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I nod, and she returns to her desk.
I’ve got five hours to find a solution before I board that flight.
Otherwise, I need to pray to god I’ll find it in London.
Chapter 2
Ava
I study the keypad.Main reception. Deliveries. Pool house.
Did I miss the part where my grandfather told me his old school friend owns a mansion? I figured Magnus Grant would be wealthy, but this is just one of his properties near London. I was expecting a cute cottage with a pretty garden to sit in while I work. Not a beautiful Georgian mansion.
Intricate moldings around the roof peek out from behind a sprawling lawn that’s decorated with topiary bushes. One’s even shaped like a plane. Grandfather said Magnus was a plane enthusiast, always making those DIY models at boarding school. It makes sense that his family own an airline.
I hover over the intercom before stabbing a guess and pressing the button for main reception. There’s an extended pause before a female voice answers, “Yes?”
I angle my face up toward the security camera on the gate’s stone pillar.
I flash my best grin, hoping it conveys gratitude for the fact I’m coming to stay rent-free for the next couple of months. I had wanted to contribute, but Magnus wouldn’t hear of it. It was a relief, because having just completed my master’s degree in business and, with no job lined up yet, money is tight.
“Hi. I’m Ava Roberts. William’s grand daug—”
“I know who you are,” the voice clips. “Come to the back door. I’ve just had the entryway stone polished.”
“Okay,” I say, but the intercom has already shut off.
The giant black metal gates slide open, and I drag my suitcase up the gravel driveway. Gramps lent it to me, not realizing it’d lost one of its wheels until he took it out of the attic. There wasn’t time to get a new one, and it wouldn’t have been worth it anyway. After all, I won’t be using it again.
By the time I find the back door, my arm is aching. I rub my shoulder before raising my fist to knock on the old wooden door. A small woman with pinched features and graying hair pulled back in a tight French twist opens it.
“You’re pretty.” She purses her lips. “Is your hair naturally that color?”
I tuck a loose auburn strand behind my ear. “Yep, I inherited it from my mother.”
She admires it, and I half expect her to reach out to stroke it.
“Very well.” Her thin lips stretch into a small smile. “I’m Margaret, the housekeeper. Welcome to Rochwell House.”
She stands aside to let me in. I drag my suitcase in and glance at the door as I pass. The wood is solid and thick, closing with a deep thud.
“Follow me. I’ll show you to your room.”
I follow Margaret up the flagstone hallway, passing an old wooden staircase. We walk into the kitchen, an airy room with cream units and a white stone countertop. It’s bigger than the house I was living in at the university.
My eyes bounce around the space as I take in the rows of matching mugs hanging beneath some open shelving, a giant bean to cup machine on the counter beneath them.
“You can help yourself to anything you like. I’ve stocked this fridge for you.” Margaret opens a cupboard to reveal a hidden fridge stuffed full of fresh fruit and snacks. The inside door is lined with cartons of my favorite grapefruit juice. “Mr. Grant asked William what you liked,” she adds.
“Wow, thanks,” I say, glancing at the eight-seater table set up in front of a large glass door that leads out onto the manicured lawns.
“You can eat breakfast and lunch here, should you wish. I don’t come in until the afternoon. Mr. Grant is home around seven, and dinner is served at seven-thirty in the dining room. There’s an outdoor heatedpool and pool house. He thought you might like to use the pool house to work in.”
“That’s so kind of him… I can’t believe this.” I admire the single-story pool house out of the window. “And I love to swim. But I didn’t pack a bathing suit, I’ll have to order one.”
Margaret hitches a brow and her eyes rake over my cropped jeans and T-shirt. “Yes, I suppose you will. Now, there’s no bathing suits to be worn wet inside the house. These old floors are a nightmare for slipping on when wet. And I don’t like tending to broken bones.”
“Noted. No bathing suits in the house.”
