The Mistress of His Manor (2 page)

‘In a sort of flat.’

Wondering what kind of money gardeners made—or didn’t—Joanna changed the subject. ‘Do you work every Sunday?’

‘When I’m needed, yes. But not so much from now on. Then in December it gets hectic again.’ He got up to collect her glass. ‘Same again?’

‘Yes, but it’s my round!’

‘I’ll bring you the tab.’ But when he came back with their glasses he handed her a menu. ‘How about supper before you drive home? Or do you have something else on tonight?’

‘No, not a thing.’ She smiled warmly. ‘Thank you. I’d like that. What’s on offer?’

‘Mainly salads on a Sunday evening. I can vouch for the ham. Trish, the landlord’s wife, roasts it herself.’

Jo had eaten so little of the lunch she’d cooked for her family the prospect was suddenly very appealing. ‘Then ham salad it is, please! But only if we go Dutch,’ she added firmly.

She waited until March had strolled off to place their order, then to put her mind at rest rang Kate.

‘Two Trish specials coming up,’ March informed her as she put her phone away.

Jo smiled at him. ‘I’ve just had a word with my mother, who feels better now, which means I can enjoy my meal. I was so worried about her at lunch that for once I didn’t eat much.’

‘Are you a good cook?’

‘Yes.’

He laughed. ‘No false modesty, then.’

She grinned. ‘Not a shred. I’ve always liked cooking. I’m good at it. How about you?’

‘I won’t starve, but it’s not my favourite pastime.’

‘That’s obviously gardening.’

To her surprise he shook his head. ‘I merely follow orders from the tyrant who oversees the grounds at the Hall.’

‘Is he elderly and curmudgeonly?’

‘No. He’s youngish and highly qualified—also the brain behind the garden centre.’

‘So when he says jump you jump?’

‘More or less. I’ve learnt a lot from him. Especially about roses.’

‘I was told they’re quite a feature here.’

March nodded. ‘And not just in the gardens at the Hall. We sold a lot of them in bush form at the garden centre today, ready to put in for next year. You must come back in high summer, when the roses are at their glorious best. Though Ed underplants them with all manner of things to create colour and form in the beds all year round. He’s an artist with colours. Did you look round outside?’

‘I didn’t have time.’

‘Come back tomorrow and I’ll beg an hour off to give you a tour.’

Jo grinned. ‘Is that some kind of spin on showing me your etchings?’

He let out a snort of laughter. ‘No. Though I do have an etching or two you could look at some time. But only when I know you
much
better.’

Jo chuckled, then looked up in anticipation as the landlord appeared with plates arranged and garnished with artistry. ‘This looks wonderful!’

‘Enjoy your meal,’ said the man, pleased, and exchanged a
look with March. ‘The place is filling up, so just give me the nod if you need anything.’

The salads were accompanied by a platter of rustic bread which looked so appetising Joanna’s stomach growled. ‘Oops—sorry!’

March grinned. ‘Never mind the apologies—dig in. I’m starving.’

‘This is delicious,’ said Jo, tasting the ham. ‘Do you eat here a lot?’

‘Not as often as I’d like. But I indulge on a Sunday evening like this sometimes.’

‘It must be good to have a meal put in front of you if you’ve been working all day!’

He nodded. ‘Do you cook for yourself every night? Or do you have a succession of hopeful swains ready to wine and dine you?’

‘Afraid not,’ she said with regret. ‘I have friends I eat out with on a fairly regular basis, but most nights I rustle up something in my little nest, or I yield to persuasion and eat with Kate and Jack. Sometimes my grandfather as well.’

‘Does he live with your parents?’

‘No. He won’t budge from his own house. And, despite constant nagging from my father, I won’t budge from mine, either ‘

‘He’d like you under his eye at home?’

Jo nodded. ‘Fortunately Kate refuses to support Jack on this. She appreciates my need for a place—and a life—of my own.’

March’s lips twitched. ‘While your father harbours dark thoughts about what you get up to in your little house!’

‘Nothing tabloid-worthy,’ she assured him. ‘I just like having friends around—male or female—without his eagle eye on the proceedings. Would you fancy being watched all the time?’

‘No,’ he said, sobering, and eyed her empty plate in approval. ‘You enjoyed that?’

