A Most Suitable Wife. Jessica Steele
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sincerely assured by this woman who had been at school with his mother that Magnus Ashthorpe was totally trustworthy, still Taye hesitated. Even though she knew that mixed flat-shares went on all over the place, she somehow felt reluctant to have him so close. And, if she didn’t make that call to him, well, it was not as if he was desperate for somewhere to rent, was it? By the sound of it, Mrs Sturgess, his mother’s friend, would have him back living with her like a shot. Presumably, though, he did not want to return there.
Taye thought of her own mother’s friend, the hardbitten Larissa Gilbert. Would she want to go and live with the thin-lipped Larissa? No way.
The decision seemed to be made.
Taye picked up the phone and dialed, half hoping Magnus Ashthorpe had his mobile switched off. He hadn’t, but he was already taking a call. She waited a long five minutes and then, aware that she had no option unless she was to go on the apartment-hunting trail herself—the much smaller apartment hunt; she could not bear the thought of returning to a bed-sit—she had to make that call.
She redialled—it was picked up at the fourth ring. ‘Pen…’ he began, and then changed it to, ‘Hello.’
She guessed his previous caller was probably someone called Penny, and he thought it was she ringing back from his previous call. Sorry to disappoint. ‘Hello,’ Taye replied, and began to feel more comfortable to know he had got a woman-friend. ‘It’s Taye Trafford.’ He said nothing. Not one solitary word. And she swiftly recalled how he had barely spoken when he had come to view the apartment. Perhaps that was what Mrs Sturgess liked about him—that he was not forever chattering on. ‘About the flat-share,’ Taye resumed.
‘Yes?’
She found his monosyllabic reply annoying and started to have second thoughts. ‘There isn’t a garage,’ she drew out of nowhere, even at the eleventh hour, as it were, attempting, when she really needed him, to put him off. ‘Well, there is, but the owner is abroad and has a lot of his belongings stored in it.’
‘That won’t be a problem.’
‘You don’t have a car?’
‘I find public transport quite useful,’ he replied, and, assuming too much in her opinion, ‘I’ll move in tomorrow,’ he announced.
Her mouth fell open in shock. Of all the… ‘I’ll try to get off work early—’ she began, and was interrupted for her pains.
‘You work?’ he questioned shortly. ‘You have a job?’
She did not care for his tone. ‘Of course I have a job!’ she exclaimed. They were on the brink of a row—and he hadn’t even moved in yet! ‘It’s how I pay the rent!’ she added pithily.
‘Huh!’ he grunted. It sounded a derogatory grunt to her. But before she could ask him what the Dickens that ‘huh’ meant, something else struck her.
‘You can pay rent in advance?’ she queried, everything in her going against asking him for the money but realism having to be faced. ‘I shall need the whole quarter’s rent before quarter day, the twenty-fourth of June.’
‘I’ll give you the cash when I see you tomorrow,’ he replied crisply.
‘A cheque will do as well,’ she calmed down a little to inform him—she could bank his cheque on Wednesday, that would still give it plenty of time to clear before quarter day.
‘If that’s it—’ he began.
‘One other thing,’ she butted in quickly. Again he was silent, and she felt forced to continue. ‘Er—naturally I’d expect you to respect my privacy.’
‘You mean when you bring your men-friends home?’ he questioned tersely. What was it with this man? She had not meant that. Thank goodness there was a lock on the bathroom door. ‘Naturally,’ he went on when she seemed stumped for an answer, ‘you’ll afford me the same privacy?’
‘When you bring your women-friends back?’ she queried tautly.
‘Until tomorrow,’ he said, and cut the call.
Slowly Taye replaced her telephone. Somehow she just could not see the arrangement working. But, for better or worse, it seemed she had just got herself a tenant.
CHAPTER TWO
MAGNUS ASHTHORPE moved into the garden flat on Tuesday evening. On Wednesday Taye banked the cash he had given her. It exasperated her that he had given her cash. It was almost as if Magnus Ashthorpe did not have a bank account! But, since he seemed to think she would feel happier with the cash than with a cheque, she supposed she should not complain. It was just that thirteen weeks of half the rent in cash was such an awful lot of money to be carrying around.
He had been up and about before her that morning—and she was an early riser. Surprisingly, with the stranger sleeping in the next room, she had slept much better than she had envisaged. She had gone to bed wary and wondering if she should prop a chair under the door handle. Then she recalled the glowing reference Claudia Sturgess had given him, her ‘I’ve known him for years’, her ‘He’s one of the nicest men I know’, her comment that she would trust him with her life—and Taye, as it were, bit the bullet, and decided that to place a chair under her bedroom door handle was no way to start out.
By Friday she had started to relax at having a male flat-share. Given that he was rather taciturn of manner, he was quiet and clean. And, apart from the fact that his eyesight appeared a shade faulty when it came to clearing up a few toast crumbs from the work surfaces, Taye felt she had not done too badly to take her one and only applicant. Another point in his favour—he was seldom ever there. He arose early, went out early, and came home late. He was, she decided, one very busy painter.
She frequently worked late herself, but, having accepted a dinner invitation with Julian Coombs that evening, Taye hurried home from her office to shower and change. She found her flat-share had beaten her to it.
For once, having let himself in with the spare keys Paula had left behind, he was home early. Taye could hear the shower running as she went in and walked by the bathroom. It was not a problem; he did not spend anywhere near the length of time in there that Paula had.
Taye went into her bedroom and, Julian having mentioned the smart establishment where they would be dining, extracted a smart dress from her wardrobe. Up until the age of fourteen she had been used to the best of clothes. Habits formed up until the time her father had left home were ingrained deeper than she had known, and she had discovered that she would rather wait until she could afford something with a touch of quality than buy two of something inferior. That was not to say that if a cheaper item looked good, she might not buy it.
She glanced at her watch just as she heard the bathroom door open. Oh, good! Taye left her room in time to see a robe-clad Magnus Ashthorpe leaving the bathroom.
She almost disappeared back into her room but, Get used to it, she instructed herself, he lives here. ‘Finished in there?’ she asked brightly.
‘It’s all yours,’ he answered, and went to his room, leaving her to it.
A quick shower, a light application of make-up and Taye was seated before her dressing table mirror wondering whether to wear her straight white-blonde hair up or down. Down, she decided. It was Friday night; she had worked hard all week. Time to party.
Well, she qualified, Julian being more earnest than frolicsome, time to unwind. Dressed in a straight dress of heavy silk with fragile shoulder straps, Taye left her room.
To her surprise she found Magnus taking his ease in the sitting room, reading his evening paper. A small ‘Oh!’ escaped her before she could stop it. He must have heard it because, unspeaking, he lowered his paper, and she somehow felt obliged to explain, ‘I didn’t expect you to still be here.’
‘Here is where I live,’ he reminded her coolly, and while she felt a touch embarrassed, and a touch annoyed at one and the