The Housekeeper's Awakening

She watched as he walked off down the corridor, thinking how much he had improved. She doubted he would need that stick for much longer...soon he would be back to his fighting fit and glorious best.

She swallowed. And when he was? What then? She supposed she would just go back to ironing his sheets and keeping the house in a constant state of readiness for his infrequent visits. It would be as if this whole bizarre interlude had never happened.

And it would be better that way, she told herself fiercely. She wouldn’t have to run her hands over his oiled flesh any more, nor feel droplets of water splashing on her skin as he broke through the surface of the water to emerge beside her in the pool, like some dark sea lion. They could slip back into that other, infinitely less threatening relationship they’d had before. The one where she just faded into the background of his busy life and he barely noticed her. And this would all be like a distant dream....

‘I shall give you a quick tour,’ said Simone. ‘Though I warn you that the house can be a little overwhelming on a first visit. Don’t worry about your suitcase—someone will take it to your room.’

She followed the Frenchwoman along one of the long corridors, trying to remember what led where, but as Simone had said—the place was a little overwhelming. Doors led off into high rooms most of which overlooked the sea. Carly counted two dining rooms, one with a glass ceiling, which Simone told her could be retracted to open up to the sky. On the ground floor was a gym leading out onto a large pool area with terrace, and on the upper floor was another terrace offering a wrap-around view over the mountains which towered over the back of the house. She thought it was the most beautiful place she’d ever seen.

When at last she was shown to her room, Carly stood open-mouthed trying to take in the Mediterranean view, and a bed made up with linen so white that she felt she’d have to scrub her skin before she dared climb in between the sheets.

‘And this,’ said Simone, ‘is where you’ll be staying.’

Suddenly, she could understand the Frenchwoman’s reservations about putting her here, because it was a room which was fit for a king. And Luis had given it to her. Carly could feel a stupid lump rising in her throat. ‘Here?’ she questioned, horrified to hear the crack in her voice. ‘You mean, I’m staying in here?’

‘Yes, here,’ said Simone, her voice now sounding almost gentle. ‘I will leave you to change. Lunch will be served on the smaller terrace, just after two. Can you remember how to find your way back there?’

‘I...think so.’

But after the housekeeper had gone, Carly walked around like someone in a trance, running her fingertips over the billowing white drapes which framed the fabulous view. Out on the terrace, there was a table and chairs and even a lounger. She would be able to read her textbooks out here and get some sun.

In the bathroom toiletries were lined up, like in some upmarket department store. Lavender-infused bath salts stood next to a big old-fashioned tub. Thick, soft towels lay in neat piles, like drifts of clouds. There was even a little vase of white freesia perfuming the air. Carly buried her nose in the petals. Flowers in the bathroom—imagine that! Another wave of emotion hit her and, try as she might, she couldn’t seem to put the brakes on it.

Because for the first time in her life she didn’t feel like second best. Like the geeky child who always dressed in practical clothes while her sister floated around in pretty little dresses. That same geeky child was now staying in a billionaire’s home, in a fancy suite of rooms which had clearly been designed to accommodate his upmarket friends. She wondered what Bella and her mother would say if they could see her now.

But as she began to unpack the contents of her suitcase, she realised that this temporary change of circumstances didn’t really change anything. You couldn’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. She remembered what her mother used to say: Oh, Carly’s got the brains, but Bella’s got the beauty. And to her mother, appearances had been everything.

Carly looked around. Everything here was top of the range—all sleek and clean and shining. Everything except her. The full-length mirror reflected back a woman with a hot face, crumpled clothes and untidy hair. Was she really insane enough to imagine that Luis had been looking at her with desire?

She glanced at her watch. Surely she could do something with her appearance. If she got a move on then at least she could wash her hair and change into something more presentable for lunch.

But she still felt like an alien as she stripped off and stood beneath the cool shower, self-consciously aware of her fleshy body as she applied creamy soap and shampoo. Afterwards, she blasted her hair dry and had just pulled on a clean set of bra and pants, when there was a knock on the door.

Perhaps it was Simone. Grabbing her discarded towel and holding it in front of her, she walked over to the door and pulled it open.

But it wasn’t Simone who stood there.

Carly felt as if someone had just pulled the rug from beneath her feet because suddenly her knees felt shaky.

It was Luis.

Luis, whose black hair was ruffled and damp—presumably because he was fresh out of the shower, just like her. Luis, whose fine linen shirt was clinging to his torso, outlining every hard sinew. And suddenly her perception of him underwent a dramatic shift. This was the man whose half-naked body had become almost normal to her. So why did the fully dressed version suddenly seem way too intimate? She wondered what it was about those faded jeans and damp hair which made her bones feel as if they had turned to jelly. As if she were in danger of melting at his feet.

Because wasn’t that what all women did around him? What she had sworn she would never do?

Her fingers dug into the soft towel held chastely against her breastbone. She should have felt embarrassed by her own near-naked state. She should tell him she wouldn’t be long and close the door on him.

Or he should have felt embarrassed at seeing her that way. Shouldn’t he apologise for disturbing her and tell her that he’d see her outside on the terrace?

But he didn’t.

And neither did she.

They just stood there staring at each other like two people who had just been introduced and she could hear her heart pounding like a drum. Her breasts felt heavy and there was a soft, molten ache between her legs and in the middle of this confusing state came anger, and fear. Because she didn’t do this kind of stuff. She didn’t feel desire any more. She didn’t want to. Because desire was unpredictable—and

, more importantly, it was dangerous.

She shook her head slightly. ‘I didn’t hear the bell,’ she said, licking her dry lips.