A Pretend Engagement (3 page)

Then all at once several things struck her that she had been too weary when she had arrived to pay any heed to. The house was warm! Johnny again. The house was built of stone, almost two feet thick in places, which made it lovely during a heat wave, but bitterly cold in winter. Johnny must have put the central heating on when he'd arrived and forgotten to turn if off again when he left. Thank you, Johnny.

She clicked on the bedside lamp, smiling fondly as she thought of him. She hoped he had a fantastic holiday in Australia. His friends Danny and Diana Haywood would make him more than welcome, she knew that.

But, in the meantime, she would not have to make do with the low-powered hit and miss, not to say downright temperamental shower in her adjoining bathroom. She could use the brilliant and powerful one in the bathroom adjoining the master bedroom.

Varnie toyed with the notion of shaking some clothes out from her suitcase first, but all at once to take the shower she had missed last night seemed to be something of a priority. Modesty was simply not required, and, stark naked, she left her room and padded along the landing to grab a large towel from the big airing cupboard as she went. She had the house all to herself after all. Not a soul there to see her.

With a towel over one arm, she trundled along to the master bedroom and opened the door. Her mind more on crossing the room to the door of the bathroom than anything, Varnie flicked on the light switch and was halfway across the room when all of a sudden it was borne startlingly in on her that she was very far from alone!

She wasn't even looking at the bed when her peripheral vision detected the movement of bedcovers! She stared, stunned, at the bed. But before her brain could leap into action, electric light flooding the room had alerted the other occupant to another presence, and a body began to emerge!

`What the...?' His sleep disturbed by the sudden glare of light, the man was not thrilled and was already sitting up. And, by the look of his naked chest and hip as the bedcovers started to go back, he was as stark naked as she!

`H...? Wh...? Oh!' she gasped, frozen to the spot, her brain totally seized up as she stared, her sea-green eyes saucer-wide, at the dark-haired man about to leave the bed. Her shaken rigid expression, her scarlet face, must have got through to the man. However, she was sure it was not to spare her blushes that he halted briefly and remarked, a shade toughly, she felt, `I don't believe we've been introduced,' adding, much in the same tone, `Want to shake hands?'

And, not a bit abashed by his own nakedness, he looked about to get out of bed though not before he took a slow inventory of her assets. His eyes-grey, she noticed, quite ridiculously, she afterwards felt-travelled meticulously from the top of her tousled long blonde hair, down over her face and, resting perhaps a fraction longer than necessary over her pink-tipped breasts, down over her belly and slender hips, past her beautifully shaped long, long legs.

But by the time he reached her toes Varnie was released from the shock that had kept her frozen still and was suddenly galvanized into action. Without a word or another glance at him, as one of his legs came from beneath the covers and it seemed he was going to stand up and shake hands anyway, Varnie got out of there. Had she had space, time, and had her head not been alive with horror she would have attempted to cover her fleeing naked buttocks with the towel, but she was much more concerned with doing a quick disappearing act.

She reached her room and slammed the door hard shut, to find she was breathing hard and shaking from head to foot. Johnny! Johnny Metcalfe, her brother- stepbrother, if you must. She'd stepbrother him! If he wasn't in Australia, if she could get her hands on her, she'd kill him. How could he? And it had to be him! He had invited a perfect stranger to sleep overnight at what was now, she started to accept, her place.

Johnny knew who he was, of course. The man was no stranger to him. And not totally a stranger to her either, not since she had seen that picture of him in the paper yesterday. There was absolutely no need for the man to introduce himself. She already knew who he was.

But what in blazes was Leon Beaumont doing here? And, more worrying than that, he-the first man ever to do so-had just seen her completely stark naked-stitch less. Oh, heavens above, how on earth was she ever to face him again?

HASTILY, flicking nervous glances to her slammed shut bedroom door from time to time, just in case Leon Beaumont should take it into his head to follow her, Varnie wrapped the large towel around her shape and searched her flight bag for the key to her case. With fumbling, agitated fingers she unlocked her case and extracted underwear, trousers and a shirt.

