Savage Awakening(10)

'Would Monday be OK?' he asked. 'Your friend, Gilchrist, is delivering  the furniture I ordered on Monday morning. I'd be glad of your help.'

'All right.' She pushed her hands into the pockets of her dungarees. 'I'll come over about nine, does that suit you?'

'That's great,' he said, and as she moved out into the hall he followed her. 'See you Monday, then.'

'Monday,' she agreed, opening the door before he could get past her and do it for her. 'G'bye.'                       
       
           



       

Matt waited until she'd turned her car and driven away before he closed  the door and sagged back against it. He felt exhausted and he didn't  honestly know why. It wasn't as if she'd said or done anything to  deplete his energies and yet he felt drained. And strangely let down,  which was something new for him.

Straightening, he made his way back to the kitchen and surveyed the room  with frustrated eyes. What was wrong with him now, for God's sake? He'd  just completed a satisfactory shopping trip and found himself a  part-time housekeeper into the bargain. What more did he want?

A hell of a lot more, he conceded grimly, but it wasn't going to happen.  Nevertheless, for a short time there he'd found himself having thoughts  he hadn't had since he'd got back from North Africa. He didn't kid  himself it meant anything. Despite what his doctors had said, he knew he  was never going to be the man he was. But Fliss Taylor was different.  She intrigued him. And, like anyone else, he responded to that.

He knew he'd never met a female who was as unaware of herself as she  was. There was no artifice about her, no desire to draw attention to  herself, no overt sexuality. Yet she was all woman, with a soft  innocence that any man would have found challenging.

Any man but him, that was, he reminded himself, the reason for his sense  of dissatisfaction no longer so obscure. He picked up one of the mugs  they had used and flung it across the room, uncaring when it shattered  against the Aga. He had to keep reminding himself he was only half a  man, he taunted himself savagely. And if that was true, what the hell  was he doing hiring a housekeeper who aroused any kind of feelings  inside him?





CHAPTER FIVE





'I'VE got another job.'

Fliss made the announcement as her father came into the kitchen to have  his breakfast on Saturday morning. She'd intended to tell him the  previous afternoon, but Amy had been home and it would have been  difficult to have a private word with him then. Well, that was her  excuse, anyway.

Now, however, Amy had had her breakfast and had gone out into the garden  with Harvey. The child and the golden retriever were racing round the  lawn at present, chasing a ball that Amy was trying to play with and  generally tearing the place up. Fliss decided she would have to have a  word with Amy later. She was getting too old to act so irresponsibly.

Her father took a seat at the table as Fliss set a pot of coffee and a  rack of toast in front of him, and then said stiffly, 'With Matthew  Quinn, I assume?'

Fliss pressed her lips together, surprised by his attitude. 'Is that a problem?'

'Only in the sense that you apparently forgot to mention that he was the  Matthew Quinn I was talking about,' he remarked coldly, and her heart  dropped. Her father had gone out for a drink the evening before and  Fliss had been in bed when he'd got home.

'I suppose you heard the news at the pub,' she said, turning back to the  sink to hide the hot colour that had stained her cheeks.

'From at least half a dozen different sources actually,' he replied, and  she knew he was hurt that she hadn't confided in him. 'D'you want to  tell me how long you've known you were going to work for him?'

'Just since yesterday,' she protested, turning to rest her jean-clad hip  against the drainer. 'But I couldn't tell you who he was, Dad. He's  come down here to try and escape the media.'

'He told you that, did he?'

'Not in so many words, no. But he said he needed some space. More space than he had in London, anyway.'

'Space!' Her father was scornful. 'Why do you young people think you  need so much space? How much space did my father have when he was  fighting in the trenches? The man's spent less than two years as a  prisoner of war, if you want to call it that. Some of my father's men  spent twice as long as that in German prison camps and there was no red  carpet laid out for them when they got home.'

'I know that.' Fliss was defensive. 'In any case, I don't know what  you're getting at me for. All I did was respect the man's privacy.'

