His Defiant Mistress. Кэрол Мортимер

his encounter with Nero. But this was different; it was a business meeting, she reminded herself, though not the occasion for one of the suits she’d worn in the office. She settled for a pair of black linen trousers and a plain white shirt, and because the forecast was showery armed herself with the short black trench coat she wore for trips into Hereford. She’d treated her unruly curls to a blow-drying session for once, and tied them back with a silk scarf, then surprised her face by applying some make-up for a change, instead of just the usual smear of moisturiser—though this last came in handy when she found she’d run out of polish for her flat black shoes.

      Sarah drove down to the cottages at nine to relieve her house-sitters, who had tidied all their gear away and left milk for her coffee. She thanked them warmly, and after a romp with Nero waved them off to enjoy their weekend. Sarah went on a tour of all six houses, then sat down in the show house to read the paper she’d bought on the way. She skimmed through the news items, and even did half a crossword, but at last felt too restless to stay indoors and went outside.

      After a week of sunshine and showers, the gardens in all the cottages were looking surprisingly well established. Sarah had time to make a thorough check on all of them before the familiar Cherokee nosed down the lane. When Alex got out, holding a briefcase but otherwise looking casual in jeans and sweater, she strolled up the lane towards him.

      ‘Good morning.’ He met her halfway, smiling that smile of his, and shook her hand. ‘Congratulations. You’ve done a great job here.’

      ‘Thank you. Take yourself on a tour, if you like.’

      ‘Come with me—please?’

      ‘Certainly.’

      This time Alex was in no hurry. He put his briefcase down on the kitchen table, then made a thorough exploration of every house, taking such minute notice of every feature that Sarah was more glad than ever that she’d bought top-quality fittings—especially when he commented on the Belfast sinks installed in the curving, custom-built counter tops in all the kitchens.

      ‘You’ve achieved a very clever balance between traditional and modern,’ he said, when they eventually returned to the show house.

      ‘Thank you. My aim was a country cottage with local appeal, but which would also tempt a town buyer looking for a weekend retreat.’

      ‘Where did you get the vintage furniture?’

      ‘I put the contents of my family home into storage when the house was sold. I sent for some of them last week, so I could make the show house look like a real home. At which point,’ she added, ‘Ian Sollers promptly moved into number two at night, to avoid any possibility of his damaging anything.’

      ‘Not to mention any Nero might cause,’ said Alex with feeling.

      ‘Nero doesn’t do damage. He’s a very well-behaved dog,’ said Sarah firmly. ‘He was just doing his job that night.’

      ‘You obviously love dogs!’

      ‘I do.’ Sarah shrugged. ‘But even if I had room for one dogs aren’t allowed at Medlar House.’

      ‘So sell your ivory tower and move to a place where you can keep a pet. In your kind of job you can take a dog with you on site.’

      ‘True,’ said Sarah. ‘But I don’t want to move right now. I’ve only just got my flat into shape. Talking of property,’ she added, suddenly brisk, ‘would you care for some coffee while we get down to business?’

      ‘Thank you.’ Alex promptly sat at the head of kitchen table, as though chairman of the board was his rightful place.

      Sarah made coffee in china cups with saucers, and carried a tray to the table. ‘Only instant, I’m afraid.’

      ‘Fine,’ he said, waiting for her to sit down. ‘Now, then, Miss Carver. How much do you want for the entire property?’

      Sarah multiplied the highest price by six and gave him the answer.

      Alex stared at her in disbelief. ‘That’s totally unrealistic.’

      ‘It’s the price I was advised to ask,’ she assured him.

      ‘But any other buyer would want only one cottage,’ he reminded her sharply. ‘If I buy the entire row you’ll have to come down, Miss Carver. A long way down,’ he added.

      Sarah had done her homework in so much depth and so repeatedly she knew exactly how low she could go and still make the profit necessary to make her venture a success. ‘I suppose I could come down a trifle.’

      Alex snorted. ‘You’ll have to do a lot better than that!’

      ‘Look,’ she said reasonably, ‘if you don’t want them I’m assured I’ll have no problem finding other buyers.’

      He stared at her in exasperation. ‘I do want them, but only at a reasonable figure.’

      ‘You mean what the Merrick Group considers a reasonable figure!’

      ‘Exactly. Nothing personal. It’s just business.’

      ‘I know all about the business done by the Merrick Group,’ she retorted, before she could stop herself.

      His eyes narrowed. ‘And what, exactly, do you mean by that?’ he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

      Her chin lifted. ‘Merely that your group is big enough to submit tenders which put smaller companies out of business.’

      Comprehension dawned in his eyes. ‘You said your father was a builder—’

      ‘He was taken over by Barclay Homes, which as you well know is a subsidiary of the Merrick Group.’ Sarah wished now she’d kept her mouth shut. ‘Shall we return to the matter in hand?’

      ‘By all means,’ he said curtly, and made her an offer only a little higher than the lowest possible she could accept to make a profit.

      ‘Now you’re being unrealistic,’ she said scathingly.

      The coffee cooled in the cups while they haggled, Sarah coolly resolute and Alex growing more and more exasperated as he fought a battle he’d expected to win with barely a shot fired. In the end he slapped a hand down on the table, making the cups rattle, and named a figure which was, he said very emphatically, his top offer, and Miss Carver could take it or leave it.

      ‘Do you want your answer now?’ she asked.

      Alex fought for control. For God’s sake, he thought furiously. He faced tougher customers than Sarah Carver every day of his working life. ‘Yes,’ he snapped.

      She shook her head. ‘I need time to think about your offer, Mr Merrick. I quite understand,’ she added, sweetly reasonable, ‘if you want to back out.’

      To hell with it, thought Alex. Only the prospect of unsuitable tenants on land adjoining his luxury hotel kept him from doing just that. He got to his feet and snapped his briefcase shut. ‘Ring my office at nine sharp on Monday morning with your answer, or kiss the sale goodbye, Miss Carver.’

      Sarah nodded briskly. She got to her feet to see him out, and followed him down the path.

      ‘Thank you for coming. Goodbye.’

      ‘Goodbye, Miss Carver,’ he said formally, and made no further reference to the deal before driving away.

      Sarah watched him go, frowning. Now she had to get through the rest of the day with nothing to do. From a practical, purely financial point of view she knew very well that she should have said yes to Alex’s offer there and then. But because his name was Merrick she was not only going to turn him down, but make him wait all weekend before she did.

      Sarah decided to stay on site all day, until Ian and Josie turned up in the evening. Perhaps she could persuade her young caretakers to spend the entire day here on Sunday while she was out with Harry. The weather forecast was good, and they would probably enjoy a day spent in the sun in the courtyard of