'Sophie spent the evening with a friend she made down here during holidays with us as a child,' her aunt added affectionately.
'Indeed?' Eyes so pale a blue that they looked almost grey were narrowed on Sophie now even as he answered her aunt's statement. 'Perhaps you would bring the tray through to my study and we can talk now.' All humour had gone from his expression now, derisive as it had been, and he was grimly authoritative, the suggestion an order rather than a request. 'Another cup, if you please, Mrs Craine.'
One-thirty in the morning hardly seemed like the ideal time to be conducting an interview, Sophie thought even as she was vaguely aware of her aunt putting another cup on the tray. But despite the realisation that she now felt rather tired, from travelling down here today, an evening out that had hardly been uneventful, and the very lateness of the hour, Sophie knew she was in no position to argue, so she picked up the tray dutifully in preparation for following him.
He arched dark blond brows. 'Are you hungry? Or is that a silly question to ask a student? I believe you're reputed to be permanently in that state,' he said ruefully.
Sophie turned frowningly to her aunt Millie. She was taking a university course, yes, but she could hardly be classed as a student. Aunt Millie saw her puzzled look, giving a barely perceptible shake of her head in reply, and to Sophie's further discomfort she realised her aunt hadn't told Maximilian Grant the whole truth about her. Not that she could exactly blame her aunt, but it did put Sophie in a doubly awkward position where this man was concerned.
‘I ate earlier, thank you,' she replied distractedly, frantically wondering exactly what her aunt Millie had told her employer about her.
'A chicken sandwich for one, then, Mrs Craine,' he instructed tersely before striding purposefully out of the room.
Sophie shot a helpless look across the room at her aunt before hurrying after him, the coffee-pot rattling precariously as she did so, forcing her to slow her pace or run the risk of throwing hot coffee all over this beautifully carpeted hallway.
During the days of Sophie's childhood holidays spent here, this house had been comfortably well-worn, the Grays having inherited the house rather than bought it, and with the expense of running such a large house, and three boisterous children to provide for, the house, while not exactly running into disrepair, had become worn and faded, a financial burden the young couple had found crippling, to the point where they had finally been able to manage no longer.
The house looked far from worn and faded now, an interior designer having been called in as soon as Henley Hall became Maximilian Grant's. Workmen of all types had quickly followed, and her aunt had complained that for the next two months she had done nothing but provide tea and coffee for the workmen and clear up the mess they had made, all to the sound of their heaving and banging and the smell of newly applied paint. The result, Sophie had felt when she arrived here earlier today, had to have been worth it.
The whole of the downstairs floor had been carpeted in the same rich red and gold, the furniture all antique, deep red velvet curtains at the huge windows, glittering candelabra hanging from the high ceilings. Upstairs there had been a bit more personality added to the choice, Jennifer's room a froth of cream lace and silk, the master bedroom more austere in dark and light blue, all of the guest bedrooms—and there were six of them— decorated in two-tonal colours that perfectly complemented each other. Sophie was temporarily allotted a bedroom near her aunt downstairs, until it was decided whether or not she would be staying, neither of them liking to make the assumption that she would be. But, her aunt had briskly informed her, if she was taken on, she would be moved up to one of the guest bedrooms, suitably close to Jennifer.
Sophie didn't think there was much likelihood of that happening now!
She hadn't seen in Maximilian Grant's study earlier when her aunt had taken her round to show her the changes that had been made since her last visit just before the Grays left last year, but its austere brown and cream decor, and heavy oak furniture, came as no surprise to her; it was exactly what she would have expected Maximilian Grant to have surrounded himself with as he worked.
Although...remembering how he hadn't told her aunt of the way he had met her on the road earlier, perhaps he wasn't as predictable as she thought he was!
With the minimum of fuss he made a space now on the brown leather-topped desk for the coffee-tray, and Sophie put it down gratefully, having been terrified that she would further disgrace herself by dropping it everywhere.
