The trouble was, Juliet acknowledged as she headed back downstairs, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
Chapter three
Lucy
Alex Kincaid, Lucy thought, lookednothinglike she’d expected him to. Forget balding or bushy eyebrows or a nasal drip. The man was amazingly and irritatingly sexy.
It seemed an entirely inappropriate word to attribute to a head teacher, of a primary school no less, but it popped into her head just the same. Dark brown hair cut very short. Navy eyes with thick lashes. And a body that even in a conservative suit looked toned and muscular and, well,hot.
Alex Kincaid’s good looks were an unexpected perk. She could use a little distraction, not just from everything she’d left in Boston, but from this new life in Hartley-by-the-Sea she was trying hard to like. It wasn’t easy. In the eighteen hours since she’d shown up at Tarn House, Juliet hadn’t warmed to her in the slightest.
Lucy hadn’t expected some kind ofhomecoming, of course, but she’d thought Juliet would be at least a little happy to see her. She’d assumed her sister’s invitation meant that Juliet actually wanted her here. And all right, yes, perhaps she’d imagined her sister running her deep bubble baths andpampering her a bit. Was that so wrong? Her life had just been destroyed. She could do with a tiny bit of coddling, the odd glass of wine pressed into her hands, assurances that she was here to relax, to be restored.
If anything, Juliet seemed to resent her presence. After sleeping for three hours yesterday afternoon, Lucy had stumbled downstairs to find her dinner of beef stew left in the warming oven of the Aga, with a note on the table asking her to put her plate in the dishwasher when she was done. Juliet had gone to walk the dogs.
Lucy had eaten alone in the kitchen, feeling once more like a scolded child, the house quiet and creaky all around her. The wind rattled the windowpanes and sent drops of water spattering on the glass, a sound that felt unfriendly. The sun was just starting to set at eight o’clock, but Lucy could barely see its weak rays from behind the heavy gray clouds. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt quite so alone.
She’d told herself to stop being so melodramatic, and turned on a lamp by the deep window seat that overlooked the gloomy pasture. She felt a little better then, and she made sure to rinse her plate and put it in the dishwasher as Juliet had instructed.
Then she’d heard Juliet come in, her quick, purposeful step, and she’d appeared in the kitchen doorway, hands on her hips.
“Did you get enough to eat?”
“Yes, thank you—”
Juliet had nodded and turned away before Lucy could stumble through any more thank-yous. She’d turned off the lamp Lucy had just switched on and then fished atinypiece of beef from the kitchen drain and pointedly deposited it in the bin. Lucy had bitten her lip to keep from apologizing.
An hour later Juliet had knocked on Lucy’s bedroom door and handed her a sheet of paper, the rota she’d mentioned earlier. Lucy scanned it and saw she was down to make dinner onTuesdays and Thursdays, and clean the upstairs bathroom once a week.
“I’ll take you over to the school tomorrow morning,” she said with one of those brisk nods Lucy was starting to dislike. “Introduce you to Alex Kincaid.” She’d glanced at Lucy’s purple tights, her mouth tightening. “You might want to think about what you wear. First impressions are crucial, you know.”
And she’d walked away before Lucy could say anything. “Thank you” had not come to mind.
She’d lain in bed, exhausted but unable to sleep, wondering if she’d made a huge mistake in coming here. The last thing she needed in her life was yet another sniffily disapproving person making her feel small and stupid. And yet she couldn’t just take off, either. She didn’t want to run away again. She wanted something towork.
So, yes, Alex Kincaid being good-looking was a very nice distraction. Except right now he appeared as stern and disapproving as Juliet.
“Umm . . . sorry?”
“Have you been listening to anything I’ve said?”
The answer to that would be no. She had been admiring the cleft in his chin, though. Very Cary Grant. “I . . .” She scrambled to think ofsomethinghe’d said, but her mind came up empty. This was definitely not the first impression she’d wanted to make. And first impressions were socrucial, as Juliet had said. She had gone for her most sensible outfit too, a brown corduroy skirt and a fuzzy blue sweater and plain black tights because even though it was the last week of August, it was still freezing. She was wearing the clothes she’d brought for the beginning of winter.
“I see,” Alex said, the two words bitten out. Lucy supposed she should have expected this kind of attitude from Mr. Kincaid; from the moment she’d met him out in the school yard, he’dseemed hassled and impatient, one sweeping glance taking her in and seeming to dismiss her all at once. He’d turned away to unlock the front door of the school, and then ushered her into the tiny front office with its sliding glass window and enormous photocopying machine. Lucy had breathed in the scent of chalk and new paint and, underneath, the tang of old PE clothes and sweaty boy. That smell had catapulted her back to elementary school, and that had not been a happy time. Junior high had been worse.
Maybe working in a school hadn’t been such a great idea.
“I was asking, Miss Bagshaw,” Alex elaborated now in the overemphasizing way used by people who clearly thought you were stupid, “if you had any administrative experience.”
She’d already told him she hadn’t during her phone interview. “No, I’m afraid not.”
“Any experience answering telephones?”
Besides her own? “No.”
He pressed his lips together, eyes narrowing. He still looked attractive, but it had become much less of a distraction. She was now depressingly aware of how little Alex Kincaid clearly thought of her. “I can make a mean cup of coffee,” she offered, and he actually scowled.
“Let me explain your responsibilities,” Alex said, his voice turning even in the way of someone who was only just holding on to his temper. “You’ll answer any telephone calls, in addition to dealing with any visitors. Maggie Bains, who covered reception in the summer term, will guide you through it for a few days. You’ll also do some work for me, as you’ll be the closest thing I have to a personal assistant.”
