The Home for Broken Hearts (11 page)

Pete and Greg the layout guy laughed.

“So, you going to see her again?”

“No; it was just for fun, she knows that.”

“You sure?” Pete asked. “Suze seems to think she thinks you’re the next big thing in her life.”

Matt shrugged. “I just got here. I’m not looking for anything serious, I told her that up front.”

“Well, you got an office full of people waiting to read your write-up. You know what? You should award her marks out of ten—that would be a laugh.”

“Great idea,” Matt said. “Will do.”

He watched Pete walk away and after a moment closed the column he’d been about to rewrite. He had no choice now. He’d have to start from scratch.

She’s a freak,” Charlie hissed as he peered at Allegra Howard through the kitchen window. “And she smells funny.”

“She is not a freak, and don’t use that word!” Ellen chided. “She’s an old lady and she smells of lavender. Admittedly rather a lot of lavender.”

“A freakish amount of lavender, one might say, hey, Charles?” Hannah put in, digging Charlie in the ribs, the pair of them giggling like cohorts.

Ellen pursed her lips at her sister. Hannah had arrived just after five, at the same time as Sabine, and suggested that she treat everyone to takeaway, which had caused Charlie to question her on whom exactly she meant by everyone—was she including Matt or the old woman, for example? And would it be okay if he still had fish fingers?

Hannah had extended her largesse to whoever might care to join them, but Ellen knew that the only reason her sister would leave work any earlier than 9:00
P.M
. was that Hannah hadn’t met Matt yet, and it often seemed to Ellen that her sister was determined to meet and greet every member of the male species on the planet. Apart from everything else, she would be dying to see exactly how Ellen would cope with the elderly whirlwind that was Allegra Howard. Ellen guessed that because the lodgers had been Hannah’s idea, she felt that she
had some ownership of it, some responsibility to make sure that it went smoothly, so that Ellen wasn’t suddenly overburdened, otherwise why else would she pop up here every five minutes? If she came around any more, Ellen was tempted to charge
her
rent.

“She’s old and set in her ways,” Ellen reiterated. “And a very keen gardener, by the looks of things. She’s been out there ages now. Pruning.”

Ellen had been fraught with nerves when Allegra had finally arrived with Simon at almost three in the afternoon.

“Ellen, darling.” Simon had greeted her with a huge hug, lightly kissing both her cheeks. “Sorry we’re late. Allegra had a little trouble deciding what to bring and what to leave in storage; we spent two hours deliberating over her Stafford china dogs.” He winked at Ellen, stepping aside to reveal Ellen’s new employer.

“May I introduce you to Miss Howard?”

Allegra Howard did not look at all how Ellen had expected. The publicity shot that graced all her book covers was dated and, besides, soft focused in the extreme. It showed a smooth-skinned blonde of indeterminate middle age, tenderly holding a single rose against her cheek while gazing into the distance with a faraway look in her eyes, as if at that very second she was dreaming up her next bestseller.

Simon had already warned her that photo had been taken a long time ago, but still Ellen had expected Allegra to be dressed from head to foot in some chiffon affair, her aged skin caked with too much makeup, her hair brittle with dye and hairspray. It was a cliché and an unfair one.

Allegra was a neat, stylish-looking woman, wearing a lilac suit and low beige heels, with her silver-blond hair tied into a frail chignon at her neck. Other than an ostentatious triple string of pearls around her neck, fastened with a ruby clasp, and three large diamond rings on her fingers, Ellen might
never have guessed that she was a bestselling author of lusty romantic fiction with the kind of commercial success that any author would envy. At least not by her genteel appearance, which had a rather aristocratic air.

“M-Miss Howard,” Ellen stammered. “I’m so thrilled to meet you, I’m such a huge fan.”

“Nonsense, you are not a fan, writers do not have fans. You are a reader, a follower, or an admirer. I do not approve of fans, such a garish word. And I insist you call me Allegra. Just because one is great, one does not expect special treatment. May I see my room now? I do hope it’s facing south, I did instruct Simon that it had to be facing south but he seemed to have forgotten.”

“Um, I
think
it is,” Ellen said nervously as she led Allegra into the former dining room. “It always seems to be sunny in here.”

Ellen held her breath as Allegra looked around the freshly painted room, terrified that the shade of lilac would be wrong, the chaise longue would not come up to scratch, or that despite her leaving the french doors open since seven that morning, the faintest smell of paint would be detectable to that elegant, aquiline nose.

