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‘I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you go and set it up and we’ll have one last game of snakes and ladders?’
Hattie didn’t whoop or jump up and down, but her smile widened as far as it would go. ‘OK.’
As they sat playing for the next twenty minutes Josie stopped herself from shouting ‘yippee!’ every time she went up a ladder and blowing a raspberry every time she landed on a snake head, and something very strange happened.
Normally, Hattie would frown with concentration and get very upset if she lost, but this time she just seemed to relish the quiet. Every now and then her daughter would look at her and smile and Josie’s heart would tumble in love with her strange little changeling of a daughter all over again.
Later, after Hattie had got into bed, Josie read her a story and tucked her in. Just as she finished reading Cinderella Hattie let out a cry.
‘What is it, sweetheart?’
Her eyes filled up with tears. ‘I’ve lost Poppy!’
She smoothed the hair away from Hattie’s forehead and placed a kiss in the centre of her brow. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll find her. She’s got to be here somewhere.’
Hattie never went far without her favourite doll. Thankfully, it was never too hard to find Poppy. She wore neon-pink fairy clothes and had brightly striped legs. The little fairy’s outrageous attire had saved her from being lost on more than one occasion.
Josie checked under the duvet and down the side of the bed.
‘Why don’t you say your prayers while I go and look downstairs?’ she told Hattie. ‘I’m sure I saw her sitting near the table when you played snakes and ladders with Will.’
Hattie nodded, her bottom lip quivering.
Josie clumped down the stairs, landing on both feet as she jumped off the second-to-last step. It didn’t take long to locate Poppy, who was lodged between the side of the dining table and the wall. She took the stairs more slowly going back up, deciding to wait until Hattie had finished her prayers before she delivered the good news.
She stood on the landing, smiling gently as she listened to Hattie ask blessings for each and every member of her class at school.
‘God bless Granny and Grandpa,’ Hattie continued in a high-pitched whisper. ‘God bless my new friend Will. God bless Mummy. God bless…’
Josie held her breath.
‘God bless my daddy. I know I’m not supposed to ask for things for myself, God, but could you remind him to come and see me soon? I was really little—only four and a quarter—when he came last time and he promised he’d take me to the zoo.’
Josie ran to the bathroom and furiously dabbed her eyes with a couple of sheets of toilet paper she ripped from the roll. Then she tried to blow her nose without making any noise.
She didn’t want to do anything to destroy Hattie’s innocent trust in the fact that her father would make good on his promise. The truth was, the last time she’d heard any news about Miles he’d been driving racing cars in Monte Carlo and having as wild a time as they’d had together when they’d been eighteen. She hoped, for her daughter’s sake, that one day he’d grow up and realise what he was missing.
But until then, perhaps it was better that his visits were infrequent. He certainly wouldn’t be a positive influence in Hattie’s life. At the moment, Hattie saw him with the rose-coloured vision of childhood. And in some strange way, that helped. For now, in his absence, he was the fantasy father—funny, charming, devoted. If Miles really became a permanent fixture in Hattie’s life, she was going to be awfully disappointed.
Josie held Poppy up so they were staring each other in the eye. ‘We’ll just have to fill in the gaps as best we can,’ she whispered. Poppy didn’t say much in reply, but Josie knew she’d hold up her end of the bargain.
She crept back to Hattie’s bedroom and poked Poppy’s head round the door. Hattie squealed and when Josie entered the room she found her bouncing up and down on the bed on her knees. She delivered Poppy safe into her daughter’s arms.
‘She was just playing hide-and-seek. I found her in the living room. Now, no more bouncing. Time to lie down.’
Hattie slid under the covers. Josie tucked the duvet under her chin and kissed her cheek. And, despite the urge to do exactly the opposite, she left her hair unruffled.
Piles of paper were everywhere. A stuffed pheasant sitting on a shelf kept a beady eye on him as he navigated the clutter in Harry Radcliffe’s study.
Will had been kidding himself thinking he could carry on with his business and be a part-time lord. Managing this project—no, managing his home—was going to be a full-time job and he needed office space.
The walls were lined with bookshelves and every available gap was filled with boxes, papers and mementoes from Harry’s travels. He didn’t know where to start.
On a certain level, he wanted to find out more about the man who had inhabited this study before him. Both his father and his grandfather had died when he was quite young and there had been no one to supply answers to the hundred-and-one questions about his family when teenage curiosity had struck.
Funnily enough, he’d never thought of himself as a Radcliffe. He’d been twenty-five before he’d discovered his grandfather had changed his name to Roberts, using one of his profusion of middle names as his surname.
Grandpa had always been very tight-lipped on the matter of family. It was his grandmother who had finally told him the whole sorry tale. Her husband’s family had cut him off and pretended he’d never existed. And the only crime he’d committed was to fall in love with the wrong woman. The injustice of it still made Will smart.
