Home is Where the Heart Is

by Jenny Lane

  This amused Tommy, and he paraded round the room, flapping imaginary wings and making hissing noises. Lindsey's patience was beginning to wear a bit thin, and so she was rather relieved when Polly reappeared to take her to her employer.

  Simon Kirkby did not look up immediately when Lindsey entered the room, but carried on writing a letter. She felt rather like a naughty schoolgirl summoned to the presence of the headmaster, but at least, he had given her a chance to study him.

  Any thoughts she might have had about a crusty old professor were quickly dispelled. Although he lacked his cousin's striking good looks, he had strong rugged features. His thick dark hair fell forward untidily over a wide brow that was furrowed from too frequent frowning.

  Suddenly he put down his pen and glanced up, and it was with a sense of shock that she saw his eyes—steely grey, like granite, and just as hard. For a long moment they held hers and they seemed to pierce through to her very soul. She felt her spine prickle, and her heart began to beat so loudly that she felt certain he must hear it. No-one had had this extraordinary, electrifying effect on her before. It was un-nerving and so she was glad when finally he broke the silence.

  "Well, good-afternoon, Miss Meredith. You're much younger than I had expected. I hope you will prove to be more efficient than the other women sent by that agency—I suppose you have had experience of this type of work before?"

  "Naturally, Mr. Kirkby," Lindsey replied smoothly, although inwardly indignant. She had kept house for her father for the past six years and he had taught her how to keep accounts. Previous to this, she had also taken both a Cordon Bleu and a commercial course. Oh yes, she was qualified for this job all right.

  "Good. Well, we shall see no doubt. I daresay they will have told you, at the agency, that I'm an ogre who eats house-keepers for breakfast. I sent the last two packing in as many months—both of them were totally incompetent!"

  The man was intolerable, but Lindsey refused to be ruffled; after all she had been warned. "No, Mr. Kirkby. All I know is that I needed a job and so Miss Porlock sent me to you." She thought she detected a twinkle in his eye, but perhaps she was mistaken. "Indeed? Well, let's hope it'll be third time lucky. So long as you keep the children and yourself out of my hair when I'm writing we shall no doubt get along well enough. I suppose you drive?" It was a statement rather than a question.

  "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," she said triumphantly.

  "Good, that at least, solves one problem. You'll be able to take the children to and from school." He swiftly outlined her duties. His voice, out of keeping with his manner, was a deep brown velvet with a musical inflection. She noted, with some surprise, that she seemed to be responsible for the children’s welfare, but to have little say in the culinary affairs.

  "Do I arrange the menus?" she asked at last.

  "No, that's Mrs. Parker's prerogative at present. She knows my tastes. The actual shopping and catering side is yours, and the book-keeping of course."

  This promised to be a dull job, thought Lindsey. "One further question, Mr. Kirkby. Do I have any authority to discipline the children?"

  "Well of course," he said impatiently. "I haven't got time to deal with trivia and expect my staff to use their initiatives and cope with minor domestic crises." He smiled suddenly. "Susan and Tommy did rather excel themselves at scrapes during Miss Pargiter's reign, but if they take to you, I can promise that you won't have any trouble with them . . . Incidentally the agency has issued you with a uniform, hasn't it?"

  Lindsey was indignant. Surely he didn't expect her to wear her uniform all the time, even when she wasn't on duty, did he?

  "I haven't had time to unpack yet," she said shortly.

  "Well, it might be as well if you did so right away so that you're ready to commence your duties first thing in the morning. Oh, and perhaps you'll dine with me tomorrow night…And now I've a great deal of work to do, and so if you wouldn't mind…I'll say goodnight, Miss Meredith." He gave her another long look from those granite eyes and then, picking up his pen, began to write at great speed in bold black letters.

  "Good night, Mr. Kirkby," Lindsey replied crisply and closed the door quietly. Her first impressions of Mr. Simon Kirkby were not favourable. She already had an uncomfortable feeling that she and her employer were not going to see eye to eye about things. As for keeping out of his way, why he didn't need to trouble himself on that score, for Lindsey intended to stay as far away from him as possible. It was as if a red flag had been waved!