She wondered, as she straightened, if she should just say her piece and leave gracefully. But while there was still a chance of her having the job, even the slimmest of one-Yet was there, really, or was this man just trying to let her down gently? If he was, it would probably be the first time he had ever been this considerate!
Maximilian Grant's success in business was legendary. He seemed to have interests in almost everything, from film companies, recording studios, airlines and newspapers, to race horses, the latter seeming to win for him with monotonous regularity. If Sophie were a gambler, which she most certainly wasn't, his were the horses she would bet on. But she didn't and his horses just went on winning without her money on them.
His personal life seemed to be no less successful. He'd escorted dozens of beautiful women since the death of his wife three years ago. Although none of them seemed, as yet, to have found a lasting place in the spot most people seemed to call a heart. In fact, one rather disgruntled actress, much in demand for her talent and beauty, who had ceased to hold his attention after only a matter of weeks, had claimed he didn't have a heart at all, only a stone where it should have been! The fact that simultaneously she had failed to get the leading role in the latest film he was involved in producing might have had something to do with the vitriolic outburst, but even so it was no secret that Maximilian Grant didn't have any inclination towards finding a second wife for himself. And, to Sophie's mind, a man didn't gain the coldly calculating reputation this man had in his business and personal life without there being some truth in it.
'Would you like to "be Mother"?'
After her so recent thoughts about the intimate side of his life, this mockingly drawled request came as something of a shock! But then Sophie saw that his attention was fixed pointedly on the tray of coffee, as he sat behind his desk, and she realised he only wanted her to pour the steaming brew!
'Of course,' she returned smoothly, although once again her cheeks felt hot, and from the way his taunting gaze followed her slightly flustered movements with the coffee-pot she almost felt as if he could read her mind. Well, if that was the case, she hoped he could read now that she thought he wasn't being fair to mock her in this way, not when he already knew he had her at such a disadvantage.
'Cream and sugar?' she enquired coolly, on her dignity now.
His mouth seemed to twitch at her attempt to put things back on a formal footing between them, and he shook his head in curt refusal of the offer. 'I'll take it just as it comes from the pot this time of night. I need the caffeine,' he added ruefully.
He didn't look as if he 'needed' anything; he was as alert and steely-eyed as if he had recently awoken from a long refreshing sleep. Whereas she felt exhausted, certainly far from her sparkling best. Which was a mistake on her part; she had a feeling it never paid to be less than at one's best when up against this man. And at the moment, because he deliberately made himself such an enigma, she did feel they were antagonists.
'Your young man did bring you all the way home this time, then?'
Sophie drew her breath in sharply at the sharp edge to the question, sure in that moment that he had deliberately attempted to put her at her ease before by seeming to fall in with her wish to be the polite strangers they would have been if it hadn't been for that incident beside the road earlier. Now be was letting her know, with one sharp parry, that he had no intention of forgetting the incident, no matter what impression he might have given to the contrary in front of
her aunt.
Sophie handed him his cup of coffee with a hand that shook slightly. Maybe it was as well she wasn't going to work for him after all. She liked to relax, enjoy herself where she worked, and this man's presence here would make that impossible for her.
'As you can see,' she nodded abruptly. 'I—thank you for not telling my aunt about that earlier,' she added stiffly, having dropped down into the chair opposite his across the desk.
He made no attempt to drink the coffee she had given him, putting the cup down on the desktop, his eyes narrowed to steely slits now as his gaze levelled on Sophie. 'I didn't do that to save you any embarrassment,' he told her harshly, 'but because I believed it might have upset your aunt to know about the ridiculous situation you had got yourself into. She seems very fond of you...'
Although he couldn't for the life of him understand why, when she was so obviously unworthy of the affection, his tone seemed to imply!
But she had been proved correct in her earlier belief that he hadn't been interested in protecting her by not telling her aunt they had already met, and under what circumstances.
'Look on the bright side,' Sophie returned. 'If I hadn't kept Aunt Millie up waiting to let me in because I didn't have a key, she wouldn't have been up and about to make your coffee and sandwich!'
