Now, Rachel sighed at the memory of her own stupidity. Her engagement in their merry war of wit had merely exposed how much she noticed about Jack – galvanised him into flirting with her harder. It had finished with them tangled and breathless, kissing in a corner at a house party. Even at the time, Rachel had been unsure whether she’d won or lost the fight.
‘I dunno,’ Jack said as the MG picked up speed, a riot of noise rising from its gut as he pressed down on the accelerator. Rachel blinked, brought back to reality. ‘I predict something sarcastic,’ Jack went on. ‘Something cutting. Something like, “Nice car, you flash wanker.”’
‘Ha!’ Rachel laughed, vaguely irritated that he’d called her reaction to it so accurately. He’d always been sharper than he looked. ‘I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she huffed.
Jack kept his eyes on the road, brows raised in anticipation of the takedown he knew was imminent.
‘Itisa nice car,’ Rachel said, ‘if you’re into that sort of thing, which I’m not. What I actually wonder is this …’
He glanced at her briefly and grinned.
‘Why can’t you just drive a Ford Fiesta like a normal person? At least inwinter? This is a glorified icebox on wheels. We’re going to be frozen fucking solid before we even hit Watford.’
Jack roared with laughter that was almost immediately drowned out by more engine noise, and Rachel felt a little sick.
She didn’t know whether to put her queasiness down to the motion of the car or annoyance with herself for sparring with him; sparring with him and enjoying it.
Sir Humphrey Caldwell’s house looked like a boutique hotel, or one of the lesser mansions in a Jane Austen adaptation.
It wasn’t a Pemberley in size or splendour, but Fawcett Park was large, elegant and beautifully kept: a three-storey late-eighteenth-century manor with enormous sash windows, built of Cotswold stone that had been bleached pale cream by more than two hundred summers.
Rachel felt intimidated by it, which she hated.Pull yourself together, she told herself.You’ve met plenty of posh people – you practically live with one. There’s also one sitting right next to you, driving this ridiculous vehicle.
‘Nice place, isn’t it?’ Jack said as the car crawled up the long, sweeping drive. Rachel laughed at his understatement – a genuine assessment that she knew was only possible because Jack had grown up in a house like this.
She’d stayed quiet for much of the journey, answering questions when Jack asked them and trying to keep the stilted conversation focused on work. Merely a week after being paired up, and despite her resolution to detest him, she and Jack were already too familiar with one another.
It had been easy to slip into something resembling their old dynamic this morning.Scarily easy and very stupid, Rachel told herself – even though it had just been for a few minutes. She needed to put the brakes on. Keep her guard up.Both.
Humphrey didn’t answer his own front door, which Rachel immediately realised should not have surprised her. The rail-thin, spiky-looking woman who showed her and Jack into a drawing room seemed more likely to be a housekeeper than his wife. She wore a businesslike black skirt suit that emphasised her every angle: elbows, cheekbones, jutting clavicles, shoulder blades.
The woman introduced herself as Mrs Davidson – definitely staff, then, Rachel thought – and invited them to sit by the fire. Rachel must have looked as cold as she felt, huddled deep inside her coat and scarf. Reluctantly, she handed them over when Mrs Davidson offered to hang them for her.
Jack’s eyes swept her outfit and she wished she hadn’t noticed him looking. Her dress didn’t show much skin, but there was no hiding her curves in anything clingy. Rachel’s preference for comfortable clothes was only partly responsible for her usual, lazier look; she felt less exposed, less obviously fleshy, when she wore boxy sweaters and flat shoes. Also, random men catcalled at her less.
She looked around the room. The fireplace was of ornate carved stone. The walls were painted pale yellow and the windows were hung with heavy egg-yolk-coloured drapes. Every gilt knick-knack and piece of furniture in here looked precious, antique; the books stacked on a corner table were probably first editions.
Displayed on a walnut sideboard were several (no doubt priceless) nude sculptures. Rachel felt a ‘You don’t findthosein the IKEA market hall’ joke forming in her mouth and swallowed it.
Humphrey appeared in the room a moment later, shook Jack’s hand as though they were old friends and let his eyes linger on Rachel’s chest before looking her in the face and briefly grasping her fingertips.
Not a great start.
He was only a little taller than Rachel, and his enormous belly and comparatively tiny, turned-out feet made her think of a walrus.
His shiny black shoes were like wet flippers slapping across the oriental rug as he made his way to a winged armchair. He had iron-grey hair combed over a shining bald spot, and wore charcoal wool trousers with a maroon sweater that looked impossibly itchy.
Once Humphrey had settled comfortably, he turned to Jack and said, ‘So, you’re a Harrow man? Thank God. Someone who’ll speak my language at last.’
Jack nodded. ‘Yes, I was there – but longer ago now than I care to remember.’
Humphrey laughed, a brief, brisk boom. ‘Ho! Truer for me than for you, my boy! But before we stumble down memory lane … who is this lovely young lady you’ve brought with you today? Your glamorous assistant?’
Oh God.Assistant?!Rachel bit back an outraged groan.
‘If anything, Sir Humphrey, I am her humble servant,’ Jack said, laughing. ‘Rachel is our very experienced editorial strategist – you might remember I mentioned her when we spoke on the phone. She and I will be working together to help deliver what British House and Garden Heritage is looking for – a plan to tell your story as effectively as possible to a new generation of visitors.’
Humphrey smiled, seemingly impressed with Jack’s chivalry. ‘Always good to get a female view on things, I suppose,’ he said with a shrug. ‘More insight into the mysterious womanly mind!’
