Holiday with the Best Man (3 page)

‘So you hired a van?' Her eyes widened. ‘Actually, that makes a lot of sense. I should've thought of that. Thank you. Obviously I'll reimburse you for whatever you've paid out.'

‘There's no need—it's my van,' he said.

She frowned. ‘But this isn't your mess, so why...?'

‘Because you're Hugh's sister-in-law,' he said. ‘If this had happened to my sister when I was out of the country, Hugh and Tarq would've looked out for her. So I'm doing the same, by extension.'

‘Considering that you and I didn't exactly hit it off at the wedding,' she said, ‘this is really nice of you. And I appreciate it. Thank you.'

Roland was beginning to think that he'd seriously misjudged Grace. If she'd been the spoiled, princessy drunk he'd thought she was, she would've been wailing and expecting everyone else to sort out the mess for her—most probably while she swigged a glass of wine and wandered about doing nothing. Instead, while he'd been away, she'd been quietly and efficiently getting on with moving stuff out of the flat. Not liking the guilt that was beginning to seep through him, he handed her a brownie. ‘Chocolate. My sister says it makes everything better.'

Then she smiled—the first real smile he'd seen from her—and he was shocked to discover that it made the street feel as if it had just lit up.

‘Your sister sounds like a wise woman.'

‘She is.'

* * *

Roland Devereux was
the last person Grace had expected to come to her rescue, but she really appreciated the fact that he had. And today he was very different from the way he'd been at the wedding. This time, he didn't make her feel the way that Howard's mother always made her feel. He treated her like a human being instead of something nasty stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

Fortified by the coffee and the brownies, between them they had most of Grace's things outside in boxes and bags by the time Roland's van arrived. And in the meantime, Grace's neighbours had returned, offering sympathy when they saw the mess and thankfully finding the landlord's number for her.

She called the landlord, but there was no answer, so she left a message explaining what had happened and giving him her mobile number, and continued moving stuff out of the flat.

Roland's plumber arrived and took a look at the burst pipe.

‘It's very old piping around here,' he said. ‘The system probably got blocked somewhere along the line, and this pipe had a weaker joint that couldn't cope with the extra pressure.'

‘So it wasn't anything I did wrong?' Grace asked.

‘No, love—it was just one of those things. I can do a temporary repair now, and then sort it out properly tomorrow.'

She nodded. ‘Thank you. Let me have an invoice and I'll pay you straight away.'

‘No need—the boss is covering it.'

‘The boss?' she asked, mystified.

‘Roland,' the plumber explained.

What? But it shouldn't be Roland's bill. OK. Right now she didn't have time for a discussion. She'd sort it out with him later.

She'd just left the plumber when a restoration specialist turned up and introduced himself. He took photographs of everything, and asked her to hold a metal ruler against the wall to show the depth of the water. ‘For the insurance,' he explained. And then he brought a machine from his van to start sucking up the water.

‘I really appreciate everything you've done to help me,' Grace said to Roland. ‘Just one more thing—do you happen to know the number of a good lock-up place as well?'

He shrugged. ‘There's no need. You can store your things at my place.'

She blinked. ‘But you don't know me. You only met me once before today. For all you know, I could be a thief or a fraudster.'

He shrugged again. ‘You're my best friend's sister-in-law—that's good enough for me.' He paused. ‘You really can't stay at the flat until it's dried out properly.'

‘I know.' She grimaced. ‘Hopefully I can persuade one of my friends to let me crash on their floor tonight, then I'll find a hotel or something to put me up until the flat's usable again.'

* * *

It was a
sensible enough plan, and if Roland agreed with her he wouldn't have to get involved.

But something in her expression made him say, ‘I have a spare room.'

She shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I've already imposed on you far too much.'

‘It's getting late,' he said, ‘plus your stuff's all in the back of your car, my car, and the van. You can't do anything else here until the landlord calls you back and the insurance assessors turn up—which won't be until at least tomorrow. And you said yourself that none of your friends have the room to put you up, let alone store your stuff as well. So come and stay with me.'

‘That's—that's really kind of you.'