His mouth thinned, his eyes ice-cold. 'I'm more than capable of getting my own coffee and sandwich,' he rasped harshly.
Sophie would hazard a guess at his being more than capable of doing most things for himself! She really shouldn't have let herself be goaded into giving that insolent reply. And she wouldn't have done if he weren't so-so damned superior, looking down that arrogant nose of his at her as if she were some unusual type of specimen that he wanted to push and poke around until he discovered what made her function the way that she did—and then dispose of her! Or maybe she was just being over-sensitive; after all, he did have a certain right to be judgemental about her behaviour...
'Or you could have made it for me,' he continued challengingly before she could make a reply. 'When you finally got in!'
She winced at the disapproving anger in his voice. He sounded like a stern father reprimanding a wayward child, although anyone less like her own wonderful, indulgent father she couldn't imagine—and she doubted Maximilian Grant would welcome the idea of her as his child any more favourably! Maybe prospective employer reprimanding a less than suitable candidate for employment was more like it, after all. And the longer they talked, the more she realised how true that probably was; she didn't 'suit' Maximilian Grant at all!
She moistened her lips nervously. 'You—'
'Sorry I took so long with your sandwich, Mr Grant.' Her aunt chose that moment to bustle into the room after the briefest of knocks to alert them to her presence, smiling at the two of them brightly as she came in, seeming unaware of the tension that fairly crackled in the room between her employer and her niece. At least, to Sophie it did! 'I made you some fresh mayonnaise to go with it,' Aunt Millie beamed with satisfaction.
'You shouldn't have gone to all that trouble, Mrs Craine.' Maximilian Grant relaxed enough to smile up at Sophie's aunt, although Sophie could see the angry glitter directed at her still in his ice-blue eyes. She had seen a photograph of an iceberg once that had the palest of blue coloration to it; this man's eyes reminded her of that iceberg. 'You really must go to bed now, Mrs Craine.' His smile took some of the order out of the sharpness of his words as he spoke to her aunt again, but it was no less an instruction he expected her to obey, for all that.
Even so, Sophie knew it was an order her aunt would have to disobey; there was no way Aunt Millie would just meekly go off to bed now, without learning exactly how Sophie had got on in her interview with Maximilian Grant. That was something she wasn't alone in!
'Sophie and I can clear away here when we're finished,' Maximilian Grant added—as if he was well aware of his housekeeper's reluctance.
'Very well,' Aunt Millie replied stiffly, making her exit, dignified displeasure down each rigid inch of her spine.
Sophie winced, knowing that look only too well. Not that it appeared to be bothering Maximilian Grant as he looked across the desk at Sophie with raised brows. And why should it bother him? The most Aunt Millie could do to him was serve him up an inedible meal, and as her aunt was very proud of her cooking, that wasn't very likely! Sophie wished she could be let off as lightly...
'You were saying...?' Maximilian Grant prompted drily, as if he knew exactly what thoughts were going through her mind.
What had she been saying? Oh, yes... 'I just wanted to explain about what happened earlier this evening-hut I realise now there isn't a lot of point to that, is there?' She sighed wearily at the knowledge that it was probably far too late to redeem herself in his eyes.
Would it do any good, she wondered, if she were to tell this man that it hadn't been the defending of her honour that had resulted in her ordering Brian to stop the car and let her out, but of his, Maximilian Grant's?
CHAPTER THREE
WELL, not his honour, exactly, but something he valued far more highly: his privacy!
She had been pleased to see Brian earlier when he had joined her and Ally for a drink, had thought him still attractive to her now adult eyes, had been pleased to accept the lift back to Henley Hall he'd offered her once he had realised she was going to leave to catch the last bus back, had even been considering accepting his invitation if he should ask to see her again, for an evening out alone this time. What she had unfortunately forgotten was that Brian now worked for the biggest local newspaper in the area. And what she had learnt during that drive back was that Brian had ambitions to move on from that provincial newspaper to the brighter lights of Fleet Street—or wherever the big national newspapers were located nowadays—and he had the idea of using an expose of Maximilian Grant's private life to do it, with Sophie as his informant.