She heard plumbing noises and hated Leon Beaumont that he, when she was too panic-stricken to think of taking a shower in case he walked in, as nice as you please, was showering, quite unconcerned.

Varnie broke another unwritten rule. She rinsed her face and then dressed without first showering. After running a comb through her hair she left her room, went down the stairs and went into the kitchen to wait.

He was in no particular hurry, it seemed, and still hadn't appeared five minutes later. But, while still not looking forward to seeing him again-she went red just thinking of how she had stood, positively starkers, in front of him she was beginning to feel much calmer than she had.

The longer he kept her waiting, though, and she was starting to think that perhaps there was no need for her to face the embarrassment of seeing him again. Johnny would have told him that his sister owned the house and... Or would he? There was no knowing with Johnny. At times that clever brother of hers could be totally feather-brained. It could be, she realised, that Leon Beaumont had not the smallest clue who she was. So why didn't she just open that door, take a fast walk to her car, and get out of there? She could be back home in Gloucestershire by...

Hang on a minute, this was her house! Not his! And anyway, she wasn't ready to go home yet. Soon the pain of Martin Walker's perfidiousness would start, and she would prefer to be alone here rather than at home with her parents when that happened. She wanted to leave them in peace, blissfully believing she was abroad enjoying the ski slopes.

And on the thought that she had come here to be alone Varnie decided that it was time she got her act together. Time she took charge of the situation. She had no idea what Leon Beaumont was doing here, but she wasn't leaving-he was!

Feeling in a sudden determined frame of mind, Varnie marched from the kitchen and along the hall to the bottom of the stairs. There she listened for sounds of the electric motor that would tell her that Beaumont was making the most of his shower. She could hear nothing, so knew he was out of the shower.

Preferring not to see him in any stage of undress, she decided against going up the stairs to give him his marching orders. He might be her brother's boss, but he wasn't hers. She was about to go back to the kitchen when she spotted a whole pile of junk mail on the floor by the front door. There was masses of it, and since she had cleared away anything that had come through the letter flap on her last visit...

Thinking to occupy herself while waiting for his lordship-what on earth had Johnny been thinking to give him his key?-she went and collected up the mound of clear plastic covered unsolicited mail. Then she found that one was a plain white envelope.

Taking the mail with her back to the kitchen, she knew that the only explanation for Beaumont being inside her property must be because Johnny had handed over his key. Now, why would he do that?

She had a sudden flashback of standing with not a stitch on in front of the man her brother thought so highly of, and knew she was red about the ears. She swiftly busied herself opening up the unaddressed white envelope-and very quickly learned why, or part of why, her brother had parted with his key.

The letter was from Mrs. Lloyd, the lady who had come to clean and cook for Grandfather Sutton, and was in response to a telephone call that Johnny had made to her. For all his name was not on the envelope, it began, `Dear Mr. Metcalfe'.

I am sorry I wasn't in when you rang yesterday. And I am sorry too that I am not able to come and look after your guest. Apparently Mrs. Lloyd was now retired but, if Mr. Metcalfe was really stuck for someone, she had written the phone number of a Mrs. Roberts who might be willing, if he could call daily and collect Mrs. Roberts, who had no transport.

Her breath caught as it hit Varnie that this was not intended to be just a one- night stopover, as she'd thought! So, she fumed, cross with Johnny and fuming against his employer, that was it. Leon Beaumont obviously fancied a bit of a break- away from outraged husbands, no doubt-and Johnny, doubtless mentioning Aldwyn House, had decided it would be an ideal spot for a hideaway. And, without doubt too, would not have needed much coercion to hand over his key. Naturally enough Johnny, being Johnny and aware that she wouldn't be around for at least two weeks because she was flying off to Switzerland, had seen no need to inform her of what was happening. She felt fairly certain then that Johnny, as ever Johnny, just hadn't thought to tell his womanizing employer that the property didn't actually belong to him.

The sound of footsteps interrupted her angry thoughts. She looked to the door. Leon Beaumont stood in the doorway. He was tall, as she had known he was. And, just as she had known she would, she went crimson.

