A Masterful Man. Lindsay Armstrong

You can lock yourself in here, though, if you’re so minded.’

      Davina said nothing, although she still returned his gaze steadily.

      ‘Well,’ he murmured after a moment, ‘goodnight, Mrs Hastings.’

      ‘Goodnight, Mr Warwick.’

      He turned to go but turned back. ‘What does the D stand for?’

      ‘Davina,’ she said coolly.

      ‘May I call you that?’

      ‘You can call me what you like.’

      ‘I see,’ he said softly. ‘I gather it would be no good offering to return the compliment?’ He raised a lazy eyebrow at her.

      ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

      ‘I mean I’m quite sure were I to ask you to call me Steve, that you would persist in addressing me as “Mr Warwick” with all the hauteur you’re capable of.’

      ‘You would be quite right, Mr Warwick.’

      ‘I thought so. Goodnight, Davina. Sleep well.’ And this time he left, closing the door gently behind him.

      Davina took a deep breath then picked up a small cushion from the chair beside her and hurled it quite uselessly at the door.

      * * *

      Half an hour later she’d unpacked and was inspecting the main house. There were four bedrooms upstairs, all unusual, interestingly shaped rooms with steep ceilings and window-seats but three of them lacked any linen on the beds or in the en suite bathrooms. Steve Warwick’s, which she looked into briefly, was done out in masculine fittings and the colour scheme was cream and green.

      Downstairs she discovered that the gleaming kitchen was a cook’s dream, with every kind of appliance one could wish for, all looking unused. There was also a breakfast-room-cum-sitting-room, a study that was entirely businesslike and contained a VHF radio, and a den with a television set. The laundry, which held a huge freezer, a shower cubicle and a linen store, was in an annexe—together with the four bicycles. She surveyed them for a long moment, then went back to the kitchen where she made herself a simple meal of scrambled eggs on toast.

      Not long afterwards she took herself to bed and, despite the eerie quality of an almost silent night with just one strange bird calling mournfully, fell asleep quickly.

      * * *

      ‘Ah, Davina, you’re up bright and early.’

      Davina looked up from the breakfast she was making to see her employer lounging in the kitchen doorway. He had on khaki shorts, a white T-shirt, his hair was damp and tousled and his feet bare. She also wore a pair of long khaki shorts, a neat pink blouse tucked into them with a narrow leather belt around her trim waist and polished leather moccasins. She’d tucked her hair behind her ears and had only put moisturiser on her face and a touch of soft coral lipstick. The effect, nevertheless, because her thick hair shone and was well-cut, her skin smooth and fresh, her nails perfectly manicured, was one of good grooming and an air of purpose.

      Steve Warwick took this all in as she merely nodded at him and told him that she’d taken the liberty of making him bacon and eggs this first morning.

      He glanced at the pan she was tending. ‘Bacon and eggs suit me fine.’ He strolled into the kitchen and pulled a chair out from the table which was laid for one and had a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice on it. ‘It seems to me that you’ve settled in rather well,’ he remarked.

      ‘Well, there are one or two things we’ll have to discuss,’ she murmured, and put a plate in front of him containing not only bacon and eggs but fried tomato and banana. ‘Uh—do you like coffee or tea for breakfast?’

      ‘Coffee, thank you,’ he replied politely.

      Davina set the percolator on the stove and put fresh toast in a rack on the table. ‘What about you?’ he added.

      ‘I’ve had breakfast, thank you.’

      A gleam of amusement lit his eyes. ‘Won’t you at least join me for a cup of coffee? We could discuss whatever it is we need to discuss at the same time.’

      ‘All right.’ But she waited until he’d finished and cleared his plate away as the coffee bubbled gently and filled the kitchen with its delicious aroma. She poured two cups and sat down opposite him, hesitated, then decided to plunge right in. ‘I’ve found that it’s usually helpful to everyone to have a timetable for meals and, if there need to be any variations, if you’d let me know the evening before, I can make the necessary adjustments. I don’t—’ she paused and smiled faintly ‘—mean that to sound as if I’m some sort of martinet who’ll be making everyone’s life a misery if they’re two minutes late for dinner.’

      Steve Warwick wiped his long fingers on a gingham napkin. ‘Not at all,’ he drawled. ‘I think it’s an admirable suggestion. Go on.’

      Davina warned herself against being entirely fooled by this compliance. ‘But breakfast is a bit different when you’re on holiday,’ she continued, ‘so—’

      ‘Loretta and my grandmother only eat fruit and toast for breakfast. They can help themselves to that whenever they like. Candice and I usually eat breakfast together at around about this time. Otherwise make it twelve-thirty for lunch and seven for dinner.’

      ‘Good,’ Davina murmured after a moment. ‘I see the bedrooms aren’t made up—will Candice and her mother share or—’

      ‘No.’

      ‘OK. I’ll fix them up the day before they arrive. What about food in general—any preferences? And would you like three-course dinners, for example, hot lunches? Does Candice join you for dinner?’

      He shrugged. ‘Yes, she does unless it’s a dinner party and on those occasions three courses would be in order. Lunch you can make quite simple, cold meat and salad, that kind of thing—I leave it up to you.’

      ‘So only two courses when you aren’t entertaining?’

      ‘Uh huh. We also catch and eat a lot of fish—are you good at cooking fish, Davina?’ He raised an eyebrow at her.

      ‘How nice for you—extremely good,’ she said mildly. ‘I noticed a barbecue outside—would it be in order to light it on the odd fine night? I’m even good at barbecuing fish.’

      ‘Perfectly in order—is that the lot?’ he said gravely, and Davina took a breath and set her teeth because it was back again. As he himself had put it, they were—albeit with the utmost politeness—fencing with each other once more.

      And for the life of her she couldn’t help herself as she said innocently, ‘I think so. Are you about to rush off somewhere? Please don’t let me detain you if so.’

      ‘I’m about to take you on a tour of the island,’ he replied equally as innocently.

      She stood up, ‘There’s really no need for that, Mr Warwick. I found the bicycles so I can take myself, besides which, I ought to get to know your cleaning lady—’

      ‘You can do that later, Davina. It so happens that this is the only free time I have at the moment.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘And I am quite determined to show you round the island, to introduce you to the local shopkeepers where you may shop for food or whatever you need on my account—there’s also another Land Rover in the garage you can use—and to indicate to you the places you could visit with Candice so that you wouldn’t be stumbling around in the dark, so to speak.’

      Davina bit her lip as their gazes held and she perceived the bright irony in his. She sighed inwardly and reflected that the resolution she’d made on waking this morning, to do with somehow terminating all such exchanges between them, had failed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m ready