An Exception to His Rule. Lindsay Armstrong
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I’d quite understand,’ Harriet said politely, with a less than polite glint in her eye, however.
She really doesn’t like him, Arthur thought and rubbed his face distractedly. So why is she doing this?
But what Damien said took him even further by surprise. ‘On the contrary, after what Arthur has told me about you I’m positively agog to see you in action. Shall I lead on?’
He didn’t wait for her response but strode out with Tottie following regally.
* * *
Harriet put the exquisite little jade peach tree down on the table with a sigh of pleasure. And her gaze swept over the rest of the treasures spread out on the dining room table. ‘They’re all lovely—she had marvellous taste, your mother. And judgement.’ She took off her red-rimmed glasses.
Damien was leaning his broad shoulders against the mantelpiece with his arms crossed. He did not respond to her admiration of his mother’s collection but said, ‘Is that a new pair or did you get them fixed?’ He nodded towards her glasses resting on the table.
Harriet looked confused for a moment, then, ‘Oh, it was only a lens that got broken so I was able to get a new one.’
‘Red glasses.’ He looked her up and down. ‘Not quite in keeping with the restrained elegance of the rest of you—today, that is.’
A fleeting smile twisted Harriet’s lips. ‘Ah, but it makes them a lot easier to find.’ And, for a moment, she thought he was going to smile too but he continued to look unamused.
Harriet looked away.
‘How would you catalogue them?’ he asked after a moment. ‘This is not even one tenth of them, by the way.’
‘I’d photograph them in the sequence I came upon them and I’d write an initial summary of them. Then, when they were all itemised—’ Harriet laced her fingers ‘—I’d probably sort them into categories, mainly to make it easier to locate them and I’d write a much more comprehensive description of them, their condition, any research I’d done on them, any work required on them et cetera. I’d also, if your mother kept any receipts or paperwork on them, try to marry it all up.’
‘How long do you think that would take?’
Harriet shrugged. ‘Hard to say without seeing the full extent of the collection.’
‘Months,’ Arthur supplied with gloomy conviction.
‘Were you aware it was a live-in position, Miss Livingstone?’ Damien queried. ‘Because we’re out in the country here, whoever does the job will spend an awful lot of time travelling otherwise.’
‘Yes, Arthur did explain that. I believe there’s an old stable block that’s been converted to a studio and it has a flat above it. But—’ Harriet paused ‘—weekends would be free, wouldn’t they?’
Damien raised an eyebrow. ‘Didn’t Arthur tell you that?’
‘He did,’ Harriet agreed, ‘but I needed to double-check.’
‘A boyfriend you’re eager to get back to?’ Damien didn’t wait for her response. ‘If that’s going to be a problem and you’re forever wanting time off to be with him—’
‘Not at all,’ Harriet cut across him quite decisively.
‘Not at all, you wouldn’t be wanting time off all the time or not at all, there is no boyfriend?’ Damien enquired.
Arthur coughed. ‘Damien, I don’t think—’ he began but Harriet interrupted him this time.
‘It’s quite all right, Arthur.’ She turned back to Damien. ‘Allow me to set your mind at rest, Mr Wyatt. There is no fiancé, no husband, no lovers, in short, no one in my life to distract me in that direction.’
‘Well, well,’ Damien drawled, ‘not only a paragon in your profession but also your private life.’
Harriet Livingstone merely allowed her deep blue gaze to rest on him thoughtfully for a moment or two before she turned away with the tiniest shrug, as if to say he was some kind of rare organism she didn’t understand.
Bloody hell, Damien Wyatt found himself thinking as he straightened abruptly, who does she think she is? Not content with smashing my car and causing me considerable discomfort for weeks, she’s—
He didn’t get to finish this set of thoughts as the woman called Isabel popped her head around the door and offered them afternoon tea.
Arthur looked at his watch. ‘Thank you so much, Isabel, but I’m afraid I won’t have time. Penny wants me home by four.’ He paused. ‘What about you, Harriet? We did come in separate cars,’ he explained to Damien.
Harriet hesitated and glanced at Damien. And because most of his mental sensors seemed to be honed in on this tall, slender girl, he saw the tension creep back as she picked up her purse and her knuckles whitened.
And he heard himself say something he hadn’t expected to say. ‘If you’d like a cup of tea, stay by all means, Miss Livingstone. We haven’t finished the interview anyway.’
She hesitated again then thanked him quietly.
Isabel retreated and Arthur, looking visibly harassed, subjected them to an involved explanation of why he needed to be home. Plus he was obviously reluctant to miss any of the verbal duel he was witnessing. But he finally left. And the tea tray arrived but this time Damien introduced the bearer as his aunt Isabel, and invited her to join them.
‘Sorry,’ Isabel said as she put the tea tray down on the coffee table set in front of the settee in a corner of the dining room, ‘but I’m popping into Lennox to pick up our dry-cleaning. Please excuse me, Miss Livingstone,’ she added.
Harriet nodded somewhat dazedly and once again the door closed, this time on his aunt.
‘I don’t think there’s anyone else who could interrupt us,’ Damien Wyatt said with some irony. ‘Do sit down and pour the tea.’
Harriet sank down onto the settee and her hand hovered over the tea tray. ‘Uh—there’s only one cup.’
‘I never drink the stuff,’ he said dismissively, ‘so pour yours and let’s get on with things.’
Harriet lifted the heavy silver teapot and spilt some tea on the pristine white tray cloth.
Damien swore beneath his breath, and came over to sit down beside her. ‘Put it down and tell me something, Harriet Livingstone—why are you doing this? No, wait.’
He picked up the pot Harriet had relinquished and poured a cup of tea without spilling a drop. Then he indicated the milk and sugar but she shook her head. ‘Th-that’s fine, just as it comes, thank you.’
He moved the cup and saucer in front of her and offered her a biscuit that looked like homemade shortbread.
She shook her head.
‘I can guarantee them. The cook makes them himself,’ he said.
‘Thank you but no. I—I don’t have a sweet tooth.’
He pushed the porcelain biscuit barrel away. ‘You look—you don’t look as sk— as thin as you did that day,’ he amended.
A flicker of amusement touched her mouth. ‘Skinny you were going to say? I guess I did. I lost a bit of weight for a time. I’ve probably always been thin, though.’
‘Sorry,’ he murmured. ‘But look, why are you doing this?’
Harriet hesitated and watched the steam rising gently from her tea.
‘You obviously haven’t forgiven me for the things I said that day,’ he continued. ‘Most of the time since you’ve been here you’ve been a nervous wreck or, if not that, beaming pure hostility my way. The only thing that seems to relax you is contact