What's A Housekeeper To Do? / Tipping the Waitress with Diamonds. Nina Harrington

with a man would make that a common occurrence, Lally was not going to be pleased. ‘I’m working and talking at once, Auntie. I can talk. Tell everyone else they can call me too. Even if just early in the mornings, or in the evenings, if they’re worried that much about my job. I’m sure I can fit in some calls—’

      But her aunt had already rushed out a, ‘Love you,’ and disconnected the call at her end.

      Well!

      Lally drew a deep breath. ‘It might have been nice to get to say “I love you” back—’

      ‘Whatever that is, it smells wonderful.’ The deep words sounded over the top of hers and cut them off abruptly. ‘Sorry, were you on the phone?’

      ‘Oh. I didn’t realise you were there.’ She’d been talking out loud like a loon. ‘Um, no, I’m all finished with my phone call. It was my phone that time, but I have a heap of messages from yours.’

      ‘On the phone to the boyfriend?’ Cam’s words were unruffled, and yet something in his tone made Lally seek his gaze.

      His eyes were shielded by those long, silky lashes.

      ‘I should have brought this up at our interview. I apologise that I didn’t, but I’ll cover it now.’ She did feel guilty, even though there was no need. ‘I like to speak with family members when I have a moment. I’ll do it discreetly, I won’t disrupt you in any way, and I always keep working. I can assure you I don’t lose any work time or concentration over the calls I make, and of course I’ll always use my own phone.’

      ‘Family.’ Cameron’s expression was complex. He ran his fingers through his short hair. ‘Of course that’s not a problem. You’re welcome to keep whatever contact you need.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Lally considered telling him there was no boyfriend, but he’d probably figured that out anyway. In any case, it wasn’t important. ‘I appreciate you being understanding about my need for contact with my family.’

      Now, if Lally could just get her family to come back on board with that contact.

      ‘I can see you’ve been busy.’ Cameron’s glance roved the kitchen, dining room and lounge areas, before it came back to rest on her, and his expression softened. ‘Thank you for what you’ve done already to help make me comfortable.’

      ‘That’s what I’m here for.’ But his praise and appreciation wrapped around her just the same.

      Being needed: it was an issue for Lally. She knew it; she would even admit it. Until now she’d thought it was all just about family relationships for her.

      And it was. This just felt sort of similar because she was helping him, too, and that was what she did for them. Her happiness certainly had nothing to do with that softening of his expression when his gaze rested on her. She wasn’t looking for tenderness from him, for goodness’ sake; that would be ridiculous.

      Lally was too wary to consider something like that with a man again anyway. And she was still young, she justified to herself. She had plenty of time to think about getting back into the dating game. And she’d been really busy with family commitments.

      Busy enough that they might have pushed her out so she’d find time for a social life again?

      Her family had been known to stick their noses into each other’s lives at times. Lally had been guilty of it too. In a big, loving family that would always happen, and she’d had her share of them hinting that she could do with getting out more.

      But they wouldn’t take it this far, would they? Of course they wouldn’t…

      ‘Lunch is almost ready now, if you want to take a seat in the dining room.’ Lally would far rather eat lunch than go on thinking about that topic. She gestured to the freshly polished dining-table. ‘Or we can eat outside, if you’d prefer? It’s frittata. I hope that’s okay.’

      ‘Inside will be fine, and I eat most things.’ He paused and the hint of a smile lifted the edges of his mouth. ‘No artichoke. Other than that, I’m very agreeable about food.’

      ‘That will make cooking for you a dream. I’d like to take advantage of the fresh markets for produce for a lot of our meals.’ She wanted to feed him on the freshest items available, because she thought it might help with whatever had been exhausting him—lack of sleep, long hours, book stress, whatever the problem. Even if it didn’t, it would put his body in a good place, health-wise.

      Yes, fine, she was acting like a little mother. Why not, when she’d had a hundred or so relatives to practice those skills on? They all deserved to be loved to bits and looked after as much as possible, especially considering how much they’d had to put up with from her.

      Not that she felt the need to earn their love. Well, that would be just silly, wouldn’t it? And she didn’t feel like a little mother; she felt like a determined housekeeper.

      Lally turned the frittata onto a serving plate, carried it and the salad to the table she’d set, and took her seat. ‘I hope you’ll eat while the food is hot and at its best, and have as much as you want. I made plenty. I do have a bunch of messages from your phone, but I think they can all wait until after you’ve eaten.’

      Now she sounded as though she was very generously allowing him to eat his own food, and making his work-related choices for him while she was at it. ‘What if your editor rings?’ Lally asked suddenly. ‘Or your agent?’

      ‘You’ll be able to tell if they need to speak to me urgently, otherwise they can wait.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I’m too professional to ask you to dodge them on my behalf if they phone and then ask for a progress update—though there might be certain days when I’ll be tempted to do that if things keep going the way they have for the past few weeks.’

      ‘You can’t help it if you’re in the middle of a sticky patch with your muse,’ Lally declared. ‘These things happen. It must be quite amazing to be internationally famous too. You probably have fans chasing after you and everything. Lots of women—’

      The words burst out of her and Lally’s face flooded with heat.

      ‘I can’t say I’ve been particularly chased, at least not to my knowledge.’ Cam drawled the words. He felt far too pleased that Lally’s words—when she’d got to the ‘women’ part of her statement—had sounded as though she was quite jealous at the thought of such a thing happening.

      Two seconds later he realised that wasn’t exactly the response he should have to her. And he didn’t want women chasing him; he’d rather go and find them when he felt the need.

      Cam helped himself to a piece of the frittata and some salad and took a first bite. The frittata was perfect, the accompanying salad the exact counterpoint for it; the zing of tangy dressing hit Cam’s tongue, completing the experience. ‘Did you make the dressing yourself? Where did you learn your cooking skills?’

      ‘I did make the dressing. I learned to cook from two parents who both love it, and do it very differently but equally as well.’ Lally’s smile softened at whatever memories were in her head. ‘What they didn’t actively teach me, I guess I’ve learned by observation anyway.’

      She seemed to take her skill level as nothing out of the ordinary.

      ‘Your father runs a restaurant; I momentarily forgot that.’ She’d told him that at their interview, and Cam had spent a few moments piecing together her family history in his mind. Torres-Strait Aboriginal mother, Italian father; the surname of ‘Douglas’ suggested that her father might not be fully Italian.

      ‘Dad’s mother married a Scotsman, just to keep things interesting.’ Lally’s lovely smile lit her face again.

      ‘You have a diverse family tree.’ Cam returned the smile, and gestured to his plate. ‘The food is delicious, thank you. I think I’ve struck it lucky with you, Lally, if this meal and the work you’ve got through already are any indication.’