At this moment in time, apart from the fact that Maximilian Grant had a sixteen-year-old daughter with a week's half-term holiday to be filled, she knew little or nothing of the man's private life. But, even if she had, she certainly wouldn't have told Brian so that he could write some dreadful story for one of the gory tabloids. She had been outraged that Brian could even have imagined she might!
‘There has been a change of plan,' Maximilian Grant gave an abrupt inclination of his head now, the light overhead giving his hair the appearance of being silver rather than blond, the angles of his face taking on harsh shadows.
Sophie pulled a face. 'I thought there might have been,' she grimaced. 'Could you just do me a favour and go easy on me when you tell Aunt Millie why you couldn't employ me? She may be your housekeeper, but she's my mother's sister too, and—'
'I don't think you understand.' He stood up, moving to sit on the side of the desk. 'The change I spoke of has nothing to do with this evening—'
'No?' She looked at him with derisive disbelief; who was he trying to kid? More to the point, why was he bothering?
'No,' he rasped impatiently. 'The fact is, Jennifer isn't coming home for the holidays after all, and—'
‘I realise you're just saying that to try and save my feelings,' Sophie shook her head ruefully. 'But I—'
'Miss Gordon, what possible reason could I have for wanting to save your feelings?' Maximilian Grant looked down at her, blue eyes mocking.
Indeed. After all, she meant nothing to him, and neither did her feelings. And he hardly gave the impression of being a man who pulled his punches when dealing with other people, either verbally or physically.
She could feel the heat enter her cheeks with a slow burn as he continued to look at her with that pitying humour that made her feel about the same age as his daughter!
'Especially if I have to lie to achieve it,' he continued derisively. ‘I deal in facts, Miss Gordon—'
'Sophie,' she put in softly. ‘I would rather you called me Sophie.'
He gave an acknowledging inclination of his he
ad of the request. 'Well, the facts are—Sophie,' he amended pointedly, 'that Jennifer is to go to stay with her aunt for the week instead of coming home. I'm sorry you've been put to the trouble of coming down here—although, as you said earlier,' his mouth twisted, 'it gave you the opportunity to see your aunt again. And, of course-Brian... wasn't it?' he drawled tauntingly.
'Yes, his name was Brian,' she confirmed in a mutter. 'But we both know how much I could have done without that meeting!'
'Sorry?' Maximilian Grant prompted mockingly as her voice was deliberately pitched too low to be audible to his or anyone else's ears.
'I must say—' She forced a lightness to her voice that she was far from feeling. Given time—she wasn't sure how much time! —she would probably become resigned to the fact that she didn't have a job for the week, after all, but at the moment she just felt completely hollow, not knowing what she was going to do next. But she would bounce back, no doubt about it; she always had in the past. 'I've never actually been sacked before I even started a job before!' It was a first she could have done without now too! Oh, well...
Maximilian Grant's mouth twisted. 'Employers usually wait a little longer than that before dispensing with your services, hmm?' he drawled drily. 'It was your implication, not mine,' he defended at her disgruntled expression.
Given time, she might even have found this man's dry sense of humour amusing—although she doubted it!
'Besides,' he taunted, 'your aunt gave me the impression you haven't quite found your—vocation in life yet... Something about your having tried office work, been a telephonist, done shop work—'
'Yes, OK,' Sophie hastily cut in on what she knew was a long list, although she was sure her aunt would have omitted to mention the kissograms, being a motorbike courier in London, and half a dozen other jobs Aunt Millie wouldn't have considered as suitable references for the companion of this man's daughter. She buried her nose in her coffee-cup so that Maximilian Grant shouldn't see the possibility of them in her candid hazel-coloured eyes—because since meeting him she was sure this man was astute enough to realise exactly the type of things her aunt had missed out of her resume!
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