Irresistible (3 page)

I suddenly realize how stalkerish this is and put Gabi’s phone down.

At that moment, my own phone starts vibrating in the bag on my lap. I’d turned the sound off after the ringtone nearly gave me a heart attack at Radleigh Castle. It’s a call from a private number.

The receptionist at Radleigh called me from a private number to arrange the interview. Maybe they’re calling to say I got the job. Or that I didn’t. Or that I was seen watching
Jamie in the swimming pool. There aren’t laws against watching men in shorts—are there?

I realize I’ve just been staring at the phone and haven’t actually answered.

“Mia, it’s Julia Elliot-Fox. We’d like to offer you a waitress position.”

“This,” says Julia, “is the wine cellar.”

We shuffle toward the room, four pairs of feet crunching on the gritty stone floor.

“You are not to go in there.”

We stop.

“Johan, our sommelier, has the key, and he will send you up what you need in the dumbwaiter behind the bar.”

I realize there is a man with a white mustache in the room, who has just taken a bottle from one of the shelves and is noting something down on a pad. He looks at us haughtily and then returns to his work.

Julia closes the door and walks back past us, her heels echoing in the corridor. We follow her up some steps and through a door that leads outside again. We come out at the rear of the castle, near the kitchens and the restaurant, with the swimming pool just visible.

The boy next to me taps my shoulder and whispers, “Which is worse, Johan or a pile of dog poo?”

“What?” I ask.

“Johan,” the boy continues. “He’s sommelier.”

I look at him, confused. Does he not like sommeliers? Maybe he’s just odd.

“Smellier,” he explains.

It’s so awful, it makes me laugh. “That is actually the worst joke I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh, come on. I thought of it on the spot!”

“All right,” I say. “Next time, maybe you should prepare a few in advance.”

“Sorry, what was your name again?” he says. “I was focused on remembering which way the forks go in the silver service and didn’t listen to anything else.”

“Mia.” I glance over at Julia to see if it’s safe to talk. She’s talking to one of the other waiters through the window. “You’re Dan, right?”

“I am. You win on names, then.” He nods toward Julia. “I hope there’s not a test at the end of this tour; I’ll be fed to the hounds.” As he says it, he leans closer to me and grins, like we’re sharing a secret.

I recognize Dan. He’s two years ahead of me at the boys’ school across the road from my school. I’ve never spoken to him before, though. He’s got a really wide smile and dimples in his cheeks, and he keeps flicking his head to get his hair out of his eyes. I suddenly feel really pleased that I’m going to be working with him all summer.

“This is crazy, isn’t it?” he says. “Imagine living here.”

“We should,” I tell him. “We could claim squatters’ rights.”

“Dibs on the west wing.”

“I’ll have the pool house.” I smile. We’ve forgotten to keep our voices down.

“Will you?” Someone has come out of the door behind us, and I nearly jump out of my skin. Jamie raises his eyebrows at me as he walks past. Today he’s wearing a black polo shirt with the collar turned up, which, with a feeling of stalkerish shame, I recognize from one of the photos.

I see Dan fiddle with the collar of his white waiter’s shirt as we both watch Jamie head in the direction of the pool house. My stomach dips in embarrassment, and I can feel my cheeks burning. I instinctively smooth down my skirt. I went shopping with Mom and got this high-waisted skirt and fitted shirt and new black heels. Up until now I’d felt pretty good in my new clothes, as if looking all sharp and professional would help me not make a mess of everything.

I don’t know why it’s bothering me so much that Jamie just heard me. I probably won’t even see him that often if he’s off in his pool house all the time. I look up and catch Dan’s eye, and he grins. I immediately feel more relaxed.

“And that,” says Julia pointedly, making us both turn back to her, “is about everything. The more experienced staff will guide you. Melanie, I’d like you behind the bar tonight,” she says to the older girl with us. She has long red hair and freckles and has been nodding a lot and saying “Hmm” during the orientation, as if she knows it all already. “Mia, you’ll be on tables, and Daniel, you’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Just my luck,” says Dan.

I feel slightly panicky. I’ll be the most on display. I breathe out slowly. It will be fine. I practiced holding three
plates at a time in Gabi’s room, with her pretending to be a distinguished Radleigh diner. She got a bit too into it, throwing imaginary food across the room and shouting, “GARBAGE! UTTER DISGRACE!”

