“You’re an old bastard and it jolly well serves you right.”
Freddie chuckled, although there was sadness in his eyes. “Suppose it does. Good old Phyllis, always one to speak her mind.”
He was sitting at the polished oak desk in his office surrounded by paperwork. Producing a printout, Lottie said, “We’re still going to find Giselle. I’ve done my best, but it’s time to call in the professionals. Here’s a list of companies that trace missing persons. Pick one of them, and they’ll track her down in no time. Just think, Giselle might have been waiting forty years to throw a drink in your face.”
“Run me over with a steamroller, more like. Disappointed that you couldn’t find her yourself?” said Freddie, sitting back in the swivel chair.
“You know I am. We both wanted me to be able to do it.”
“Never mind. I’ve got one more for you to try. Should be a bit easier this time.” His mouth twitched with amusement as Lottie reached eagerly for her trusty notebook. “Her name’s Amy Painter.”
“Not another old girlfriend. Honestly, who d’you think you are?” Lottie was busy scribbling down the name. “Jack Nicholson?”
“She’s about your age.”
“Freddie! You do think you’re Jack Nicholson!”
“Amy isn’t an old girlfriend.” As Lottie’s eyes widened he added hastily, “She isn’t my daughter either.”
“Oh.” Lottie fanned herself energetically. “Thank goodness for that. You had me going there for a minute.”
“You’ll like Amy. Everyone does. In fact, you may even recognize her,” said Freddie. “I’m pretty sure the two of you have met before.”
As Lottie was leaving the house ten minutes later, Freddie said, “I haven’t even asked. How’s it going with this new chap of yours?”
“It’s going great.” Lottie blushed slightly, because last night, for the first time, Seb had stayed at Piper’s Cottage. They had spent the night together and made love twice. “We really have fun. Nat and Ruby love him.”
“I’ll have to meet him myself, give him the once over. See if he deserves you.”
“Oh, he does. I’m just not sure I deserve him.” Touched by the genuine concern in his eyes, Lottie could hardly bear to think that Freddie might not be with them for much longer. “He’s away for three weeks from tomorrow, organizing a polo tournament in Dubai. But as soon as he’s back I’ll bring him over here, I promise.”
* * *
“So if we go to Blenheim Palace, will we be able to meet the Duke and Duchess of…Blenheim?”
Lottie carefully didn’t meet Tyler’s eye—he was sitting across from her in the office. The Mahoneys, over from Minnesota, were visiting England for the first time and had their hearts set on being introduced to anyone with a title. They’d already visited Windsor Castle and been sorely disappointed not to have been greeted personally at the front gate by Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip. Now, clearly, they were prepared to lower their standards.
“I think they’re pretty busy.” Lottie did her best to let them down tactfully. “But it’s still a fantastic place to visit. You can—”
“Highgrove Castle?” Maura Mahoney was riffling through her tourist’s guidebook. “Would Charlie be there?”
“Highgrove House isn’t actually open to the public.” Lottie was aware of Tyler raising his eyebrows at her. If her legs had been twenty feet longer she would have kicked him. Hard.
“Highgrove House? He’s the Prince of England and he doesn’t even live in a castle? You guys should take more care of your royal family,” Maura chided. “OK then, how about Gatcombe Palace? If we just dropped by to say hi, d’you reckon Princess Anne would at least give us her autograph?”
More like the finger, thought Lottie, casting wildly around for a satisfactory solution. “The thing is, the royals don’t really go in for…for…” Her voice faltered as the door swung open and Seb breezed into the office. “For, um, autographs.”
“Who wants my autograph?” Seb flashed a wicked grin, raised a hand in casual greeting at Tyler, then said to Lottie, “Got a couple minutes? I’m on my way to the airport.”
Lottie’s hand flew to her chest; with his floppy, upper-class blond hair and super fit body, the sight of Seb when she wasn’t expecting to see him still had the ability to send her heart into overdrive. “I’m busy at the moment. Can you hang on a bit?”
Maura Mahoney was avidly taking in every detail of Seb’s spectacular six-foot-two body. Her gaze fastened upon the blue and white polo shirt bearing the Beaufort Polo Club logo. “Excuse me for asking, but do you play polo?”
“Why yes, I do.” Surveying in return Maura’s squat body, bulging curves, and size twentysomething Burberry trousers, Seb said gravely, “Do you play as well?”
“Are you crazy? I’m way too old for that kind of thing!” Maura blushed and fluttered her mousy lashes. “But you sure look the part! You don’t play with the princes, I suppose?”
Seb nodded. “Regularly. We’re great friends. Why?”
“Oh my Gaad! I don’t believe this.” Fanning herself energetically with her tourist’s guide, Maura gabbled, “You’ve made my vacation! And you talk just like them too! Would you do me the world’s biggest favor and let me take your photograph? Or better still…” Almost strangling herself as she attempted to unloop the Canon from around her neck, Maura thrust it into Lottie’s hands. “Here, sweetie, would you take a few pictures of the two of us together?”
Lottie ushered them out of the office and solemnly took a ream of photos of Maura, bursting with pride, standing next to Seb. When Maura and her hot flash had been duly dispatched, Seb swung Lottie into his arms and said, “Jesus, are all Americans that gullible?”
