“Well…” She pretended to count on her fingers, which had various shades of blue nail polish. “My official title is executive assistant to Lord Du Montfort. In real life it means I’m a sort of dogsbody that helps anyone who needs me.”
“That’s good. I might need your help finding my way around this house and the island. I mean, it’s not the kind of place where you can call a taxi if you don’t know the way.”
“Oh, it’s too small to lose your way. Just don’t get caught out after dark because you really will be lost then. They don’t do streetlights here, so unless you can navigate by stars, you’ll have to sleep under a pear tree.”
“Millie, before she left, mentioned I would be setting up my workroom in a place called the…Casemate?”
“Oh yes, it’s a textile factory. Sort of. Lord M calls it ‘the sweatshop.’”
“Are we supposed to call him Lord M or Mister M?”
“I think he prefers Mister but it gets confusing with his son, so most people call him Lord M. I call him The Lord behind his back because it really explains what a royal pain in the behind he can be. Anyway, you’ll make up your own mind. He wants to see you.”
“No time like the present.” Clearly, he was the man to impress here. Last night she’d googled him on her iPad and discovered exactly why Nicole had such a stick up her backside. This was a big deal. Had they lived on the mainland, top-notch designers would have been tripping over one another for the job. Lucky for Laura, being on this remote and unknown island had thinned out the competition.
She tried not to stare at everything as Pierre led her down the corridor. The other woman in her indigo-dye skirt and rainbow hair made an incongruous figure in all this traditional grandeur. There was something really engaging about her; hopefully she would be a friend.
“So,” Laura said, “did you become a writer like your namesake?”
Pierre grinned. “After a fashion. In my spare time, I write cliché jokes and trite messages for greeting cards.”
“Really?”
“You don’t believe me? You can look up my website, I have an online greeting card business. Way With Words. I thought it would make a great URL. You know, www.www.com.”
Laura stared at her; the young woman was full of surprises.
“What? Why are you looking at me like this?”
“Nothing.” Laura turned her face and pretended to look at the silver coat of arms on the wall. An impressive heraldic thing with lions and fleur-de-lis.
“What? You may as well tell me. I promise not to be offended.”
“I was just thinking how your name is the least surprising thing about you.”
Pierre laughed. “Yes, Lord M calls methat loony bint. You know, a take on loonybin.”
A little quiver of anxiety ran down the back of Laura’s neck; the man sounded like a difficult boss.
Too soon, they reached the large hall at the top of the stairs and knocked on a set of double doors before Pierre pushed them open and ushered Laura in.
No silk furnishings here. Inside was a huge study, complete with leather-bound books, studded leather armchairs, leather-covered mahogany desk and a masculine leather smell. Four or five people stood or sat at the back of the room near the desk, but all of them faded when her eyes fell on the man in the armchair by the window.
The 23rdLord Du Montfort, according to Laura’s research last night, had been a celebrated socialite, lothario and philanderer, close friends with the Queen’s cousin, a favourite of Princess Margaret in her youth. Now at seventy-five, he was a shrunken old man with white hair, but still he had as much charisma as Winston Churchil, JFK and Geroge Clooney with enough to spare for Napoleon Bonaparte.
Open newspapers littered a table beside him. There was also a nurse sorting out medicine bottles and a slight man talking about inflatable cushions. The man he was talking to was, of course, the doctor in all his glory: tall, fair hair and cold shoulder.
And sitting in a chair opposite Lord Du Montfort was another familiar face.
Nicole was laughing at something the old man said. “Yes, your Lordship.” Gone was the arrogance and superiority. Here she was all bright smiles and eager body language.
She looked up as Laura came in and leaned closer to say something too quiet for Laura to hear. Du Montfort turned bright blue eyes to her.
Pierre introduced her. “This is Laura Ford, the designer. And this is Lord M, Nicole Barber, Liam our physiotherapist, and Adam Mortimer, our new doctor.”
Some people claimed you could tell a lot about someone from a first impression, the first three seconds. In Laura’s opinion that was rubbish because if you saw a man running after a bus, that would tell you nothing about him except perhaps that he needed to catch a bus.
In her experience, you could tell a lot about people by how they acted when they were introduced to someone.