‘Absolutely—it was delicious. I’d quite like some coffee,
please, and then I must be on my way. Monday tomorrow, and Jack demands punctuality from his employees, whether related or not.’

Rather to Jo’s surprise, March gathered up their plates himself and took them over to the bar when he ordered their coffee. As he eased into the seat again he leaned back at an angle to look into her face. ‘I’ve enjoyed this enormously, Joanna. Let’s do it again in some other location. Soon.’

She eyed him, taken aback. ‘When?’

‘I imagine tomorrow is probably rushing it a bit—how about Tuesday evening?’

She blinked. ‘That soon?’

The intent leonine eyes held hers. ‘After my session with you and the pansies I envied the man I took for granted was your husband,’ he said, startling her. ‘So when our paths crossed again I seized the day when I found you were unattached. As any man in his right mind would. So, then, Joanna—I’ll see you on Tuesday.’

‘Well—yes, all right,’ she said warily.

‘Excellent. Give me your telephone number and tell me how to get to your place. I’ll pick you up at seven.’ He glanced up. ‘Dan’s signalling. I’ll just fetch our coffee. As you can hear, it’s busy out there.’

When he got back March sat close enough for Jo to feel conscious, suddenly, of muscular tanned arms, and the scent of soap and warm man. Odd. None of this had registered before. But now March had made it clear this was to be no one-off occasion, she felt physically aware of him as the attractive male specimen he undoubtedly was.

‘Doesn’t anyone else use this parlour?’ she asked.

‘Not much on a Sunday.’

She eyed him militantly as she sipped her coffee. ‘Right, then. How much was the bill?’

‘Your turn to pay on Tuesday,’ he said promptly.

‘In that case don’t expect Michelin stars!’

‘The food is irrelevant,’ he said dismissively. ‘It’s the company that matters.’

‘I’ll give it some thought.’ She sighed as she glanced at her watch. ‘I really must go.’

‘I’ll walk you to your car.’

‘I’m afraid it’s parked all the way back at the garden centre.’

‘All to the good. Longer walk.’

She gave him a sidelong glance. ‘Though not
much
longer than the trek you took me on to find the pansies!’

His eyes gleamed unrepentantly. ‘I swear I don’t make a practice of kidnapping married ladies. I persuaded myself that a few innocent minutes in your company hardly counted as adultery.’

Her lips twitched. ‘Surely adultery has to be consensual?’

‘No idea. That’s one sin I’ve never committed.’

‘Do tell about the others!’

‘On Tuesday,’ he promised.

Joanna sent her compliments to the chef when she said goodnight to the landlord. Outside in the starry darkness she shivered a little, and March helped her into her sweater, then took her hand as they walked down the quiet road leading to the garden centre.

‘In case you stumble in uncharted territory,’ he said lightly.

‘Now we’ve left the pub behind it’s so quiet here,’ she commented, enjoying the contact.

‘Too quiet sometimes. Occasionally I need a fix of city lights.’

She looked up at him. ‘You live alone?’

‘Yes, Joanna,’ he said amused. ‘As I told you, I’m single.’

‘You could be living with your mother,’ she suggested cheekily.

‘She died some years ago; my father more recently.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ Joanna squeezed his hand, full of sympathy for anyone who lacked parents. ‘Thank you for the meal, March. I enjoyed it—and the evening—very much.’

He smiled down at her as they reached her car. ‘So did I. A pity you have to go home so early.’ He bent and kissed her cheek. ‘I’ll pick you up at seven on Tuesday.’

In her car mirror Jo could see March standing under the overhead light, watching her out of sight. She drove home in a thoughtful mood. It was useless to pretend she hadn’t been delighted with everything about the entire evening, including March’s demand to repeat it so soon. The unruly hair and easy laid-back manner—and those eyes—appealed to her strongly. He’d been so easy to talk to she’d been more forthcoming about herself than usual. Nevertheless, she had an idea that a very strong personality lay behind the effortless charm. No Jekyll and Hyde stuff—just a feeling that there was far more to him than met the eye—like a surname, she thought suddenly. Or maybe March
was
his surname. She’d forgotten to ask.

