‘Paint it magnolia and hide the clutter in the cupboards?’ he suggested.
‘Getting rid of the clutter so that you can open the cupboards is better. Storage space is a big selling point.’ She looked at him over the mug. ‘Giving the place a good clean helps. Brushing out the dead leaves. Fixing broken windows.’
He frowned. ‘Are you telling me that there’s a broken window at the Chase?’
‘You didn’t know? I did point it out to your caretaker. He said he’d mention it to the executors.’
And they hadn’t bothered to mention it to him. Well, he’d made his position clear enough. Not interested...
‘Look, I’m not pretending that it’s going to be easy,’ she said. ‘You’re not selling a well-kept four-bed detached house in an area with good schools.’
‘I wouldn’t need you if I was.’
It was an admission that he did need her and they both knew it.
‘What I’m promising, Darius, is that you won’t have to be personally involved in any way.’ She reached out a sympathetic hand, but curled her fingers back before it touched his arm. Even so, his skin tightened at the imperceptible movement of air and the shiver of it went right through him. ‘I do understand how difficult this must be for you.’
‘I doubt it.’ Nobody could ever begin to understand how he felt about the Chase. The complex mix of memories, emotions it evoked.
‘No, of course not, but Hadley Chase has been in your family for centuries. I can see how it must hurt to be the one who has to let it go.’
‘Is that what you think?’ he asked, looking up from those curled-up fingers, challenging her. ‘That I’m ashamed because I’ve failed to hold on to it?’
‘No! Of course not.’ The blush flooded back to her cheeks. ‘Why should you be? This is the fault of preceding generations.’ The possibility that by criticising his recent ancestors she might be digging an even bigger hole for herself must have crossed her mind and she moved swiftly on. ‘I’ll do everything possible to make this as painless as possible,’ she promised. ‘All you have to do is let the caretaker and your lawyer know that I’ll be handling things on your behalf, then you needn’t give it another thought.’
This time his laugh was forced, painful. ‘If you could guarantee that you’d have a deal.’
‘I can guarantee that I won’t disturb you again without a very good reason,’ she assured him.
Too late. Natasha Gordon was the most disturbing woman he’d ever met, but the Chase was a millstone around his neck, a darkness at the heart of his family, his grandfather’s last-ditch attempt to regain control of a world he’d once dominated, ruled. To control the future. To control him. The sooner he was rid of it, the burden lifted, the better.
‘Suppose I agree to let you loose on it,’ he said, as if it wasn’t already a done deal, ‘do you have a plan?’
‘A plan?’
‘You don’t have an advertising budget,’ he pointed out, ‘or a shop window for passers-by to browse in, or even a listing in the Yellow Pages.’
‘No, but I do have the Internet, social media.’