Making Your Mind Up (6 page)

Tyler Klein saw them as he was driving into Hestacombe the next morning. Two children, emerging from a modern house on the outskirts of the village, wearing shorts, T-shirts, and baseball caps. He couldn't swear they were the ones, but he could soon find out. Tyler braked and pulled up alongside them.

The heat hit him as he stepped out of the air-conditioned rental car. The flash of recognition in their eyes told Tyler all he needed to know. One had longer hair than the other, but he'd been right about it being two boys.

“Hi there.” Tyler smiled easily. “Was it you two I saw a couple days ago, down by the lake?”

They regarded him warily. Finally the taller boy said, “No.”

“Sure about that? Running off with someone else's clothes?”

“That wasn't us.”

“Look. You're not in trouble, I promise. I just really need to know the truth.”

The younger boy said earnestly, “We didn't take any clothes.”

Déjà vu. Only this time Tyler knew he was right.

“Fine. Well, there are tests that can be done to find out who did. DNA,” said Tyler. “Fingerprints.”

Behind the boys, their mother had appeared in the doorway of the house, young and plump and carrying an even plumper baby on her hip. She watched impassively as her youngest son blurted out, “But we didn't steal them, she got them back. We threw them over the wall into her yard.”

“I know.” Tyler nodded. “But thanks for confirming it.”

“
Ow
,” cried the boy as his brother elbowed him painfully in the ribs.

“You big
stupid
, you
told
him.”

“That hurt!”

Catching their mother's eye, Tyler said, “Sorry about this.”

“Don't be sorry. Little buggers, I'll give them something to be sorry about. Whose clothes did they take?”

Tyler shook his head. “It doesn't matter.”

“Not to you maybe, but it does to me. Harry, Ben, get inside the house.” As the boys slid past their mother and the fat baby placidly watched, she clipped each of them smartly around the ear. The older of the two, clutching the side of his head, turned and glared at Tyler before disappearing into the hallway.

As far as the under-eleven population of Hestacombe was concerned, Tyler realized, he was undoubtedly Public Enemy Number One.

Off to a good start.

* * *

Lottie was hard at work on the computer in the office when she heard the crunch of tires on gravel outside heralding Tyler Klein's arrival. Glad of the break from processing bookings, she picked up her bottle of orange soda and went outside to greet him.

“Giving the suit a miss today then.” Leaning against the open door of the annex, just across the drive from Hestacombe House, she watched him emerge from the car. He was wearing a pink-striped shirt and faded jeans, and there was no denying that as new bosses went, he was pretty damn gorgeous.

Which could be fantastic, or it could turn out to be a complete disaster. Only time would tell.

“I hate suits. I've had to wear them for the last twelve years.” Tyler Klein's dark eyes glittered as he shook Lottie's hand. “From now on, if you catch me in a suit you'll know I'm either on my way to a wedding or a funeral.”

Lottie winced at the mention of the word
funeral
. It wasn't his fault; he didn't know Freddie was ill. His handshake was firm, but not knuckle-crunchingly so. And there was that aftershave again, making you want to keep breathing it in, even when your lungs were telling you it was time to breathe out.

“So, looks like we're going to be working together. Freddie's spending the day in Cheltenham, but he said you wanted to see how things are run around here.” She checked her watch. “Teacher's Cottage is being cleaned before the next guests arrive. Shall I show you what we do to get it ready?”

Tyler shrugged and nodded. “You're the boss. Fire away.”

“Actually, you're the boss.” Lottie closed the door of the office behind her. “And I just hope you don't fire me.”

* * *

Teacher's Cottage was a four-bedded Grade II listed property in its own magical gardens. Lottie introduced Tyler to Liz, the cleaner, as she was leaving, then showed him over the cottage.

“We leave fresh food in the fridge. And a homemade cake on the kitchen table to welcome the new arrivals. Fresh flowers in the living room and bedrooms. Magazines and books are always going walkabout so we replace them regularly.”

“Speaking of going walkabout, I guess I owe your two an apology.” Tyler pulled a face. “I found out who made off with your clothes.”

“Don't worry about it. I finally believed them.” As she spoke Lottie was busily straightening pictures on the walls, plumping up cushions, and reangling the coffee table. The pictures were already straight and the cushions plumped, but there was no harm in letting your new boss know how efficient and hardworking you were. “Who did it?”

“Two young boys.” Tyler wasn't about to tell her their names. “They won't be doing it again.”

“Ben and Harry Jenkins then.” Entertained by the expression on his face, Lottie said, “This isn't New York. Everyone knows everyone. Their mum helps out here sometimes with the cleaning. Can I ask you a question?”

Tyler spread his hands. “Anything you like.”

“Are you actually going to be living here, running the business yourself? Or will you be popping down here every couple weeks to keep an eye on your investment?”

“Living right here running the business.” Keeping a straight face, evidently amused by the unfamiliar expression, Tyler said, “Where would I be
popping
down here from?”

“I don't know. London, I suppose. Or New York. You work in banking.” Lottie hadn't been able to figure it out for the life of her. “It's a bit of a switch, isn't it? I thought maybe you'd carry on doing that and just kind of dabble in this on your days off.”

“Because you don't think I could cope with it full time?”

