What She Wants (46 page)

was going back. He was still a player. Judds needed him, the company needed him. So what if he wasn’t going to write the great novel. He was still the only man for the job of taking care of Judds. He took Hope in his arms, holding her half-naked body close to his clothed one, letting her feel just how turned on he was. And somehow, Hope knew that it wasn’t the sight of her that had made him want her: it was the thrill of the job. Hearing that he was needed had flicked a switch inside him, the switch that turned him on. Hope let him nuzzle her neck and caress her until they fell down on their bed and made love. But afterwards, when Matt fell asleep, half on her side of the bed, Hope lay there with her eyes open. Why was it that Matt was enough for her, but she wasn’t quite enough for him? He needed something more from life and all she needed was his love. The following day, Matt rushed around making phone calls, sending e-mails, booking his plane ticket. It was like old times, Hope realized. Buoyed up by the knowledge that he was needed, Matt was on a high and his enthusiasm was infectious. The children, not knowing that he was going to be away for six whole weeks, danced around him happily. Hope did her best to be cheery but she felt desolate that he was going and twice as desolate at how happy he was to be going. They drove to the airport that afternoon, with Millie finally cross because the penny had dropped that her beloved daddy was going away. In the back of the car, she roared all the way to Killarney. It reminded Hope of her arrival in Kerry. ‘Don’t come in,’ said Matt as they parked. Hope’s pale, upset face was making him feel guilty enough. It would be worse for her to have to say goodbye in a teeming airport and then drag two screaming children back into the car. Far easier on them all to kiss goodbye now in the car. He held her hand tightly, hoping she’d understand. All Hope understood was that Matt was so eager to be

away from her that he was denying her the chance to say goodbye properly. When he bent to kiss her, she gave him the lightest peck. ‘Bye,’ she said in a small voice.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Hi Hope, Sorry I couldn’t talk yesterday. I was just running to a meeting and literally didn’t have a second. This is a quickie early morning e-mail because I’ve lots of meetings in the office first thing and we’ve got a sales conference on afterwards and the whole building is decamping to Hertfordshire for three days. How are you getting on without Matt? I bet Millie’s playing up as usual. She really is Daddy’s girl. I know today’s the first day of your new job, so best of luck. You’ll be fabulous, natch. That hotel sounds pretty amazing. Maybe next time I come, we’ll book ourselves in for a night and spend a day in Delphine’s salon getting beautified. I could do with it! My skin has gone to pot over the last few weeks - I am convinced it was the anaesthetic from getting my fibroids done. So much for ‘you’ll be out of the hospital within twenty-four hours and suffer no ill effects’! Only kidding. Dry skin isn’t much of a price to pay and I’m feeling great. I’ve started doing this yoga video at home but I think I need to sign up to a class to do it properly. And I’m eating properly, drinking loads of water and actually cooking dinner every night. You’d be proud of me. I won’t have time to phone today probably, but I’ll try and give you a ring tomorrow, Love Sam.

Hope smiled at the thought of her hopelessly undomesticated sister cooking every night. She clicked on reply. Hi Sis, it’s all right. I understand you’re madly busy. I keep getting your answering machine in the evening. This is just a quick note because I’ve got to leave the house in five minutes to get to the hotel for my first day and from the sounds downstairs, Millie is killing Toby. I am a bit nervous about the job to be honest because the only interview I did was simply over the phone with the accounts office boss, Una Hutchinson, and she said they needed someone for a couple of days a week to cope with a backlog of filing. Hope smiled to herself at the thought of her new job. She’d got it after the most unusual interview of her life. On the day of her interview at the hotel, Una had phoned first thing to say her husband was ill, consequently she was confined to home and could they do the interview over the phone? ‘I’d love that,’ Hope had laughed, thinking of when she’d gone for job interviews in her twenties and had suffered horrific nerve pangs as she sat, all dolled up in a neat little suit, waiting to be asked lots of difficult questions she was sure she’d never be able to answer. By comparison, talking with the companionable Una Hutchinson over the phone had been a doddle. She quickly reread the e-mail and then continued. The other job I’ve had since I got here was so laid-back that it felt like giving a neighbour a helping hand with the filing, and in contrast, this job is in a five-star hotel where they probably have a complex accounts system and I’m a bit nervous about that. But I’m going to do my best. If I can cope with the wiring in the house going haywire since Matt left, and with Millie acting up (you’re dead right, she’s been a minx since he left), then I can cope with a new job. Do you know, it’s three

