His Rags-to-Riches Bride: Innocent on Her Wedding Night / Housekeeper at His Beck and Call / The Australian's Housekeeper Bride

‘You’re very young to be a Citi-Clean operative,’ Mrs Moss commented, looking at Laine over her glasses. ‘We usually prefer more mature ladies. Our clients are all professional people, and they demand high standards.’ She shook her head. ‘You don’t seem the type, Miss Sinclair.’

Laine gave her an equable smile. ‘I assure you, I’m quite used to hard work.’

‘Well, I’ve had two of my best girls leave recently, so I’m short-staffed at the moment. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to give you a month’s trial,’ the older woman said grudgingly. ‘I supply uniforms, and all cleaning materials, and I don’t expect them to be wasted. Also, I’ll need two character references. I’m very strict about that. After all, most of our work is done in the absence of the client.’

She ran quickly through the wages, which were reasonable, and the hours, which were long, adding, ‘You’ll be paired with Denise—she’s one of my most experienced staff. She’ll assess you, and report back to me.’

Her gaze went down to Laine’s strapped ankle, and she pursed her lips dubiously. ‘Cleaning is physically demanding, Miss Sinclair. I hope you’re strong enough to stand up to it?’

‘A slight wrench,’ Laine told her. ‘It will be fine by Monday.’

Mrs Moss sniffed. ‘Then I’ll expect you to report here at seven thirty a.m. And I require punctuality.’

I don’t think, Laine reflected as she left the Citi-Clean office, that Mrs Moss and I are destined to be friends. But what the hell? I’m not qualified to do much else, and it’s not a lifetime commitment.

However, she promised herself, once these next difficult weeks are over, I can start to make some real plans.

She celebrated her return to the workplace by going into a small café, and treating herself to one of its massive all-day breakfasts, complete with a mountain of toast and a pot of very strong tea, courtesy of the Sinclair Rescue Fund. She’d been putting the iron away earlier when she’d suddenly remembered the old coffee jar, hidden behind the cleaning materials, where she and Jamie had kept spare cash for any domestic emergencies that might arise.

She had told herself that Jamie would almost certainly have emptied it before he left, but he must have forgotten it too, or been in too much of a hurry, because she’d found an unbelievable sixty pounds tucked away there, which, with care, would take care of her most pressing needs.

It would certainly spare her a visit to the bank, which, she recalled, biting her lip, had totally opposed her investment in the boat charter business, and advised most stringently against it. They probably wouldn’t say I told you so, but they’d almost certainly regard her as a bad risk until she could prove she’d stabilised her finances.

And it would also save her the ultimate humiliation of having to ask for help from Daniel—especially as he’d offered a financial settlement at the time of their separation which her lawyer had described as ‘astonishingly generous—under the circumstances’, and which she, wounded to the heart by those same circumstances, had turned down flat.

She’d added curtly, ‘Please tell Mr Flynn that I want nothing from him except the ending of the marriage. Not now. Not ever.’

And that, she thought, had been the last contact between them, even at third hand, until the horror of yesterday. It was also something Daniel was unlikely to have forgiven—or forgotten.

Sighing, Laine finished the last of the tea and rose reluctantly from the table, aware that the rest of the day stretched endlessly in front of her, and that the prospect of returning to the solitude of the flat held no appeal whatsoever.

She didn’t want to be within eyeshot of that empty bedroom. Didn’t want to start thinking about Daniel again, wondering where he’d been last night, and who he’d been with. Although she knew that was pretty much inevitable—wherever she was and however hard she might try to avoid it. The same questions had dogged her now for two years, and she was totally and miserably at a loss to know how to clear them from her mind.

Maybe deep hypnosis would help? she reflected wryly. Or even a full frontal lobotomy. Anything that would once and for all remove the images that came back so relentlessly to torment her. The latest, of course, being the imprint of Daniel without his clothes that was now permanently etched into her brain.

Oh, God, how I needed that, she thought with irony.

Perhaps a walk would help? she decided, gingerly testing her ankle. A brief visit to some of her favourite haunts might re-establish the fact that she was back in London. Make her feel more grounded.

Not that she’d ever really wanted to live in the city, but after the end of her marriage her options had been limited, particularly as there had been no Abbotsbrook to return to. Her entire life had had to change, right there and then.

So, as the Beaumonts had decided to give up their tenancy of the Mannion Place flat in favour of a retirement apartment on a golf course complex in Portugal, it had seemed the obvious—the only—answer to move in there with Jamie. Especially when a job as an assistant in a fashionable West End art gallery had been frankly wangled for her by Celia’s father, who had some financial interest in the place.