  Reaching her room she sank onto her bed, feeling as if she had undergone a very thorough grilling. Miss Porlock and Andrew Kirkby hadn't exaggerated one jot about her employer, and, in any other circumstances, she wouldn't have tolerated the situation, but she really needed this job. After all, if she were to remain in England for any length of time, she simply must have some means of finance. Besides this place was so conveniently near to Cambrook, and so she would surely have the opportunity of discovering what had happened to her beloved White Chestnuts.

  Her thoughts turned suddenly to Gavin, her main reason for coming to England in the first place.

  "I want a decision, Lindsey," he had said, whilst waiting for her flight number to be called at Nairobi Airport. "I want to know if you'll be ready to settle down as my wife, when you return."

  And she had promised to let him know her answer soon; although in her heart, she was not certain where he fitted in to the pattern of her life. She had never been quite sure, she supposed, and now, with over four thousand miles separating them, the doubts kept crowding into her mind, although she kept pushing them away and trying to pretend they didn't exist.

  Oh well, she would have a golden opportunity to sort out all her problems while she was at Balliam Point. She began to unpack.

  She found herself thinking about young Susan and Tommy, and realised that she already felt sorry for them. No wonder they were so unruly with a father like that and, as for their lack of manners, it was hardly surprising when he had none himself. She couldn't help wondering, however, what made a man so hard and unfeeling as Simon Kirkby.

  His eyes seemed to haunt her for the rest of the night, and she lay awake far into the small hours wondering about the strange household in which she found herself.

  When Lindsey returned from driving the children to school the following morning, she went into Simon Kirkby's study and attempted to restore order. Really, Polly would have to be chased. The room was a disgrace! She swept the hearth and laid the fire; emptied the waste-paper basket and ash-trays and gathered up the various papers strewn about the floor. That done, she carefully dusted the valuable-looking ormulu clock and jade ornaments. Finally, she found a small crystal vase in the lobby, which she filled with an attractive arrangement of leaves and berries from the garden. She looked round the room with satisfaction and, turning to leave, almost tripped over a pair of very worn checked carpet slippers, half hidden under the desk. She smiled; so her employer was human after all, even if he pretended otherwise.

  Simon Kirkby waved his fork at her imperiously, as she passed the breakfast room. She went in to him.

  "I understand you cooked the children’s breakfast."

  "Yes—I would have done yours too, but Mrs. Parker said . . ."

  His eyes glinted. "I am well aware of what Mrs. Parker said—I've just had to placate her. Breakfast is her job. Yours is to supervise the children and to prevent them from making that ear-splitting din they made this morning…You don't seem to be coping very well, Miss Meredith."

  "Most children are high-spirited," Lindsey remarked mildly, refusing to be ruffled.

  He nodded. "Yes, point taken, but I find their effervescence just a little wearing first thing in the morning particularly when I've been up half the night writing, so if you could manage to tone them down a bit I'd be eternally grateful. Not only that, but if you let them get the better of you now it'll be the worse for you in the long run, as poor Miss Pargiter found to her cost. By the way, has the post
arrived yet?"

  "Yes, Mr. Kirkby—I left it in your study."

  "Oh, well in future kindly bring it in here so that I can save time by reading it during breakfast." He scraped back his chair irritably and left her to clear the table. A few minutes later, as she was carrying the dirty crockery to the kitchen, the study door burst open and he bellowed her name. Used to her father's temperament, Lindsey calmly took the tray into the kitchen before going to confront her employer.

  "Miss Meredith, didn't you hear me call?"

  "Yes sir, I heard." She picked up the feather duster and, quite unconcernedly, flicked it over the breakfast room mantel-piece.

  "Then why didn't you come at once? Put that ridiculous thing down and answer me!"

  Lindsey turned to face him, meeting his gaze levelly. "Because I objected to your male chauvinist attitude—that's why. I'm not accustomed to being shouted at like an animal." The light shone on her hair making it look like a golden halo; the blue dress accentuated her trim figure. There was silence for a moment during which his lips twitched, almost as if he were trying not to laugh, and then he said, "Then you'd better get accustomed to it and fast, if you're to remain in my employ. I don't bow and scrape to my housekeeper." He glared at her accusingly with his granite eyes. "You've been in my study!"

