‘I like your mouth.’ A smoky edge now emphasised the accented timbre of his dark drawl. ‘It’s very sexy.’
‘Mr Flynn…may I have a moment of your attention?’ A shrill female voice gushed in anticipation from about twenty feet away.
Slowly Harriet came back to the real world and shook her head as though to clear it. An older woman in an elegant suit had surged up to Rafael. Behind her trailed a little man, feverishly writing on a handheld computer. ‘I’ve decided that Etruscan blue is the colour of choice for the entrance hall.’
‘Blue? But it’s north-facing,’ Harriet muttered, before she could think better of offering her un-asked-for opinion. ‘A dull yellow would pick up the caramel tones in the faux marble pillars.’
Taken aback, Rafael shot a glance at Harriet that was tinged with new respect and appreciation. The slightest mention of the colour schemes to be selected for his ancestral home sent him straight out to the stables. ‘Yellow sounds good. Go for it. Harriet, this is my interior designer.’
An introduction was performed but Harriet, bewildered and dismayed by her response to him, was eager to be gone. I like your mouth. A sinful quiver darted through her and she felt humiliated by her own susceptibility. A sudden wash of moisture stung the back of her eyes, for the insecure feeling that she had let herself down was too much on top of the experiences she had already had that morning.
‘My private number…should you need to get in touch.’ Rafael extended a card.
Her gaze screened by her lashes, she accepted the card while thinking that there was no way she would ever make use of that invitation. Like a timely knight on a white charger, Tolly glided forward out of nowhere to open the front door for her and usher her out.
‘Thank you,’ she muttered gratefully.
‘Drive carefully…’ the old man advised in a troubled whisper.
When Harriet walked back into the cottage, and Samson bounced forward in innocent welcome, she was gripped by an angry sense of frustration. It was only a week since she had arrived, convinced that she was on the brink of making her dreams come true. She had believed that for once she was going to hit the jackpot on the dream front. Suppressing the uncharacteristi
c surge of self-pity threatening to take her over, Harriet breathed in deep. Don’t get mad, get even, she told herself bracingly.
A couple of hours later she was doing tough financial sums on various sheets of paper when a knock sounded on the door.
It was Tolly, with a basket of beautifully arranged fresh vegetables. ‘From the kitchen garden. We always have too much.’
Harriet wasn’t fooled by that excuse, for his worried eyes betrayed his concern for her. ‘Your boss and I had a slight difference of opinion, and that’s all I’m going to say.’
‘Officially I don’t even work for Rafael Flynn any more,’ the old man explained in determined protest, scooping up Samson and petting the little animal to soothe him.
Her brow indented. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I’ve been retired for years. I have a comfortable home and a good pension, but I get very bored doing nothing,’ Tolly admitted ruefully. ‘That’s why I still make myself useful round the Court and the estate. Anything you tell me will be treated as a matter of the strictest confidence.’
‘There’s nothing to tell.’ Harriet was keen to turn the subject. ‘I suppose I’m stressed because I have to go back to London to arrange for my possessions to be brought over. Are there any local kennels I could use for Samson?’
‘He can come and stay with me. We’ll be company for each other.’
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?’
‘Not at all. The late Mrs Flynn used to keep little dogs,’ the old man remarked cheerfully.
Harriet went to the window to peer out at the large cattle trailer that had pulled noisily into the yard. ‘I wonder who that is.’
‘A customer?’
‘No, my first boarders arrive next week, when I’ve got everything organised for them.’
A tall man of about thirty, with untidy black hair and shy blue eyes set in a thin attractive face, emerged from the battered four-wheel drive. His name was Patrick Flanagan and he was the kindly neighbour who had been housing Kathleen’s livestock. Harriet was grateful for the diversion, but only hoped that Fergal and Una would be able to look after the new inmates during her absence.
The hens were a tattered collection, but with Tolly’s able assistance were soon happily installed back in their run. The rooster, Albert, a small white bird possessed of considerable self-importance, immediately took up a position on the hen coop roof and crowed with a volume and shrillness disproportionate to his size.
‘Fergal’s bringing the mare over for you,’ Patrick shared. ‘But I’ve got Peanut in the back of the cab.’
‘Who?’
Patrick grimaced and reached in to remove a very solid little pig from the front seat. ‘She’s a right problem. Kathleen kept her as a pet, and now she doesn’t know how to be a porker. I had to put her in the barn for her own safety.’