned it and saw she was down to make dinner on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and clean the upstairs bathroom once a week.
“I’ll take you over to the school tomorrow morning,” she said with one of those brisk nods Lucy was starting to dislike.
“Introduce you to Alex Kincaid.” She’d glanced at Lucy’s purple tights, her mouth tightening.
“You might want to think about what you wear. First impressions are crucial, you know.”
And she’d walked away before Lucy could say anything. “Thank you” had not come to mind.
She’d lain in bed, exhausted but unable to sleep, wondering if she’d made a huge mistake in coming here.
The last thing she needed in her life was yet another sniffily disapproving person making her feel small and stupid.
And yet she couldn’t just take off, either.
She didn’t want to run away again. She wanted something to work.
So, yes, Alex Kincaid being good-looking was a very nice distraction. Except right now he appeared as stern and disapproving as Juliet.
“Umm . . . sorry?”
“Have you been listening to anything I’ve said?”
The answer to that would be no. She had been admiring the cleft in his chin, though.
Very Cary Grant. “I . . .” She scrambled to think of something he’d said, but her mind came up empty.
This was definitely not the first impression she’d wanted to make.
And first impressions were so crucial, as Juliet had said.
She had gone for her most sensible outfit too, a brown corduroy skirt and a fuzzy blue sweater and plain black tights because even though it was the last week of August, it was still freezing.
She was wearing the clothes she’d brought for the beginning of winter.
“I see,” Alex said, the two words bitten out.
Lucy supposed she should have expected this kind of attitude from Mr. Kincaid; from the moment she’d met him out in the school yard, he’d seemed hassled and impatient, one sweeping glance taking her in and seeming to dismiss her all at once.
He’d turned away to unlock the front door of the school, and then ushered her into the tiny front office with its sliding glass window and enormous photocopying machine.
Lucy had breathed in the scent of chalk and new paint and, underneath, the tang of old PE clothes and sweaty boy.
That smell had catapulted her back to elementary school, and that had not been a happy time. Junior high had been worse.
Maybe working in a school hadn’t been such a great idea.
“I was asking, Miss Bagshaw,” Alex elaborated now in the overemphasizing way used by people who clearly thought you were stupid, “if you had any administrative experience.”
She’d already told him she hadn’t during her phone interview. “No, I’m afraid not.”
“Any experience answering telephones?”
Besides her own? “No.”
He pressed his lips together, eyes narrowing. He still looked attractive, but it had become much less of a distraction. She was now depressingly aware of how little Alex Kincaid clearly thought of her. “I can make a mean cup of coffee,” she offered, and he actually scowled.
“Let me explain your responsibilities,” Alex said, his voice turning even in the way of someone who was only just holding on to his temper.
“You’ll answer any telephone calls, in addition to dealing with any visitors.
Maggie Bains, who covered reception in the summer term, will guide you through it for a few days.
You’ll also do some work for me, as you’ll be the closest thing I have to a personal assistant. ”
“That’s no problem at all,” she told him brightly. The truth was, she had no idea what a personal assistant actually did. File? Type? She was a great barista. But Alex Kincaid hadn’t seemed too impressed by that information.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Alex answered tightly.
He stared at her for a moment, and Lucy held on to the alert, friendly expression she’d been trying to maintain with effort.
Then he sighed and glanced at his watch.
“Look, I’ve got a million things to do before school starts, and Maggie can show you around on the first day. Would that be all right?”
“Totally fine.” She took a deep breath and stood up, unfortunately at the same time as Alex, making them nearly bump noses in the tiny office. Lucy took a step and felt the photocopier jab into her back. She suppressed a wince. So did Alex.
Resolutely she stuck her hand out. “Thank you for taking me on, Mr. Kincaid. I really appreciate the opportunity.” There. That sounded professional, didn’t it?
With seeming reluctance Alex took her hand and gave it a shake. “You’re welcome,” he said grudgingly.
Two minutes later Lucy was back outside in the little school yard, a chilly wind buffeting her.
A steep lane ran down to the high street, and above the slate roofs she could see the rolling pasture and the determined twinkle of the sea.
The rain had eased off this morning, although the relentless rattling of wind through the trees had kept her up half the night.
Now the sky was a pale gray-blue, as if it couldn’t make up its mind whether to revert back to rain.
The sun wasn’t exactly shining, but at least it wasn’t a downpour.
Digging her hands into the pockets of her coat, Lucy headed down the lane and back to Tarn House.
The house was full of noise and commotion as she let herself in, squeezing past the three enormous backpacks that crowded the little entry hall.
She made her way back to the kitchen, where three young men, of a size to match their luggage, were standing around the kitchen table, chatting in loud Australian accents while Juliet poured tea from a big blue pot.
Her sister looked almost . . . animated. She was smiling, at least, which made Lucy realize Juliet had not actually smiled once since she’d arrived.
And the smile disappeared completely when she caught sight of Lucy.
“You’re back,” she said, and Lucy just kept herself from inanely agreeing. “So, how did you get on?”
“Fine, I think.” Actually, she didn’t think she’d gotten on fine at all. Alex Kincaid seemed to take her on sufferance, just as Juliet did. But she wasn’t about to say that, especially not with these three linebackers eyeing her with such blatant curiosity.
“Well, it’s not rocket science, is it?” Juliet said as she put the teapot back on the Aga. “Answering phones.”
Lucy tried to figure out if that comment had been as snippy and sarcastic as it had felt. She caught the gaze of one of the Australians, who winked at her. “No,” she agreed as she backed out of the room. “It’s not rocket science.”
She went upstairs to her bedroom, the Australians’ raucous laughter ringing in her ears. Quietly she shut the door and leaned against it, wanting to duck the tidal wave of homesickness she felt crashing over her and knowing she couldn’t.
She thought about calling Chloe, who was practical and matter-of-fact but in a kindly, cheerful way.
Unfortunately it was only seven in the morning in Boston, and Lucy didn’t think her best friend would appreciate being woken up at that hour just so Lucy could moan.
She couldn’t even send her an e-mail, because she hadn’t worked up the courage to ask Juliet for the Wi-Fi password.
She curled up on the bed, tucking her knees to her chest as she gazed out at the fragile blue sky, which was threatening to be overwhelmed once more by dark gray clouds.
She could explore Hartley-by-the Sea, but at the moment the dark sky and the narrow high street didn’t beckon to her with their dubious charms. She’d rather stay curled up on her bed and feel miserable. Sort of.
The Australians thundered up the stairs, and then it seemed as if the whole house rattled as they dumped their heavy backpacks in various rooms before heading downstairs again and then out the door with a loud slam.
The ensuing silence felt like the calm after a storm, interrupted by a light tapping on Lucy’s door.
“Yes—”
Juliet poked her head around the door, her gaze taking in the pajamas Lucy had left on the floor and yesterday’s clothes kicked in the corner.
The contents of her toiletry bag were strewn over the top of the dresser, and she’d dumped all her American change and a crumpled pack of gum in the antique washbasin.
Predictably, Juliet’s mouth tightened at the sight of all this mess and then her gaze snapped to Lucy.
“I’m going to take the dogs for a walk to the beach. Fancy coming?”
Lucy swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded. “Sure,” she said, and hopped off the bed.