‘Look, Emily, I’m not going to beat about the bush.’ Rupert’s cheeks colour slightly, and my heart does another little flip. ‘If you want the job, I’d love for you to come and work for me, if the state of the place hasn’t put you off. We can even just do a trial period for a month or so, if that would work better for you?’
‘Oh, no,’ I exclaim, before putting my hand over my mouth, ‘I mean, yes, please. But don’t worry about a trial period… unless you want one, I mean. I’m quite happy to come and work for you.’ I stop talking before I make a complete idiot of myself. ‘Thank you.’
‘Brilliant.’ The stress melts away from Rupert’s face, his shoulders lowering, and I realize that he really was more nervous than me about the whole job interview scenario. ‘When could you start?’
I have to resist the urge to squeal as I hop on my pushbike and ride down the driveway, before turning onto the main road. I got the job! And yes, it does seem a little daunting, putting that huge house back to its rightful state, but I am in no doubt that I can do it. Plus, I’m pretty sure I didn’t imagine that fiery spark that shot through my skin when Rupert shook my hand to say goodbye – and I’m ninety-nine per cent sure he felt it too. Now, all I need to do is tell Mags. My raised spirits dampen slightly at the thought of breaking the news to her. I know she’s going to make some snippy comments about being a glorified wife, that the village is too far for me to go there and back every day, and she’ll try to make me feel guilty about leaving her in the flat on her own all day, but we can’t all live off our father’s money. I don’t even know where my dad is, and I doubt my mum does either. I let myself turn back at the end of the road, to glance towards the house, a shiver of excitement running through me. Yes, this is definitely the start of something big.
Chapter Four
Humming under my breath I breathe in the scent of laundry detergent and softener as I fold Rupert’s pyjamas and tuck them carefully under his pillow, pushing away the thought of him lying in bed wearing them, his hair tousled and rumpled from sleep. Not that I’ve seen him like that, of course. Pressing my lips together, I neatly fold his socks into a ball, praising myself for thinking about him wearing the pyjamas, instead of lying in bed not wearing the pyjamas. I feel my cheeks flush and I shake my head, picturing instead the dishes that wait to be stacked in the dishwasher downstairs.
I’ve been working at Fox House (the house not only has a beautiful sweeping drive, but a name too!) for a little over a month and I can’t lie, it’s not just the incredible house that has me skipping into work every day. Rupert is… well, Rupert is just about the perfect man from what I’ve seen of him so far, which to be fair isn’t a huge amount, but enough to make me not mind the commute into work every day. He’s good-looking, that goes without saying, but he’s also a nice guy. He doesn’t leave too much of a mess (no more than a typical guy, and nothing like the scale of untidiness that I saw when I first came), he’s polite (he leaves me notes with lots of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ dotted through them when he wants me to do certain things), and judging by the letters he leaves lying on the kitchen worktop he donates to charity a lot, especially to a children’s charity, which made my heart skip a beat in a good way. The only tiny, little thing that makes me feel a bit awkward is the idea of his wife.
He hasn’t mentioned her again since the day I came for my job interview, and I don’t feel as if I can ask about her. There are no photos of Caro anywhere in the house, something that strikes me as odd. I could understand that perhaps Rupert doesn’t want her photos on display downstairs, that maybe it is too painful, but I thought that he might have one in his bedroom, but there’s nothing. All he keeps on the bedside table is a small lamp, a water glass and a battered copy of Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code. On the other side of the bed – Caro’s side – the nightstand is bare, apart from a matching lamp.
Stealthily, even though I know I am the only one in the house, I perch on the side of the bed and give in to the hum of curiosity that buzzes through me when I think about her, taking care not to rumple the pristine white duvet as I slide open the drawer on Caro’s side. It is crammed full of things, and I hold my breath as I dip in and pull out a slim date diary. I gingerly open the cover, flicking through the expensive cream pages but they are all blank. I put it on the bed next to me and turn back to the drawer. Pens, hair clips and the plug from an iPhone charger lie jumbled among tiny perfume sample bottles and I lift one out and raise it to my nose. It smells of nectarines and sunshine and has ‘Jo Malone’ written down the side of the bottle. Pushing it back into the mess of the drawer I see a half-empty packet of contraceptive pills, and something low in my stomach flips, the idea of Rupert and Caro tumbling around together, naked, right here in this