He could see her blinking back the tears and lifted his hands in a ‘stop' gesture. ‘Don't cry. Please.' He didn't cope well with tears. He never had. Which had been half the problem in that last year with Lynette. He'd backed away when he shouldn't have done. And she'd paid the ultimate price.

Grace swallowed back the threatening tears and scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘OK. No more tears, I promise. But thank you. I owe you.'

CHAPTER TWO

O
NCE
THE
RESTORATION
man had finished getting rid of the worst of the water and Grace had locked the flat, she programmed Roland's address into her satnav in case she got stuck in traffic and lost both him and the van on the way, then followed him back to his house—which turned out to be in a swish part of Docklands. Once she'd parked behind his car, outside what looked like a development of an old maltings, Roland and the van driver helped her transfer her things from their cars and the van to his garage.

‘Everything will be safe here for tonight,' he said when they'd finished.

‘And dry,' Grace added. ‘Thank you.'

There was a row of shops on the ground floor of the building, and Grace assumed that Roland had a flat on one of the upper floors; to her surprise, she discovered that his house was at one end of the building. And when he showed her into the townhouse itself, she saw that the entire back of the house was a glass box extension. It was incredibly modern, but at the same time it didn't feel out of place—and the views over the river were utterly amazing.

‘This place is incredible,' she said.

He looked pleased. ‘I like it.'

‘But—' she gestured to the floor-to-ceiling windows ‘—no curtains? Don't you worry about people peering in?'

‘I have a little bit of trickery instead. It's much cleaner, design-wise. And I loathe frills and flounces—my idea of hell is those swags of fussy fabrics.'

And those were just the kind of thing Grace had in mind for her own dream home—a pretty little Victorian terraced house, with sprigged flowery wallpaper and curtains to match, and lots of cushions in cosy armchairs.

He flicked a switch and the glass became opaque, giving them complete privacy.

‘Very clever,' she said. And although she would've preferred the kind of curtains he hated, she could understand what he liked about it. ‘Did you have an architect design this for you?'

‘That,' Roland said, ‘would be me.'

Grace stared at him in surprise. ‘You're an architect?'

He nodded. ‘I designed Hugh and Tarquin's offices,' he said, ‘and I had a hand in remodelling Hugh's place so it's soundproof—for the sake of his neighbours, if he gets up in the middle of the night and starts composing on the piano.'

‘This is amazing.' She shook her head. ‘What an idiot I am. I thought you were some sort of builder, given that you had a plumber and a van.'

He smiled. ‘You weren't that far off. I'm in the building trade, and I was pretty hands-on with this place. I guess this was my prototype.'

‘How do you mean, prototype?' she asked, not understanding.

‘My company makes eco-prefab buildings—either extensions or even the whole house. They're all made off site, and they can be put up in a matter of days.'

‘You mean, like the ones you see on TV documentaries about people building their own houses or restoring old industrial buildings and turning them into homes?' she asked.

‘They've been featured on that sort of programme, yes,' he said.

‘That's seriously impressive.'

He inclined his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. ‘I enjoy it. Let me show you to the guest room.'

Like the rest of the rooms she'd seen so far, the bedroom was very modern, simply furnished and with little on the walls. But, with one wall being pure glass, she supposed you wouldn't need anything else to look at: not when you had a whole panorama of London life to look at. Water and people and lights and the sky.

There was a king-sized bed with the headboard set in the middle of the back wall, a soft duvet and fluffy pillows. The bed linen was all white—very high maintenance, she thought. The en-suite bathroom was gorgeous, and was about six times the size of the bathroom in Bella's flat; Grace still wasn't quite used to thinking of Bella's old place as her own flat.

She took the bare minimum from her case—it seemed pointless to unpack everything just for one night, when tomorrow she'd be moving to a hotel or whatever alternative accommodation the insurance company offered—and hung her office clothes for the next day in the wardrobe so they wouldn't be creased overnight. Just as she was about to go back downstairs in search of Roland, her phone rang; thankfully, it was the landlord, who'd spoken to the insurance company and could fill her in on what was happening next.