weeks since he left? I almost can’t believe it myself. I’ve been so busy that I don’t miss him during the day, but it can be lonely here at night. Still, the girls are great at dragging me out of the house. This wasn’t totally true. Hope missed Matt like crazy but didn’t want to tell Sam or she’d doubtless phone him up and launch a tirade about neglecting her sister. Glad to hear that your skin is the only casualty of the operation. I’ll ask Delphine for her recommendations. She probably knows some hideously expensive bottle of cream (the ninety quid for an ounce variety) that’ll do the trick. Better still, you could visit Redlion and she’d administer it herself. All the girls at the Macrame Club are always asking about you and you know I’d love you to visit. By the way, Giselle is going to London in November and wants to know if you can meet up. Matt’s fine although he’s harder to get hold of on the phone than you’. Judd’s is madly busy and he’s doing Adam’s work as well as some of his own. Hope didn’t mention that Matt was the worst e-mail correspondent ever, believing that it was a mistake to get private e-mails at the office in case other people read them. Consequently, he made do with phoning Hope and the children, which wasn’t satisfactory because he did it when he got in from work at nine, forgetting the children were in bed by half seven. Even more annoying, he hadn’t phoned the night before or this morning to wish her luck in her new part time job at the Manoir Rouge Leon. Delphine, Mary-Kate, Virginia and Giselle had all remembered, but not Matt. Hope’s pledge not to bitch about her husband was taking a rattling. She longed to let it all out and tell Sam how neglected she was feeling but she couldn’t: couples owed it to each other to keep their differences private, Hope felt. And Sam would certainly try and fight Hope’s battle, which was another no-no. She kept writing. Bet you’re going to some lovely hotel for your conference,

so have a good time. Talk soon and take care of yourself! It’s only two weeks since your op, don’t forget. You’re not superwoman. OK, you are, but don’t push yourself, Love Hope. Toby’s voice sounded plaintive as he roared up the stairs: ‘Mummy, Millie hit me with Thomas the Tank Engine.’ Hope hit send and rushed downstairs.

An hour later, Hope’s jaw dropped a bit as she drove up the manicured driveway to Manoir Rouge Leon. She’d seen the brochure photos that Delphine had given her, she’d heard Mary-Kate saying the hotel was an oasis of utter luxury, and she’d even heard about the prices - the price of a suite for two weeks would buy you half a house in Redlion, apparently. But nothing had prepared her for the sight of the soaring castle that lay nestled in a splendid valley of beech trees and mighty oaks a mere six miles from the village. The hotel was enormous, with a huge tower on either side of a vast wooden door, plenty of gargoyles and crenellated bits in between, and a castle wall that stretched around the rambling, spreading building as if it was guarding a precious jewel. ‘Wow,’ she said, not daring to park the Metro in the visitors’ car park alongside all the Mercedes and Bentleys. Since she’d banged it off the rusty gate on the lane, the car looked more disreputable than ever. She followed the signs for the staff car park and then dithered about taking the back entrance. Delphine had advised her to go in the front door ‘or you’ll get lost. The back of the castle is like a rabbit warren and we’d find you a month later locked in some back office,’ she’d said. But now Hope felt unsure about sauntering in as if she was a guest. She was only coming in to help because the accounts office were short staffed. Still, there was no choice. The front it was. A liveried doorman opened the big door to her and smiled ‘Hello Madame.’

