Maid for Montero. KIM LAWRENCE
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Chloe was kissing her daughter, and the vicar was taking off his glasses to study one of the paintings on the wall, Zoe took the opportunity to wrench her hand free and sling a poisonous look up at his face.
‘Oh, Zoe, you’ve worked so hard. How will we ever be able to thank you? And don’t you worry—we’ll be here bright and early to clear away.’ She stretched up to kiss Zoe’s cheek. ‘I wanted you to know first. Now I think we should go and tell everyone else…Vicar?’
‘Yes, indeed. Mr Montero, you have a very impressive art collection here…amazing…’ He wrung the younger man’s hand with enthusiasm before following Chloe from the room. Zoe, who had tacked on behind them, was stopped by the sound of her name.
‘Miss Grace, if I could have a moment…?’
Half inclined to carry on walking but knowing if she did the likelihood would be that the story would come out, Zoe paused and turned back, promising Chloe she would catch up. She knew it was inevitable that her friend would feel in part responsible for her sacking, but she saw no need to cast a cloud over this happy moment for the family who had not had a lot to be happy about recently.
She held herself rigid as he walked past her and closed the door.
‘So?’
She shrugged and matched his tone. ‘What?’
‘Would you like to tell me what that was all about?’
Now he wants to know. ‘I was trying to explain.’
Isandro’s jaw tightened. He was furious to have been put in the position of being treated like some sort of hero and not having a clue why, and his anger was aimed at the person he held responsible for it.
‘Well, explain now.’
‘The fund-raiser was for Hannah.’
‘The child in the wheelchair?’
Zoe nodded. ‘Hannah had surgery for a spinal tumour. It was successful, they got all the tumour, but the pressure on the spinal cord caused damage and she can’t walk. The doctors can’t do anything, but Chloe, her mum, found a hospital in Boston that might be able to help. The treatment is experimental but so far the results have been really good.’
‘And all this today was for that cause?’
She nodded.
His dark brows drew together in a straight line above his hawkish nose. ‘Why on earth did you not tell me this straight away?’
She stared at him, staggered he could ask the question with a straight face…Priceless—the man was incredible. ‘Possibly because you didn’t give me a chance?’
Before he could respond there was a tap on the door and Chloe poked her head into the room.
‘I almost forgot—we’re having a party tomorrow at our house. Please come, Mr Montero.’
‘Isandro.’
‘Isandro,’ she said, smiling. ‘I’m sure Zoe will drive you if you want a drink,’ Zoe was mortified to hear her friend suggest warmly. ‘Her being the teetotaller she is.’
Zoe tensed, dreading the man would respond with a crushing refusal to the invitation, but to her surprise he simply nodded and said, ‘Most kind of you.’
‘Great—we’ll see you both at seven.’
The door closed. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make your excuses. I’m assuming that as you know I’m not some sort of con artist you’ll allow me to work my notice. I’m not asking for myself, but the children—’
Frowning, he cut across her. ‘They all seem to be under the impression that I gave the go-ahead for this…this…’
‘Fund-raising Fun Day.’
‘Fun?’
‘It started out as a coffee morning and then it just…’
He produced the sarcastic smile that made her want to stick a pin in him.
She clenched her teeth. ‘Got out of hand.’
‘It would seem you have a problem saying no.’ He looked at her mouth and imagined her saying yes to a lot of things…yes and please. ‘Did it not occur to you to tell me what this was about?’
She lifted her chin in response to his daunting disapproval and countered, ‘Did it not occur to you to tell me who you were?’
The retort drew a frown. ‘You have placed me in an impossible situation,’ he brooded darkly.
Logic told him his hands were tied.
Sack her now and he would go from being the hero of the hour to the villain in a breath, and while he did not care overly for his standing in the local community, what bothered him was the press getting a sniff and running with it.
With the Fitzgerald deal in the balance the timing was as bad as it could be and this was the sort of story that the tabloids loved. The wheelchair-bound child, the rich landowner…He could see the headlines now, closely followed by the deal he had spent the last six months pulling together going down the drain along with all the jobs it would bring.
As tempting as it was to let the dismissal stand—every instinct he had was telling him she was nothing but trouble—Isandro knew the more sensible alternative was letting her stay. He had no doubt whatever that he would not have long to wait before she provided him with ample legitimate reasons to dismiss her.
An image of the pale freckled face flashed into his head. ‘The child could not be treated in this country?’
Zoe smiled—the day had done some good. ‘No, the surgery is ground-breaking.’
‘And shaving your head?’ He directed a curious glance at her glossy head, the light shining from the window highlighting natural-looking glossy chestnut streaks in the rich brown. ‘A joke?’
Zoe lifted a self-conscious hand and flicked her plait over shoulder. ‘Not really. Chloe has bad days sometimes and to make her laugh I said if the day didn’t raise the money she needed I’d shave off my hair to raise more.’
‘No!’ The strength of his spontaneous rebuttal startled Isandro as much as it appeared to the owner of the hair.
She blinked, startled. ‘Pardon?’
‘It would not be appropriate for my housekeeper to go around with a shaved head.’
For a moment Zoe stared at him, her hope soaring despite the voice in her head that counselled caution. ‘Housekeeper. Does that mean…?’
‘I will be back tomorrow and I expect—’ He broke off as a great roar went up from outside. ‘I will expect things to be back to normal.’
‘So you’re not sacking me?’ Zoe lowered her gaze, appalled to find her eyes filling with weak tears of relief.
‘I will give you a trial period.’ He gave her a month.
‘You won’t regret it.’
He probably would. ‘The child…?’ He touched the back of the chair she had been spinning around in. ‘The one with the ginger hair.’
‘Auburn. That was Georgie…Georgina.’
‘She is…?’ he prompted impatiently. It was like getting blood out of a stone.
‘My niece.’ She beamed happily. He could look down his aristocratic nose at her as much as he liked—she was no longer homeless, jobless and virtually destitute.
‘She is staying long?’
‘She lives with me and her twin brother, Harry.’ In her head she could hear Laura on the phone when the scan had revealed she was carrying twins…One of each, Zoe, how lucky are we?
In the act of opening a diary on his desk,