Australia: In Bed with Her Groom. Emma Darcy

the line.

      ‘Just a moment, Mrs. Stanton. I’ll see if Mrs. Harcourt is available.’

      He held the receiver to his chest as his eyes queried hers.

      ‘Fusspot,’ William muttered.

      Ashley frowned at him, not approving of disrespect to his elders, although privately she was inclined to agree with him. Olivia Stanton was not her favourite person. Nevertheless, she was a neighbour and the mother of one of William’s friends, and it was political to keep on her good side if she wasn’t demanding too much. She nodded to Harry and held out her hand.

      ‘Mrs. Harcourt will take your call now, Mrs. Stanton,’ Harry announced with marvellous aplomb before passing the receiver to her.

      ‘Olivia—’ Ashley tried to inject interest into her voice.

      ‘Ten dollars is a lot of money for one photo, Ashley.’

      Olivia hated losing a battle. Flummoxed by Harry, she had obviously decided to shift to another opponent. Having been shown the way to defeat the woman, Ashley took a leaf out of Harry’s book.

      ‘What price do you put on your son’s smile, Olivia?’ she asked sweetly.

      Harry’s eyes danced pure delight at her. Ashley’s heart flipped.

      ‘All right. It’s very cheap then,’ Olivia conceded, surprising Ashley with such a quick dismissal of the grievance. ‘What I was wondering, Ashley, was whether…I’m having my annual neighbourhood party in a week’s time… .’

      This was news to Ashley. She hadn’t received an invitation.

      ‘I was wondering if you’d lend me your butler and Rolls Royce for the evening?’

      Olivia Stanton had the hide of a rhinoceros. It did make her effective at fundraising for the school, which also fed her self-importance, but this was pure one-up-manship on a personal level, no connection whatsoever with public do-gooding.

      ‘I’m afraid Cliffton is not a lendable commodity, Olivia,’ she replied, barely keeping a sardonic edge out of her voice. ‘It certainly couldn’t be done without his consent. A butler is not a slave, you know. Butlering is a highly respected profession that requires absolute savoir faire and perfect organizational skills, not to mention an impeccable reputation, since he holds such a position of trust.’

      Ashley couldn’t stop her eyes from flirting wickedly with Harry’s as she described his position. She paused for a moment to give Olivia time to swallow all she’d said, then obligingly added, ‘I will ask him, if you like.’

      ‘Well, there’s no harm in asking, I always say,’ came the bull-headed reply.

      ‘Then please excuse me a moment, Olivia. I’ll put it to him.’ She held her hand over the receiver and grinned at Harry. ‘You’re already in demand. Olivia Stanton would like to borrow your invaluable services for her neighbourhood party.’

      ‘Don’t do it,’ William said. ‘She’s full of herself as it is.’

      ‘That’s quite enough, William,’ Ashley reproved sharply. He was getting altogether too bold in his opinions. And indiscreet!

      ‘The duties of my profession demand that I stay with you,’ Harry stated virtuously.

      ‘Quite so,’ Ashley agreed with mock seriousness. She lifted the receiver to her ear again. ‘I’m sorry, Olivia. I’m afraid butler ethics prohibit the lending of a butler. He has to stay with me.’

      ‘Of course, I’d forgotten about that, but perhaps you and he would like to attend as guests.’

      Sly vixen, Ashley thought, determined not to fall into that trap. Having established Harry as her butler, to turn up with him as her escort would be tantamount to handing Olivia Stanton evidence that all was not as it should be. After assuming a proper correctness about Harry’s professional life, Ashley was not about to cross lines. Besides, she wanted to keep Harry to herself.

      ‘I’m quite sure Cliffton will have me ready for your party in time,’ she said with airy confidence. ‘When did you say it was?’

      ‘Eight o’clock next Saturday.’

      ‘Lovely! He might even drive me up in the Rolls and park it outside your house for an hour or two.’ That would lend some of the status that Olivia desired for her party. ‘As it’s only a short distance away, I don’t think Cliffton will mind taking me there and walking home. Thank you for inviting me, Olivia. I must go now. Bye.’

      She hung up on the meddlesome woman and raised her eyebrows in appeal to Harry. ‘Would you mind?’

      He gave a deeply meaningful look. ‘I’ll give you anything you want, Ashley.’

      It sent a little thrill of pleasure and anticipation cartwheeling down Ashley’s spine.

      ‘Great!’ William said, his eyes lighting up as he saw an advantage. ‘Can we go to Springfield Manor with Mr. Cliffton, please, Mum? All you have to do is say you want to,’ he pressed eagerly.

      Shock froze all the tingling warmth Harry had ignited. He had got to her son behind her back before she could extract a promise from him not to mention Springfield Manor to William. It was playing dirty, getting William on side against her.

      She turned to her son, who was propped on a stool at the end of the counter. He had inherited the blue eyes, the athletic build and the ability to play any sport well from his father, but he had her fair hair and basically her sense of fair play. He never cheated on his deals with his friends, and the fact that he had so many of them testified to the imaginative fun he supplied. She liked her son the way he was. She did not want him reclaimed by the Harcourt family and instilled with values that were not her own.

      ‘Why do you want to go to Springfield Manor, William?’ she asked, needing to elicit how far Harry had gone in pursuing his quest and how much he had told William.

      ‘So I can go ghost hunting with Mr. Cliffton,’ he answered excitedly. ‘I’ll be the only boy in the street who has seen a real ghost.’

      Ashley felt a deep stab of relief. William still had no idea he was the heir and expected to live at Springfield Manor. No doubt he was already planning how much he would charge the boys to hear a description of a real ghost, and Olivia Stanton would be on the telephone to voice another complaint.

      Ashley looked dubiously at Harry. Had he decided an indirect approach through William was his best route to success? ‘Are there really ghosts at Springfield Manor? Tell me the truth, Harry.’

      ‘Many,’ he replied serenely. ‘It was at Springfield Manor that the great bard got the idea for the ghost of Hamlet’s father, and Charles Dickens got his inspiration for the Spirit of Christmas Past, the Spirit of Christmas Present and the Spirit of Christmas Future.’

      ‘This has to be fabrication,’ Ashley observed sceptically.

      His eyebrows lifted in a display of innocence. ‘Would I fabricate to you?’

      ‘Probably. To get your own way.’

      He looked pained. ‘Not at all. You must remember that the winter nights at Springfield Manor are very long and very cold. We spend a great portion of these hours sitting around the fire telling stories.’

      William looked fascinated.

      Ashley didn’t know what to believe. Harry rolled out these stories as though imbued with them, yet she had witnessed how quick he was with clever and manipulative responses to Gordon Payne and Olivia Stanton.

      ‘Don’t you have TV at Springfield Manor?’ she asked, determined on emphasising the present day instead of the long, historical past.

      ‘There are many sets, but rarely used. Not only are our own stories more lively and less boring than those on the television, it is our belief that families that talk together, stay together.’

      Solid