Blueprint for Love (Choc Lit) (7 page)

         
‘There was some building work going on, that’s how Esther’s boy knew about it. Then they applied for machinery licences, and waste disposal certificates, and what not. And there’s all manner of comings and goings in the night, Tom says. It’s very mysterious.’

         
‘Jonathan lets some of the outbuildings out to smaller companies,’ said Hazel. ‘Surely if they’ve been given permission to do what they’re doing, then it’s okay?’

          Aunt Rose pursed her lips.
‘Tom reckons that permission was only granted because of pressure from above.’

         
‘From above?’

         
‘The corridors of power,’ Aunt Rose added, in a low voice. ‘The government.’

          Hazel stared at her great-aunt, momentarily wondering if perhaps the old lady was losing her marbles, then she dismissed the thought. Aunt Rose was as sharp as a tack.

          ‘This is all to do with Gough Associates?’

          Aunt Rose nodded.
‘And then that woman turns up, the one that looks like a model.’

         
‘Tabitha Fanshawe.’

         
‘That’s the name. Anyway, Esther’s boy – he has an eye for the ladies – well, he finds it strange that a woman looking like that, with her credentials, etcetera, takes a job so out of the way. She’d want the bright lights of London, that one, wouldn’t she? Not rural Norfolk.’

          Aunt Rose paused as the carer returned with a tray. When the woman left, Hazel noticed their tea was served in proper china cups.

          ‘You have them well trained here,’ she commented, and her aunt grinned back.

         
‘Did you expect I wouldn’t? No need to lower my standards just because I’m stuck here now. Anyway, to get back to that woman.’ Aunt Rose was clearly warming to her subject. ‘So, Tom looks into her background and discovers that she used to work for a large, well-known oil company.’ Aunt Rose put her hand on Hazel’s arm. ‘Don’t you think that’s strange? Why would an architect work for an oil company?’

          Hazel shrugged.
‘Beats me.’

         
‘There’s more. Gough Associates are working on a contract which involves planning permission from Tom’s department. Obviously he’s seen their company brochure where all the individual architects’ profiles are listed. You know the sort of thing.’

          Having tidied away a whole box of these brochures, Hazel nodded.

          ‘There’s no mention of the oil company under this Fanshawe woman’s profile. Almost as if they’re ashamed of it.’

          Or hiding something, thought Hazel. But why?

They drank their tea then Hazel suggested a tour of the pretty garden behind the nursing home. As she pushed the wheelchair, Aunt Rose talked about the staff and some of her fellow residents, as if she sensed that Hazel needed time to digest this new information about her workplace.

          She wasn’t sure how she felt about it. The oil industry was big business, and she couldn’t see what it had to do with a small firm of architects. And why would Jonathan keep quiet about the connection? Or was it Tabitha herself who’d kept quiet?

          Either way, it was food for thought.

She left her aunt with the promise that she’d visit again next weekend, and caught the bus back to the manor, contemplating someone else she needed to drop in on that afternoon.

          In the kitchen she found cold meats, cheese, a loaf of Irene’s delicious home-made bread, and some bottles of soda water and the dark stout she’d seen George drink sometimes, then assembled a picnic in an old hamper from the laundry room.

          She found George where she’d hoped he’d be, in the formal garden, cutting back the rose bushes. Spotting her, he scowled.

          ‘What are you doing here?’

         
‘Bringing you lunch.’

         
‘Lunch? Pah!’ He turned away and viciously snipped off a twig with his secateurs.

         
‘Aren’t you hungry? I’m willing to bet you haven’t had anything since breakfast, and it’s now two o’clock. Come on, have a sandwich.’

          Still with his back to her, George didn’t speak for a long moment.
‘Sandwiches, eh?’ he said at last. ‘With proper butter? Not that fancy margarine nonsense which is supposed to be good for your heart?’

         
‘Butter? Oh, lashings of it!’

          Hazel thought she caught a glimmer of a smile.
‘You’re not on a diet, then? Women are always on a diet.’

         
‘Some of us are quite happy with the size we are.’ She sent him a wry smile. ‘Although, I wouldn’t mind being taller. I had to stand on a chair
and
a box to get this hamper down from the top shelf. Could’ve broken my neck.’

          This time she was sure his grimace counted for smile.
‘You’d risk your neck for a grumpy old man like me?’

         
‘No,’ she said firmly, as if she was addressing a recalcitrant child. ‘I’d risk my neck for a delicious picnic. If anyone wanted to join me, it’d be a bonus. Depending on their level of grumpiness.’

          Suddenly he laughed, and the transformation was magical. Gone was the old grouch, and in place was a jovial, elderly gentleman.
‘
Touché
,’ he said, and put the secateurs down in a wheelbarrow. ‘We can sit over there.’

          Indicating a stone seat against the brick wall at the end of the garden, he offered to take the hamper. Hazel accepted gratefully because it was rather heavy, and followed him.

          ‘I’m sorry about your coat,’ he said.

         
‘So it
was
you?’

         
‘You’d guessed?’ He nodded to himself. ‘Irene said you were smart. Yes, I was coming through the door with firewood, and I knocked it down and nearly got entangled in it. Then I got annoyed, and, well ... ’ He shrugged. ‘Is that why you brought me lunch, to butter me up, so I can see what a nice, sensible girl you are and leave your things alone?’

         
‘Is it working?’

          Putting down the hamper, George gave her a wry smile.
‘Yes, it’s working. You’ll do.’