W
HEN
she turned into Park Crescent later, Jo felt her usual rush of pleasure as she drew up outside her house. As simple as a child’s drawing, its white walls glimmered under the street lamp, and a welcome shone through the fanlight over the blue door, due to her father’s insistence on security lights. Until she’d been old enough to live here alone the house had been let out to tenants, but the moment the final lease had terminated Tom Logan had begun redecorating the entire house for his adored granddaughter, delighted that she’d chosen to revert to the original paint colours she’d helped choose for it in her teens.

When her phone rang the moment she got in Jo was surprised—and delighted—to find her caller was March. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘You’re home.’

‘Just this minute. Thank you again for supper.’

‘A small return for your company, Joanna. Now I know you’re safe and sound I’ll let you get that early night. Until Tuesday, then. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight—wait.’ But he’d rung off. So he was still plain March.

Jo thought long and hard about her hot gardener while she got ready for bed. He was obviously well educated, with the speech patterns and the air of bred-in-the-bone assurance common to the old Etonians she’d met in college. March had
obviously been schooled if not at Eton, at some similar place of learning. But it was equally obvious that he was down on his luck these days. Jo frowned, wishing now that she’d insisted on paying her share of the meal. She might work for her father, but like all his employees she was well paid. So to avoid any hurt male pride on Tuesday she would treat March to some home cooking.

Feeding hungry male visitors was nothing unusual. Leo and Josh Carey, the twins who were her oldest and closest male friends, were both trainee doctors, and they worked such punishing hours at the local hospital they were only too glad to collapse at Jo’s kitchen table during an hour or two off and devour, either separately or together, whatever food she put in front of them.

‘Nice evening?’ said her father, when Jo arrived at Logan Development next morning.

‘Very pleasant. How’s Kate today?’ she added anxiously.

Jack heaved a sigh. ‘Tired. The baby’s not giving her much rest at night.’

‘You either, by the look of you,’ she said with concern. ‘How about some coffee?’

He patted her hand. ‘What would I do without you?’

‘Make your own coffee?’

He chuckled. ‘So, tell me about this gardener.’

She gave him a Cheshire Cat smile. ‘He’s a charmer. I like him.’

‘Charm,’ said her father darkly, ‘is not the most important qualification on a man’s CV. Are you seeing him again?’

‘Yes. Tomorrow night.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘Are you, indeed? Does your mother know?’

‘Not yet. I’ll ring Kate later. Don’t worry, I’m a big girl now, boss.’ Jo smiled at him as she handed him a steaming cup, then made for her own office. ‘Time to get my nose to the grindstone.’

Jack Logan gazed after her as he drank the coffee, still, after all these years, amazed by his luck with the women in his life. He frowned, wishing he’d paid more attention to the gardener who’d taken so long to show Joanna the pansies. He’d never considered himself a violent man, but he knew from experience that he was ready to inflict grievous bodily harm on any man that caused his daughter the slightest grief. And soon there would be another little Logan in the mix. Jack shivered and picked up the phone, wishing that the love of his life was safely through the birth.

‘Kate? Are you feeling better now, my darling?’

Although she knew she looked good in the mannish white shirt and black velvet jeans, Jo felt surprisingly nervous as she waited for her dinner guest to arrive. The table in the small dining room was laid with her best china, plus silverware borrowed for the occasion. The wine was breathing, the Beef Wellington was ready and would rest happily until March arrived—if he was punctual. She grinned suddenly. Josh and Leo would tease her unmercifully if they saw her fussing like this. She’d cooked countless meals for them, and for her family, without turning a hair. But this was different. She was so deep in thought she jumped yards when the doorbell rang. She threw her apron on a chair, took in a deep breath, and went to open the door.

March stood smiling down at her. His tanned face looked even darker against a white shirt, and his suit was the casual, unstructured kind that could have been either charity shop or Armani. But it was nevertheless a suit.

‘Hi,’ she said, wishing she’d worn a dress.

‘Hi, yourself. What a delightful house, Joanna!’

‘Thank you. Come in.’ She led him into the parlour and waved him to the sofa. ‘What can I get you to drink?’

He eyed the small room with such admiration Jo’s heart warmed to him. ‘I’d better have something soft if we’re driving
any distance. I wasn’t sure what you had in mind, but I put a tie in my pocket in case it’s somewhere formal.’

‘It’s not,’ she informed him. ‘Having boasted about my cooking, I decided to let you judge it for yourself.’