“I’d say southwesterly, wouldn’t you, Simon?” Allegra arched a penciled brow, the corners of her mouth dropping minutely. “Still, it will do, it will do—which is more than I can say for those roses, what a disgrace!” Ellen had watched anxiously from the doorway, stricken, as Allegra stepped out onto the patio, its cracks filled with grass and weeds, tutted her head at the unkempt and overburdened rose bushes that had once surrounded the windows so decorously, but that now still endured the moldering dead heads of a summer long gone.

“I must have beauty and order to work—all this chaos simply will not do. Bring me your gardening shears, my dear, I must remedy this immediately. Fortunately I brought my own
gardening gloves; you see, Simon dear, I was correct—one never knows when one might be required to handle foliage.”

Ellen was frozen to the spot for a second, quite unable to remember if she even had gardening shears, or indeed what exactly they were. When her petrified brain did make the connection, she realized that they would be hanging on a rusty nail in the shed located at the bottom of the overgrown garden, its door probably jammed shut by inches of high grass and an invasion of convolvulus, its musty interior inhabited by various large and unchecked spiders. Ellen had not ventured down there in the longest time, the desire to prune her roses the very last thing on her mind. Feeling utterly inadequate, she remembered a pair of kitchen scissors that she thought might do the job and rushed to bring them to Allegra’s newly gloved hands.

Allegra examined her offering with her neatly painted lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval and disappointment, but nevertheless she accepted them.

“If you’d bring me some tea, I’d be grateful,” she instructed Ellen. “Oh, and before you go, you should know I’ll take breakfast at seven thirty every morning in my room, a soft-boiled egg and wholemeal toast, no crusts, thinly spread unsalted butter. Before ten I only drink English breakfast tea and whole milk, after ten, Earl Grey. I begin work at ten, break for a light lunch at one, and then recommence until five. I take dinner between six and seven thirty and I retire by nine thirty every night. Simon will furnish you with a copy of my eating plan, but you should know that I do not eat red meat. We took the liberty of bringing the ingredients for tonight’s meal with us, but from now on I will expect you to do all the grocery shopping.” She looked at Ellen as if she expected a response.

Ellen stared at her, dumbfounded, as Allegra’s instructions finally sank in.

“Oh, oh! You mean you want me to cook your meals, too?”

“You have accepted the position of my personal assistant, have you not?” Allegra questioned.

“Yes, but I thought…” Ellen floundered for a second, realizing that it was pointless to debate with Allegra. Either she was going to accept the old lady with all her needs and foibles or she was going to have to ask her to leave, and the latter was unthinkable.

Ellen glanced at Simon, who shot her a rueful look, mutely apologizing for not having told her quite all that he could have.

“Of course, whatever you say,” Ellen demurred. “It’s just—well, I’ll need some time in the week to work on my other manuscripts that Simon gives me.”

“I beg your pardon?” Allegra looked horrified. “You mean to work on other writers, ‘material’ while working on mine? Oh no, no, no. I can’t have that—Simon, this will not do at all.”

“Oh, no—Allegra, Ellen is mistaken and it’s entirely my fault; I don’t think I explained to her that from now on all the work she’d been doing for Cherished Desires would be exclusively Allegra Howard.” He smiled at Ellen. “That’s okay with you, isn’t it, Ellen? You won’t be losing out financially, and of course you’ll need to concentrate your mind entirely on Allegra’s work in progress.”

“Yes, why deal with dross, my dear, when you can work with art,” Allegra added.

“Not that Allegra is implying that my stable of writers isn’t anything but wonderful,” Simon countered.

“Aren’t I?” Allegra winked at Ellen, who was so taken aback by the gesture that she was momentarily at a loss. It seemed that there was a sense of humor lurking somewhere underneath this grand facade.

“Well, of course, I’d be delighted to just work on your books. They are, after all, my favorites.”

“Delightful.” Allegra smiled approvingly. “Then in the meantime I shall endeavor to tame the wilderness you have allowed to rampage so willfully in the garden.”

Allegra ventured into the garden.

Simon followed Ellen into the kitchen, where she was considering her supermarket teabags, wondering if they would do until she could stock up on Earl Grey.

