Roberta Leigh - It All Depends on Love

by Roberta Leigh

  Hell's bells! He was the tycoon who'd inherited the Hall. She had imagined him older and shorter, with greying hair and conservative clothes, instead of which he was in his early thirties, tall and rangy, and clad in navy trousers and blue silk sweater.

  'Well?' he asked briskly. 'Aren't you going to tell me about yourself? Or do you expect me to engage you on looks alone?'

  He had touched a vulnerable spot and her hackles rose. All through medical school she had had to be twice as good as anyone else to prove that brainpower, intelligence and aptitude had nothing to do with one's appearance.

  'Physical attributes neither detract from nor enhance one's ability, Mr Harper.'

  'I wouldn't say that,' he drawled. 'Looks are highly relevant for a strip-tease artist.'

  'But you're not advertising for one,' she countered, fast losing the impetus to tell him who she was.

  'Damned right I'm not.' He raked her with a sharp blue glance. 'Not that you meet my requirements, anyway. You're only a kid.'

  The impulse to hit him was almost irresistible. 'I'm older than I look,' was all she said.

  'Which is?'

  'Guess.'

  'Eighteen.'

  'Spot on!' Unexpectedly, Tessa's good humour reasserted itself and she decided to play along with him a while longer. How abject he'd be when she finally put him wise! Well, perhaps not 'abject'. She couldn't imagine his ever being that!

  'I suppose I may as well interview you now you're here,' he muttered. 'You can't be worse than the others.'

  He swung away from her, long legs carrying him ten yards across the grass before she managed to catch up with him. Running to keep pace with his stride, she was panting by the time he stopped beneath the shade of a beech tree and parked himself on the bench ringing k, a narrow hand indicating her to do the same.

  Meekly she complied, and waited for him to speak. He waited too, and, curbing her amusement, she asked sweetly, ‘What does the job entail?'

  'Exactly what it said in the advert.'

  This stumped her. 'One can't put everything in an advertisement,' she rejoined finally.

  'Basically, I need someone to stand in for one or other of my domestic staff on their days off, or if one of them is ill. I can't afford any disruption in my household,' he explained. 'It has to run like a computer.'

  'Computers can go wrong,' she said, straight-faced.

  'Mine don't.'

  His tone brooked no argument. Not that she would have given him one, for Harper machines and software were renowned for their reliability.

  'Well?' he went on, looking down his perfect nose at her. 'Think you can manage the job, Miss—er—?’

  'Tessa Redfern.'

  'You live locally?'

  'Yes.' At least that was no He. Aware-of his eyeing her old jeans and sweater with distaste, she said hastily, 'I don't usually dress this way.'

  'I should hope not.'

  Tessa wanted to kick herself for giving him the chance to insult her. How she dressed was no concern of his, and if he didn't stop staring at her so disapprovingly she'd walk off. No, she wouldn't, for she couldn't remember when she had last enjoyed herself so much!

  'I doubt it will work,' he muttered, running slim fingers through unruly chestnut hair. 'You're far too young. What have you done since leaving school?'

  The question caught her unawares and she stared at him dumbly.

  'Don't tell me you're a drop-out, living on social security and thinking the world owes you a living?' he exclaimed.

  'I've answered Ms job advert, haven't I?' Tessa's wits had returned and she gave him a haughty glare.

  'Hmm,' he muttered, before lithely rising and taking a notebook from his pocket. 'What's your address and telephone number, in case I decide to engage you?'

  The patronising… As if she'd tell him! Except she didn't have much choice, for he would notice her going back to Greentrees! Taking the bull by the horns, she said brightly, 'I live next door.'

  A chestnut eyebrow winged up. 'How come?'

  'I—er—I'm house-sitting for Mr Anderson.'

  'You mean he's given the run of his home to a girl like you?'

  "That's enough!' Tessa jumped to her feet. 'What do you mean "a girl like you"? You know nothing about me!'

  'Except that you're a half-pint female with a gallon of a temper and an ounce of brain!'

  'Then why bother interviewing me?'

  'Because I'm amused you think yourself capable of doing the job.'

  'It sounds dead easy to me. You don't need a great brain to stand in for a maid or a cook on her day off.'