He came further into the kitchen, but did not comment on her embarrassed colour; there wasn't so much as a hint of embarrassment about him, she noticed. But then, he was probably used to seeing the female form unclad, she fumed sniffily. Though before she could tell him that now that he was dressed she was throwing him out, he demanded, `What's your name?'

As if it had anything to do with him! 'Varnie Sutton,' she answered snappily, and watched to see if her name meant anything to him. Clearly it didn't, so obviously Johnny had not thought to mention her. Not that he should in the ordinary run of things, but, dammit, this was her house! Realising that she was getting quite proprietorial about a house she would have to sell, Varnie decided it was high time she sent this man on his way. `And you're Leon Beaumont,' she began stiffly. `You-'

`You know who I am?' Beaumont demanded.

`Ever think you've wandered into someone else's nightmare?' she retorted.

He ignored that. `How do you know who I am`?' he barked curtly. 'Metcalfe had strict instructions that I wanted him to find me somewhere isolated where I wouldn't have to put up with-unwanted intrusions.'

Unwanted intrusions! By that did he mean he thought that she might come on to him? Varnie was on the instant up in arms. She was off men in general, and him in particular. `For your information, I wouldn't touch you with a disinfected line-prop ten feet long!' she hissed. He favoured her with a searing look of skepticism. `For your further information-' she went on.

`That's why you walked naked into my room, was it? Because you're not interested?' he cut in. `Had I shown the smallest inclination you'd have been in that bed with me like a shot.'

Varnie stared at him in utter disbelief; the whole of her skin felt aflame. Somehow, though, she recovered, to tell him in no uncertain fashion, `I'd sooner swallow prussic acid!' And, building up a fine head of steam, `Your eyes were so busily engaged elsewhere...' She wished she hadn't said that. Her skin flamed anew as she again recalled his eyes going over her naked figure. '...otherwise you might have noticed I was carrying a towel. My only purpose in coming to that room was to take a shower. I didn't even know you were here.'

`What's wrong with the shower in your room?"

'My room?"

'I checked. You slept here last night.'

The cheeky swine! `My shower needs fixing, there's hardly any pressure and the shower's better in your room.' Why was she bothering to explain'? Good...

`You obviously know the house?'

'This isn't my first visit.'

Leon Beaumont stared at her, suspicion rife. `From the size of your suitcase, you appear to have some notion of staying for a while?'

Did she have news for him. `That's the general idea,' she replied. But before she could go on to tell him that she was staying and that he wasn't, he cut her short.

`You obviously know John Metcalfe.' Varnie was about to agree that she did, and that Johnny was her brother. But what Leon Beaumont said next brought her up very short, and caused her to hesitate. `Obviously, too, you're also very well acquainted with my inefficient, new and soon to be short-lived assistant,' he rapped.

Varnie felt stumped. In an instant she recalled just how keen Johnny had been to work for this sharp and disgruntled-looking man. To work as Leon Beaumont's assistant, not deskbound but travelling all over-smoothing his path, so to speak, to leave him to deal with bigger, more important issues had been everything Johnny wanted! She gave an inner sigh-protecting Johnny, for all he was three years older than her, had over the years become second nature.

And that was when suddenly, albeit reluctantly, but without having to think about it, Varnie knew she was going to have to change her tune. If she did not, then by the look of it when Johnny came home from Australia, he would not have a job to come home to!

So, okay, she would stick up for Johnny, but no way was she going to crawl to this tall, dark-haired, grey-eyed man who had now come up close to her and was looking toughly, icily at her, through hard, cold and unfeeling grey eyes. `Your assistant is extremely efficient,' she retorted.

`You know this?' he questioned, his hard gaze fixed on her sea-green eyes.

`I do,' she said, her mind racing to strive to think up something brilliant that Johnny had done.

`Surprise me?' Leon Beaumont's tone had turned to mockery.

`I-er-know for a fact that-that he tried to get some domestic help to cover while you're here,' she brought out triumphantly. Thank goodness she had read that letter.