  "I did tell you, I put the post in."

  "Granted, but you didn't mention you'd been tampering with my papers—I can't find a blessed thing."

  "It was in a deplorable mess. I really must have a word with Polly."

  "That won't do any good. Polly knows better than to touch my study. It's my domain and I'll thank you to leave it alone in future."

  Lindsey swallowed hard. "Very well, I'm sorry—Is there anything else, Mr. Kirkby?"

  There was the vestige of a twinkle in his eyes. "Don't you think that's enough for one morning or are you a glutton for punishment? Look, I appreciate your desire to help; it's most commendable, but you'll find it easier all round if you just stick to the jobs you were asked to do in future." He went into his study but reappeared a moment later to say,

  "You can add flower arranging to your list; you've got quite a knack, I see. I'll keep that vase in here providing it doesn't leak all over my precious papers." And then he disappeared again.

  Lindsey smiled as she resumed her dusting. She felt that she had won a slight victory after all. Her simple flower arrangement had evidently mellowed him.

  Lindsey stood outside the shopping precinct at Barford. It was one of those crisp, bright January days with an icy nip to the air that made one's fingers tingle. She inhaled deeply. It was exhilarating.

  She was glad Simon Kirkby had allowed her to drive the red Mini, affording her a certain amount of freedom. It seemed to be the one placebo. Thank goodness she had bothered to take her test when she had been in England for a secretarial course all those years ago. It had certainly paid her to keep up her licence too.

  This job was already proving to be exacting. The chief problem was that she was housekeeper in name only. Everyone was extremely uncooperative, and almost resentful of her presence. Simon Kirkby should have advertised for a Friday Person or general factotum, she thought grimly.

  She was struggling with her laden baskets to the car park, when Dr. Andrew appeared from nowhere and hailed her cheerily. She waved back, as best she could, feeling an absurd surge of pleasure at seeing him again. In a few strides he had reached her side, grinning broadly in welcome.

  "Hello there, I seem destined to bump into you," He took her baskets.

  "I don't know about that," laughed Lindsey, "but you certainly seem destined to carry things for me."

  He laughed too. "Must be in my stars. I better read them when I get back to the flat. Bit parky today, isn't it?"

  "I like the freshness," Lindsey said simply. "That lovely tingling feeling as if you've just brushed your teeth."

  Andrew chuckled. "What a strange girl you are! You're certainly different from that Miss Pargiter. She was as sour as vinegar—No wonder the children couldn't stand her."

  "Perhaps she had reason to be," Lindsey said generously.

  "Oh, I can see you're a nice, kind-hearted creature."

  They reached the Mini and Andrew patted the little red car affectionately.

  "Hallo Jemima, long time no see. I'm glad to see this little car's back on the road again. It was such a waste, keeping her in the garage. At least Simon's got the sense to let you use her. I was beginning to think he was keeping her for a souvenir."

  Lindsey had realised that, "Jemima," had been her employer's wife's car when Susan had cried indignantly that morning, "Oh, why do you have to drive mummy's car?"

  Andrew put the shopping in the boot. "And now come and have some coffee so that we can get better acquainted."

  "Oh, but I'm officially on duty," protested Lindsey.

  "Nonsense! Come on now—even Simon's not going to begrudge you a cup of coffee."

  Lindsey looked at her watch, not wishing to appear too eager. She had just about got time before collecting the children from school. Just an innocent cup of coffee, surely there wouldn't be any harm in that, and she was longing for a bit of companionship.

  "Well, thank you, but it'll have to be a quick cup."

  Andrew took her arm and led her into the café in the precinct. It was an unpretentious place, with red gingham cloths and plastic cruets, but it was spotlessly clean and quiet. He collected their coffees from the counter, and heaved his rather large frame into the seat opposite her.

  "Not much room in these places is there!" He helped himself liberally to sugar, and sipped his coffee reflectively for a moment or two.