Which meant, on the face of it, she had everything she could possibly ask for, as she consistently and monotonously reminded herself, while she tried desperately to pretend at the same time that there was no great black hole of loneliness and misery at the centre of her little universe.

But she couldn’t pretend any more. Nor could she tell herself that Daniel belonged in the past, when here he was—right at the centre of the present.

And neither could she run away again, no matter what the provocation might be.

This time she would stay and face the pain.

It was early evening when she got back to the flat, to discover Daniel was there before her, his briefcase tossed onto one of the sofas and his door firmly closed.

After a brief hesitation, she walked across to his room, and knocked. There was a much longer pause, then the door was flung open and he confronted her unsmilingly, tying the belt of a dark blue silk robe around him.

‘Do you have some in-built radar that lets you know when I’ve just come out of the shower?’ he asked caustically.

‘I’m sorry.’ She wished to heaven she didn’t sound so flustered. Or that she didn’t remember the last occasion quite so clearly. Although this time he was at least wearing a covering of sorts, she told herself, furious to find that she was blushing. ‘I—I need to speak to you, but later will do.’

‘Say what you have to say now,’ Daniel directed crisply. ‘I’m going out later.’

And staying out all night again? The question was bitten back before she was betrayed into asking it aloud.

It seemed infinitely safer to look down at the floor instead, she thought, aware of the flurry of her pulses. ‘Actually—I have a favour to ask.’

‘Have you, indeed?’ In spite of everything, she was aware that he was looking her over sardonically, taking in the primly buttoned blouse and the discreet length of her black skirt. ‘Shouldn’t you be dressed rather more seductively, in that case? Or have I mistaken the kind of favour?’ He paused. ‘But then it would hardly be the first mistake I’ve made where you’re concerned—would it, sweetheart?’

‘Dan—please.’ She took a deep breath, still avoiding his gaze. ‘Can we not.? I mean—you—you’re not making this very easy for me.’

‘Easy—for you?’ His laugh was brief and harsh. ‘Is that supposed to be a consideration here? Do you think it was easy for me to go to my lawyers and tell them I’d been rejected by my bride after less than twenty-four hours of marriage?’

Laine heard the corrosively angry note in his voice, and flinched.

‘No,’ she said, swallowing. ‘No, I don’t think that. And I realise, of course, that I have no right to ask for your help, and I apologise.’

‘Wait,’ he said, as she turned away. ‘What is it you wanted?’

She lifted her chin. ‘I found a job today, but it involves working in people’s homes when they’re not there, so I need a character reference.’

He was frowning. ‘What kind of a job?’

‘With a company called Citi-Clean,’ she said, bracing herself. ‘They provide daily maid services to blocks of private flats.’

‘My God,’ he said softly. ‘The wheel comes full circle.’

It was the reaction she’d expected, and she accepted it without wincing. ‘But at least this time I’ll be paid the market rate,’ she said. ‘I even get a uniform.’ She paused. ‘But I do need a recommendation. Actually, I need two, but Fiona at the gallery where I used to work is supplying the other. I think she was just thankful I wasn’t there to ask for my old job back.’ She realised she was babbling and stopped, adding only, ‘So—could you?’

‘And what am I supposed to say?’ Dan asked softly. ‘To swear that you’re entirely to be trusted and give complete satisfaction at all times? But then I’d be committing a kind of perjury—wouldn’t I, darling?’

‘If that’s how it seems.’ Pain lashed out at her, but she forced herself to stand her ground. To speak steadily even though her face was warming helplessly again under his jibe. ‘But I think the company’s main concern is thieving, and you can’t say I’ve ever stolen anything from you. Maybe you could simply mention that? Give things a more positive spin, perhaps?’

‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘For a moment there I wondered if you were expecting me to play the knight in shining armour again, and come to your rescue. Because that would be absurdly optimistic, even for you.’

She was turning to go, but she spun round to face him, her eyes blazing. ‘Let’s get something straight, shall we?’ she said, her voice husky. ‘Dispel this damned myth once and for all. I am not Elaine, the Lily Maid of Astolat, and I never thought of you as Sir bloody Lancelot—not even for a moment.’

‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ he said coolly. ‘According to the poem he was more than twice her age.’He allowed her to assimilate that for a moment, then added, ‘But I’m still capable of the occasional act of chivalry, so leave the address of this cleaning company where I can see it, and I’ll get my secretary to write to them.’

She bit her lip. ‘I—I’m very grateful.’