* * *

Roland was sitting
at the kitchen table, checking his emails on his phone, when Grace walked into the kitchen, looking slightly shy.

‘Can I get you a drink?' he asked.

‘No, thanks. I'm fine,' she said. ‘The landlord just called me. He's talked to the insurance company and they're getting a loss assessor out to see the flat—and me—tomorrow morning at eleven.'

She sounded a little unsure, he thought. ‘Is getting the time off work going to be a problem for you?'

She wrinkled her nose. ‘I'm temping at the moment—but if I explain the situation and make the hours up, I'm sure they'll be fine about it.'

He was surprised. ‘Temping? So you're what, a PA?'

‘An accountant,' she corrected.

Which made it even more surprising that she didn't have a permanent job. ‘How come you're temping?'

‘It's a long and boring story. It's also why I've moved into Bella's flat.' She flapped a hand dismissively. ‘But it's not because I'm a criminal or anything, so you don't need to worry about that. I just made some decisions that made life a bit up in the air for me.'

He wondered what those decisions had been. But she was being cagey about it, so he decided not to push it. It was none of his business, in any case. ‘You can keep your stuff here as long as you need to, so that isn't a problem.' He glanced at his watch. ‘You must be hungry. I certainly am, so I was thinking of ordering us a takeaway.'

‘Which I'll pay for,' she said immediately.

‘Hardly. You're my guest.'

‘You weren't expecting me,' she pointed out. ‘And I'd feel a lot happier if you let me pay. It's the least I can do, considering how much you've done for me this evening.'

He could see that she wasn't going to budge on the issue. In her shoes, he'd feel the same way, so he decided to give in gracefully. ‘OK. Thank you.'

‘And I'm doing the washing up,' she added.

‘There's no need. I have a housekeeping service.'

She scoffed. ‘I'm still not leaving a pile of dirty dishes next to the sink.'

A princess would've taken a housekeeper for granted. Grace didn't, and she clearly wasn't playing a part. How on earth had he got her so wrong? ‘We'll share the washing up,' he said, feeling guilty about the way he'd misjudged her. ‘What do you like? Chinese? Pizza?'

‘Anything,' she said.

So she wasn't fussy about food, either.

And, given the way she was dressed...it was almost as if she was trying to blend in to her surroundings. Minimum fuss, minimum attention.

Why would someone want to hide like that?

Not that it was any of his business. He ordered a selection of dishes from his local Chinese takeaway. ‘It'll be here in twenty minutes,' he said when he put the phone down.

It felt very odd to be domesticated, Roland thought as he laid two places at the kitchen table. For nearly two years he'd eaten most of his evening meals alone, except if he'd been on business or when Hugh, Tarquin or his sister Philly had insisted on him joining them. Being here alone with Grace was strange. But he just about managed to make small talk with her until the food arrived.

His hand brushed against hers a couple of times when they heaped their plates from the takeaway cartons, and that weird prickle of awareness he'd felt at the wedding made itself known again.

Did she feel it, too? he wondered. Because she wasn't meeting his eyes, and had bowed her head slightly so her hair covered her face. Did he fluster her, the way she flustered him?

And, if so, what were they going to do about it?

Not that he was really in a position to do anything about it. He'd told Hugh and Tarquin that he was ready to date again, but he knew he wasn't. How could he trust himself not to let a new partner down, given the way he'd let his wife down? Until he could start to forgive himself, he couldn't move on.

‘Don't feel you have to entertain me,' she said when they'd finished eating and had sorted out the washing up. ‘I've already taken up more than enough of your time this evening, and I don't want to be a demanding house guest. If you don't mind, I'm going to sort out Bella's shoeboxes for her so all her papers are in some sort of order.'

So Grace was the sort who liked organisation and structure. That made it even stranger that she'd call off her wedding only three weeks before the big day. There was a lot more to that story than met the eye, Roland was sure; but he didn't want to intrude on her privacy by asking.

‘I'll be in my office next door if you need me. Feel free to make yourself a drink whenever you like. There are tea, coffee and hot chocolate capsules in the cupboard above the coffee machine.' He gestured to the machine sitting on the work surface.

