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I have as yet no firm idea when Barbie will be arriving, but you’ll find new linen in the adjoining room, which I’d like you to prepare for her, together with the bathroom opposite, and make sure there are always fresh flowers waiting.
He signed it simply ‘Jago’ adding his email address and mobile number underneath, together with the PS, ‘I shall be dropping in occasionally to check progress.’
And no doubt to check on Barbie too, thought Tavy, her mouth tightening, wondering why he didn’t drop the pretence and simply move the lady into the master bedroom from day or perhaps night one.
It occurred to her that perhaps Barbie was the girl that he’d fought over with Pete Hilton. If so, it must be a serious relationship to have lasted this long, and not one of many casual sexual encounters as he’d implied.
On the other hand, she was here to do a job, not to brood on her employer’s morals, such as they were. And as she was scheduled to leave at six each evening, she would not, with luck, be around to witness their reunion .
* * *
Long before the end of the day, Tavy felt as if she’d been taking part in a marathon and was due to finish last.
Because the task ahead of her was larger and more complex than she’d imagined, she realised as she downloaded and printed off Jago’s instructions for the work he was commissioning.
In spite of herself, she was impressed. He didn’t appear to have missed a thing. And, for the first time, she began to believe that buying Ladysmere was not simply a momentary whim. That this care and attention to detail indicated that he really intended to make it his home. A place where he would settle down and perhaps raise a family.
An odd shiver went down her spine at the prospect and, for a moment, she sat staring into space with eyes that saw nothing.
But she swiftly reminded herself that, whatever his plans, they were no concern of hers. By the time they came to fruition, she would be far away and recent events would seem like a bad dream.
Then, as if a starting pistol had been fired, the phone began to ring, one call following another, while the doorbell signalled the arrival of the heating engineers. After that, there was a constant stream of people bringing books of wallpaper and fabric patterns as well as large books of carpet samples.
Giving ‘home shopping’ a whole new slant, thought Tavy ironically, as the empty shelves in the library began to fill up.
The plumber arrived just as she was finishing her lunch of cheese and tomato sandwiches, and she conducted him upstairs and along the passage to the imposing pair of double doors leading to the master suite, thankful to escape from the banging from the boiler room in the cellar.
It was dim inside the room, most of the light being blocked by heavy tasselled blinds. Tavy went to the windows and raised them, while the plumber disappeared through a communicating door into the soon-to-be converted dressing room to begin his calculations.
It was a big room, its size diminished by the dark, formal wallpaper which in turn detracted from the elaborate and beautiful plaster frieze above it. On the wall facing the door was a massive four-poster bed, standing like a skeleton, stripped of its canopy, mattress and curtains, but still dominating its surroundings.
Tavy walked over to take a closer look. It was a beautiful thing, she thought, running her hand down a smooth post, which like the panelled headboard set into the wall, was constructed from mellow golden oak.
Clearly an attempt had been made to pry the bed loose because it was slightly damaged.
Jago Marsh’s orders, no doubt, she told herself. Not quite his image, a bed like this, and certainly no love nest for someone named after a plastic doll. No, he’d want something emperor-sized with black satin sheets...
And stopped there, wrenching herself back to reality.
What the hell do you know about men and what they want? she asked herself with derision.
When you’ve only been kissed with real passion once in your life—and that was by the wrong man because he was angry.
Aware her heartbeat had quickened, she went back to the window and unfastened it, pushing it open to dispel the faint mustiness in the air.
As she turned, she noticed an easel, together with a stack of portfolios and even canvases leaning against a wall, and remembered what Jago had said about storage.
She was sorely tempted to have a look at them and see if his painting was as good as his drawing, but restrained herself with an effort. Like so much else in his life, it was none of her business.
Calling to the plumber that she’d be next door, she went reluctantly into the room designated as Barbie’s, which seemed the only furnished room in the house. There was a round table holding a pink-shaded lamp, a neat chest of drawers, a small armchair upholstered and cushioned in moss green, a sheepskin rug, and of course the bed—brand-new and double-sized, its mattress still in its protective wrapping. As was the bedding, the sheets pale pink and the quilt and pillow cases white, sprigged with pink rosebuds, with matching curtains already hanging at the window.
