‘No problem.’ Sharon shrugged. ‘As long as you take care. Any more mystery messages you tell me, OK?’
* * *
Saturday came around slowly like a winding down musical box, the end a reluctant realisation. She had brought the Mini along from its garage at the end of the block, the would-be film star having been in residence below her before her arrival in the mews, and packed her belongings in the boot the night before. Now she picked up her purse and a map and headed for the door.
Ampsterly lay fourteen miles from the M25 along some twisty-looking B roads. She dropped the map and her jacket on the passenger seat then with a last look at her front door to check everything was all right she drove out into the London traffic.
Kiros was a large, three-storey Victorian Mansion and ugly, was the first word that sprang to Alison’s mind. The Mini was parked halfway up the drive as Alison studied the building before her.
The two wings were turrets with castellated edging hiding a lower roof. The building was sandstone that had darkened through time into a dirty grey, with large, multi-paned windows and a covered portico.
She drove the Mini up to the front of the house and parked beneath one of the windows. Clutching her purse she climbed out of the car and crossed to the door beneath the portico. It swung open before she had time to ring the bell and a tall handsome man invited her inside.
‘My name is Alison Wareham from Harkers’. I’m here …’
‘I know why you are here, mademoiselle, and you are welcome. My name is Etienne Dupont. I am the nephew of Francine Nicolopoulou, the owner of this house.’
His smile was devastating.
Alison returned it gratefully.
‘Please allow me to take your bags and show you to your room. My aunt is resting, but you will meet her this evening. In the meantime, I will do all that I can to make you comfortable.’
‘Why thank you,’ she said, watching him heave her luggage from the Mini.
Her room was full of heavy Victorian furniture, flock wallpaper and a cast iron fireplace.
She smiled as she thought of how it would have met with William’s approval.
This must be the wing of the house that needed renovating, but how strange that she had been given one of the rooms to be worked on. Surely they realised that there would be a lot of upheaval. She was still puzzling about this later when Etienne arrived to show her over the area of the house needing her attention.
‘First you must have the English tea. Our housekeeper has made you scones. She assures us that is what everyone in England eats at four o’clock.’
Alison could feel her heavier mood lifting as she laughed
‘Not quite everyone.’
‘Ah, well, perhaps tomorrow we will have the English muffins.’
His hands rose in a typical French gesture.
They ate tea in the kitchen, at a large, scrubbed table. The scones were light and warm from the oven. The housekeeper, a small plump woman with sallow skin and black elongated eyes, stared hard at Alison, then as though satisfied at what she saw, pulled back her lips in a smile.
‘Madam Lebret,’ Etienne introduced her.
‘I am called Mireille, mademoiselle, but here I am Elle.’
‘Alison Wareham.’
* * *
Later, they toured the centre of the house which was light and airy with plenty of soft furnishings and open fires to add comfort and supplement the central heating. She was shocked to discover that the west wing in which her room was situated was actually the wing used by the family. The wing for renovation was the east wing.
When she saw its condition, her heart sank. This was going to take months of work. Even if Kyle appeared only once a week she was going to have difficulty keeping out of his way.
Etienne must have seen the consternation on her face, as he said, ‘Perhaps you go home at weekends, no? It is a big job, is it not, and will take a long time.’
‘You are certainly right about that.’
She wandered through a drawing-room and library, noting damp-stained panelling, peeling paintwork and cracked fireplaces; up a spiral staircase to loose floorboards, broken windows and stained and damaged plasterwork on the beautifully-decorated ceiling of a large room. The staircase continued up onto a floor Alison considered probably unsafe.
At six o’clock, Alison and Etienne were sitting in a small dining-room waiting the arrival of Francine Nicolopoulou. Etienne was friendly and easy to talk to. Alison felt relaxed and happy in his company but waiting for her employer to arrive had her nerves once more tingling with tension.
A small, ugly little woman entered the room followed by a fidgety woman in white. Etienne rose from his seat and moved around the table to pull out his aunt’s chair. She sat with some difficulty, her feet some distance from the ground and her bent spine causing her head to fall to one side.
‘Miss Carter is aunt’s nurse, but they never last long,’ he whispered.
‘This is Miss Wareham, Francine. She has come to help Maurice oversee the renovation of the east wing.’
‘I know very well who she is.’ She looked down the table at Alison who was still recovering from the shock of her employer’s appearance. ‘What did you expect, some beautifully-made-up masterpiece created by wealth? I don’t waste my money that way. What do you think of my house?’
‘I think your house is unusual.’
Francine Nicolopoulou laughed, a harsh guttural sound.
‘It’s ugly, like me.’
Alison felt the colour rush into her face.
Etienne smiled at the skinny teenager serving dinner. Then he turned to Alison.
‘My aunt spends most of her time in France, which is her own country, and Greece, which is her adopted country. There it is warm most of the year round. She will only come to England in the summer, and even then it is like winter to her. So this house must be strong and warm, yet large enough to house business and company.’
Alison nodded.