Hope smiled back, thrilled that her smart black suit made her look posh enough to pass as a Bentley-driving guest. She must make an effort with her hair and make up more often. For a moment, she stood and admired the lobby, a vast richly panelled room with tapestries on the walls, enormous arrangements of flowers on two marble tables, and a suit of armour lurking malevolently by the grand double staircase. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ said a soft, male voice. ‘Lovely,’ said Hope untruthfully. Suits of armour reminded her of horror movies for some reason. ‘Can I help you?’ The voice belonged to a man in a suit, a man with a mop of curly dark hair that refused to be subdued and that reminded Hope for all the world of a Tibetan terrier’s coat. It was the only wild thing about him. From the tips of his perfectly white, double cuffs to his gleaming leather shoes, he had the style of someone from Blackwells Best Dressed Men list. He oozed gypsyish charm and Givenchy for Men from every pore and as Hope looked up into his shining black eyes and the saturnine face, she could do nothing but smile dumbly. ‘I’m … er … looking for the accounts office,’ she managed after what seemed like an age. ‘I’m supposed to be working there.’ ‘You must be Mrs Parker,’ he said. ‘How did you know?’ Hope said astonished. ‘It’s my job to know everything that goes on around here,’ he said in that soft, caressing voice. ‘I’m Christy De Lacy, the general manager.’ Before she was even aware of it, he’d taken her hand in his. ‘Welcome and thank you.’ Hope wasn’t sure what she was being thanked for but it was very nice to have this delectable specimen of manhood holding her hand and thanking her, so she wasn’t about to break the moment. ‘Which direction is the accounts office?’ she asked. He finally let go of her hand and Hope wondered if it would smell of his aftershave now.

‘I’ll show you,’ he said gravely, ‘and perhaps give you the grand tour as well.’ ‘Actually,’ Hope pointed out, ‘I’m supposed to be there at half nine and it’s nearly that now.’ Christy shrugged in a Gallic manner. ‘I’m the boss,’ he said with pride. Flustered, Hope began to protest. ‘But I don’t want to take up your time …’ His voice, already low, dropped an octave. ‘I’m never too busy to escort a beautiful lady,’ he purred. Hope’s stomach did a little flip that wouldn’t have earned her any points in an Olympic gymnastic display but which was still pretty good for a 37-year-old woman’s stomach with limited experience of somersaults. He guided her over to the lift and the tour started. ‘This panelling was taken from a house in Malta,’ he explained gravely and as the lift began its stately ascent, he told her about the work that had gone into refurbishing this section of the castle. He was very knowledgeable about it all but Hope decided that it was hard to say the correct things about wood panelling and the expense of maintaining antique furniture when all she wanted to do was hear Christy call her a ‘beautiful lady’ again. And there was something very sexy about being in the lift with such a man. Hadn’t there been fabulously hedonistic goings on in a lift in some movie? Didn’t modern hotels have cameras in the lifts? Would they be spotted if Christy flung her against the railing and kissed her? ‘The first floor refurbishment is the best, I think,’ Christy intoned as the door opened. She did her best to ask intelligent questions and soon discovered why the castle wasn’t called a castle and why Christy knew so much about it. ‘I was here for all the refurbishment,’ he said. ‘It took two years and it was like watching a gracious old movie star turn back into a youthful goddess.’ Hope sighed. ‘It’s beautiful, but why is it called a manor hotel? Why not a castle?’

‘You ask all the right questions.’ Christy smiled benignly on his pupil who glowed as much as if she’d just been given a gold star on her copybook. ‘It looks like a medieval castle in places but the oldest parts are only nineteenth century. A wealthy landowner built it for his young wife as a love token, because she said she’d always wanted to live in a castle, only she died before it was finished and in his grief, he insisted that nobody ever call it a castle again. It’s more of a folly really than a castle.’ ‘How romantic’ Hope ran a hand over a silken tapestry on one wall. As they waited for the lift again, Hope found herself gazing up at Christy with the shining eyes of the love struck. Stop it! What are you doing, she asked herself? It was like being a fifteen-year-old on a first ever date, desperate for compliments, smiling gauchely up at the object of her desire and waiting for him to say that her hair/jeans etc were nice. On the top floor, he whisked her along to one of the unoccupied suites, which contained the biggest bed she’d ever seen. ‘Wow,’ she said, resisting the temptation to sit on it and bounce up and down. ‘Sit, it’s a waterbed,’ he said, sitting down and bouncing. ‘Fun, huh?’ His eyebrows were distinctly devilish when raised in that provocative way. Hope perched as far away from him as possible. This was crazy. There was something dangerous about this man. As if reading her mind, Christy got to his feet. ‘Forgive me,’ he said earnestly, ‘I get so carried away with my beautiful hotel that I forget it can be boring for other people. You see, I want the people who work for me to appreciate the beauty of the Manoir. It makes them proud to work here, that’s why I gave you the tour. I hope it hasn’t bored you. Now let’s bring you to the accounts office and you can see the rest of the hotel later.’ Hope felt stupid for even imagining another motive for the tour. Of course, he was the manager and he wanted to