Someone entered the kitchen from the hallway and Rex turned expectantly, assuming it was Carmen.
It was Mrs. Amery. “Ah, Mr. Rex. Is there anything specific you want me to do here while you’re away this week?”
Rex had the urge to say he didn’t give a toss about the house. The house could rot in hell for all he cared right at that moment. Carmen was his only concern. He paused and looked at the woman who anchored their home when no one else would.
She looked at him searchingly. Mrs. Amery needed to be given instructions, to be made to feel useful.
Nodding, he tried to look appreciative. “Is there something you think is important to schedule in soon?”
“Well, your father wouldn’t let me into the library to give it a proper clean, called it his stronghold or some such nonsense. The place could do with a good airing, at the very least.” She brushed an invisible piece of dust from her shoulder.
The barely withheld relish with which she anticipated the task was most amusing. If she’d been told to keep out, she’d have hated that. Rex had only stuck his head in there for a moment on his return, when he was reacquainting himself with the place. “Absolutely. I noticed the place was sinking under the weight of old papers.”
Mrs. Amery nodded approvingly. “In that respect, your father was an absolute hoarder.”
“If you can start shredding any of the more mundane estate account paperwork that’s more than five years old, that would be very helpful. Keep anything that is historically important, but I’m aware my father kept every invoice, every receipt, and we don’t need to know the milk bill for twenty years past.”
“That’s exactly my feeling. I’ll begin right away.”
When she disappeared a split second later, Rex looked at Mrs. Summerfield. “Keen or what?”
She laughed. “It drove her to despair that she wasn’t allowed in there.”
“I’m surprised she waited for me to give permission.”
“She’s very strict about protocol, especially so with her own performance as head of the staff. And she was loyal to your dad. He spent more and more time in there, too, after Sylvia’s death.” She stopped talking quite suddenly, as if she regretted mentioning Sylvia’s death. “Skimmed milk?”
“If we have it.”
She beamed. “We do.”
Rex was busy eating his breakfast when Carmen eventually appeared in the doorway. Her damp hair clung to her head, making her look elfin. Cautiously she smiled his way.
What a mystery she was.
He noticed that she closed her left hand around her right wrist for a moment before she walked past him to get to her seat. He reached out and stopped her, grabbed her hand and gave her wrists a quick examination. He’d kept her bound for two hours the night before. Two hours, while he observed her, stroked her and then talked to her about her sexuality—until she begged him to fuck her and he could resist no longer.
Seeing no signs of injury, he was relieved. He drew her hand quickly to his mouth and kissed it on the soft skin inside of her wrist, then gestured at her seat so that she could continue on her way before Mrs. Summerfield noticed their interaction.
But Carmen didn’t move. She stood still and stared at him, lips slightly parted, eyes bright.
Instantly he wanted her again.
* * *
REX STUDIED CARMEN across the polished pine table in the snug at the local pub. Mrs. Summerfield’s idea had been a good one. Carmen seemed more relaxed here in the Woolpack than she did at the manor. Was it the genial atmosphere or was it because there were other people milling about? Or was the tension up at the house due to the fact she still wasn’t sure of him and his intentions regarding selling her his share? She wanted it badly, and mostly he was teasing her, but he didn’t want to give up the option too soon because right now it was the only thing enabling him to be close to her. Much as he hated to admit it, he might never see her again once he signed the place over.
“This was a really nice idea,” Carmen said.
“I can’t claim full responsibility. Mrs. Summerfield suggested it.”
“Oh, really?”
“She thought it would do us good to get out of the house together, and I agreed.” He looked at her, as if watching for her reaction.
That wary look returned for a moment.
“Is my memory deceiving me,” he asked, deliberately changing the subject, “or did we do this before?”
Carmen broke into a smile. The sight of it warmed him right through. He liked it when she was all fire and brimstone, but it was good to see genuine warmth in her expression and—if he wasn’t mistaken—fondness in her eyes as she looked across the table at him.
“It wasn’t Sunday lunch, but yes. We snuck down here a couple of times when we needed an escape from the manor.”
“You’ve got a much better memory than me.”
“Apparently so. For both the good times and the bad.”
She was obviously thinking about Amanda again. That hurt look he’d seen on Friday evening flickered briefly in her eyes. Rex wished he could push that event right out of her memory. He’d known it was a mistake as soon as he’d fallen into bed with Amanda, but he had no idea of the extent of the fallout until it had been recently revealed.
It struck him that it was no wonder Carmen hadn’t trusted him at the beginning of this reunion. They’d grown so close back then, and then she’d seen him with Amanda. Following that, he’d walked out of the house never to return. He hadn’t said goodbye. That was because he didn’t want to. But she never knew the reason why. It was beginning to make sense, but he was cautious about discussing it again. He’d said his piece. As far as he was concerned that issue was shelved.
“Were the Beldover folk as intrigued with us back then?”
Carmen laughed softly and glanced about.