Not that his grandfather had ever expressed regret about marrying his grandmother, but it had to have hurt. His family had treated him like an outcast.
Will had been named after his grandfather and he’d been proud of the fact. Grandpa had been the one strong male influence in his life after his father’s early death, but he’d been so much more than a substitute parent. He’d been a friend, teacher and mentor.
William Radcliffe had not deserved to die feeling the shame that he’d forever marked his family as rejects and losers. And now Will had the chance to reverse the Roberts family fortunes, to regain the reputation his grandfather had been sure was past resurrection.
The Radcliffe family had allowed Elmhurst Hall to crumble and it would give him great satisfaction to restore it to its former glory, to turn it around and bring in an income to keep it safe for future generations—his children, not theirs. Then they’d see who the failures were.
Of course, he had to find the right woman to have them with. Someone demure but not dull, engaging but not outrageous. Someone who was ready to settle down and have a quiet country life. When he thought about it like that, it seemed an awfully tall order. Where was he going to find such a woman? And even if he did, would he fall in love with her?
No matter. If such a paragon of virtue really existed, he was bound to fall at her feet and worship.
Two hours later, he’d managed to clear most of the desk. It was hard to work out exactly how to categorise the things he’d found. Harry’s personal and financial affairs were inextricably combined with the estate business.
It seemed that Harry hadn’t thought of running the estate as a separate entity. That would have to change. Maybe he should look into setting up a charitable trust? But first things first. What Elmhurst needed was an administrator, someone to take care of the organisation, the people.
He picked up a photograph in a frame that was sitting on the desk. Until fifteen minutes ago, it had been hidden behind a stack of maps and magazines.
It was a black-and-white and taken, he guessed, some time in the Fifties. A large family group stood on the top lawn overlooking the sunken rose garden, squinting in the sunlight of a summer’s day. The man in the centre was Harry. He recognised him from some of the other photographs dotted around the hall. The rest of the group must have been made up of Harry’s brother—Will’s other great-uncle—and his children. Relations he’d never known.
Since the solicitor had tracked him down he’d had no contact from any of these people. It was as if they didn’t want to acknowledge his existence. He put the picture frame back down on the desk. Some of those children would only be in their fifties now. They couldn’t all be dead. So much for blood being thicker than water.
Hattie’s angelic face appeared at the counter, her chin lifted to see over the top of it. ‘Mummy, can I have another cake?’
Josie wiped her hands on her apron and looked at her daughter. ‘One is enough, sweetie. I’ll be finished in forty-five minutes and then we’ll be going home for tea.’
‘Please?’ Hattie clasped her hands in front of her, looking adorably hopeful.
‘Sorry. Why don’t you go and sit back down with your colouring book?’
Hattie dropped her hands and her shoulders hunched. ‘These tables are wobbly. I keep going wrong.’
Josie put her hands on her hips and looked round the makeshift tea and coffee area they had set up in the corner of the gift shop while the renovations were being completed in the tearoom. It really wasn’t ideal. She’d put tablecloths over the assorted garden furniture they’d cobbled together, but it was mismatched and left a lot to be desired.
‘Look! Those people over there have finished with the corner table. That one doesn’t wobble at all. Why don’t I help you move all your crayons and books over?’
A crayon rolled under the table in the moving operation and Josie ducked underneath to rescue it. Just as her fingers closed over it the old-fashioned bell on the door jangled. She backed out carefully, aware that the customers were getting a very good view of her rump.
She began talking as she started to stand. ‘Please excuse me. I was just…Oh.’
It wasn’t customers. It was the boss. He was clutching a familiar manila folder in his hand. Over the last few weeks he’d dropped by to see her at the end of the day every now and then to update her on the tearoom renovations. Was it her imagination, or were his visits getting more frequent? This was the second time this week and it was only Wednesday.
He thrust the folder in her direction. ‘I thought you might like to take a look at these brochures for new tills.’
‘That would be lovely, but…’ Her gaze drifted to a table of four on the opposite side of the room. ‘I just have a few more cream teas to prepare.’
He shrugged. ‘No problem. I’ll just sit here and keep Hattie company until you’re ready. Actually, I’ve got a surprise for you, princess.’
Hattie’s eyes widened. ‘Is it chocolate?’
Will laughed and put the folder down on the table. Josie wandered back to the food-preparation area, shaking her head. In between slicing scones and pouring tea she stole glances at the little table in the corner of the room. Will produced a wooden box from his briefcase. Hattie clapped as he opened it up to reveal a chessboard and chess pieces.
How thoughtful of Will. He must have noticed on previous visits that Hattie sometimes got bored on the days she had to fill the space between the end of school and the end of Josie’s working day sitting quietly at a table. There was a man who was a positive influence on Hattie. She smiled. Her daughter could certainly do with a good male role model.
By the time the last customers crossed the threshold, Hattie knew all the names of the pieces and exactly how they were allowed to move.