His eyes lit up with the familiar gleam. ‘We’re eating here?’

She nodded. ‘So, how about a beer? Or would you like a glass of the red wine breathing in the kitchen?’

‘Perfect.’

‘Good. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll fetch it.’

‘I’ll come with you and fetch it myself.’

‘There’s not much room,’ she warned.

March followed her down the hall to her kitchen, recently refitted with plain white cupboards and a Belfast sink. Due to a frantic tidying session before her guest arrived the only notes of colour came from a potted cyclamen, a bowl of fruit, and the heap of prepared vegetables waiting for the pot.

‘Small, but perfect. And something smells wonderful,’ he added, sniffing the air.

Jo smiled, pleased, and handed him a glass of wine. ‘There are some nuts and so on in the parlour. If you go back in I’ll deal with the vegetables. I’ll be with you in a minute.’

‘I’d rather stay here and watch.’ He leaned against the counter, looming large in the small space.

‘As you like.’ Long accustomed to an audience as she cooked, Jo wasn’t flustered by the eyes watching her so closely. Not much. ‘Right,’ she said at last, putting the lid on the steamer. ‘Just twenty minutes or so for the vegetables and we’ll be there. No first course, I’m afraid. Will you take my glass of wine too, please?’ She set a timer and took it with her as they went back to the parlour.

Her guest eyed her with respect as he handed her wine over. ‘If you carry out your job as efficiently as you cook, your father’s a lucky man.’

Jo smiled. ‘You haven’t tasted the food yet,’ she warned.

‘If it tastes half as good as it smells I’ll be happy,’ he assured her, and raised his glass in toast. ‘This is such a pleasure, Joanna.’

‘Have you been stuck inside all day again today?’ she asked.

‘No. I went on an in-depth tour of the gardens and grounds at the Hall, listening with attention as the tyrant in charge outlined his plans for next year.’

‘Did you contribute any ideas?’

‘Several. Who knows? Ed may even use some of them.’

Jo laughed. ‘He’s obviously very full of himself, this horticultural genius.’

March shook his head. ‘Genius, yes, but Ed’s not full of himself at all. He just loves his work. So, what have you done today?’ he added.

‘I’ve been chasing up suppliers and contractors.’ She pulled a face. ‘Much smoothing over was necessary. The boss was a bit abrasive yesterday.’

‘And you won them over?’

‘Of course—you catch more flies with honey!’ She jumped up as her alarm went off. ‘Time to put dinner together.’

He got up quickly. ‘I’ll come with you.’

Joanna shook her head. ‘At this stage I work better alone. Why don’t you read the paper for five minutes until I call?’

March opened the door for her. ‘I’d be only too happy to help.’

‘I may take you up on that later.’

Left alone, March took a look round the room, hoping to learn more about Joanna from her taste in literature. An alcove alongside the fireplace held an eclectic mix of classics, large illustrated books on fine art, and rows of paperback bestsellers with the accent on gruesome crime. No romantic fiction. He pulled out a dog-eared anthology of poems, and grinned as he saw the flyleaf. Joanna Sutton, Form 3A. He put it back and moved on to the watercolour studies grouped on two of her walls. He nodded, impressed. The subtle tints were exactly right for the understated charm of the room.

March turned as the door opened. ‘I was just admiring your artwork.’

Joanna smiled. ‘Good, aren’t they? All local scenes. A talented friend of mine painted them. Right, then, come with me—dinner is served.’

In the small dining room candles flickered in crystal holders to highlight the central platter of colourful vegetables surrounding a golden-crusted Beef Wellington.

‘What a wonderful sight,’ said March in awe.

‘Do sit down.’ Jo filled their glasses, then took up a carving knife. ‘I should have done this in the kitchen, but I wanted you to see my creation in all its glory first.’

‘Glory is the right word,’ he agreed, as she served him a substantial slice of rare beef encased in perfect crisp pastry.

‘Help yourself to the rest,’ said Joanna. She served herself, then sat down and held up her glass. ‘Happy eating.’

March raised his own. ‘To the beautiful chef.’

They fell on the food with equal enthusiasm. ‘I enjoy my own cooking,’ she admitted. ‘My artist friend, Isobel James, cooks great meals. But, unlike me, by the time she gets them to the table she can never eat much herself.’