‘When the east wing is finished then we will move the west wing into the east wing and if the Harkers’ contract is satisfactory then you will come back again to complete the west wing.’
He smiled at his aunt, then at Alison.
‘He is training to take over my empire,’ Francine told Alison. ‘I am crippled, not dying. There is a life here that may outlast his if he does not mend his ways.’
Etienne laughed.
‘Do not listen to her, Alison, she is a doom merchant.’
‘You are thirty-six. It is time you were married with children, not trailing around the world with me.’
‘Think of the education I would have missed had I stayed home with a wife and a brood. Thanks to you, I speak six languages, have an interest in shipping and the money markets. Surely that makes me a more interesting person.’
‘What you mean is it allows you the pick of the girls in every country in Europe.’
‘So,’ he gave a shrug, ‘what is wrong with that?’
‘What do you say, Alison?’ He turned his attention to her. ‘Will you come out with me tomorrow? We will go to the coast with one of Elle’s picnics.’
Francine snorted into her dessert.
‘I’m here to work,’ Alison said.
‘Not on weekends, anyway, your work has not started yet. You will come with me. You must learn about the area you will be working in, yes?’
Alison looked towards the head of the table.
‘He’s right,’ Francine said, ‘but if you’d rather not go, just ignore him.’
‘Perhaps I can decide later. First, I must go over the east wing again.’
‘Of course, your company will be a pleasure any time you can spare.’
* * *
After the meal they moved into the drawingroom and sat in large, squashy chairs where Alison nearly disappeared into a mound of cushions. Lillian Carter placed Francine in a straight-backed chair and covered her legs with a rug before sitting down next to her patient.
Francine never spoke to her and the nurse picked up a book and started to read. Coffee was served here with a tray of sweets and chocolates.
Etienne did his best to keep Alison entertained, but Francine appeared to have forgotten their existence as she dozed quietly in her chair. With a gentle smile, Alison rose from her seat and wishing everyone goodnight, left the room and made her way up to her bedroom.
Next morning, Alison was up early. She decided to visit the east wing directly, before anyone else was about. Decisions were best made alone and the workmen would arrive first thing in the morning. As she wandered over the ground floor, colours and images swirled then settled in her head.
Jotting down all the obvious repair jobs she then moved on to record possible features of the finished room. The light was good on this south east corner. Green and gold were a definite possibility.
With restored oak panelling and the white marble fireplace, white statuary would lighten the one darker corner … some comfortable seating and small tables and a desk by the window. It was all coming together by the time she climbed the stairs to the large room above.
This was to be two bedrooms with en-suites. She glanced at the architect’s plans and sighed. Pushing her notebook pen and tape into the pocket of her jeans she placed her hands on the metal rails of the spiral staircase and began to climb up to the top floor. With caution she tested the floorboards. They creaked but appeared sound enough and she moved forward into the room.
It was much smaller than the one below with a door and two steps up along the inner wall. It smelled musty, unused. Great cobwebs hung in curtains down from the ceiling and across the corners.
Arrow slit windows cast dusty strips along the floor.
There was little in the room apart from some boxes of old books, a set of library steps, a couple of pieces of faded, delicate-looking carpeting and empty picture frames.
Curiosity took her to the steps and the solid oak door. She took the large iron ring in her hand and twisted it. Nothing happened.
After trying again several times, she decided it was locked and looking at her watch, realised that she was probably going to be late for breakfast.
Her stomach rumbled as she hurriedly changed from her jeans and T-shirt into a skirt and blouse, then washing all the dirt from her face and hands, left the room.
Down the stairs she headed for the small dining-room of the previous evening. It was empty, so she made her way to the kitchen.
Etienne’s face lit up as she entered.
‘I thought perhaps you slept late, so,’ he said with a wave of his hands, ‘I eat alone.’
Alison smiled and said, ‘Good morning,’ to Elle.
‘I wanted to bring you breakfast in bed, like Francine, but Elle would not allow it.’
Alison sat down at the table and Elle presented her with warm croissants. There was butter, jam and fruit already there and Elle asked if she would like an egg, something else she was sure all English people ate for breakfast.
Laughing, Alison refused. Then she turned her attention to Etienne.
‘I’ve been through the east wing again this morning and there is a door on the top floor. It appears to be locked. I wondered if you had the key.’
Etienne wore a pained expression as he replaced his coffee cup.
‘It leads out on to the root and is locked for that reason. The last person out there was a repair man. He came to replace some lead and slipped and fell to his death.’
Alison clutched her knife, the butter still stuck to the end of it.
‘Oh, how awful.’
‘If you have done your inspection, does that mean you will come for our picnic?’
Alison continued to butter her croissant. She looked across to him and smiled.
‘It’s a lovely day, so, yes, thank you, I’d love to go for a picnic.’
* * *
When they joined Francine that evening for dinner, after a wonderful day at the beach, Alison was feeling quietly content and totally unaware of the bombshell about to befall her.
‘Maurice was to have joined us this evening but he rang to say he has been delayed and will arrive in the morning.’
Francine passed the message on with barely a pause in her eating.
‘Maurice Kyle will be a guest here?’
