Entrance (Thornhill Trilogy Book 1) Page 3

  “I can grab a sandwich and keep working if you like.”

  She studied me with her cool blue eyes. “No, you’ve made exceptional progress. I expected this to take a full day. There’s no need. Melanie will get you some lunch. You can either eat in the dining area, or outside.”

  I looked out the window and opted for eating outdoors. Tranquil, inviting, and kissed by a hot sun, the sea glistened. I promised myself a swim after work.

  “We like to feed our staff. There are always plenty of leftovers to take home should you wish. While you’re here working, lunch, coffee, and cakes are on us.”

  “That’s very generous,” I said, smiling so much my face hurt. I’d grown awfully fond of Greta.

  The steak sandwich had my tummy groaning with delight. I had never tasted anything so delicious. The meat was so tender it melted in my mouth.

  I felt as if I was in Southern Europe as I sat under the old willow outside my cottage. A soft breeze swaying the wispy branches worked as a fan. My legs were stretched out on a chair, giving my feet respite from my new spiked heels.

  The sun caressed my face as I closed my eyes. I never wanted to leave. For once in my life, luck had touched me.

  A puffing sound roused me. I looked up, and there was Rocket, his hungry eyes on my lunch. I gave him my leftovers, and within a blink they’d gone. To show his gratitude he licked my hand.

  “You’re such a glutton, like all doggies,” I said, patting him. “Such a cute boy, though.”

  “Rocket!” hollered a deep, husky voice.

  I turned and saw the tall man from the day before standing close by.

  “I’m sorry about this. He doesn’t normally do this.” He pushed back his collar-length hair, and immediately, my skin tingled. “He’s taken a liking to you, which is rather unusual.”

  He was dressed in a t-shirt, and his broad shoulders and shapely biceps were impossible to ignore. Although sunglasses and a baseball cap obscured his face, I sensed he was hot. He had a towel draped over his shoulder and wore shorts that hung loosely over his athletic thighs.

  “That’s okay,” I replied, putting on my best smile. “I love dogs. I had one just like him growing up. They’re such great companions.”

  He glanced at my discarded shoes.

  “New shoes,” I said with a goofy smile. Will I ever learn to act dignified around good-looking men?

  He nodded, lingering. Hmm…is he checking me out? “Anyway, sorry about Rocket.”

  “Not an issue. I could walk him after work,” I said, giving Rocket a farewell pat.

  “I’ll bear that in mind. Thanks for the offer.” He hovered again. I sensed he might have been staring into my eyes, but I wasn’t sure because he wore sunglasses.

  Is there a spark? Or is that just wishful thinking?

  Elegant and self-assured, he had an easy stride that made it hard for me to look away. Perhaps he was the gardener. His light-brown, wind-tousled hair was streaked gold in the sunlight. I fanned my face. I had developed an instant crush.

  Hot and flooded with raging hormones, I returned to work despite taking only thirty minutes for lunch. There was much to do. And I wanted to make a good impression. There was no doubt Mr. Sexy Gardener had affected me. The pleasant throb between my sticky thighs was evidence enough. Now, why didn’t I meet guys like him back in the city?

  As I passed through the kitchen, I caught sight of Melanie. “Do you want a slice of cake? It’s chocolate.”

  This is cake city.

  “Sure, why not? Thanks. The food is extremely yummy.”

  “Would you like coffee as well? I can bring it up for you if you like.”

  “That would be amazing. I can make it if you’re busy,” I said.

  She frowned, shaking her head vehemently. “No way. I wouldn’t dream of it. That’s part of my job. Just press the green button on your phone anytime, for anything: juice, coffee, food, or cake.”

  My jaw-dropped. “I can’t believe this setup.”

  “It’s great, isn’t it? The Thornhills are really generous.”

  “Are there just two of them here?” I asked.

  “Yep. Greta’s Aidan’s aunt. She’s more like a mother to him, even though he’s still got one.” A weird expression coated her dark eyes. It seemed as if she’d revealed something she shouldn’t have.