Josie took her apron off, hung it over a chair and crossed the room to join them.
‘Let’s see these brochures, then.’
Will dug the file out of his briefcase once again and handed it over. He nodded towards the board. ‘Do you play?’
She shook her head. ‘My older brother tried to teach me, but I was hopeless. I was always making illegal moves, sending my pawns whizzing across the board and letting my rook move diagonally.’
Hattie rolled her eyes. ‘Mum! It’s not that hard to remember.’
Josie laughed. ‘I know, but I just couldn’t resist bending the rules a little.’ She turned to Will. ‘You’re shocked. Don’t deny it.’
‘You’re never going to win if you don’t play by the rules.’
She placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. ‘I like playing by my own rules.’
Will shook his head and moved a pawn forward one space. ‘I’m starting to see that about you. But life follows a similar pattern, doesn’t it? If you don’t play by the rules, you don’t get ahead.’
That simply wasn’t true. She knew plenty of people who got ahead just because they had been born with a title or with money. They jumped to the top of the heap just because they could, because they thought it was their right. It had nothing to do with living by the ‘rules’ and everything to do with the old-boy network.
Perhaps it was just a different set of rules. Whatever. She still didn’t want to live by them. She knew her own values; she didn’t need anyone else imposing theirs on her. Freedom. Honesty. Unconditional love. Those were the things that were important. She had no problem in living according to those rules, the ones planted in her heart.
The new Lord Radcliffe had a lot to learn if he was still clinging on to the misguided belief that hard work and integrity would get him anywhere in his shark-infested social circle.
It wasn’t exactly what she’d imagined. Josie walked slowly through the newly refurbished tearoom, brushing the backs of the sturdy wooden chairs with her fingertips.
‘What do you think?’ Will looked hopeful.
‘It’s…’ dull? Stuffy? ‘…very traditional.’
‘Good. That’s the look I was going for.’
Josie sighed as she remembered reams of scribbled plans she’d built up over the years. She’d had such great vision for this place. It would have been fabulous.
Not like this. It was boring. And not just bog-standard boring. It was boring split into two syllables. Bor-ing.
‘You don’t like it.’ Will’s eyebrows edged a little closer together.
‘It’s very…appropriate.’ She mustn’t shudder, really she mustn’t, but that word—appropriate. Josie felt a quiver work its way up her body from her toes.
Will’s tiny frown developed into the full-blown variety. ‘You hate it.’
‘It doesn’t matter what I think.’
It was his stately home now. He could do whatever he liked with it.
‘Of course it does. I wouldn’t have asked for your opinion if I didn’t want it.’
That was Will all over, she supposed. In the last few weeks, as they’d spent more time together, she’d come to learn that he didn’t play games. Unless she counted the twice-weekly sessions when he was teaching Hattie to play chess.
‘What’s wrong with it, then?’
Josie turned full circle on the rubber heels of her boots, taking the room in.
‘All that burgundy drapery looks fine now, while we’re only just out of winter. It makes the place look cosy. But in high summer it’s going to be a bit dark and gloomy. Not very inviting on a hot day.’
‘We’re in Kent, not Florida.’
Josie gave him a look. ‘I know that. But it can get pretty warm here in July and August. And people get hot walking round the gardens.’
‘What would you have done, then?’
OK, she was going to try not to act as if she’d had this memorised for the past two years. ‘I’d have made it more contemporary. Light, bright and airy. Clean lines. White muslin curtains. Modern furniture. There’s a local artist who was prepared to show his work on the walls.’
‘That’s hardly in keeping with the history of the place, is it?’
Josie stopped swivelling to and fro on her heels and faced him. ‘It used to be the stables. If you’re going all out for historical accuracy, you should fill the place with saddles, horses and hay. And where there are horses there’s always plenty of horse—’
‘OK! I get the picture.’
‘Manure. I was going to say manure.’ She gave him her best angelic smile.
‘Of course you were.’
Will was giving her his trademark deadpan look, but underneath, just for a split-second, she could have sworn she’d seen the promise of a smile. She shouldn’t want to see more of that smile. It shouldn’t matter to her what he did with his mouth. Even if that bottom lip did look very inviting.
She shook her head. This was her boss and she shouldn’t be thinking about him like this. And even if he weren’t her boss, she wasn’t about to have a fling with another member of the aristocracy. It would end in tears. Hers probably. Hattie’s definitely.
Mentally, she added another entry to her unwritten set of rules: ignore Will’s bottom lip—and the rest of his finely chiselled face, for that matter. But then her thoughts just drifted lower, to the washboard abs and hard thighs Marianne the librarian had speculated about.
Perhaps she should just try and avoid thinking about him altogether.
While she’d been wrestling with herself, he’d crossed the room and unzipped a large bag balanced on a chair near the door. ‘While we are on the subject of new looks for the tearoom…’He pulled something out wrapped in the thin plastic that dry-cleaners used.