Alison could feel Francine’s narrowed scrutiny.
‘But of course. Who else will make the decisions for my house?’
CHAPTER FIVE
Alison forced a smile that tortured the muscles of her face and didn’t fool Francine for a moment, she suspected. She could hardly contain her disappointment at the news.
‘There will be others. Victor and Marie from Zurich and Etienne’s friend, Joseph. They will all stay around for the next few weeks. You do not approve of my company?’
Alison hesitated to make any comment, then said, ‘It is not my place to query your guests, madam, but I worry that they may interrupt the work my company have undertaken to do.’
‘Maurice is aware that my houses are always full of people. I cannot live without people around me.’ She shrank visibly down into the chair. ‘He makes allowances.’
That’s me put in my place, Alison thought.
‘I apologise, madam. I forgot you were a personal friend of Mr Kyle.’
Dressed always in black, her limbs twisted into awkward angles, her white hand flapped on the arm of the chair like a wounded crow.
‘Mr Kyle.’ Her thin lips made the name sound indecent. ‘You are a designer also? Yet you call an associate by his title?’ The tight mouth grimaced.
* * *
Maurice Kyle was in the east wing organising some workmen when Alison arrived after breakfast on Monday morning. She had thought to make an early start at seven o’clock. The men didn’t start until eight and there had been no-one in the kitchen but Elle.
At what time Maurice had joined them she had no idea. But here he was and all she could do was stand in the doorway and stare at him. ‘Ah, glad to see you could be here.’
He walked over to her, his eyes taking in the light green top and skirt.
He was wearing jeans and T-shirt with a two-day growth of stubble on his chin.
‘What do you think of it?’ he asked, nodding into the room.
‘It has possibilities,’ she replied coolly.
He turned to stare at her.
Then with eyebrows raised he said, ‘What sort of possibilities?’
‘It’s your job. I’m only here to assist. I’m sure you have plenty ideas of your own.’
His eyes narrowed.
‘Ah, professional jealousy.’
‘Hardly, I’m a personal assistant.’
‘I understood you were an art student.’
‘Yes, but …’
‘Then you have an eye for colour and style, so you can’t look around this place and say only that it has possibilities. You will have ideas of your own.’
‘Of course, but Madam Nicolopoulou is not paying for my ideas. She is paying for yours. I am here to organise deliveries, seek out materials, gather time sheets and invoices and be general dogsbody.’
She took a deep breath and turned to go.
‘Then you’ll need some help because I want you with me. I’ll need a woman’s eye on this job.’
‘That’s got to be a new one. I’ve never heard of you needing a woman’s viewpoint on any of your other jobs.’
She threw the last sentence over her shoulder as she made to leave. His hand on her arm stopped her stone dead.
‘You’re my employee and I’m giving you an order, Miss Wareham. Ring the office now and get some help down here.’
Alison slid out of his grip, crossed the hall to the drawing-room and picked up the phone. She dialled the office and it was picked up by Sharon.
‘Sharon, I want you to drop everything and come down here.’
‘What?’
‘You heard. Maurice Kyle is down here being his usual disruptive self and
I’ll end up committing murder unless I have someone to take it out on.’
‘I think I’d rather stay here by the sound of it.’
‘There’s a house full of guests expected any day so you’ll probably be staying at the local in the village. Get William to send you down by car.’
Alison let out a heavy sigh. She was angry, yet excited, too. It wasn’t going to be easy working with a man like Maurice Kyle.
The thought of having him scrutinising her ideas, laying her mind open for his inspection terrified her. She would not let him shake her confidence in herself though, for she was good.
At times she had wanted to give up PA work and concentrate on full-time designing, but William had always maintained that he needed her too much to lose her and so she had stayed.
She was happy organising other designers’ work. However, now at last was a chance to put her ideas to the test.
When Etienne asked her out to dinner that evening she agreed happily. She talked all evening about her ideas for the east wing of Francine’s house. When she caught Etienne laughing, she knew she had monopolised the conversation far too long and pressed a hand to her mouth.
‘You are very beautiful when you are so inspired,’ he teased.
‘Please forgive me. It was so rude of me.’
‘Not at all. Your enthusiasm is catching. I shall look forward to seeing your ideas in practice. Does this mean you will have even less time for me?’ He looked so soulful that Alison laughed.
‘Soon the house will be full of people. You won’t have time to spare for me.’
He snorted.
‘I will always have time for you. My friend, Joseph, will try to steal you from me. Victor will have time only for Francine, and Marie will sleep and yawn and declare she is bored.’
‘My goodness, they sound a merry lot.’
‘Maurice is the only one of interest.’
‘Does he come often?’
‘No, we have only owned this house for five years and spent but six weeks here in that time. Soon we will go home to France. Maurice visits us more often in Greece.’
Alison frowned.
‘Why do you keep a house in England if you only visit now and again?’
‘We are here on business, you understand. Francine takes a great interest in her fortune. She has many staff in Greece and France but here she must do for herself. Private things she will not share.’
The Art of Romance Page 3