‘Thanks.' For the first time, she gave him a teasing smile. ‘Now I've seen your house, I'm not surprised you have a machine like that.'

‘Are you accusing me of being a gadget fiend?' he asked.

‘Are you one?' she fenced back.

He grinned. ‘Just a tiny bit—what about you?' The question was out before he could stop it, and he was shocked at himself. Was he actually flirting with her? He couldn't even remember the last time he'd flirted with anyone.

‘I use an old-fashioned cafetière and a teapot,' she said. ‘Though I might admit to having a milk-frother, because I like cappuccinos.'

Tension suddenly crackled between them. And Roland was even more shocked to find himself wondering what would happen if he closed the gap between them and brushed his mouth very lightly over Grace's.

What on earth was he doing? Apart from the fact that his head was still in an emotional mess, Grace was the last person he should think about kissing. He'd just rescued her from a burst pipe situation. She was as vulnerable as Lyn had been. He needed to back off. Now. ‘See you later,' he said, affecting a cool he most definitely didn't feel, and sauntered into his office.

Though even at the safety of his desk he found it hard to concentrate on his work. Instead of opening the file for his current project, he found himself thinking of a quiet, dark-haired woman with the most amazing cornflower-blue eyes—and he was cross with himself because he didn't want to think about her in that way. Right now he couldn't offer a relationship to anyone. Who knew when he'd be ready to date again—if ever.

* * *

Grace sorted through
the contents of Bella's shoeboxes at Roland's kitchen table, putting everything in neat piles so she could file them away properly in a binder. She tried to focus on what she was doing, but the mundane task wasn't occupying anywhere near enough of her head for her liking. It left way too much space for her to think about the man who'd unexpectedly come to her rescue.

And now she was seeing Roland Devereux in a whole new light. He'd been cold and taciturn when she'd first met him. She would never have believed that he was a man with vision. A man who could create such a stunning modern design, which somehow didn't feel out of place in its very traditional setting; he'd merged the old and the new perfectly to get the best of both worlds.

She couldn't resist taking a swift break and looking him up on the Internet. And she liked what she saw on his company website, especially the way they paid attention to detail. Although the houses they built were prefabricated, the designs didn't feel as if they were identikit; from the gallery of pictures of the finished houses, Grace could see that Roland's company had added touches to each one to make it personal to the families who'd wanted to build them. And not only was he great at design, he'd worked with conservation officers on several projects. One in particular involved an eco extension that had enhanced the old building it was part of, rather than marring it, and he'd won an award for it.

There was much more to Roland Devereux than met the eye.

And she had to push away the memory of that moment when he'd flirted with her in the kitchen. Right now, her life was too chaotic for her to consider adding any kind of relationship to the mix. And, although Roland seemed to live alone, for all she knew he could already be committed elsewhere.

So she'd just put this evening down to the kindness of a stranger, and consider herself lucky that her brother-in-law had such a good friend.

* * *

Roland had already
left for the day when Grace got up the next morning, even though she'd planned to be at her desk by eight. He'd left her his spare door key along with a note on the table asking her to set the house alarm, giving her the code. He'd added,
Call me if any problems
.

She texted him to say that she'd set the alarm and thanked him for the loan of his key, then headed for the office. At work, she explained the situation to her boss, who was kind enough to let her reorganise her work schedule so she could meet the loss assessor at the flat.

But the news from the loss assessor wasn't good. It would take a couple of weeks to dry out the flat, even with dehumidifiers, and there was a chance they might need to take all the plaster off the walls to stop mould developing, and then re-plaster the walls. Which in turn would take time to dry. And the landlord would probably have to look into replacing the plumbing completely in the very near future. And that meant even more disruption.

How could a burst pipe cause so much chaos?

And she could hardly invite herself to stay with Roland for an unforeseeable amount of time. Her parents lived too far out of London for her to be able to commute from their place, and she knew her friends didn't have the room to put her up, so she'd just have to find a room in a budget hotel. Hopefully Roland wouldn't mind her leaving her stuff in his garage for another day or so until she could organise storage.