‘This is superb,’ said March indistinctly. ‘It would be tragedy if you couldn’t eat it. What’s the bit between the meat and pastry?’

‘Duxelle of mushrooms. Nice, isn’t it?’

‘Nice? It’s glorious!’

‘Have some more.’ Joanna got up to serve him.

‘Who taught you to cook like this?’ March asked. ‘Your mother?’

Joanna shook her head. ‘I learned this kind of thing from Molly Carter, who used to be Jack’s cook and housekeeper before he married Kate. Molly owns a restaurant in town these days.’

‘I’ll take you there next time, then,’ said March promptly, and grinned at the look on her face. ‘Or am I breaking the speed barrier again?’

‘Not exactly.’ She smiled. ‘But let’s enjoy this evening before we move on to the next.’

‘Enjoy is the word.’ He applied himself to the rest of his dinner. ‘Tell me more about yourself, Joanna. I noticed several books on art on your shelves.’

‘I did Fine Art in college for a while.’

‘Where?’

‘Oxford.’ She put down her knife and fork and drank some wine.

‘Weren’t you happy there?’

Her face shadowed. ‘In the beginning I loved it, but it didn’t work out for me. So at the end of the first year I left the dreaming spires and came back here to take a business course at the local technical college.’

March eyed her with respect. ‘That must have been a big adjustment after Fine Art at Oxford.’

‘It certainly was.’

‘It must have helped to have this house to get back to?’

She shook her head. ‘I had to wait for the tenant’s lease to expire before I could move in.’

‘You lived with your parents until then?’

‘For almost a year.’ She smiled at him wryly, her eyes bright in the flickering candlelight. ‘I’d been away at school since I was eight, and went straight from there to Oxford. No gap year for me. So, much as I love my parents, it was quite an adjustment to live permanently at home in Mill House.’ Hey, watch it, she warned herself, and collected the plates to change the subject. The man was so easy to talk to she’d be telling him all her secrets if she wasn’t careful. Not her usual policy with someone she knew so little. Or even with people she knew well. She smiled brightly. ‘I didn’t have time to make a pudding, but I can give you cheese with home-made biscuits—another of Molly’s recipes.’

March got up, curious about the shutter she’d suddenly
pulled down between them. Ignoring her protests, he picked up the heavy platter to follow her into the kitchen.

He was obviously someone used to doing things for himself, noted Jo, and it was making her more and more curious about him. ‘Just leave it on the counter,’ she told him. ‘I don’t put this in the dishwasher.’

‘I’m good at washing up. Let’s do it now.’

She shook her head. ‘If there’s a next time, you can do it then.’

‘Next time,’ he said, moving closer, ‘I’ll take you out to dinner. But,’ he added deliberately, ‘I’ll insist on washing up the time after that. Shall I take the cheese in?’

‘Thank you. I’ll make some coffee.’ Glad to be alone for a moment, Jo frowned while the coffee-maker did its thing. She liked this relaxed, self-assured man very much, but the way he took so much for granted was a bit unnerving. She smiled wryly. On the other hand it was only human to feel gratified when a man of March’s calibre made it so plain he was interested in her.

‘I couldn’t resist trying your biscuits,’ he confessed when she rejoined him. ‘You’re a very talented cook, Joanna. Have you ever thought of it as a career?’

She pulled a face. ‘Lord, no. When I came back here after—after Oxford, I worked for Molly that summer, then did weekends and holiday periods for her when I started the new course. So I know what fiendishly hard work it is. I enjoy a little social entertaining now and then, but that’s as far as it goes.’

‘Who do you entertain?’

‘Josh and Leo Carey mostly—twin brothers I’ve known for years. And I don’t exactly entertain them—just feed them whenever they’ve got an hour off. Then there’s Isobel, the artist whose work you liked. We met at a party when we were thirteen, and we’ve been firm friends ever since. She lives in an attic flat above the art gallery she manages in town.’

March looked at her steadily. ‘But no boyfriend for you, Joanna?’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘If there were you wouldn’t be here tonight.’

‘Point taken. But you’re a pleasure to look at, gainfully employed, you own a jewel of a house—and you cook like an angel.’ He spread his hands. ‘Why hasn’t some man snapped you up long since?’