Still half sitting on the piano, he stretched his legs out in front of him, completely distracting her, in spite of her determination to remain unmoved. It would take a woman of steel not to be affected by that endless dazzle of faded denim, stretched tautly over his thighs.
The slight smile which hovered around his lips indicated that her ogling hadn’t gone unnoticed. ‘You want to know how I made my money?’ he mused. ‘There’s no secret. Just plain hard work with an added bit of luck—the usual way.’
‘You make it sound so easy?’
‘No, not easy. Simple, yes—but not easy.’ He smiled. ‘It may surprise you to know that all the day-release and night-school classes which took me away from you so much finally paid off. I realised that people paid a hell of a lot more for having their houses designed rather than for having them built. And the thing that set me apart from my competitors was that I could do both.’
Her eyes dilated. ‘You mean you actually design houses now?’
‘Well, I can. I have done. Sometimes I still do. But I do other things, too.’
‘Such as?’
He suddenly looked rather pleased with himself. ‘I call it reinvention. It started when I bought a repossession on a mortgage. Got the house dirt-cheap and I thought I’d just do it up and sell it on. But it occupied a vast plot of land—so I applied for planning permission and built another house at the bottom end of the garden. The challenge was in making both houses look wonderful and complete and not as though someone had just lopped the garden in half—’
‘Which you did, I suppose?’
He shrugged, and then grinned. ‘Yeah, I did. Then I sold them on—two for the price of one.’
‘And made a big profit?’
‘Huge. Don’t look so surprised, Shelley.’
‘I can’t help the way I look! I suppose you invested the profit?’
He shook his head. ‘Not in the conventional sense, no. Houses are about the best and safest investment there are—but not many people have the skills to make the best of them. Fortunately, I do. So I carried on. I bought various properties—one here, one there. One might need an extension, another a new kitchen—a big house might need a granny annexe. I put in loft extensions and conservatories and earned a reputation for sympathetic additions—and that was what did it. If people think you’re going to create something which is both well made and beautiful—well, you’re onto a winner. I even learned to landscape gardens.’
So he still had that driven work ethic. ‘And all the time you were getting a big return on your money?’
‘That’s right,’ he nodded, and rubbed his chin with a thoughtful thumb and forefinger as he watched her reaction. ‘When John Cutliffe grew tired of running the Westward, he was very particular about who he sold it to. He wanted someone he knew would love the building. Someone who would preserve and care for it. The oak panelling in the hall badly needed the attention of a carpenter, and that was just for starters. John wanted reassurance that the new owner wasn’t going to blitz those exquisite stained-glass windows and put ugly replacements in their place.’
‘I can see why he chose you,’ she said truthfully.
Suspicion touched the thoughtful features. ‘Why, thank you, Shelley,’ he murmured. ‘Praise from you is always welcome, if a little unexpected.’
Her suspicion matched his. ‘But you’ve obviously spent masses making the Westward look so beautiful. Hasn’t that eaten into your profits?’
‘What’s the matter, kitten? Worried that the coffers have all dried up? That I’m rich in assets, but not in cash?’ He pre-empted her indignation with a shake of the honey-tipped head. ‘I realised that the place was not being used to its full potential. Milmouth is too far off the map to rely on being fully booked all year round—and I didn’t just want to open during the summer season. So we started specialising in celebrations. Weddings are our big thing. But we do birthdays, too, and we hire the house out for corporate use sometimes, if the price is right.’ He pulled a face.
‘Those aren’t my favourites,’ he admitted. ‘Corpulent businessmen getting drunk and trying to pull the receptionists!’
‘Oh,’ said Shelley faintly.
‘We bought our very own Rolls-Royce, which is driven by our very own chauffeur. Brides like to travel in style,’ he grinned. ‘Then I hired a chef fresh out of college who has proved inspirational—he was featured in one of the nationals last month. Plus we now have year-round employment for our workers—it doesn’t stop when the summer ends.’