  “Aha. Well, it’s fantastic being here.” The desire to ask more questions was so great I had to work overtime not to.

  “Have you met Aidan yet?” Melanie asked.

  “No,” I replied.

  “A word of advice: don’t fall in love with him.”

  What?

  “I’m not planning to,” I replied meekly.

  “Then you’ll stay on longer than the others.”

  I was about to respond when Greta entered the room. “Thanks,” was all I could utter. How many have there been? Maybe that was why the contract stipulated that I wear modest clothing. I was suddenly glad I hadn’t worn a fitted shirt.

  Although Tabitha saw my D-cups as a blessing, I didn’t. Tight blouses drew too much unwanted attention. I wouldn’t have minded, of course, if it came from men like the sexy gardener, however.

  “You can take your full lunch break. There’s still thirty minutes,” said Greta, glancing over at the florid French clock—one of the many objects I’d been admiring all morning.

  “No, it’s okay. The gala’s only two weeks away,” I said.

  Greta’s eyes rested on my chocolate cake.

  I asked, “Is it okay having this here while I work?”

  “Of course, it is. Grab anything that takes your fancy. And there are always leftovers. Make sure you help yourself when you leave this afternoon. It will save you the need to cook.”

  “You’re really generous. I’m touched.” Oh no, tears threatened. With my period due, my mood was sensitive. Not one to miss much, Greta cast me a sympathetic smile.

  I breezed through my first day at work. I suggested a string quartet in the garden for twilight cocktails, followed by a band playing jazz classics for dinner in the ballroom. Greta loved the ideas, much to my delight. From PA to event manager, I loved this role so much that when five o’clock came around, Greta had to push me out of the office.

  The first thing I did when entering the cottage was to change into a loose cotton skirt. My legs were pleased to be naked and stocking free. I shouldn’t have allowed Tabitha to talk me into them—they were really uncomfortable. Speaking of the devil, I had to return her calls. She’d already called me twice.

  “At last. I’ve being dying to speak to you,” said Tabitha over the phone, all high-pitched and excitable.

  “I’ve only just finished now,” I said, putting my feet up on the coffee table.

  “How was it? Did you meet him?”

  “No, I didn’t. The work’s easy. The food’s amazing, and my cottage is very comfortable. But I have to get Dad’s car back to him. He called and said he needed it.”

  “What are you up to?”

  “I’ll drive it over now and get him to drop me back,” I said, my shoulders sagging at the thought of a longish drive.

  “Then you can drop in,” said Tabitha.

  “I won’t have the time, sweetie.”

  “Steve’s coming over later,” she said with a thin voice.

  “I suppose he’s left his wife again?”

  “This time, he’s promised to.”

  “If only I had a dollar for each time he’s said that,” I said.

  Steve had been Tabitha’s boss when she waitressed. She was only eighteen when they first got together. I disliked him. But according to Tabitha, he was super in bed and had an enormous penis. One thing was for sure: I wouldn’t miss the stomach-churning moans and the vibration of Tabitha’s bed against the wall.

  “Don’t be like that, Clary. He’s in love with me.”

  “Whatever. If you want, you can pop over for dinner on Thursday. The food’s amazing here. How’s that sound?”

>   “That sounds exciting. I guess I can wait till Thursday,” said Tabitha, sighing.

  “Enjoy your booty call,” I said, checking the time.

  “Don’t call it that,” Tabitha snapped. “I’m needy at the moment. My best friend’s left me.”

  “Come on, Tabs. Don’t do that.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  When we drove into the car park, my father whistled. “This is rather opulent.”

  “Do you want to see the cottage? There’s plenty to eat. Too much for me.” I missed my father, and I was dying for him to see my new home.

  He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Why not? But I can’t stay too long. I’ve got to meet a potential publisher tomorrow, early.”

  “You didn’t tell me about that.”

  “I didn’t wish to give you false hope. The eternal pessimist—that’s me,” he said, chuckling.

  “So that’s where I get it from,” I said, taking his hand.