Rex followed her gaze. The village pub was a traditional local. The long wooden bar was the hub around which the villagers gathered, the old-timers sitting on the same high chair each night or propped on elbow chatting to their neighbors at the end of the day. Around the walls snugs and tables filled the rest of the space—the table nearest the fireplace the most prized seat in the house and rarely vacant. The furniture was oak and pine, the fireplace surround formed from old wood beams studded with brasses. A shelf that ran around the top of the walls was lined with a collection of Toby jugs of all sizes and varieties. The appetizing scent of roasting beef and apple pie with cloves wafted by from time to time, like an aromatic invitation to stay awhile.
Everyone who’d come in since they arrived in the Woolpack had looked their way. Some had smiled and waved in greeting. Whispered conversations followed, but they seemed jovial enough. There was no animosity. It was just that he and Carmen were the center of attention.
“There was less intrigue about us back then,” Carmen replied. “We were just the kids who’d come down from the big house on a sunny summer’s evening. Now they’re wondering what the outcome of our visits to the manor will be. I’m sure Andy Redmond will be passing on all the details of my comings and goings.”
Rex noticed that she seemed to enjoy speculating about the other customers.
“Are they placing bets?”
She looked at him pensively. “Should they be?”
She still doubted him.
“Hey, I’m not going to ruin the fun for them by announcing you’re the new lady of the manor.”
Her expression relaxed. She glanced away and smiled again when the locals who were gathered around the bar started arguing amiably about some local council matter. “Even if they’re not really associated with Burlington Manor by employment or trade, it’s the big house around here and they feel a connection if they know things about the people who live there. They know us, so they’ll want one of us to stay on.”
Rex nodded. They knew Carmen much better than him. Despite his lineage, Carmen had been around more recently and she’d engaged with the villagers more readily than he had. Even when his mother had been the mistress of the house he’d gone away to school. Carmen hadn’t.
“If it sold to a totally new owner,” Carmen continued, “they’d lose their right to gossip. They’ve gained that from long-held knowledge and they’d have to start over again, finding out stuff about the new people, sharing it.”
“In that case I’m glad we came down here for our Sunday lunch to give them something to gossip about.”
Carmen nodded and lifted her wineglass, sipping from it as she looked at him. Her eyes twinkled.
Rex wished he could capture that. He’d like to see it more.
“Why do you want the manor so badly?” He was beginning to think they’d both be better off without it.
“Because I was happy there.”
“You think you’ll be happy there again?”
“I hope so. I’d like to try. I love that place.”
Why did that irritate him? I can’t be jealous of her feelings for the house, surely? Rex frowned, confused. “But alone? It’s a big house.”
Carmen looked at him with something akin to pity. “I might be self-sufficient but I do have friends.”
Rex could have kicked himself. He’d been jealous, and he hadn’t thought how his words might sound. Carmen was mostly a loner, that didn’t mean she was lonely.
“Besides, hard as I’m sure it is for someone like you to believe, I would like to raise a family.”
That shouldn’t have surprised or unsettled him, but for some reason it did. He attempted to ignore it. “Why don’t you let me drive you back to London this evening?”
Immediately she shook her head. “The taxi and train tickets are already booked.”
“Next Friday, then. I’ll pick you up. It’s crazy us traveling here separately.” In truth he wanted as much time as he could finagle with her. A couple of hours in the car at the start and close of their weekends seemed like a wasted opportunity to chat.
Again she shook her head. “I want to keep the boundaries exactly where they are, Rex.” Her tone was adamant, and her expression had changed. The shutters had come down and that independent, controlled mask of hers had slid into place.
Frustrated, Rex wondered what on earth was going on in her head. It’d been relatively easy to compromise her sexually, compared to this. She was absolutely rigid about the time they spent together. Why was that? He knew he should hold back, but it was too much of a challenge. “Surely driving up here with me is preferable to the train?”
“I need time to decompress from my week’s work, before we...before our time together.” It was a perfunctory answer.
The more she denied him, the more intrigued he was. While this wasn’t exactly part of the sexual challenge she’d originally been to him, he wanted to know her inside and out. He wanted to understand her fierce independence. Was she a loner as he suspected, or did she have a pack of friends she hung out with during the week in London? “Okay. Well, let’s get together for dinner in the city, midweek.”
“Thank you, but no.” She sighed, then lowered her voice and leaned forward. “Rex, please. It’s getting hard for me to keep my mind on my work in between these weekends.”
“Aha, a confession. Does this mean you’re thinking about me during the week?” Rex liked that idea.
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I haven’t had sex in a long while, that’s all.”
He wondered if that were true. Was there someone else that she was seeing during the week? It was possible, probable even. A woman like Carmen Shelby had to have a string of admirers. Rex knew nothing of her life in London. Rattled by how much it got to him, he vowed to change that.
The food arrived.
“Thank you, Marilyn.” Carmen beamed at the waitress.
