Chapter One
Interviews were different.
Give me my sweats and a T-shirtanyday.
Interviews meant dressing smartly, being on his best behaviour, at leasttryingto sound intelligent, and above all, making that all important first impressioncount. Paul Vaughan wasn’t sure he’d accomplished that, judging by Mrs. Lambton’s facial expression. She looked like she’d swallowed a whole load of lemon sherbet. Right then his interviewer was reading through Paul’s application and CV with such scrutiny that he began to feel uncomfortable.
Paul fidgeted with his collar. He hated wearing the dark grey suit, white shirt and dark blue tie, not to mention the tight black shoes that pinched his feet. He longed for the interview to be over, so he could go home and slough off the clothing as if he was shedding dead skin. Paul never wore shoes in the house, and when he’d attended lectures at Portsmouth University, flip-flops were the norm among his classmates.
He took a moment to take a calming breath and glance around the room. The walls were lined with bookshelves, reaching to the ornate ceiling. Behind the desk where Mrs. Lambton was seated, a long window afforded tantalizingglimpses of the sea. Paul could just about hear waves crashing on the rocks below. The desk itself was wide, with an attractive lamp and a computer monitor its only adornments. Although it was a beautiful room, Paul couldn’t help feeling it was missing something—or rather, someone.
There was no sign of the man mentioned in the advert, the one who needed a companion.
“Mr. Vaughan!”
If her sharp tone was anything to go by, Paul had zoned out for a moment. He sat up straight and cleared his throat. “Yes, Mrs. Lambton?” He met her scrutiny and did his best to appear alert.
She sat back in the wide leather chair, elbows resting on its arms, her gaze focused on him. “Your qualifications are eminently suitable, and the references from your college tutors are excellent.” Paul estimated her to be in her late fifties, clearly a well-educated woman judging by her speech and diction. Her grey coiffured hair was neat, her clothing elegant.
Paul smiled. “I’m glad they meet with your approval,” he responded politely. He’d known there’d be no problem withthatelement of the interview. What concerned him was that the advert hadn’t revealed much about the position, what would be expected of the successful applicant.
Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll be honest. I would have preferred to be interviewing an older candidate, but on this occasion, you are the best applicant who has applied. Onpaper,” she stressed, tapping his paperwork with a thin finger.
Paul remained quiet, waiting to see where this was leading.
A noise from the next room broke the silence, the sound of furniture sliding across a hard floor, followed by a muffled raised voice. Mrs. Lambton jerked her head toward it, her forehead furrowed. After several seconds when all was quiet once more, she returned her attention to Paul, but this time her demeanourchanged. She lost some of her stiffness and her regard became friendlier.
“Paul—if I may call you that?” He nodded. “Paul, I’m going to be blunt. This position is not without its… difficulties. My brother, Mr. Kent, is not an elderly man—he’s forty—but he needs to have someone constantly on hand.”
“Oh?” Paul’s interest was piqued.
Her attention seemed focused on the desk in front of her. “Adam was diagnosed as suffering from acute glaucoma three months ago. I’m sure you can imagine for yourself how devastating such a diagnosis was for an author.”
So, Adam is an author.
“Is he going blind, then?”
Mrs. Lambton sat very still. “He is already blind,” she said quietly. “Three weeks after the diagnosis, in spite of various attempts to salvage the sight in one of his eyes.”
“Three weeks?” Paul couldn’t help but feel sorry for the man. Forty, an author, and suddenly his whole world had changed.
“Which brings us to the position,” she said. “There have been several companions, none of whom have lasted more than a few days.” She scowled. “The record is three hours.”
“Why is that?” Paul kept his tone even. Inside his stomach churned.
What the hell does this guy do to make people want to quit so freaking fast?
Mrs. Lambton made a noise at the back of her throat. If it hadn’t been for her ladylike demeanour throughout the interview, Paul could have sworn she’d growled.
“Perhaps it’s best that I tell you, seeing as I intend to offer you the job.”
Paul gave a little internal whoop but then tempered his joy quickly.
I’m not agreeing to take on this position until I know the whole story.
“Every person that I have hired, he has driven them to quit. He can be awkward, cantankerous and on occasion, plain pig-headed. I give you fair warning, he will resist all your efforts to help him. Indeed, he will claim he needs no help. That isnotthe case, I assure you.”
“May I ask a question?”