  “How marvelously old-world,” he said as we traipsed along the cobbled path. The grounds were lit up with charming Victorian lamps.

  “Here we are,” I said, pointing to the cottage.

  I turned on the outside light so that my father could admire my friendly willow. He tapped the fat trunk. “My, he’s a beauty.”

  “Isn’t he? And there’s a cute dog named Rocket. He looks just like Huxley.”

  “Is that right? I look forward to meeting him,” he crooned, eyes all wistful. He’d never gotten over the death of our beloved dog.

  I placed roast beef, potato salad, coleslaw, and pasta salad on the outside table. The night was warm, so a cold supper, alfresco, was ideal.

  “Do you want wine or beer?”

  “You have beer?” My father’s bewilderment made me giggle.

  “Amazing, isn’t it? They stocked the fridge and cupboards with everything and more, including liquor. Mind you, the beer is for you. I can’t stomach it, as you well know. I much prefer wine.”

  “This is fabulous, Clarissa,” he said, following me back into the cottage and looking about. His eyes landed on an original landscape. “Is that a Constable?”

  “No, but it’s damn good, isn’t it? You should see the art inside the house. They’ve got a Breughel. And I’m sure it’s an original.”

  He raised his eyebrows looking impressed.

  We stepped outside with drinks in hand.

  “There’s a charming moon. After my stuffy apartment, the sea air is a real godsend,” said my father, peering up at the sky.

  “You can come over whenever you like, Daddy. There’s even a spare room so you can stay over sometimes,” I said, filling his plate with food. “Is that enough?” I placed the plate in front of him.

  “It’s a veritable banquet, sweetheart.”

  My father and I were like two peas in a pod. We shared a penchant for history and classical aesthetics. As we sat at the latticed iron table, we took to the delicious food with the hunger of people who’d subsisted on a bland, frugal diet.

  “This meat is mouth-wateringly tender. Absolutely delicious,” my father said, taking a sip of his beer. “Mm…” He studied the exotic label and smiled. “And this sure beats the cheap stuff I’ve got back in the fridge at home.”

  Greta stepped out of the kitchen door and lit a cigarette. How odd—she was the last person I expected would smoke. Her hair was out. And dressed in a cotton floral shift and flat sandals, she looked very retro.

  “Hi, Greta. It’s a delightful evening.”

  “That it is.” Her eyes drifted over to my father.

  “This is my father, Julian,” I said.

  Greta’s eyes landed on my father’s face and lingered. There was a soft, feminine glow emanating from her blue eyes. Her long, light-brown hair, which she wore loose, was speckled in gray.

  My father, likewise, brightened. I hadn’t witnessed that before. Wow, they are attracted to each other.

  “Pleased to meet you. I am Greta Thornhill,” she said, offering her hand.

  My father took it. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Oh my God. They are really having a moment.

  I felt like an intruder suddenly. “Dad and I share a car. He just dropped me back. There were so many leftovers. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Better it gets eaten than tossed out, which is what generally happens,” Greta said in a matter-of-fact tone. The cigarette remained between her fingers. I could tell she was sensitive about smoking around others.

  “Why don’t you join us?” said my father. “There’s beer, wine or juice.”

  Once again, their eyes met for longer than usual. “Sure,” said Greta. “I’ll put this out.”

  She was about to get up when my father said, “No need, please. Keep smoking. You don’t happen to have one?” He smiled charmingly. In his mid-fifties, my father was still handsome. He was a Jeremy Irons look-alike with his graying dark hair, expressive brown eyes, and slender, tall frame.

  “Dad, you promised me you’d kicked the habit,” I said.

  He flashed a smile at Greta. “Oh my, how the tables have turned. In my late youth, it was my mother scolding me for smoking, and now it’s my beloved daughter.” He gave a husky, contagious chuckle.

  “Can I offer you a glass of the wine or beer you so considerately placed in the fridge?” I asked.

  Greta demonstrated a small amount with her fingers. “Just a tiny glass of wine, then.” She flashed a shy smile at my father again. “It’s such a pleasant night.”