“Shhh.” Lottie jerked her head meaningfully at the office door, which was after all only about six feet away.
“What? Oh.” Amused, Seb strolled over and stuck his head around the door. “Sorry.”
Tyler, sounding as if his teeth might be gritted, said politely, “Don’t mention it.”
“It’s like buses. You don’t see a Yank for ages then two come along at once.” Seb looked thoughtful for a moment. “Not that I’ve ever caught a bus.”
Hurriedly Lottie said, “I didn’t know you played polo with the princes.”
“God yes, have done for years.” Seb’s eyes danced. “Gavin Prince and Steve Prince.”
More disappointed than she cared to admit, Lottie said, “I won’t tell Maura that.”
“Oh dear. Is that a letdown? I do know the other princes too, but only to say hello to.” Sliding his arms back around her, he pulled her toward him. “Does this mean you won’t miss me while I’m gone? How about a quickie, just to remind you what you’ll be missing?”
OK, this was getting the teensiest bit awkward now. Tyler was inside the office overhearing every word, whether he wanted to or not. Attempting to draw Seb away from the door and meeting with some resistance, Lottie realized he was doing it on purpose.
“I’ll miss you.” She tried to murmur it into Seb’s ear, but he was having none of that.
“Show me how much you’ll miss me,” he teased.
“No. I have work to do and you have a plane to catch.”
“You mean you want to show me but you’re embarrassed because we’re not alone. Your boss is listening. I tell you what, forget the quickie. I’ll just kiss you really quietly and you try to be quiet too. No sloppy noises, no heavy breathing, and positively no groaning in ecstasy. Think you can manage that?”
Two minutes later the muddy green Golf roared off and Lottie returned to the office.
“He was only joking, you know. It was just a bit of fun.” This was absolutely true, but she knew she sounded defensive.
“No business of mine.” Tyler, working away on the computer, didn’t even look up. “So long as you do your job.”
“He only said it to embarrass me in front of you. We weren’t even kissing, I—”
“Lottie, you don’t have to explain. You’re an adult, old enough to choose who you see.” From Tyler’s tone of voice it was abundantly clear what he thought of her choice. “Now, could we get back to work?”
He was definitely pissed off. Seb had too obviously enjoyed winding him up. It was fair to say that they would never be bosom pals.
“Still, he made Maura’s day.” Lottie couldn’t help herself; any veiled criticism of Seb felt like a criticism of her own ability to choose a boyfriend.
“Sure.” Tyler nodded curtly as the phone began to ring. “Are you going to get that, or shall I?”
* * *
Four days later, back from settling a family of new arrivals into Beekeeper’s Cottage, Lottie found Tyler in the office being interviewed by a journalist for a travel magazine. The female journalist, who was middle-aged and certainly old enough to know better, was flirting outrageously with Tyler. The lanky photographer, waiting his turn, was perched on Lottie’s desk eating an apple and reading his horoscope in yesterday’s paper.
“Well, I think that’s probably everything.” Dimpling coquettishly at Tyler, the journalist uncrossed her legs and leaned over to switch off her tape recorder. “That’s great, thanks so much. Davey, over to you.”
Davey yawned, put down his apple, and picked up his camera. He couldn’t dimple coquettishly if he tried.
“At this point we usually ask people if they’d like to take a quick peek in the mirror, check they’re looking their best,” the journalist twittered on, “but I can assure you, that’s not necessary in your case.”
“This is Lottie, by the way. My assistant,” said Tyler.
“Lovely. Now, where shall we have you? So to speak! Shall we start off in here then move on down to the cottages?”
Tyler said, “How about Lottie? Would you like her to be in the photos too?”
Lottie preened inwardly. Maybe it wasn’t modest to admit it, but she did love having her picture taken. When Freddie had owned the business he had always included her in any photographic spreads.
“I don’t think so.” The journalist didn’t even give the photographer time to open his mouth. “I’d rather just concentrate on you.”
Witch. Ugly witch with unshaven hairs poking through her American Tan panty hose. Lottie fantasized about asking the woman if she wanted to borrow a lawn mower.
“OK.” Tyler shrugged, unconcerned either way and blithely unaware that this was the wrong reply.
Lottie couldn’t believe it. Didn’t he realize she’d just been snubbed? How could he be so blind? She glared at him across the office.
“What?” Tyler asked, mystified.
Nettled, Lottie mimicked his blithe shrug. “Nothing.”
“Good.” He turned to the photographer. “Now, how do you want me?”
“Ooh,” simpered the journalist, “don’t ask questions like that!”
Utterly pathetic, plug-ugly, hairy-legged witch. This time really unable to help herself, Lottie said in a brittle voice, “Sounds like you’ve made a conquest. Well, I’ll leave you to it…”
“Oh, by the way,” Tyler called after her, “your boyfriend rang earlier. He says he’ll give you another call later and he hopes you’re behaving yourself.”
This was another of Seb’s jokes. If he’d wanted to, he could perfectly easily have called her on her cell phone. But being Seb, he preferred to leave the message with Tyler.
“Doesn’t he trust her then?” As she left the office, Lottie heard Hairy Legs confide cozily, “I must say, I’m not surprised. She looks a bit of a handful to me.”