Bittersweet Deception. Liz Fielding

hands shook as she searched for the keys in her bag. Eventually she found them and after considerable coaxing under his impassive gaze, the van finally relented and burst into noisy life. Her foot unsteady on the clutch, she hiccuped the vehicle rather jumpily into the shelter of the coach-house. She sat for a while within the safety of its hard-used frame, wishing it were possible just to drive away as far and as fast as she could and never look back. But she had committed herself.

      And she had to be practical. She always had to be practical. She had nowhere to run to. She climbed from the van, eschewing the false security it seemed to offer. She had supplies to order, staff to find, far too much to do to worry about Jay Warwick. Yet as she worked in the little office in what had once been a butler’s pantry, she was edgily aware of his presence in the house, jumpily certain that he would appear at her shoulder at any moment. It might almost have been a relief if he had, she decided in the end.

      Nancy had laid three places in the small dining-room close to the kitchen that was used for all but the grandest occasions. Kate had queried it with the girl.

      ‘It’s Lady Maynard’s orders, Miss Kate,’ Nancy replied, and Kate had had to be content with that. But as the girl settled the tureen of soup on the table she couldn’t help thinking that eating with her young trainee at the kitchen table would be altogether preferable. Any pleasure in Fullerton Hall seemed to have evaporated in the heat of Jay Warwick’s presence. She looked up as the door opened and the man in question entered the room.

      Lady Maynard settled herself at the table and shook out her napkin, asking how she had spent her day, while Jay opened a bottle of wine.

      ‘Kate? Can I tempt you?’

      ‘Thank you, Mr Warwick,’ she said, and he filled her glass.

      ‘No need for such formality, Kate,’ Tisha Maynard, protested. ‘Tell her to call you Jay, darling. Everyone else does.’

      He regarded her steadily as she ladled out hot soup. ‘Kate can call me by whatever name she chooses.’ A glint in his eyes suggested that he didn’t believe her choice was likely to be anything as complimentary as his given name.

      Kate ladled piping hot soup into his dish, fervently wishing it were his lap. ‘Jay will be just fine,’ she said, congratulating herself on her restraint.

      Lady Maynard kept the conversation going, eager to hear how things were going, and Kate launched into an outline of the ideas that had already formed in her mind. Other than the occasional response to his aunt’s eager prompting, he added little to the discussion, but she was conscious of him listening, watching her, every moment.

      Afterwards she declined an invitation to join Tisha in the drawing-room for coffee, retiring instead to her office to continue the detailed planning, now that the broad strokes were in place. She was reading through a series of lists, double checking, when she suddenly became conscious of being watched. She looked up to find Jay standing in the doorway and regarding her with something approaching amusement.

      ‘Do you normally become so engrossed in what you’re doing?’ he asked.

      She flushed, only too aware of her habit of muttering out loud when she was planning anything. ‘How long have you been standing there?’ she demanded.

      ‘Quite long enough.’ His unexpected laughter was disconcerting. It made him seem too human. ‘I was rather hoping you would be making some coffee.’

      Kate glanced at her watch, a very large one with cartoon characters on the face, bought for her birthday by Sam. ‘It’s rather late for coffee.’