  'So I take it you're cordon bleu?' he questioned coolly.

  'Er—not exactly, but—but I'm a dab hand at meat and two veg, and I've a light one with pastry.'

  'You're quitting your job next door, then?'

  Only for a second was Tessa at a toss. Then she shook her head so vigorously that her red-gold curls bounced— the sort of gesture an eighteen-year-old might make. 'I've hardly anything to do there. Mr Anderson's housekeeper is teaching me the ropes before she goes on holiday. But there's little to learn, and I'm free most of the time.'

  'And when she's away?'

  'I can manage the two jobs. All I have to do is dust and take care of the dog.'

  'I assume you have references?'

  'How can I, when I'm a drop-out?'

  Patrick Harper's beautifully cut mouth pursed, leaving Tessa so enthralled by its shape that she didn't hear his reply.

  'What did you say?' she asked brightly.

  'I said,' he repeated slowly, that I'm amazed Mr Anderson engaged you.'

  'Is that so?' She made herself glare at him. 'For your information, he considers himself a good judge of character—which you obviously aren't!'

  Patrick Harper's lower lip tightened with restrained temper. 'Have you ever trained for anything?'

  'Not likely! Life's too short to waste it in some boring nine-to-five job.'

  The chestnut head tilted incredulously, and a shaft of sunlight gave the hair reddish glints. 'Doing something worthwhile with your life need not necessitate boring work. You could be a gardener, a nursery school teacher, a nurse.'

  'A nurse?' Tessa raised her voice an octave at the suggestion. 'I can't think of anything worse! That blood and pain and—ugh!'

  'All right, you've made your point,' he said frigidly. 'If you're happy to waste your life, so be it.'

  'I'm hardly wasting it.' She widened her eyes at him. 'I'm only eighteen, and most of it's in front of me.'

  His mouth quirked with the first sign of humour. 'Don't bat those thick lashes at me, Miss Redfern, I'm practically old enough to be your father.'

  'You'd have had to start young!'

  'Let's say I'm sufficiently older than you to regard you as a child. Though in five years' time I mightn't be averse to being batted at by those cat's eyes of yours!'

  'You'll be too old for me then,' she said cheekily, and sauntered away from him in the direction of Greentrees.

  'Hang on a minute,' he called. 'Don't you want the job?'

  'You mean you'd take me on?'

  'I may not have a choice. I'll wait a few days and see if I get anyone better.'

  'Good luck, then, Mr Harper.' Reaching the damaged section of wall, she stopped. 'It's the roots of your cypress that have dislodged the stones,' she called to him. 'You'd better have it fixed.'

  ‘I’ll tell my estate manager to took into it.’

  Only when she was out of his sight and hearing did she let her amusement ripple into laughter. It had been naughty of her to carry on the joke so long, but Mr High and Mighty needed pulling down a peg or two, and she had been unable to resist the challenge.

  The word 'challenge' stopped her in her tracks. She'd be in a cleft stick if no suitable person applied to him and he decided to engage her! The idea was so outlandish that she dismissed it. If he required someone capable of standing in for his housekeeper as well as other staff, he'd be crazy to take on the fli
ghty girl she had made herself out to be.

  And Patrick Harper was anything but crazy!

  CHAPTER THREE

  Four days of doing nothing except eat, sleep and laze found Tessa ready to bite the dog.

  Dropping the book she was reading, she considered ways of making the days go faster, but could think of nothing bar the supercilious face of Patrick Harper. If she were given one wish it would be to see his discomfiture when he learned her identity and how easily she had duped him.

  And that might be pretty soon, once the local grapevine discovered she was staying at Greentrees!

  However, if she steered clear of the village, and persuaded Mrs Benson to keep quiet… Her lips curved upwards at the prospect of making a fool of her smart-alec neighbour. It would teach him not to judge anyone on appearance alone. Of course, he'd first have to offer her the job.

  But what fun if he did! It was the perfect answer to her boredom. Mischievously she began thinking of jokes to play on him. After all, an eighteen-year-old drop-out would be like a hair shirt to a dynamic tycoon who was only happy on the go!

