Blueprint for Love (Choc Lit) (5 page)

Irene was in the kitchen chatting to a young woman with short, blonde hair, who was cradling the cat on her lap. Hazel recognised her from somewhere although she couldn’t immediately place her.

         
‘Hazel, this is my daughter, Alison.’ Irene was stirring something on the stove. Sharp, fruity aromas rose from the pot, and a dozen clean jam jars were lined up on the kitchen island. 

         
‘Hi, there.’ Alison gave a little wave. ‘I’ve come to do the cleaning. You settling in all right?’

          Smiling back, Hazel twigged.
‘You’re the bus driver, aren’t you?’

         
‘Yeah, that’s my other job. I do the route that goes past the manor, and if you ever need a door-to-door service, just give me a ring on the mobile and I’ll pick you up.’ She grinned. ‘Except Fridays, which is when I help Mum out. It was Jonathan’s suggestion, when he saw how she was struggling getting the hoover up the stairs.’

         
‘I wasn’t struggling,’ Irene protested, ‘and it’s Mr Gough to you.’

         
‘Jonathan,’ Alison shot back.

          Rolling her eyes, Irene wiped her hands on her apron.
‘What can I do for you, Hazel?’

         
‘I need to make a pot of coffee, if that’s all right.’

         
‘Certainly. Let me show you where everything is.’

          Irene showed Hazel how to use the electric coffee grinder and where to find coffee, sugar and milk, then she returned to her jam-making. Hazel quickly assembled a tray with everything requested by Tabitha, placing it all as neatly as possible, even adding a paper doily she’d found in a drawer. She wanted to make sure that Tabitha couldn’t find fault with her.

          Even so, it was tempting to replace the sugar in the bowl with salt.

         
‘I see you’ve met Tabby-cat,’ Alison commented.

         
‘Alison,’ Irene admonished.

         
‘I don’t care what you say, Mum. Tabby-cat is a right ...’ she bit her lip, ‘whatever. Anyway, I think she fancies herself as lady of the manor, and if Jonathan does decide to marry her, I don’t think you’ll like it here either.’

          With a sigh, Irene nodded.
‘I suppose in that eventuality, I’d probably look for another position.’

         
‘See?’ Depositing the disgruntled cat on the floor, Alison rose from the chair to hold the door open for Hazel. As they passed in the doorway, Alison added in a low voice, ‘Take my advice. Watch. Your. Back.’

CHAPTER FOUR

It was as if Alison had known what would happen next.

          Returning to the office with the coffee tray, Hazel was about to place it on a side table next to Tabitha’s drawing board when the other woman carelessly flung a drawing onto the table, as if she hadn’t seen Hazel there at all. The pot overbalanced, and coffee spilled all over the exquisite drawing.

          ‘Oh no!’ Shocked, Hazel began to dab at the drawing with the paper doily, only for the inks to run into a single, drab-coloured smudge.

          Tabitha snatched the paper doily out of her hand.
‘You stupid girl! Look what you’ve done! If we don’t get the Robert Miles contract, it’ll be all your fault.’

          Hazel felt tears welling up in her eyes, and she swallowed hard to hold them back.
‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t expect you to put something on that table just as I was putting the tray down.’

         
‘Are you saying it’s my fault? Where, exactly, am I supposed to put my finished work to dry? Should I dangle it in the air perhaps?’

         
‘No, of course not, I ...’

          The commotion had summoned their colleagues, including Jonathan, who gathered around the desk.
‘What’s going on?’

          Tabitha flung her arm out with a theatrical sob.
‘Look what she did! Hours of work, completely ruined. I’m devastated!’

         
‘Hardly hours,’ said Jonathan dryly. ‘But never mind, I’ve got a copy. Let me just fetch it. You can work from there.’

          He disappeared into his office and returned a moment later with the exact same drawing Tabitha had been working on, apart from the few extra lines she’d added that day.

          ‘You keep copies of my work?’ Tabitha looked astounded.

         
‘Let’s just call it a necessary back-up measure. You’re hardly known for your punctuality.’

         
‘But, Jonathan ... Jon-nee ...’ Tabitha sent him a wobbly smile, ‘the meeting last night just carried on and on. I was so tired this morning.’

          This earned a disgusted snort from Ellie.

          Jonathan ignored Ellie’s rudeness. ‘I understand. That’s why I keep copies of everyone’s work, in case someone else has to pick it up at short notice. You’re with me here, Tabs, aren’t you?’

          She nodded.

          ‘And next time, get your own coffee.’

         
‘Yes, Jonathan, I will. Sorry, Hazel, it was wrong of me to have a go at you. No harm done, right?’

          Tabitha’s baby-blue eyes widened fetchingly, but Hazel caught the calculating gleam as soon as Jonathan’s back was turned.

          ‘A word in your ear, if you don’t mind.’ Jonathan touched Hazel lightly on the arm.

         
‘Of course.’ She followed him into his office.
Job Centre, here I come
, she thought morosely.

          It was the first time she’d actually been inside his private office, and despite her worry that he was about to give her the sack, she was curious. It was crammed with overflowing bookcases, a desk placed sideways to the glass partition which separated him from the main office, and a couple of chairs. Behind the desk hung a busy noticeboard, but the desk itself was tidy with only a lamp and a giant blotter on it. In the centre of the blotter someone, presumably Jonathan, had written down four numbers and then circled them.

          Craning her neck, Hazel read ‘1572’. Wondering if this was the PIN code for his bank card, which would be a little careless, she looked away and tried to forget what she’d seen.

          Jonathan closed the door behind them and sat down on the edge of his desk, indicating for Hazel to take one of the chairs.