Melanie pipes up. “Julia?”

“Mrs. Elliot-Fox will do, I think,” corrects Julia.

“Mrs. Elliot-Fox … sorry. I was just wondering, where should I put my engagement ring?” She holds up her hand with the ring facing out. “Simon would be so sad if anything happened to it, and—”

“I’ll take it,” cuts in Julia. “Although I don’t know how you expect to damage it serving drinks. And do something about your hair, please.”

“Oh, yeah, um, okay.” Melanie holds out the ring and starts piling her hair into a ponytail. “Oh, I don’t think I have a—oh dear …”

“I’ve got one,” I say, handing her the spare hair tie from my wrist.

“To the kitchen!” says Dan.

As we follow him through the restaurant to start the shift, I run through all the things I need to remember. Serve food on the diner’s left. Don’t let them see you holding up your hands in L shapes to figure out which side left is. Don’t fall over.

I’m completely exhausted. I didn’t have a minute’s break the whole night. Nonresidents have to book ahead, and residents are supposed to tell you when they are eating, but they all came in at different times, so there was constantly an order to take, food or a tray of drinks to bring over, or plates to clear. The kitchen was like a sauna whenever I
had to go in, so I felt bad for Dan, who was there all night loading and unloading the dishwasher. He was looking pretty sweaty and crazy-eyed by the end. And when the guests had gone, there was the cleaning to do. When I offered to do the bathrooms at the end of the night, I thought Melanie was going to kiss me. It was tactical, really; all the windows are open in the restrooms, so it’s much cooler in there. Job done, I suddenly hear the murmur of lots of voices outside, punctuated frequently by laughter and shouting. I think for a minute that people have gone into the dining room again, but then I hear splashing and realize the sounds must be coming from the pool. Closing time doesn’t apply to them, then.

Back in the kitchen, Dan opens the fire door to let some air in and we sit on the step. “Jesus.” He grins, wiping some dish-detergent bubbles from his hair. “Easing us in slowly, weren’t they?”

“Argh!” I reply, leaning my head against the door frame.

“How were the fine diners?” he asks.

“Okay. Mostly they just ignored me, or pointed to their glasses when they wanted a refill. One old guy eating on his own said I was pretty.”

“He must have been really drunk.”

“Hey!” I elbow him in the leg.

“I’m kidding. You look lovely. I love my women dripping with sweat.”

“Ha! Oh God, even laughing hurts.” I shut my eyes. “I think I need to get up or I’ll end up sleeping out here among the Dumpsters.”

Dan stands up and pulls me to my feet. His arm tenses as it takes my weight, and I notice he’s very muscly. When
I stand up, I’m close to him, even though I’m about a foot shorter. His hair falls across his face and he smiles at me. I realize I’m staring at him and go to fix my own hair, which had been gradually falling out of its clip all night.

“It looks good … all messy,” he says.

One of the other waitresses calls over that she’s locking up the kitchen.

“Okay,” we both say together and then laugh. We’ve arranged to walk home across the park together, once Melanie’s beloved Simon arrives to pick her up. I think she’s probably been talking about beloved Simon for a lot of the night, because the other bartender looked like she wanted to kill her.

I tell Dan I’m just going to check the schedule so I know when to come in tomorrow. It’s kept under the bar. I scan the sheet, and it takes a while for my brain to focus. I think I’m not on there for a moment and then I realize it’s done by last name. Dan must be named Dan David, as it says
David
was in the kitchen tonight.

“And which one are you?”

Jamie’s face is right over my shoulder. He seems to like sneaking up on people and generally being annoying. I can’t help but notice he smells really nice. A sort of fresh, appley, spicy smell. I point at my name.

“Joseph,” he says. “That’s a pretty name.”

“That’s my last name. I’m Mia Joseph. Mia.” I’m trying to sound serious and like he’s bothering me, but I slip into a laugh at the end.

He raises his eyebrows. “Great. Well, Joseph, we’re having a little party in there.” He nods in the direction of the pool house. “And we’re playing a little game.” He cocks
his head to the side, still frowning at me with those full lips of his. He probably does that pouting thing on purpose.

“Okay. Well, have fun.”

His presence is making me nervous. And sort of excited.

“A drink before you go home?”