  "You know you mustn't let my cousin take you for granted. For goodness sake remind him about off duty, for instance, or you won't get any—take my word for it. He's not a bad chap really, I suppose, but he gets so involved with his writing that he's inclined to forget the existence of those around him."

  "Well, I can understand that—writing is his work," Lindsey pointed out, and was immediately surprised at herself for making any attempt to defend Simon Kirkby.

  "His work, yes, but it shouldn't be his whole life, and it is and always has been. Since Lucy went, he's been worse than ever—completely oblivious of anything going on around him, and behaves like a bear with a sore head if anyone does try to force him to be sociable for five minutes."

  "Yes, I had noticed," Lindsey said with feeling. "Was Lucy his wife?"

  "Yes, I find it hard to believe I'll never see her again. The Point seems so empty without her. She was such a vivacious girl —very attractive with masses of dark hair, large soulful brown eyes, creamy complexion, lovely figure. Yes, I could have fallen for my cousin-in-law quite easily at one time…Pity Sue hasn't inherited her looks, although she's got one or two of her mother's less commendable characteristics, unfortunately, such as prefabricating when it suits her own ends, but that's beside the point. Sue misses her mother dreadfully, and that's probably why she's so difficult these days."

  So Simon Kirkby was a widower. Miss Porlock at the agency had not been sure, and it was hardly the sort of question Lindsey could ask her employer. It was very sad for the children's sakes, and perhaps it accounted for Simon Kirkby's hardness, although it certainly did not excuse his boorishness.

  Lindsey stirred her coffee thoughtfully, disturbing the froth and staring into the little clear pools it revealed, like sky amongst the clouds.

  Andrew was studying her intently. "Now you might just be the very person to shake Simon from his apathy and bring him to his senses, who knows. You've got far more personality than any of those other housekeepers he's had, to say nothing of looks."

  Lindsey laughed. What a flatterer the man was. "Considering Tommy told me they all looked like the backs of buses and were practically in their dotage, that's rather a back-handed compliment!"

  Andrew laughed too. "Young monkey…Tommy loves to exaggerate. They were just older, that's all and of the Harris tweed and b
rogue shoes regime. The only thing they had in common with you, besides their uniform, was their hair-style."

  Lindsey was annoyed to feel herself colouring. "Oh, and what's wrong with my hair-style?"

  "I didn't say anything was, did I? Very neat and proper and, as a matter of fact, that uniform dress really suits your fair complexion. It looks a great deal better on you than it did on that poor Miss Pargiter…But I don't know what Sonia Vincent will say when she sees you, I'm sure. I'd like to be a fly on the wall."

  "Who's Sonia Vincent?" she asked, absently collecting pieces of froth from the rim of her cup onto her coffee spoon.

  "The only other woman who has ever been in Simon's life—Lucy's greatest pal and crony. She would do anything to get Simon to marry her…Go on, lick that spoon. I can see you're dying to. No need to stand on ceremony here, you know…It's not the Savoy!"

  But Lindsey ignored his witticism, and letting the spoon clink back into her saucer, she said, "You were telling me about Sonia Vincent."

  "So I was—Well, you'll meet her before long, I shouldn't wonder. Her mother lives locally, but Sonia works in London and is away a good part of the time. She's a model—very glam and doesn't she know it!"

  "Oh," said Lindsey in surprise. "And does Mr. Kirkby come out of hibernation when she's around?"

  "You bet he does—Sonia makes sure of that. She winkles him out of that study and forces him to notice her. It's quite amusing to watch."

  It sounded nauseating. Lindsey thought she knew Sonia Vincent's type, and found herself hoping that Simon Kirkby could recognise the difference between genuine and superficial charm. He needed someone understanding and patient, both for his sake and the children's. She was surprised to find herself thinking along these lines. After all, why ever should it matter to her?

  Andrew set down his empty cup. "Cigarette?"

  "Thanks." He lit it for her and they smoked in silence for a few moments. Lindsey wondered idly if he took all his cousin's housekeepers out for coffee, or if she was privileged.