The Boss's Bride

‘Yes. How long have you lived here?’

‘Oh, for ever,’ she laughed.

‘One of the leading lights?’ Claris asked pleasantly.

‘On the committee, of course. To deal with local matters. It is, of course, traditional for the owner of the Manor to show an interest in local affairs. Naturally, with Mr Turmaine living away, it would have been a little difficult for him to participate. But now that he’s back…’

He’d be expected to, what? Sit on committees? Oh, boy. Wondering how to delicately phrase a warning that Adam was unlikely to do any such thing, Claris slowly poured the tea and handed it over. ‘Does his aunt—participate?’

She looked astonished. ‘Of course not. She lives in Rye,’ she said, as though that adequately answered the question. Seeing Claris’s puzzlement, she elaborated shortly, ‘Wentsham is a separate entity. We have our own way of doing things. Only residents have any say in anything.’

And woe betide anyone who didn’t do as they were told?

‘I would really have preferred to explain all this to Mr Turmaine.’

‘He’s a very busy man,’ Claris managed diplomatically.

‘Perhaps if you could just tell him I’m here?’ she prompted.

‘It wouldn’t do any good, I’m afraid. He left strict instructions not to be disturbed.’

With a sigh that sounded both disbelieving and cross, Mrs Staple Smythe opened her bag, removed a folded piece of paper and handed it across. ‘Perhaps you would make sure he gets it. It’s our summer schedule.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Harriet wasn’t quite sure who you were,’ she continued busily. ‘What role you might play in her nephew’s life.’

‘Wasn’t she?’

Thwarted, Mrs Staple Smythe ground her teeth. ‘No,’ she agreed. ‘I’m not trying to be nosy…’

Yes, you are, Claris thought.

‘…but it’s a little difficult to know how to deal with you.’ She smiled, as if to take the sting out of her words. ‘You’re his social secretary, perhaps? Act as his hostess?’ The questions were asked with an air of disbelief, as though no one of Mrs Staple Smythe’s standing could possibly understand a man of Adam’s breeding associating with a—nobody. ‘I don’t believe I know of any Newmans. Your family home is where?’

Tempted to laugh outright at the feudality of it all, Claris bit her lip. ‘My family home is in Leicester. And if you’re about to ask me what my father did, or if my parents were married, please don’t,’ she added pleasantly. ‘Don’t let your tea get cold.’

‘No.’ Raising her cup, Mrs Staple Smythe slowly sipped—and tried again. ‘We were all so excited when we heard Mr Turmaine was coming to take up residence amongst us. Such a shame to leave a beautiful old house like this in the hands of caretakers. Mr Turmaine was born here, I believe?’

‘Yes,’ Claris agreed, and knew very well that Mrs Staple Smythe had probably researched the whole family back to William the Conqueror. ‘Did you know his father?’

‘No,’ she denied with obvious regret. ‘And although you obviously think my concerns about who lives in the village very silly, if we don’t find out what people do, what sort of background they have, there is a very real danger that the community will degenerate.’

‘I understand perfectly, and I promise that I will try not to be the cause of any—degeneration. And now, I’m afraid, I really am very busy.’ Standing, she waited for Mrs Staple Smythe to do the same. ‘I’ll make sure Mr Turmaine gets the schedule, but I’m afraid I can’t promise that he will do anything about it. As I said earlier, his free time is rather limited. I’ll see you out, shall I?’

With quite obvious reluctance, she followed Claris into the hall. ‘It’s a beautiful house,’ she commented stiffly.

‘Yes.’

‘Very old, of course.’

‘Yes. Thank you for calling, and for inviting us to meet everyone. Goodbye.’

With nowhere left to go but out, Mrs Staple Smythe rather ungraciously retreated. Claris thankfully closed the door on her.

‘Very masterful,’ Adam complimented from the top of the stairs.

Looking up, she gave him an unsmiling glance. ‘I’ve been taking leaves out of your book. She brought your schedule.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Your schedule.’ Opening the piece of paper she still held in her hand, she quickly glanced at it and then handed it across as he slowly descended the stairs. ‘Dates of the committee meetings I imagine you are expected to attend.’

He crumpled it.

‘I also imagine that Mrs Staple Smythe and her cronies will make life very difficult for you if you don’t—comply.’

‘Then you had best make sure they don’t. Hadn’t you?’ he asked softly. Climbing over the baby-gate, he strolled towards the study. ‘We have a meeting with a systems analyst Friday evening in Rye,’ he tossed over his shoulder. ‘I’ve booked a private room. His name’s Mark Davies, wife Sara. He needs marketing and investment for an apparently revolutionary new system he’s invented. It looks good on paper, but you know more about the technical side than I do. I left the file on your desk. Be ready at seven-thirty, will you? Did you ring Neville back?’

‘No, I’ll do it now.’

‘He has no idea why the disks you sent him don’t work,’ he explained.

‘Probably forgot to switch the computer on.’

He laughed. ‘It surely couldn’t be that simple.’

‘Oh, it could. You wouldn’t believe the idiocy of some people.’

‘He isn’t an idiot. Technology overtook him,’ he added with gentle reproof. ‘Megabytes to some people mean big teeth.’

With a wry smile, she agreed. ‘OK, I’ll be gentle with him.’

‘You’re always gentle.’

‘No,’ she denied softly. ‘I’m not. Mrs Staple Smythe wanted to know if I was your partner.’

‘What did you tell her?’

‘That the baby’s name was Nathan.’

He gave a delighted laugh. ‘And I thought you such a mouse when I first met you.’

‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ she murmured, in a parody of his own drawl.

‘I know,’ he agreed. ‘Oh, how I know. You must never leave me, Claris. Life would be incredibly flat without you.’

‘It might be incredibly difficult with me,’ she countered.