“Don’t look so alarmed,” Simon told her, gently resting a hand on either shoulder and turning her to face him. “That woman, that’s not the real Allegra. She’s just old, and a bit lost and out of sorts. She’s missing her home and her routine, poor old bird, she’s just hiding all that behind that battleax out there. All of this is as frightening for her as it is for you. I’m sure that once she settles in, you and she will become great friends and she’ll stop talking to you like you’re the help.”

Ellen relaxed as she looked into Simon’s warm, amber eyes. He had a knack for settling her down, washing calm over her with a few simple words. It was one of the reasons she liked working for him so much—nothing in life seemed to faze him, and his confidence and optimism were somehow contagious, making others believe that the world was a much simpler place.

It was a shame that Simon had yet to find anyone special in his life, Ellen mused. A tall, good-looking man like him, well dressed, all his hair still intact, and financially secure even in these difficult times, deserved the right person to love him. Perhaps Hannah was right; perhaps Simon didn’t want all that. Perhaps he chose a series of brief encounters rather than anything more, seeking out embraces in the dark, passionate kisses stolen under moonlight, names rarely exchanged, just a few moments of pleasure and then…

“Goodness me, Ellen Woods, what are you thinking?” Simon asked, cocking an amused brow.

“What, why?” Ellen pulled away from him, pressing the back of her hand to her cheeks.

Simon studied her face closely. “Just for a second there you looked like a smoldering, smoky-eyed siren planning your next seduction!”

“Me? Nonsense. I was thinking about cooking for Allegra, you idiot!”
Ellen laughed nervously. “Honestly, Simon, you and I spend too much time reading romantic fiction. We must remember that real life is much more mundane.”

Ellen turned to pour boiling water into the teapot that she had found languishing at the back of the crockery cupboard, hoping that the rising steam would be reason enough to explain away the color in her cheeks. Whatever had come over her? First that incident this morning and now this… What was happening to her? Months, years, of being an essentially sexless being, at least outside the pages of a book, and now her rebellious brain was catching her unawares at every turn, mentally undressing more or less every man in sight, which amounted to only two, thankfully.

It was the upheaval, Ellen had told herself. All the change was upsetting her equilibrium—that and the particularly high ravish count in
The Sword Erect.
Once she had settled herself down to work, her brain would be properly occupied and thoroughly distracted from all the sorrow and anguish that had overshadowed it for so long. Her mind might even become a quiet and peaceful place once again, concerned only with the small things. The details that so many other people missed but Ellen loved to pore over.

“So do you think Allegra would like special fried rice or noodles?” Hannah broke Ellen’s train of thought.

“Neither; she is having…” Ellen picked up one of the recipes that Allegra had furnished her with. “Grilled chicken with steamed broccoli and new potatoes—and so are we, Simon brought enough to feed a small army—so I thought I might as well cook it for Charlie and me, too.”

“Not me,” Charlie said. “I’m having fish fingers.”

“Yes, but I thought that tonight you might like a change?” Ellen questioned. “You know, we’re starting a new chapter in our lives and I thought you might feel like eating something new, too, you know—for a change.”

“I thought you said what I eat isn’t a problem?”

“I did, and it’s not, it’s just…”

“No, you know I don’t like chicken or broccoli or any of that stuff. I’ll have fish fingers. I can do it myself if you can’t be bothered.”

“Of course I can be bothered, it’s just I thought you might…”

“It’s not that big a deal, is it, sis?” Hannah asked, slinging an arm around Charlie’s shoulder.

“I just said it wasn’t, didn’t I?” Ellen snapped. She took a breath and forced herself to lighten her tone. “I’ll do you some fish fingers now. Sabine, would you like to join us for dinner? There’s plenty to go around.”

“Oh yes, please,” Hannah replied before Sabine could answer. “I’ll get a couple of spare chairs from the shed.”

“Quick, she’s coming in!” Charlie hissed, as if he expected them all to hide. He scrambled into his chair and did his best to look nonchalant.

Allegra opened the back door and peeled off her gloves, glancing around the room. Hannah grinned at her as she looked at the takeaway menu while she lounged against the kitchen counter, Sabine smiled politely from her seat at the table, and Ellen stood by the kitchen sink as if caught in the act of something dreadful, which in a way she had been. It was clear that Allegra did not find the willful neglect of one’s garden at all acceptable.