          ‘I know Tabitha isn’t easy to work with,’ he said, without preamble. ‘She’s used to getting her own way, but at heart she’s kind and caring. I – we – need her on this project, so please try to get on.’

         
‘I intend to.’

         
‘Good. It would mean a lot to me.’

          Jonathan’s gaze met hers for a moment, and he raked his fingers through his hair. It was the same gesture he’d used when she’d mentioned his father’s reaction to her, and one she’d come to equate with uncertainty. It made him appear slightly vulnerable, and Hazel knew in her heart that she’d do anything not to disappoint him.

          At the same time, she couldn’t help wondering if perhaps he was wrong about his beautiful partner. Hazel had seen no evidence of softness.

          The day got progressively worse. Tabitha asked Hazel to do a number of menial tasks, the majority not in her job description, but – recalling Jonathan’s concern – Hazel gritted her teeth and got on with it.

          ‘Oh, and could you pick up my dry cleaning in town?’ Tabitha asked airily. ‘It’s a jacket I need for a meeting tonight, but I haven’t got the time to go myself.’

         
‘I haven’t got the time either, with all this other stuff you’ve asked me to do!’ Hazel snapped.

         
‘There’s no need to take that tone with me. I only asked.’

         
‘And I only replied.’

         
‘I’ll go.’ An architect named Patrick stepped in. ‘Hazel hasn’t got a car, and I need to pop into town myself anyway. It’ll save her the trip.’

         
‘Take her with you then,’ Tabitha pouted.

          Patrick shrugged.
‘What’s the point of that? She’s got enough to be getting on with. Just give me the ticket.’

          Although she could hardly complain, Tabitha handed Patrick her dry cleaning stub with a vicious glare. He left, winking at Hazel, and she had to bite her lip to prevent a smile. There was no point in antagonising Tabitha further.

          By the end of the day she was so tired she could barely eat the delicious pasta Irene had prepared. Sensing her less than buoyant mood, Irene dismissed her offer of help with the dishes and sent her to bed. There was no sign of George, and Jonathan didn’t appear for supper either.

          As she undressed, Hazel noticed the strange light again. This time it seemed to flicker, as if someone was walking back and forth in front of it. It made her think of an adventure story she’d read as a child, about smugglers signalling to ships with a lantern, but Jonathan’s estate was inland and surrounded by endless fields. There was no one to signal to, surely?

          There was bound to be a perfectly logical explanation, one that had nothing to do with romantic notions about smugglers delivering contraband goods. Hazel decided to investigate the grounds at the first given opportunity, if only to rein in her wild imaginings.

          Then again, perhaps she was just seeing things b
ecause she was tired.

She rewarded herself with a lie-in on Saturday morning, then called Aunt Rose’s nursing home, where the staff informed her that the residents were out on a day trip. Her aunt would love to see her the following day, they said, and Hazel confirmed that would fit in well with her plans.

          After breakfast in
her kitchenette, which the ever-thoughtful Irene had stocked up the day before, she put on her red coat and boots and found the access to the enclosed gardens on the map of the house.

          The incessant drizzle had finally stopped, and the air was cold and damp. A heavy smell of mulch greeted her as she made her way down one of the gravelled paths of the formally laid-out garden. She slowed her pace for a moment to fill her lungs, realising how much she’d missed the country air. A blackbird hopped along in a flower bed beside her, overturning soggy leaves in its quest for worms.

          At the end of the formal garden, a gap in the wall led to the park itself, and Hazel headed for where she’d calculated the green light originated.

          That was as far as she got. From out of nowhere, a furry bolt rammed into her. She fell to the ground and held up her hands to fight off the muddy paws and rough tongue which seemed to assault her from all corners.

          ‘Lulu, no!’

         
‘Bad dog! Get off!’

          The huge ball of fluff was hauled off her while two young voices scolded it.

          Still winded, Hazel lay on the damp grass, rejoicing that she still appeared to be in one piece. A young boy appeared in her field of vision.

         
‘Here, let me help you up, miss.’ Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed Hazel’s hand and unceremoniously pulled her upright. ‘Sorry about Lulu. I took the lead off her because I didn’t think anyone was here.’

          Hazel rose and began to brush down her coat, then realised the futility of it. She was covered in mud, grass and white dog hairs. Sighing, she looked at the children. They were identical twins, that was obvious, with cow-licked brown hair, freckles, and bright blue eyes; perhaps nine or ten years old.

          ‘I’m Seth,’ said the boy who’d helped her to her feet. He pointed to the other boy, who was restraining a huge Golden Retriever. ‘This is my brother, Ben. And that’s Lulu.’

          Whining, Lulu wagged her tail furiously and tried to pull free, but Ben had a firm grip on her, which was impressive, given the dog’s size.

          ‘She wants to say hello,’ explained Seth.

         
‘Hello,’ said Hazel, cautiously eyeing the enormous beast.

         
‘Proper hello. Sit, Lulu.’

          Tongue lolling, the dog sat down on its rear, and Seth placed Hazel’s hand on her silky head.
‘She won’t bite. Say you’re sorry, Lulu, for ruining the lady’s coat.’

          The dog’s jaw split into a cheeky, panting grin, and Hazel laughed.
‘She’s not sorry at all. You need to have a serious word with her. Which reminds me, what are you two doing here? This is private property.’

          Ben shrugged.
‘We live here. Who’re you?’

         
‘You live ... Oh, you must be Jonathan’s children. Sorry, I should’ve introduced myself. I’m Hazel, the new secretary.’

         
‘Hi, Hazel,’ they said in unison.

         
‘But I’m confused. I thought you were away at school.’