George Taylor's nostrils flared. Then, as if acknowledging that she had a  point, he heaved a sigh. 'I just wish you'd trusted me, that's all,' he  said, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot. 'I can keep a  confidence as well as anyone else.'                       
       
           



       

Fliss's brows arched. 'This confidence?' she asked sceptically, relieved  to see he was looking a little less severe. 'Come on, Dad, you wouldn't  have been able to resist it. Knowing Matthew Quinn was living in the  Old Coaching House. What a scoop that would have been!'

Her father's lips pursed. 'If he'd asked me to keep his identity a secret, I'd have done so.'

'Oh, and how was he going to ask you that?' Fliss stared at him. 'You'd  have had to have gone to see him. Can you imagine how I'd have felt if  you had?'

'Well, it's a moot point now,' declared her father curtly. 'Harry  Gilchrist couldn't wait to spread the news. I suppose that's when you  saw him, too. When you went shopping in Westerbury. Was that why you  forgot the netting?'

Fliss could have denied it, but there didn't seem much point. 'I suppose  so,' she said, turning back to the sink. 'Anyway, I'm starting on  Monday. Just mornings, I expect. Like I used to do for Colonel  Phillips.'

'Huh.' Her father didn't sound too happy. 'I don't know why you insist  on demeaning yourself like this. Doing other people's housework. It's  not what I hoped for you, Felicity.'

'Oh, Dad!' Fliss didn't want to get into that again. 'Until Amy's older  and I can go into Westerbury to work, there aren't a lot of jobs  around.'

'What about working for Lady Darcy? She needs a social secretary, and I  know she'd look very kindly on your application. She was only saying the  other day-'

'I'm happy as I am,' said Fliss quickly, suppressing a grimace. The idea  of being a companion-dogsbody-to the wife of the local member of  parliament didn't appeal at all. At least what she did gave her a small  measure of autonomy. Or it had when she'd worked for Colonel Phillips.

'Oh, well, don't say I didn't warn you,' declared her father casually,  buttering a slice of toast, and Fliss was compelled to turn and look at  him again.

'Warn me?' she echoed, regarding him with puzzled eyes. 'Warn me about what?'

'I thought you knew who he was,' said her father blandly, and Fliss's nails dug into her palms in frustration.

'I do know who he is,' she said, wondering where this was going.

'Then you'll know there have been rumours about his mental state since  he got back from Abuqara,' remarked her father, reaching for the  marmalade. 'Oh, here comes Amy.' His smile irritated Fliss anew. 'Hello,  sweetheart. I hope you and Harvey haven't destroyed any of your  mother's precious flowers.'

Amy gave her mother a rueful look. 'Not deliberately,' she said, as the  retriever went to beg beside his master's chair. 'I think Harvey knocked  the heads off a couple of roses, that's all.'

Fliss shook her head, but she was too disturbed by what her father had  said to offer much in the way of chastisement. 'I wish you'd be more  careful,' she muttered, finishing the dishes and drying her hands on a  paper towel. Then, 'Do you want to come down to the Black Horse with me?  I want to check on my hours for next week.'

'Ooh, yes!' exclaimed Amy, who enjoyed being fussed over by Patrick Reardon, the landlord. 'Can I?'

'May I?' Fliss corrected automatically, as her father said.

'Is that wise? Taking the child down to the pub? Do you want her to get into bad habits?'

'Like yours, you mean,' retorted Fliss tartly, but her heart wasn't  really in it. What had her father meant? That Matthew Quinn had mental  problems? Or was he simply using some gossip he'd heard to spoil Fliss's  enthusiasm for her new job?

Whatever, Fliss decided that now was not the time to tackle him on it.  Besides, on the whole, Matthew Quinn had struck her as a perfectly  normal human being. OK, maybe he had problems interacting with people,  but you didn't have to have been a political prisoner to feel that.

When she was younger, she'd had a similar problem. An only child, she'd  been painfully shy with boys, envying girls like Diane who found it so  easy to flirt with the opposite sex. No wonder Terry Matheson had taken  advantage of her. She'd been ripe for the taking.