“As you would expect. He made it very clear that he knew the house backward and forward. I got a complete tour. Then he made himself at home and proceeded to tell me how Dame Agnes changed her will when they had a spat, and that she had changed her mind since then.”
“Couldn’t have changed it too much since she kept the terms of the will.”
“Oh, he knows. He claims Agnes had grown very forgetful in her later years. Not that he minds, according to him. He said his initial reaction was one of surprise, not anger. That he doesn’t need the money, and it’s not as if he won’t inherit Agnes’s estate after Toffee dies. Not that he wishes any harm to come to the poor sweet dear, of course.”
Linus could hear Teddy droning every word. “Then he insisted on inspecting every room in the house to make sure everything was shipshape. This was after the tour, mind you. By the time he left, I was jonesing for a run like you wouldn’t believe.”
“I’m assuming ‘jonesing’ means you wanted one,” Linus said. He liked the Americanism.
“Try dying for one,” she replied. “Toffee had the best idea. She hid under the bed for the visit. Does he always drone on that way?”
“Do you mean like a pompous windbag? Usually. I do my best to avoid him. Was he drunk?”
“I’m not sure. His breath smelled like he’d swallowed a tube of toothpaste, so he’s either got incredible dental hygiene or he was trying to mask something. Did I mention how much he loves Etonia Toffee Pudding? He insisted on using her full name every time. Says he’s always adored her. I think he may be planning to challenge the will.”
They stopped at a corner to wait for a traffic light. Linus lifted his foot to let his good leg bear the weight a moment. “What makes you think that?” he asked.
“Nothing specific. The way he kept talking about how much he loved Toffee made me think he was up to something. I don’t know him very well, though. I could be mistaken.”
Was she kidding? She’d captured him perfectly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he did mount a challenge. I was at the reading of the will. What he calls surprise certainly looked like outrage to me.”
“What this meeting told me is that I need to be extra careful to have all my records in order so as to not give him any ammunition. I’m going to be the best feline caretaker in Europe.”
“I’m sure Toffee will appreciate the dedication.” Ahead, he saw a familiar blue and red sign and smiled. “Would you mind if we stopped at that restaurant?” he asked, pointing. “Mrs. Paracha doesn’t work on Mondays, so I need to pick up some curry for supper.” And give his foot a chance to rest. With the adrenaline having worn off, it was throbbing more than before.
Stella checked her watch. “If we hurry,” she said. “Mrs. Churchill can only stay until 6:00 p.m.”
Toffee was a cat, not a child; she’d survive a few minutes unsupervised. Linus kept the thought to himself. The comment wouldn’t be well received. Not after her speech about being the “best feline caretaker in Europe.”
“My stomach thanks you,” he said instead.
They both bought takeout. Stella couldn’t resist the aromas of turmeric and fresh-baked naan hanging in the air. Exercise always brought out the eater in her.
She watched Linus hobble the last few blocks. A bad ankle did nothing to take away from his gracefulness. He even limped elegantly. When they were running, it had taken all her effort not to keep watching him move. He ran with such fluid motion, like a natural athlete. Personally, she hated running, and only did so because she liked carbs.
She also liked how easy it was to talk with Linus. As they killed time waiting by sharing their days, she tried to remember the last time she had had such a relaxed conversation. Usually her brain ran amok, critiquing everything she said and did, but not with Linus. He made her feel comfortable with herself, at least in the present.
Maybe that was why, when they reached their homes, she invited him inside.
“I just thought it seemed silly to take our food into different houses to eat alone when we could eat together,” she said when he hesitated.
For the first time in an hour, she second-guessed herself. Maybe he didn’t find her company as relaxing as she found his. Or maybe he feared she was misinterpreting his kindness for something else. “But if you’d rather go home, that’s fine. It’s no skin off my nose either way.”
“No,” he replied. “It would be nice to eat across from a real person instead of my television set. Lead the way.”
Toffee was in the entryway meowing when she opened the door. Seeing the big fur ball safe and sound made her feel less guilty about being home five minutes late. There was a note from Mrs. Churchill on the entryway table.
“I hope she doesn’t think I’m neglecting my job,” she said while walking into the kitchen. The note said Toffee had had dinner, although you wouldn’t know it. The crystal bowl was licked so clean it looked like it hadn’t held food in the first place.
“Who? Mrs. Churchill? Why would she think that? Because you didn’t arrive home when the clock struck six? I doubt she cares. Don’t forget, the woman worked for Dame Agnes. I’m sure she’s seen everything.”
“Maybe, but I’m not Dame Agnes. Part of my job is to take care of the heiress here. Blowing off dinner doesn’t look good.”
“First of all, you didn’t blow off dinner. You missed feeding time by...” He checked his watch. “Seven minutes. While I realize seven minutes is an eternity in cat time, it’s not that huge a deal. If anything, after working for Agnes, Mrs. Churchill’s probably relieved to see someone treating Toffee like a cat.”
“You don’t understand,” she said, handing him a plate from the cupboard.
“Try me.”
