“That’s no problem at all,” she told him brightly. The truth was, she had no idea what a personal assistant actually did. File? Type? She was agreatbarista. But Alex Kincaid hadn’t seemed too impressed by that information.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Alex answered tightly. He stared at her for a moment, and Lucy held on to the alert, friendly expression she’d been trying to maintain with effort. Then he sighed and glanced at his watch. “Look, I’ve got a million things to do before school starts, and Maggie can show you around on the first day. Would that be all right?”
“Totally fine.” She took a deep breath and stood up, unfortunately at the same time as Alex, making them nearly bump noses in the tiny office. Lucy took a step and felt the photocopier jab into her back. She suppressed a wince. So did Alex.
Resolutely she stuck her hand out. “Thank you for taking me on, Mr. Kincaid. I really appreciate the opportunity.” There. That sounded professional, didn’t it?
With seeming reluctance Alex took her hand and gave it a shake. “You’re welcome,” he said grudgingly.
Two minutes later Lucy was back outside in the little school yard, a chilly wind buffeting her. A steep lane ran down to the high street, and above the slate roofs she could see the rolling pasture and the determined twinkle of the sea. The rain had eased off this morning, although the relentless rattling of wind through the trees had kept her up half the night. Now the sky was a pale gray-blue, as if it couldn’t make up its mind whether to revert back to rain. The sun wasn’t exactly shining, but at least it wasn’t a downpour.
Digging her hands into the pockets of her coat, Lucy headed down the lane and back to Tarn House.
The house was full of noise and commotion as she let herself in, squeezing past the three enormous backpacks that crowded the little entry hall. She made her way back to the kitchen, where three young men, of a size to match their luggage, were standing around the kitchen table, chatting in loud Australian accents while Juliet poured tea from a big blue pot.
Her sister looked almost . . . animated. She was smiling, at least, which made Lucy realize Juliet had not actually smiled once since she’d arrived.
And the smile disappeared completely when she caught sight of Lucy.
“You’re back,” she said, and Lucy just kept herself from inanely agreeing. “So, how did you get on?”
“Fine, I think.” Actually, she didn’t think she’d gotten on fine at all. Alex Kincaid seemed to take her on sufferance, just as Juliet did. But she wasn’t about to say that, especially not with these three linebackers eyeing her with such blatant curiosity.
“Well, it’s not rocket science, is it?” Juliet said as she put the teapot back on the Aga. “Answering phones.”
Lucy tried to figure out if that comment had been as snippy and sarcastic as it had felt. She caught the gaze of one of the Australians, who winked at her. “No,” she agreed as she backed out of the room. “It’s not rocket science.”
She went upstairs to her bedroom, the Australians’ raucous laughter ringing in her ears. Quietly she shut the door and leaned against it, wanting to duck the tidal wave of homesickness she felt crashing over her and knowing she couldn’t.
She thought about calling Chloe, who was practical and matter-of-fact but in a kindly, cheerful way. Unfortunately it was only seven in the morning in Boston, and Lucy didn’t think her best friend would appreciate being woken up at that hour just so Lucy could moan. She couldn’t even send her an e-mail, because she hadn’t worked up the courage to ask Juliet for the Wi-Fi password.
She curled up on the bed, tucking her knees to her chest as she gazed out at the fragile blue sky, which was threatening to be overwhelmed once more by dark gray clouds.
She could explore Hartley-by-the Sea, but at the moment the dark sky and the narrow high street didn’t beckon to her with their dubious charms. She’d rather stay curled up on her bed and feel miserable. Sort of.
The Australians thundered up the stairs, and then it seemed as if the whole house rattled as they dumped their heavy backpacks in various rooms before heading downstairs again and then out the door with a loud slam.
The ensuing silence felt like the calm after a storm, interrupted by a light tapping on Lucy’s door.
“Yes—”
Juliet poked her head around the door, her gaze taking in the pajamas Lucy had left on the floor and yesterday’s clothes kicked in the corner. The contents of her toiletry bag were strewn over the top of the dresser, and she’d dumped all her American change and a crumpled pack of gum in the antique washbasin. Predictably, Juliet’s mouth tightened at the sight of all this mess and then her gaze snapped to Lucy.
“I’m going to take the dogs for a walk to the beach. Fancy coming?”
Lucy swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded. “Sure,” she said, and hopped off the bed.
Chapter four
Juliet
Juliet always felt a bit flat without guests in the house. She liked guests like the Australian boys: boisterous, cheerful, needing her to bustle around them. The retired couples who came on walking holidays were soothing in their own way, and certainly slotted into the order of things with calm neatness, but they didn’t need her the way these lads did, frying them a half dozen eggs each for breakfast and letting them wash out their dirty kit in the kitchen sink.
Now she stood in the doorway of Lucy’s room and watched while she grabbed her sweater and reached for an elastic for her hair amidst the detritus strewn across the dresser. How had Lucy managed to make such a mess in less than twenty-four hours? And why did her sister’s mess irritate her when she knew she would put up with the Australian boys’ muddy boots and dirty socks?
Well, the Australians were leaving tomorrow. Lucy wasn’t.
“I’ll get the dogs’ leads,” Juliet said, and turned away.
