A Masterful Man. Lindsay Armstrong
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am neither, but then again I never told anyone that I was—could we be at cross purposes here?’
Davina frowned. ‘Does that mean to say,’ she said slowly, ‘that you have no living wife, or no wife living with you?’
He regarded her with enough scorn to wither most people but Davina didn’t even flinch as he said, ‘Let me try to set this straight in your mind, Mrs Hastings. I am not married and therefore, as night follows day, I don’t have a wife—do you think you’re able to understand it now?’
‘No mistress, de facto or whatever you like to call it?’ Davina merely enquired, refusing to be deterred.
‘No mistress, no live-in lover...no, none of those things. Why,’ he said in a voice loaded with mockery, ‘is it disturbing you to this extent, Mrs Hastings? Please, do explain.’
Davina set her teeth and said impatiently, ‘Because if someone needs mothering it’s got to be a motherless child...’ She stopped and glared at him. ‘Then I have to tell you I never work for single men, Mr Warwick,’ she said. ‘And I’ll even tell you why! Single men, be they widowers or whatever, for reasons best known to themselves, tend to regard housekeepers as fair game—which you yourself proved as soon as you laid eyes on me. So what we have here now is not that the agency misrepresented me to you, but you to me.’ She smiled, but not with her eyes; in fact they were as cold as ice. ‘They actually told me you had a wife and daughter. I wonder why they would have done that, Mr Warwick, since you’ve made it so obvious it’s not so?’
He was silent for a moment then a faint smile twisted his lips and he said smoothly, ‘It had to be a misunderstanding, I’m afraid. What I have is a stepmother and a half-sister all bearing the name of Warwick. So that anyone checking the names in the household would have come across a Mr Warwick, a Mrs Warwick—there’ll be two of those in fact, and a Miss Warwick aged eight. I would imagine that’s how things got garbled, Mrs Hastings, wouldn’t you agree? Moreover, the other Mrs Warwick is my grandmother—I wonder if you feel that array of woman-power on the scene is enough to keep you safe from the ravages of single men, Mrs Hastings? I’d be really interested to know.’
Davina stared at him and could have killed whoever it was at the agency who had ‘garbled’ things. Then she retorted, ‘And I’d be really interested to know how you would hope to get away with presenting a housekeeper who resembles a B-grade film starlet to your stepmother, your half-sister and your grandmother!’
‘Oh,’ he grinned, ‘they usually accept whatever I tell them to.’
Davina compressed her lips, and said with suppressed violence, ‘Do you really believe I could work for you now? No, Mr Warwick, you may be able to walk all over your female relatives but it would be a grave mistake to think I was in that category. I’ll go straight back.’ And she turned away, as much because she was actually trembling with rage as with disgust.
‘You can’t,’ S. Warwick said after a moment’s thought.
‘Can’t what?’ Davina queried, still turned away from him.
‘Go straight back,’ he said mildly.
That caused her to turn to him and say coldly, ‘Of course I can go back—what do you mean?’
He observed her taut stance and the fact that the rain had caused her abundant hair to start to curl, then his gaze once more wandered over her figure, taking in things like the straight-cut beige linen jacket she wore over a now damp white silk blouse and slim white linen trousers, her beautiful narrow hands and the only ring she wore, a small gold signet on her little finger, her elegant flat beige leather shoes and her matching soft leather travelling shoulder-bag. Then his eyes rested briefly on her camera case before coming back to examine the smooth, faintly tanned skin exposed by the V of her blouse...
Which was when Davina said furiously, ‘Now look here, Mr Warwick—’
‘Of course you can go back,’ he murmured then, looking amused. ‘You just can’t go straight back.’
‘I...’ Davina narrowed her eyes then glanced outside at the airfield. ‘Are you telling me there are no more flights today?’
‘Precisely,’ he agreed.
Davina swore beneath her breath. ‘Well, I presume there’s somewhere I can put up for the night.’
‘There is—’
‘Other than with you,’ she said pointedly.
He withdrew one powerful hand from his pocket and gestured amiably. ‘There are actually four hundred beds on the island; I’m sure we could find you one. Or, it crossed my mind that you might be interested in...dispelling my first impressions of you, Mrs Hastings.’
‘Dis... If you mean what I think you mean by that—’ her eyes flashed ‘—I—’
‘Proving to me that you’re not a rather gorgeous, exotic creature who is totally unsuited to housekeeping is what I meant,’ he said gravely. ‘In other words, commencing your employment with me.’
‘I thought I told you that was out of the question—’
‘You did. But as I’m having second thoughts, why don’t you?’ And he looked at her with total, bland innocence.
Davina opened and shut her mouth several times before she was able to articulate her thoughts, a process S. Warwick watched with very polite attention. Finally, she said, ‘Are you inviting me to believe that it would be possible for you to prove to me that you’re not one of the most arrogant, unpleasant, insulting men I have ever met? A thorough bastard,’ she said gently, ‘to put it even more simply?’
He laughed and said one single word. ‘Yes.’
‘No—’
‘Oh, come now, Mrs Hastings,’ he said with a sudden rather weary and irritable lift of his shoulders. ‘We got off on the wrong foot, can’t we just leave it at that? Do you expect an apology—is that it? If so, I apologise—’
‘Don’t bother—’
But he overrode her in suddenly even, clipped tones. ‘Look, if you must know, there would be few men immune from the sight of you running towards them in an open jacket and a white silk blouse that was getting wet.’ A wicked little glint lit his eyes as Davina glanced down hastily and dragged her jacket closed. Then he continued drily, ‘It’s a fact of life I suspect, but I do apologise for my—momentary lapse in good manners or whatever the hell you like to call it. The other thing is, while I may have been a bit unfair in my remarks about B-grade movies, you just don’t look like a housekeeper and I would take issue with anyone who tried to tell me otherwise!’ He continued, with a returning flash of irritation, ‘So. Yes, I admit I let myself vent my annoyance rather brutally on what I perceived as a muck-up which is the last thing I can afford at present. You are not, however,’ he said precisely, ‘in any danger of being regarded as fair game in my household, I give you my word.’
‘And why should I believe a thing you say?’ Davina countered, but was struck by the odd little thought that she did... Why? she wondered. Because so ungracious an explanation and apology had absolutely nothing else going for it but the ring of truth? Perhaps...
And then, to make matters worse, S. Warwick said nothing more, nothing about there being any number of people who could testify to his word being his bond, just nothing. He simply stood there regarding her indifferently, but with that latent impatience and irritability not far away.
Davina tightened her mouth in exasperation and swung round with a toss of her head, only to stop still, arrested, as she stared through the glass doors that led to the car park on the other side of the terminal from the airfield. The rain had stopped and the sky partially cleared and her eyes widened and her lips parted as she looked her fill, then she turned back to the tall man and said huskily, ‘Those mountains—what are they?’
‘Mount