Maybe she was being overly conscientious, but she didn’t want another failure on her résumé. What would people think—what would her family think—if she couldn’t ace something as easy as taking care of a cat? “It’s important I do this job right.”
“Right or perfect?”
“Is there a difference?”
An odd look crossed Linus’s face. Serious and intense, like he was seeing her for the first time. The expression left her feeling exposed. “You’re thinking I’m an uptight nutjob, aren’t you?”
“Did I say you were a nutjob? Oh good, we’re in luck.” Reaching over her head, he took a bottle from the wine rack. “I was hoping she had a bottle of Viognier left.”
“Before you grab a corkscrew, let me check my inventory list.” There were several collectible bottles listed. Her head would be on the block if they drank one.
“Doubt you’ll find this label. I bought it around the corner myself for thirty quid. A wine snob Agnes was not. When push came to shove, the old broad stayed true to her coal-mining roots.”
Without waiting for a yes or no, he took out the corkscrew. Stella watched as he handled the bottle with strong, capable hands. Everything he did, from running to scratching Toffee to changing the subject, he did deftly. She could see why Agnes had wanted his company.
“You and Dame Agnes were a lot closer than simply sharing dinners once in a while, weren’t you?” she asked once her glass was poured.
“I told you, she liked my company. I flirted with her. Who doesn’t like being flirted with?”
By a man who looked like Linus? No one. “It was kind of you to give her the time.”
He shrugged. “She was a national icon. Hardly a sacrifice. Besides, it wasn’t all one-sided. She listened to me a time or two as well.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t ask you to be Toffee’s guardian.”
“We discussed it, but I don’t think she thought my lifestyle was cat friendly enough.”
“Why is that? Did you own a dog?”
“No, I ...” His features drew together as though he were weighing his next words. “Let’s say I had an active social l
ife until recently.”
Meaning he didn’t now? What happened? Something serious, she suspected, because his eyes had grown grayer. The color didn’t suit.
“Does this mean I shouldn’t worry about you throwing loud parties?” she asked.
“Not even a quiet party,” he replied. “I’m on what you’d call a social sabbatical.”
Stella assumed that was Brit-speak for sticking close to home. Again, she wondered why. Not that it was any of her business, but why would someone as handsome and charming as Linus need a break from his social life?
Afraid any further questions would look nosy, she sampled the wine instead. The label might not be expensive, but the dry taste went down smoothly. She took a large sip, savoring the metallic apricot flavor on her tongue, and let the remaining tension from the day ebb away.
“This is delicious. You have good taste.”
“Thank you. I pride myself on being able to buy the best inexpensive wines in the city. I leave the high-end buying to my siblings. Scotch whiskey, on the other hand, is a different story. Give me a couple hours and I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
“My father is all about buying expensive wine. The higher the price tag, the better. He and my mother took some kind of class, too, so they can use words like bouquet and finish.”
“I had a stepmother who did that. Always sounded like too much work to me. Dining room or living room?”
“Living room. You can elevate your ankle. And that’s a bold statement coming from a man who makes his living evaluating different scents.”
“Different animal,” he replied as he limped toward the sofa. “Chemistry is my job. Wine is a drink. I don’t need to work that hard for my beverages.”
“What about Scotch?” Didn’t he say he’d talk her ear off on the subject?
“My dear girl, Scotch is nothing like wine. It’s art in a glass.”
“I stand corrected.” The conversation was completely nonsensical, which only made her relax more.
Once Linus was seated, she set one of the pillows on the coffee table and insisted he rest his foot. Then, after making sure he didn’t need an ice bag, she settled next to him. Toffee immediately jumped between them. With her head resting against Stella’s thigh and her tail draped across Linus’s, she began purring.
“Someone feels at home,” Linus remarked.
Stella swallowed her mouthful of wine. “Maybe your company reminds her of the old routine.”
“Maybe. Or she’s accepted you.”
“Or she decided this was the most comfortable spot in the room. Never underestimate a cat’s ability to know the best place to sit.” She raised her glass. “To cats and their uncanny knack for putting their comfort first.”
Linus tapped his glass to hers. “And to neighbors who help you limp home,” he said. “Appreciate the helping hand.”
“Don’t sweat it. That’s what friends are for, right?”
His eyes widened. “You consider me a friend?”
“Shouldn’t I?”
He looked into his glass for a moment before looking back at her and smiling. “Yes, you should.” As she met his gaze with a smile of her own, Stella felt a ribbon of satisfaction winding through her. The feeling reminded her of how she felt those times when—if—she did something right and made her parents proud. At the same time, the feeling was different, too. Her parents’ pride never made her insides turn upside down. Suddenly she realized why.
This sensation wasn’t satisfaction—it was pleasure.
“Do you find it difficult, being the spare?” Dinner was over and they were enjoying the last of the wine. Comfortably full and fuzzy headed, Stella was relaxed enough to ask the question.
“Spare what?” Linus asked.
“Collier. You said your older brother ran the company.”
“Oh, that. For a moment, I thought you were referring to royal lineage. I never gave it much thought one way or the other.”