I slide the schedule back under the bar. I wonder what would happen if I did stay. Part of me is aching to find out. Another, more sensible, part is telling me that the evidence so far suggests that a drink with Jamie would be a bad idea.

“Um, no, thanks. Dan’s walking back with me, so …”

Jamie shrugs. “I don’t know who Dan is.”

Dan and Melanie look over from one of the tables. Dan’s got a sort of a pleading look on his face. Melanie’s probably showing him the pictures on her phone of her and Simon in Turkey.

“Oh, he’s …”

I turn back, but Jamie has already gone.

As we leave, Dan yawns. “I’m pretty tempted to take them up on the offer of a bed, to be honest.”

Julia had told us that we were welcome to stay in the old servants’ quarters on nights when we finished late. Apparently special events, particularly weddings, can go on into the early hours.

Dan widens his eyes, trying to make himself more awake. “Maybe not on the first night. We’ll never leave!”

“We should one night, though—we can explore all those secret passages,” I say and stop, slightly worried that I sound like the woman whose clothes were falling off on the cover of the receptionist’s book. “The corridors,” I clarify firmly. “That Julia told us about.”

“Yeah, definitely,” says Dan, looking amused. “On Friday it’s the same as tonight for the late shift. Sleepover? You, me, and Melanie?”

We look at each other, both clearly thinking of beloved Simon. “Maybe not,” we say in unison. Dan raises his eyebrows at me and we share a smile. It’s the second time tonight we’ve said the same thing at the same time. We walk out the reception door and in front of the castle toward the grounds. It’s surprisingly chilly for a summer evening, and though I try to hide it, I suddenly have an uncontrollable shiver spasm. Dan sees and insists I borrow his hoodie. I explain it’s my own fault for bringing only a cardigan. I don’t want to leave him cold.

Dan smiles and points out that the chilliness isn’t actually that surprising, unless I was under the impression that Kent is part of the Mediterranean. I refuse again, until he reveals that he’s brought a spare hoodie.

“Do you always carry spare clothes for handing out to women?”

“No! My mom just follows me around, putting things in my bag. I can also provide you with tissues, an apple, and a selection of plastic bags.”

“Well, if we ever get lost somewhere, it’s good to know we’ll be able to share an apple and cry.”

Dan laughs, and it sort of echoes around us. I turn around and look back at the castle. We’re walking along the wide, central path that leads from the castle through the grounds. Only a few windows are lit up, so the black edges of the building seem to blur into the sky, making it look even more huge. I can still just about make out the two front turrets.

By the time we are out of sight of the castle and have found where the grounds meet the river, it is pitch black. It hadn’t occurred to me that there wouldn’t be any lights. I didn’t technically tell Mom I was walking home. Jeff said
he’d get me, but I said I was getting a lift. I suppose by a little stretch of the truth, I am. Dan
could
be carrying me.

Just as I have that thought, we have a sort of collision. His foot goes in front of mine and I trip. My hands flail in the air and grab the nearest solid thing, which turns out to be his face.

“Oh God! I’m sorry. I just grabbed your face!”

“It was mostly my ear. It’s fine. I’ve got another one. Sorry I tripped you!”

“I don’t think we really thought about this walking-through-darkness thing,” I say, secretly glad that it’s hiding my face. I have this thing that whenever the slightest embarrassment happens, I go bright red. Not in the attractive English-rose way; in the way that someone might glance over and say, “Oh, how strange. A tomato with the body of a girl.”

We soon get into town and can finally see where we’re going. I like walking along the main street when it’s all empty, walking down the middle of the road because we can. It’s so easy to talk to Dan, and we just flow from subject to subject, finding out more and more about each other. Dan just finished Year Thirteen and is taking a gap year off. He got into university for engineering, but he wants to go traveling first.

I immediately start asking him where he’d go and what he’d do, and he laughs in surprise. He says he wants to travel around Europe and then go to Ecuador and work on a farm. I tell him I want to see Barcelona. And Asia. And New Zealand.

“Planning your gap year already?”

“Yeah,” I say vaguely, and drift off into a daydream in which I turn up at the station with my own rail pass and
say, “Surprise, I’m coming too!” Dan, of course, is overjoyed and grabs my hands and says in an atrocious French accent, “
Paree, allons-y!
”