  Brushing an insect from her face, she let her thoughts drift to soft-spoken Christopher, whom she had nearly married four years ago. Odd to be thinking of him when she hadn't done so for ages—until Sir Denis had mentioned boyfriends, that was. How would her life have turned out if she had listened to her heart instead of her head, and given up a promising career to share the rigours of the Third World with him?

  Yet Jane had loved him enough to do it without Question, abandoning her profession as a lawyer to live with him in a remote village in India. But Christopher was in the past, and she knew his way of life would never have made her happy.

  Wryly she recollected his hurt at her refusal to marry him. For all his gentleness, he'd displayed his own brand of chauvinism, failing to see that she had as much right to follow her career as he to follow his. She'd bet a penny to a pound Patrick Harper thought in the same way, for everything he'd said indicated arrogance. No need to ask if he saw women as second-class citizens—third class, more likely! Which should make fooling him all the sweeter.

  Chuckling, she swung herself off the hammock and went to take a cool shower before supper.

  Her reflection in the bathroom mirror pleased her. She was definitely less haggard, and her skin was tinged with pink. The dark rings under her eyes weren't quite as pronounced, and returning vitality made her hair more gold than red! Another month, and even Sir Denis would approve of the change in her!

  Thinking of him reminded her of his comments about her lack of a personal life. He was right. Although she felt and appeared younger than her years, the calendar showed she was twenty-seven—time to admit there was more to life than an operating theatre!

  It was time to resume a social life, contact old friends, join a drama circle or operatic society. She enjoyed singing and acting. She grinned hugely. With luck, she might get a chance to act opposite her next-door neighbour!

  She was still amused by the idea when she went into the kitchen.

  'I'm glad to see you bright and happy,' Mrs Benson approved, starting to carve the roast.

  'I was thinking of Mr Harper.'

  'I'm sure many young ladies do! I've only seen him once—the day he came storming in here with Henry— and he was handsome as a film star.'

  'There's more to a man than a pretty face!' Tessa commented, unfolding her napkin.

  ‘I’ll grant you that, but Mrs Withers says he's also a real gentleman.'

  'Has she worked for him long?'

  'She and her husband have been with the family since Mr Harper was a boy. Seems the girls were chasing bun when he was in short trousers!'

  'And no one has yet caught him?'

  'No, nor likely to,' Mrs Benson sniffed. 'Seems he gets what he wants without marriage. Girls these days are fools!'

  Eager to learn more about her neighbour, Tessa tried to keep the conversation flowing. 'What's he like with people other than girlfriends?'

  'According to Mrs Withers his employees stay forever!'

  'Maybe he pays extra well!'

  'It's more than that. She says he treats everyone as his equal.'

  Not always, Tessa thought amusedly, pricking up her ears as the housekeeper added, 'I believe he has a very high-powered assistant. She's——-' the woman's eyes shot to the clock on the mantelshelf, and she pushed back her chair '—gracious, if I don't hurry I'll be late for my church meeting!'

  Frustrated, Tessa watched her bustle into the hall. Drat that meeting! Just when she was getting to the interesting part!

  'I've fed Henry,' Mrs Benson called, 'so don't go giving him titbits. And don't clear away either. Go into the sitting-room and watch telly!'

  Ignoring the injunction, Tessa loaded the dishwasher and tidied up before settling on to the sofa with a murder book. Two hours later, eyes glued to the penultimate page, she only vaguely registered the series of happy barks coming from the fireside.

  'Be quiet, Henry!' she ordered, and, when he refused, tore her eyes from the page and saw he was wagging his tail at something behind her.

  Glancing round, she spied Patrick Harper peering through the french windows. Hiding her elation, she remained where she was, and he rapped imperiously on the glass. Slowly she swung herself off the sofa to let him in.

  Henry's ecstatic barking blotted out conversation, and she tried to shush him.

  'You won't do any good that way,' the man called above the noise, and, catching Henry's collar with one hand, he forced the dog's rump to the ground with the other. 'Some dogs don't bark in the sitting position,' he grunted. Remember that.'

  'Yes, Mr Harper,' she said meekly. 'You certainly have a knack with them.'