  “Isn’t it?” he chimed. “The moon is full.” He opened his arms out. “It’s delightfully continental here, and there’s this charming fellow.” He tapped the trunk of the tree. My father and I had a thing for old trees. “Tell me, how old is the house?”

  “I’m told it was built around 1910.”

  “Italianate classical. Very nice indeed,” he said, casting his eyes on the stuccoed walls.

  When I returned with Greta’s wine, I found them sharing a laugh. It was the first time she’d looked so relaxed. And my dad was in his element.

  “You are more than welcome to come anytime and visit the house,” said Greta, nodding as I handed her the glass.

  “I’d like that. Clarissa informs me that there are impressive artworks,” he said.

  “There’s also a library with an extensive collection of first editions. I believe you’re into English literature.”

  “That I am indeed,” he said, casting me a side-glance.

  “How did you know that?” I asked.

  “You spoke of your father in our recruitment test.” Greta finished off her wine, and she rose. “I’d best be getting back.” She looked at my father and smiled. “Lovely meeting you, Julian, please feel free to pop in and visit Clarissa whenever you like. This is her home now.” She glanced at our empty plates. “And our leftovers are always on offer.”

  “It’s been an honor meeting my daughter’s employer. You are most generous,” my father said, standing and taking her hand.

  “See you in the morning,” I said.

  “Greta’s nice,” said my father when she was out of earshot.

  “She certainly took a shine to you.” I placed my arm around him.

  “Really?” He had a shy glint in his eyes.

  I nodded. “Greta’s an attractive woman.”

  “Yes, that she is,” he replied. “Say, those first editions sound like they’re worth investigating.”

  “Probably American literature, that’s not your cup of tea, is it?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I’m rather fond of Mark Twain. Then there’s Steinbeck—he was a giant. Nathaniel Hawthorne, Poe, and let’s not overlook Henry James.”

  “You’ve changed your tune, Daddy. I recall you turning your nose up at James.”

  “I’ve softened in my old age, Princess.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The following day, Greta asked that I visit one of their charities.

  “We normally allow them to run themselve
s,” said Greta, showing me the spreadsheets. “But the RSHC has become too overdrawn to ignore.”

  “I see,” I said, studying the procedure that I was expected to implement. Although not my strong point, I had adequate math skills. And it did seem straightforward enough.

  “I’ll need you to drive out there in the morning and introduce yourself to Bryce. He’s the director and has been told that you’re coming. You’re to show him how to record his personal expenses.”

  I nodded. How will I get there?

  “You can take one of our cars,” said Greta, reading my mind as always. “I’ll need your license for insurance purposes. After lunch, I’ll get Linus to show you a car. The fleet is electric. You should familiarize yourself with the vehicle. Linus will help with that.” Greta hovered. I sensed she wanted to ask me something. “It will be your car, to do as you wish, during your time with us.”

  My car to use as I wish?

  “Can I use it on weekends, as well?”

  She nodded. “You’ll have to charge it here. It does one hundred miles per charge.” Her face softened. “I take it your father enjoyed his time here last night.” Her tone had shifted from professional to familiar.

  “Dad loved it. He was taken aback by your generosity, as I am, of course.”

  She nodded. “Yes, Aidan is a kind soul, sometimes too kind for his own good.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder what she meant by that.

  The entire morning was spent arranging the entertainment for the ball. Just as I wrapped up for lunch, Greta asked, “Do you want to select your outfit for the ball, or would you prefer our personal stylist to do it? That being the case, she’ll require your measurements.”

  Clueless on what to wear, I agreed to the stylist option. Butterflies flooded my tummy. Excitement had finally hit me. I’d never attended an event of such magnitude.

  “I spoke to the agent. Both the string quartet and band have made themselves available,” I said, placing some paperwork in my tray.

  Greta looked pleased. “Good. I like the idea of a string quartet as people are entering. And I’m sure Aidan will be delighted with the band. He’s got a thing for jazz classics.”