“You’re very welcome. It’s so good to see you both. Enjoy your dinners.” The waitress nodded at them meaningfully and then departed.
Carmen was right. They really did want one of them to stay on.
He looked across at her, then reached out and closed his hand over hers.
“What?” She cocked her head. “Are you attempting to give them something else to gossip about?”
“Maybe.” Maybe I just had to touch you.
“Well, it worked.” She slid her hand free and reached for her cutlery, smiling as she surreptitiously nodded her head in the direction of the bar.
Rex glanced over. Several heads had turned their way.
He shrugged. He didn’t care.
He wanted them to know.
CHAPTER TWELVE
REX WAVED CARMEN off in her taxi and watched until he couldn’t see the car anymore. Then he turned around and walked up the steps, glancing at the house as he did so. He had such mixed feelings about the place now. It was so familiar, like an old glove that bore the imprint of his hand. It had also brought him closer to Carmen, the enigma of his life. But he hated the place because it felt like an obstacle, too. What kind of an idiot was I, agreeing to weekends here at the house, and nothing more?
He glanced at his watch. He’d left his phone upstairs. Once he’d grabbed it, he could get on his way.
Mrs. Amery appeared as he crossed the hallway. She had half-moon reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. “Mr. Rex, I’m so glad I caught you. Could I have a quick word before you leave?”
“Please, just call me Rex.” The old-fashioned ways grated. He knew it was because of his other frustrations, but he had to say something.
“I wouldn’t feel comfortable calling you just by your Christian name.”
“If you ever feel differently about that, we’d both be more comfortable.”
Mrs. Amery looked at him, and arched her brows.
He lifted his hands. “No pressure.”
He resisted the urge to tease her about it.
She nodded. “Well, I’ve been sorting through the old paperwork today, as you requested.” A frown gathered between her eyebrows. “I found a partially written letter among some rather inconsequential household receipts. It was obviously personal. I knew that once I started reading it, and when I saw the content I thought you ought to have it, and soon.”
Rex didn’t want to be dealing with whatever household issue she’d unearthed right now. He wanted to leap in his Maserati and follow Carmen, trail her to London and insist that she see him during the week.
“Forgive me taking the liberty and insisting you read it right away, but it seems important.” She widened her eyes.
It was the closest she’d get to ordering him about, but Rex felt her will.
“I left it on the desk in the library.”
“Thank you. I’ll check it out.”
She looked at him strangely, then nodded and gave a quick smile. Whatever the hell it was, she didn’t want to deal with it, so he supposed he must.
He went upstairs, pocketed his phone, then made his way to the library.
The room wasn’t a familiar place to him. It’d been a library for decades, but his father had used it as an office. Where there had been books that might have drawn him as a youngster they had been removed to make way for ledgers and box files containing fading, yellowing pages of estate accounts. The kind of paper documents that were obsolete in most offices these days.
Rex stood in the doorway observing the scene and shook his head.
His father really had been a relic of the old ways.
Mrs. Amery had pinned back the heavy curtains. One window was open and the late-afternoon air that wafted in made it a more pleasant place than he expected. Beneath the earthy scent from outdoors the faint aroma of cigars still lingered. Rex
noticed that a patterned rug had been folded and pinned with a note “for cleaning.” Mrs. Amery really hadn’t been allowed in here until that morning, when he suggested she begin the overhaul of old paperwork. It made sense. As a lad, he was rarely allowed in here. This was his father’s space.
Rex strolled in.
Above the fireplace hung a portrait of his grandfather. He wore his World War Two army uniform, decorated with medals. At the opposite end of the room, behind the desk, was a similar portrait of his father. It had been painted in the 1980s and Charles Carruthers was wearing a tweed jacket with a suede waistcoat beneath, a much more relaxed statement of self.
Rex walked toward it, eyeing the old man with curiosity. He saw a likeness there that he hadn’t considered before. Perhaps it was because he was getting close to the age his dad had been at the time of the portrait.
“I hope I don’t look that bloody grim and austere,” Rex muttered.
As Rex studied it he recalled the painting being done. He’d been about six or seven and he was allowed in for a few minutes at each session to see the portraitist at work. He recalled the artist telling him he would have his portrait done one day, for the library. Rex had disagreed, saying that posing for it looked very boring indeed, and he’d run off. His father had laughed.
There never would be a portrait of him in Burlington Manor, Rex decided. A portrait of Carmen would look good in that spot, though. Would she rework this room, make it more functional? They hadn’t even had time to discuss her plans for the interior yet. They might have done that this weekend if he hadn’t wasted so much time on that disastrous party.
A large recycling bin stood by the old mahogany desk, where stacks of paperwork were being sorted. The bin was perched on a trolley, presumably for maneuverability. Several of the nearby shelves had been emptied. Mrs. Amery had really got stuck into the job. She was a whirlwind when she had a cause.
The Burlington Manor Affair Page 16