  'It's simply a matter of showing them you're the master. Same as with women.'

  Swallowing hard, Tessa ignored the remark, noting with disgust that Henry was positively drooling at Patrick Harper's feet.

  'Damn fool dotes on me,' he muttered, going to an armchair with Henry at his heels.

  'He obviously responds to a firm hand.' It was an effort for Tessa to keep the sarcasm from her voice. 'And I can see you're very fond of dogs.'

  'In their place.'

  'Which is?'

  'As guard dogs, hunting dogs, dogs for the blind. But certainly not as pets.’

  'What about old people who enjoy them as companions?' she asked. 'Or those with heart conditions? It's medically proven that dogs and cats—any animal you can stroke, in fact—help decrease tension. Only as she saw a dark eyebrow arch did she realise few eighteen-year-olds would have made such a knowledgeable statement. As she was trying to think of a cover up, the matter was taken from her hands.

  'What a professional-sounding comment, Miss Redfern. Learned it from a medic boyfriend, did you?'

  'Clever of you to guess.' Tessa plonked herself on the sofa. 'But he's no longer around.'

  'How come?'

  'He bored me. Always thinking and talking shop!'

  The man opposite digested this in silence, and she glanced at him surreptitiously. On second viewing he was more devastating. He had attempted to smooth his hair, though a lock still fell forward. But the back and sides stayed slicked flat and showed the shape of his head and strongly muscled neck to excellent advantage. Though he obviously spent days poring over computer programs, he evidently worked out physically, as shown by the whipcord strength of his frame. Over six feet tall, she guessed, biting back a sigh at her own bare five feet one.

  'I'm not here to talk about animals or boyfriends,' he went on, extricating a foot from a shaggy paw. 'I came about the job. I've engaged an admirable woman today, but she can't start for two months, and I wondered if you'd fill in for her?'

  'You mean you'd put up with me?'

  'I don't have a choice. The others were worse than you.'

  'Thanks,' Tessa scowled. He really was an ill-mannered brute. 'You sure know how to flatter a woman, don't you?'

  'When necessary.' />
  He gave a sudden grin and her heart jolted. What was happening to her? She wasn't normally susceptible to a man's good looks—never susceptible to a man, if she were honest—she was always too busy furthering her career to think of anything as time-consuming as a love-affair. Yet now, because of an enforced rest, she was weak at the knees when this man so much as smiled at her!

  It was Sir Denis's fault. Because of him she was seeing a lonely and loveless future ahead of her and, through fear, was willing herself to fall for the first half-eligible man she met. From beneath her lashes she studied Patrick Harper again, conceding that he was wholly eligible, for he was handsome as Adonis and rich with it!

  'Well,' he said into the silence, 'will you take the job temporarily or not?'

  'How do you know you can trust me?'

  'You have an honest face.'

  He was taking the mickey out of her, but wasn't she doing the same with him, and loving every minute of it? 'Sorry, Mr Harper. I can't help you.'

  'Why not? A few days ago you wanted the job.'

  'I've changed my mind. I think you'd make a lousy employer.'

  'What?' It was a moment before he found his voice again. 'I'll have you know no one's ever left me because they found me difficult.'

  'I dare say you pay well.'

  'Money doesn't come into it. They enjoy working for me.'

  'Work—enjoyable?' She burst into laughter, bouncing on the sofa as if she were truly an eighteen-year-old.

  'It will mean extra money in your pocket,' he said, naming a salary that was more than generous. 'And if you're keen to travel…'

  'I am.'

  'Then what's the problem?'

  She could think of only one: if some of his domestic staff lived locally, they might discover who she was. 'You said I'll have to stand in for your staff, but I haven't a clue who they are or what they do.'

  'There are Mr and Mrs Withers, my cook and butler; Pedro, the Spanish kitchen assistant, and two Filipino girls.'

  All strangers to the district, she thought happily, and deliberated whether to carry on the act or come clean.

  'For heaven's sake, stop dithering,' he ordered. 'I've work to do.'

  Annoyed by his tone, she made her decision. 'I accept.'

  'Good.' He rose, his narrow face expressionless. 'You'd better buy yourself a few decent things to wear.'