`Mrs. Lloyd?'

Rats! He already knew that. `I arrived late last night,' Varnie answered, which was pertinent to nothing. She knew she was struggling. But, truth be told, she was more than a tiny bit fed up with this man's questions. `I know that!' he clipped. `I was late getting here myself.'

Oh, grief, he was growing narky again! For herself, she didn't give a button. But for Johnny... Even if she did feel like wringing her brother's neck for what he had done, she knew she would not let him down.

`The fog was dreadful, wasn't it?' she commented pleasantly. Deaf ears. Leon Beaumont ignored her pleasant comment. `Actually, I somehow didn't expect you to be here until today-er-the fog and everything,' she added lamely. `Um, you must have put your car away iii the garage.' She came to an end to see that he had clearly heard quite enough of her rambling on.

`Just what are you doing here?' he challenged aggressively. `And how the hell did you get in?'

Tell him, urged her true self. And she knew she would derive a great deal of satisfaction From doing just that. But-Johnny... Somehow, just to tell this man that his assistant was her brother seemed like letting Johnny down. `Oh sorry,' she apologized, racking her brains. `Didn't I say?' What? What? What? `There's a spare key hidden in the pyracantha bush by the tool shed. Er-Mrs. Lloyd can't come after all-' Varnie broke off, her brain racing. 'I'm here as her replacement.' Had she actually just said that? She hadn't-had she?

Looking at Leon Beaumont, Varnie saw that he didn't appear to believe it either. He cast an eye over her trim figure, in her casual but obviously good clothes, and bluntly, skepticism rife again, questioned, `You're here to do domestic work?'

Varnie, used as she was to looking out for her brother, couldn't see what other choice she had. `Yes,' she confirmed.

His answer was to take hold of both her delicate hands. She immediately wanted to snatch her hands back, but by effort of will managed to stay still. She did not often have a manicure, but she had been going to go on holiday, for goodness' sake, with someone she had up until yesterday thought of as someone a bit special. So why wouldn't she go the whole hog and have her hands and nails professionally attended to?

`These hands have never known hard work,' he stated, tossing them disgustedly away from him.

`Yes, they have!' she argued.

`You've skivvied?' So absurd did the notion seem to appear to be to him, he looked as though he might burst out laughing. He didn't.

`I have!'

`It looks like it.'

`I was in the hotel trade!' she defended, while hardly knowing why she was bothering. `I've worked all areas when required-chambermaid, cleaner, chef, secretary, accountant,' she enumerated.

`You were learning the hotel business?' He seemed to reconsider. `So what happened?' he wanted to know.

'The-er...' Oh, heavens, how much had Johnny told him? `The hotel sold out to a bigger chain,' she lied. `There were two of us doing the same job. I-er-sort of lost

`You were sacked!'

Oh, how she would like to poke him in the eye-both eyes, come to that. `Not sacked. They've said they'll give me a splendid reference.' She had been in charge of that sort of thing; she could write herself a super reference if need be. Though of course a reference wouldn't be needed for casual work.

`So when this Mrs. Lloyd told Metcalfe she couldn't come, he rang and asked you to come and help out?' he asked, looking not taken in for a second.

`That's about it,' Varnie answered. What on earth was she doing? While she wanted to stay on at Aldwyn House, no way did she want to stay here with him! And no way did she want to stay and, worse, work for the wretched man.

`Thanks, but no thanks.' He declined an offer that she was not altogether sure she had made anyway.

`Why not?' Why was she arguing? Johnny must keep Johnny to the forefront of her mind. Part of being a sister meant looking out for one's sibling-no matter how infuriating that sibling could be at times.

For a moment it did not look as though Leon Beaumont would deign to answer. Then, abruptly, `I don't take favours,' he said curtly.

Good! Johnny! Damn. `It's you who'll be doing me a favour,' she said in a rush- Johnny Metcalfe, you owe me, big-time. 'I'm out of a job and I've nowhere to live until I hear from my live-in job applications,' she lied sorrowfully.