The Millionaire's Rebellious Mistress - By Catherine George Page 0,17
relaxed now the die was cast. She achieved a good night’s sleep for once, and turned up at the cottages next morning full of energy for the last minute touches. She swept and dusted throughout, then buffed up the latest thing in stainless steel door furniture on each of the cottages while Harry cleaned the windows.
‘But don’t let on about me doing women’s work,’ he warned, when they went down to the Green Man at lunchtime.
Sarah zipped a finger across her lips. ‘Not a word. Though you’ve done it miles better than this woman would have done.’
‘You mean there’s something you can’t do, then, boss?’ he teased.
‘Lots of things—and cleaning windows as well as you do is way up there on the list.’
‘Have you decided which agent’s going to handle the sale?’
‘Not yet. I’ll have a chat with Oliver over the weekend and let them know on Monday.’
Close as she’d grown to Harry, Sarah felt it best to keep her meeting with Alex Merrick to herself.
She spent some time next morning over her choice of clothes for her Saturday rendezvous. Her aim was somewhere below the full-on babe outfit of an evening with Oliver but well above the scruffy look of her working day. And, most important of all, Sarah was determined to obliterate Alex’s last impression of her in striped pyjamas and the dressing gown her mother had given her for her fifteenth birthday. She felt a little uneasy about seeing him again after the disaster of his encounter with Nero. But this was different; it was a business meeting, she reminded herself, though not the occasion for one of the suits she’d worn in the office. She settled for a pair of black linen trousers and a plain white shirt, and because the forecast was showery armed herself with the short black trench coat she wore for trips into Hereford. She’d treated her unruly curls to a blow-drying session for once, and tied them back with a silk scarf, then surprised her face by applying some make-up for a change, instead of just the usual smear of moisturiser—though this last came in handy when she found she’d run out of polish for her flat black shoes.
Sarah drove down to the cottages at nine to relieve her house-sitters, who had tidied all their gear away and left milk for her coffee. She thanked them warmly, and after a romp with Nero waved them off to enjoy their weekend. Sarah went on a tour of all six houses, then sat down in the show house to read the paper she’d bought on the way. She skimmed through the news items, and even did half a crossword, but at last felt too restless to stay indoors and went outside.
After a week of sunshine and showers, the gardens in all the cottages were looking surprisingly well established. Sarah had time to make a thorough check on all of them before the familiar Cherokee nosed down the lane. When Alex got out, holding a briefcase but otherwise looking casual in jeans and sweater, she strolled up the lane towards him.
‘Good morning.’ He met her halfway, smiling that smile of his, and shook her hand. ‘Congratulations. You’ve done a great job here.’
‘Thank you. Take yourself on a tour, if you like.’
‘Come with me—please?’
‘Certainly.’
This time Alex was in no hurry. He put his briefcase down on the kitchen table, then made a thorough exploration of every house, taking such minute notice of every feature that Sarah was more glad than ever that she’d bought top-quality fittings—especially when he commented on the Belfast sinks installed in the curving, custom-built counter tops in all the kitchens.
‘You’ve achieved a very clever balance between traditional and modern,’ he said, when they eventually returned to the show house.
‘Thank you. My aim was a country cottage with local appeal, but which would also tempt a town buyer looking for a weekend retreat.’
‘Where did you get the vintage furniture?’
‘I put the contents of my family home into storage when the house was sold. I sent for some of them last week, so I could make the show house look like a real home. At which point,’ she added, ‘I an Sollers promptly moved into number two at night, to avoid any possibility of his damaging anything.’
‘Not to mention any Nero might cause,’ said Alex with feeling.
‘Nero doesn’t do damage. He’s a very well-behaved dog,’ said Sarah firmly. ‘He was just doing his job that night.’