“You didn’t?”
“No need,” he said with a shrug. “It was always assumed Thomas would take over. My grandfather all but named him heir apparent when we were children.”
“Because he was the oldest,” Stella commented.
“Probably, and he was the only one who paid attention when we visited the company museum.”
“You have a company museum?”
“Doesn’t every family?”
Stella shook her head. “Mine doesn’t.”
She leaned forward and reached for the wine bottle. Sometime during the evening, she’d taken off her running shoes and curled her legs beneath her. Toffee was long gone, having moved to her favorite chair, allowing the space between Stella and Linus to shrink.
“Damn,” she declared, holding the bottle upside down. Her glass was close to empty, too. First time all night. “Should we open another bottle?”
“In my experience,” Linus replied, “whenever you ask yourself if you should have another drink, the answer is always no.”
“Good answer.” She would have said yes and regretted it in the morning. Especially since she suspected she’d drunk most of this bottle. She definitely filled her glass more often than Linus had.
“What’s it like, your company museum?”
“Your typical celebration of a four-hundred-year-old company. Yes, really,” he added when she gasped. “Sounds old to Americans, but it’s barely a blip in British history. Like your revolution.”
He grinned. She smacked his shoulder.
“There’s one section where children can mix different scents to see how they blend. I spent most of my time there while my grandfather dragged Thomas around and lectured him on duty and legacy. Susan usually spent the visits asking if we could go for ice cream.”
Silently, Stella agreed with Susan’s thinking. Leaning her head back, she studied Linus’s chiseled features, trying to imagine him as a little boy. “Did it ever bother you? That Thomas got all your grandfather’s attention?”
“What makes you think he did? Oh, because he was Grandfather’s choice to carry on?” He shook his head. “If anything, I was grateful. My brother carried a lot of weight on his shoulders, and it nearly ruined his life, while I was free to pursue my own interests. Besides, Grandfather wasn’t stupid. It was obvious we were on different paths.”
His smile grew nostalgic. “If the museum didn’t convince him, my propensity for kitchen experiments did. By the way, never light flour on fire.”
“Why not?”
“Trust me—just don’t.”
He punctuated his advice with a stretch, his arm reaching across the back of the sofa. Stella pulled her legs tighter, saving the feeling of security currently enveloping them. “Sounds like you were a natural-born chemist.”
“And Thomas was a natural-born CEO, bossy git that he is. Made the division of labor quite easy.”
“What about your sister?”
“Susan? Took her a little longer to find her place, but that had nothing to do with Thomas being in charge. All and all, I’d say we all mesh rather nicely.”
“You’re lucky.” A smart person would come back with a clever answer like how a lot of family businesses had conflicts or some other response that deflected the conversation back to Linus. The smart answer, however, didn’t want to come off her tongue. “You knew what you wanted to do.”
“Are you saying a life of corporate finance wasn’t your life’s calling? No stories about little ten-year-old Stella Russo sitting in the kitchen playing with the calculator?”
She rolled her eyes. “Hardly.” Ten-year-old Stella Russo was reading juvenile historical fiction and being told to stop daydreaming. “I didn’t choose my career path until I was in college.”
“What made you decide on finance?” He shifted his position so he was looking at her straight on, the genuine i
nterest in his eyes catching her by surprise. Between the wine and his sincerity, she found herself answering honestly. “Because it wasn’t law or medicine.”
She’d never said the words out loud before. Having done so, she rushed to explain. “My sister is a neurosurgeon, and my brother is a criminal defense attorney.”
“So rather than copy one of them, you chose a path to call your own.”
“Something like that.” More like she took a path unlikely to invite comparison.
“Your parents must be very proud.”
“Of Camilla and Joe? Very.”
“I meant of all three of you.”
She shrugged and looked down at her glass.
Only a few swallows of golden liquid remained. She was more relaxed than she had been in years. Whether it was from too much wine or the security of Linus’s company, she couldn’t be sure, but thoughts she usually kept buried were suddenly comfortable bubbling to the surface. “I think I’m like your sister, still finding my way.”
“No crime in that,” Linus said.
“You’re not a Russo,” she replied. “My father has very high expectations.” She tipped back the rest of her glass before continuing. “My grandfather died when my father was in high school. He had to quit school and take over Grandpa’s fruit and vegetable market to support the family. Turned it in to a regional corporation. Biggest distributor in New England.”
“Quite an accomplishment.”
“It is.” But it wasn’t enough for Kevin Russo. “My dad hates that he didn’t go to college. Didn’t even graduate high school. Meanwhile, my uncle went to Yale and so did all his kids. Uncle Donny’s always bragging about them. So, Dad has made it his mission to make sure we are bragworthy, too. Camilla and Joe are fulfilling the mission admirably.”
“You don’t include yourself in the list?”
“Oh, sure. I’m doing peachy.” Reaching for the bottle, she turned it upside down again and watched as a trickle dripped into her glass. Barely enough to count as a swallow but better than nothing. She drained her glass.
A Year With the Millionaire Next Door Page 4