          The stone seat had been warmed by the sun, and Hazel spread out the contents of the hamper on a tea towel between them. She had no illusions that she and George were now best friends, but he answered her questions about his work on the estate readily enough, even if he was still a little guarded.

          ‘I understand you own a share of it yourself.’

         
‘Only a small part,’ he replied, wiping his mouth on a paper napkin. ‘Jonathan has the lion’s share.’

         
‘Not the bank, then?’

          George chuckled.
‘My son’s far too modest. He’s wealthy enough, but he keeps his cards close to his chest. Probably to stop that catty woman from sinking her claws into him.’

          Tabitha, thought Hazel. Funny how her name kept cropping up.

          ‘Can’t say I blame him,’ George continued, ‘after what happened with his wife.’

         
‘His wife? Oh, yes, so sad her dying so young, isn’t it?  Your grandsons told me about it. She looks lovely in that portrait in the library. He must’ve loved her very much.’

         
‘Tragic, it was.’ George sipped his stout from the plastic cup Hazel had brought. ‘Although, between you and me, it wasn’t a happy marriage. They were going in different directions from the moment they met, I think. Arabella wanted the high-flying career and the bright lights of the city, Jonathan just wanted to be a family man and run a business. Polar opposites. Upset him that they couldn’t work it out between them, and when she died, he blamed himself, although obviously he had nothing to do with it. He never says anything, though.’ George cast her a sideways glance. ‘We don’t talk much, as you might’ve noticed. Which is probably my fault. I said some things about Arabella I shouldn’t have.’

         
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Hazel had briefly glimpsed that side to Jonathan; that little lost boy look. The widower who carried on bravely, trying to be a good father while worrying that he was failing, burying himself in work in the hope that the guilt would go away.

          She almost felt sorry for Tabitha and her attempts at ensnaring Jonathan. If she was a career woman like Jonathan’s dead wife, Arabella, it seemed unlikely she’d succeed.

          ‘I’m the one who should be sorry. I shouldn’t discuss my son with you like this. You just have this way about you ... ’

         
‘Let’s change the subject, then.’ Hazel recalled what Aunt Rose had said about strange goings-on at Combury Manor. Deciding to plunge right in, she pointed to the east of the park. ‘I’ve noticed a strange, green light at night, coming from that direction. Do you know what that could be?’

          George sent her a startled look, then he frowned.
‘I don’t know anything about a green light. The only thing at the end of the park on that side is an outbuilding where we keep our, uhm, machinery and such. You’d best stay out of there. That stuff is dangerous, and expensive too.’

         
‘Of course, I wasn’t pl– ‘

         
‘Ah, there’s Jonathan,’ said George. Was it Hazel’s imagination, or did he seem relieved? Which was strange, given the fact that he and Jonathan were barely on speaking terms.

          Jonathan was walking down the gravelled path with Seth and Ben in tow. Ben was carrying a large, flat parcel.

          ‘We saw you from the library,’ Seth called.

         
‘We were just about to tuck into our pizza, but then the boys wanted to sit out here instead,’ Jonathan explained.

          Hazel’s eyebrows rose.
‘Pizza? In the library?’

         
‘Awful, aren’t I? Feeding my kids junk food in a nineteenth century library. If Mrs Whitmore finds out, I’m for the high jump.’

          Running his fingers through his hair, Jonathan smiled. Hazel felt that familiar tug in her abdomen, followed by a feeling of guilt that she could ever have suspected him of any kind of wrong-doing. Whatever went on here at the manor, if anything at all, she was sure he had nothing to do with it.

          ‘Fancy some pizza, Granddad?’ Ben held out the box, but behind his apparent high spirits his eyes were wary.

         
‘I’ve just had ... ’ George began, then looking from Hazel to Jonathan and back to Hazel again, he summoned up a smile. ‘Is it pepperoni?’

         
‘Course,’ said Ben.

         
‘Then I’d love a slice.’

          Ben turned to Hazel.
‘You like pepperoni?’

         
‘My favourite, although I quite like cheese and tomato as well.’

         
‘Did you hear that, Dad? Next time we’ll order two, and then we can have a real family dinner.’

          Ben passed the box to Seth and the boys tucked into their pizzas with gusto. Hazel met Jonathan’s eyes over their tousled heads. There was that smile again, and that funny feeling in her stomach. It made her go completely weak at the knees, and it was just as well she was sitting down because she wasn’t sure her legs would have been able to carry her.

         
Family dinner.

          It sounded so nice. Having little family of her own, Hazel realised how much she missed it. And the idea of a life with Jonathan, George, and the boys, was suddenly so appealing that she had trouble swallowing.

          I’m falling for him
,
she realised.
Big time.

CHAPTER SIX

She left them soon after, returning the hamper and washing up the plates and cups, not wanting to give Irene extra work.

          Then she retired to her flat to read a book on Jacobean architecture, which Jonathan had lent her. Normally the subject fascinated her and could keep her enthralled for hours, but after half an hour she had to give up. Instead, she pottered about aimlessly, unable to get the picture of Jonathan and his family out of her mind. In the end, she made herself a plate of pasta for supper and went to bed early.

          At least Monday would bring a welcome distraction in the form of her job and finding ways of slipping under Tabitha’s radar.

          She woke in the middle of the night with a peculiar feeling that everything was somehow too quiet. Her alarm clock showed two in the morning. Groaning, she turned over and tried to go back to sleep, but there was too much on her mind, and she pushed the covers irritably aside.

          When she spied the light at the bottom of the park once again, all thoughts of sleep left her.