Saving Grace. Carole Mortimer
nothing,’ she answered him brightly, straightening. ‘I'm glad you seem to be finding your way about the house so easily.’ She had a feeling there was very little that this man wasn't completely in control of in his life!
He shrugged, as if to say he had found no difficulty with the problem. As, indeed, he probably hadn't, Grace acknowledged ruefully.
She frowned as she set the food dishes down the centre of the table so that they might each help themselves to what they wanted of the casserole and vegetables. ‘Timothy seems to have missed laying a place—–'
‘Nick won't be coming down to dinner,’ Jessie told her disappointedly—Nick being a favourite with her, she had tidied her hair and powdered her cheeks before coming down for the meal.
Grace couldn't say she was surprised at Nick's decision, had half guessed what would happen when he had made himself scarce on Jordan's arrival.
She put one of the warmed plates back on the tray, starting to take the lids off the steaming bowls of food. ‘Timothy?’ she called as she began, absently, to spoon food on to the plate she had put back on the tray.
‘I'm here, Grace.’ He came bouncing into the room with his usual energy.
‘Hands washed?’ She arched dark brows teasingly.
‘Yep,’ he grinned.
She glanced up with a conspiratorial smile for the other adults in the room, noticing as she did so that Jordan was watching her as she put the chicken casserole and accompanying vegetables on the plate. ‘For Nick,’ she explained awkwardly, instantly wondering at this need she felt to explain herself to this man. ‘He—often eats alone,’ she added dismissively. ‘Although I don't make a habit of providing food in the rooms,’ she was quick to add, not wanting there to be two of them she ran up and down the stairs after. Nick was different.
Jordan nodded non-committally. ‘Then I should take it up while it's hot.'
For some reason she felt irritated as she carried the tray up the stairs to Nick's room. It hadn't been so much what Jordan had said as the way he had said it. A man accustomed to giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed unquestioningly.
As she had just done!
Jordan was feeling more and more curious about the man Nick. Timothy had mentioned the other man a couple of times when they had gone for their drive before dinner—nothing specific, but it was significant enough, it seemed to Jordan, that the other man should have been mentioned at all.
And now Grace was running up the stairs with the other man's meal on a tray because he had decided he ‘wasn't coming down to dinner'.
It was the idea of Grace having to do such menial tasks that Jordan found he didn't like. Which was ridiculous; he was probably the reason the elderly man had disappeared into his bedroom in the first place!
He gave Grace a rueful smile when she came back into the room to have her own dinner, although even as he did so he realised she couldn't possibly know the stupidity of his thoughts. The smile felt unfamiliar, and he realised it was the first relaxed smile he had given anyone for months. By the widening of Grace's calm grey eyes that was an easily recognisable fact!
‘Could I use your telephone after the meal?’ He decided to change the subject altogether, knowing he would have to telephone Rhea and Raff tonight or they would worry he hadn't arrived safely. He had only brought an overnight case with him—a fact he was sure Grace had noticed earlier!—and so the other couple would be expecting him back some time tomorrow at the latest. He would have to let them know of his change of plan, of his intention of taking a holiday in the Lake District.
‘Of course,’ Grace confirmed instantly. ‘Timothy, don't do that with your potato, dear,’ she turned to scold gently.
Jordan watched her firm gentleness with the small boy, realising it was an occupation he could become fond of.
He must be getting senile!
Maybe he needed this holiday more than he had realised. He certainly was in a reflective mood today, for him.
But the food was good, even if the conversation did consist mainly of Timothy's questioning as to his opinion on one fast car after another. Never having owned any of the exclusive models the little boy mentioned, his opinion was an unlearned one, much to Timothy's obvious disgust. He could see by the end of the meal that he had fallen a couple of notches in the little boy's estimation.
Strangely, that mattered to him very much …
His experience with children was limited to his niece Diana, but, as she was only fifteen months old, and the admiration he felt for her was more than returned, it wasn't a very good example. Timothy, for all that he was only seven years old—another snippet of information he had given Jordan on that short drive out!—was an intelligent and discerning little boy. And, for reasons Jordan couldn't even begin to explain to himself, he wanted the two of them to get on together.
Although if he stayed on at Charlton House long, enjoying Grace's delicious cooking, he was going to put on weight!
Even at the leisure complex which Raff had made of his home, and which he and Rhea ran together, as a family they tended to eat in the hotel restaurant for convenience, and so it was months since Jordan had enjoyed the luxury of a home-cooked meal. Grace's chicken casserole had reminded him of just how good it could be.
‘The telephone is in the small room, next to the sitting-room, that I use as an office,’ Grace informed him as she stood up to clear away after the meal.
Jordan stood up too. ‘I'll help you do this first—–'
She was shaking her head even as he began to gather up the plates, firmly taking them from him. ‘You're a guest here, Mr—Jordan,’ she amended at his fierce look. ‘This is what you pay your rent for,’ she added dismissively.
And a very small amount it was too, he had learnt earlier. Jordan found it incredible to believe Grace could make any money at all from the small payment she asked for overnight accommodation and meals.
A house like this must have ten or twelve bedrooms already, and would benefit greatly by extension—could be worth a small gold-mine if it were renovated properly and run on a more businesslike basis.
His wandering thoughts had brought him back to the reason he had come to Charlton House at all. He and Raff, business partners in the luxury complex Raff had made of Quinlan House, had been searching around for another suitable house with grounds to make into a similar venture. His own personal assistant, given the task of seeking out such a property, had come up with Charlton House in the Lake District. Unfortunately, their advances to Grace Brown about selling the house to Quinlan Leisure, the name of the company Jordan and Raff ran the business under, had been rejected with a haste that had seemed pretty final. Not to be put off, Jordan had continued to correspond with Miss Grace Brown through his solicitors. She had remained adamant in her decision not to sell, which was when Jordan had decided to come up here himself to talk to her.
Taking on a false identity, which was sure to be misconstrued if discovered, seemed to have put an end to any negotiations he might have pursued in that direction himself. But for the moment he didn't care, felt more at peace with himself than he had for a long time. There was just Raff and Rhea's minds to put at rest and then he could forget about business completely for a while. Who knew? He might even start to enjoy life again. Now that would be a novelty!
‘If you're sure …’ he accepted politely, much more interested in going in search of the ‘office', he had to admit.
It wasn't so much an office as a private sitting-room, had the charm and neatness of Grace Brown stamped all over it. Not that the furniture or the décor in here were any more luxurious than in the room next door, because if anything the floral-covered sofa and armchair in here looked older than the furniture in the adjoining room. But they were clean, completely neat and tidy, as was the sideboard bearing several photographs, and the small dining-table Grace seemed to use as her desk, from the look of the