“Because it's not going to be as lucrative as being a financial highflier, wheeler-dealing on the stock exchange, trading zillions of shares and buying companies and stuff.” Aware that her grasp of the financial markets was tenuous to say the least, Lottie hurriedly bent down to straighten the magazines on the coffee table, yet again. “And if you're rich enough to be able to afford to buy all these vacation homes, isn't it going to be a bit weird, living in Fox Cottage? I mean, you must be used to so much better, a penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park or something. And working here isn't going to be at all what you're used to.” Lottie felt obliged to warn him. “What will you do when a guest rings you up at three o'clock in the morning to tell you that a pipe's burst and water's pouring through the ceiling? Or that one of the drains is blocked? Or when they've just found a mouse in the kitchen? You see? How are you going to deal with stuff like that?”

“OK, OK.” Tyler held up both hands. “The thing about asking a million questions is you have to stop occasionally to let other people answer.”

“Sorry. I'm just nosy. And I talk too much.” To prove that she was, nevertheless, an exemplary employee, Lottie fiddled with the flower arrangement on the table, tweaking the sweet peas and artfully reorganizing the ferns.

“And you think I'm some clueless wanker-banker type who wouldn't know a monkey wrench from a plunger. Look, leave those flowers alone, Freddie's already told me you're indispensable.” Leading the way through to the kitchen, Tyler began briskly inspecting the cupboards. “But I'm not actually that hopeless. I'm not afraid of hard physical work either. Or mice. But if there are any emergencies I really can't handle myself, I'll do what any normal person would do and call in an expert.”

Had she offended him by suggesting, more or less, that he wasn't up to the job?

“I didn't think you were a namby-pamby wanker-banker,” Lottie protested. “I'm just wondering why you don't want to
be
a banker anymore.”

Having thoroughly investigated the kitchen, Tyler leaned back against the granite work top, hands thrust casually into his jeans pockets.

“OK. Let me tell you what it's like. We're talking high-pressure lifestyle here. Up at five every morning, off to the gym before work, then twelve hours in the office. Nonstop meetings, business rivals stabbing you in the back, having to make decisions that could make or break people's businesses—even their lives. Then wondering if you've made the right decision, dealing with the fallout when it all goes wrong. I'm telling you, it takes over your world. You think you're thriving on the pressure, but you're not. Nothing matters except making the next deal, the next million. You turn into a machine.” He paused, then said flatly, “And it can end up killing you.”

The look in his dark eyes was bleak.
Oh Jesus
, thought Lottie,
not you too
.

“Shall I tell you what happened?” said Tyler.

Mutely Lottie nodded.

“It killed my best friend.”

Oh. That was OK then. Well, not
OK
, obviously…

“His name was Curtis Segal,” Tyler went on. “We'd known each other since we were six years old, grew up on the same street. We were closer than brothers. During college vacations we worked together on a ranch in Wyoming. After college we ended up going into the same business. Curtis was on a roll, getting promotion after promotion at his company, raking the money in and never getting enough sleep. But he was a fit guy. You never think anything bad's going to happen, do you, when you're in your thirties? Until Curtis had a major presentation one day—not the biggest he'd ever handled, but still pretty important. And he told his secretary he had a pain in his left arm five minutes before the presentation was due to begin. She wanted to call the company doctor in to see him but Curtis wouldn't let her do it, because everyone was up there in the boardroom waiting for him to make that all-important presentation.”

Silence. Tyler was still leaning against the work top, lost in thought. Finally he continued. “So he went up there and made it. Well, half of it. Then he collapsed and died, right there on the floor of the boardroom. The paramedics worked on him for forty minutes, but it was no good. He was gone. And guess what happened after that?”

“What?” said Lottie.

“His company lost the account. The other guys decided they didn't want to do business with the kind of bank where their top executives keel over and drop dead on you. You know what else?”

“What?”

“The CEO couldn't even make the funeral. He had other potential clients to wine and dine, out on Long Island. Very important potential clients, of course. He wouldn't have missed Curtis's funeral for just any old kind. And as he pointed out when I spoke to him afterward, he had sent a three-thousand-dollar wreath.”

His eyes were narrowed with disgust. Lottie's heart went out to Tyler. But since she could hardly fling her arms around him she said, “When did this happen?”

“Five months ago. That's when I realized it could have been me. More to the point, it could be me
next
. And I made my decision just like that.” Tyler clicked his fingers. “The day after Curtis's funeral I handed in my notice. Everyone told me I was mad. But I knew I was doing the right thing; there had to be more to life than slogging your guts out on Wall Street. I flew out to Wyoming, visited the ranch where we'd worked years before, and thought about doing that again. It's an incredible place: just mountains, wide-open spaces, and sky. But it wasn't the same without Curtis.” Tyler paused. “Then I went to visit my parents and they were showing me all their vacation photos. They're so in love with this place, you have no idea.” He relaxed visibly. “My mother kept saying I should come over to England, take a long vacation and see the sights.”

“So you ended up coming over here and buying the sights. By the way,” Lottie added, “I like your parents. They're great.”

Tyler nodded and smiled. “Crazy as larks, the pair of them. Or heartwarmingly eccentric, as you Brits would say. But yes, I guess I am buying the sights. I knew I liked this country. A few years back I was over here working for the London-based branch of our bank. Pretty intensive and only for six months, but it was enough to make me realize that here was somewhere I'd be happy to live. Then I spoke to my mother a couple weeks ago. She was telling me they'd booked one of the cottages here for next Easter and happened to mention that Freddie was thinking of selling the business. Then two minutes later she said wouldn't it be great if I bought it, because then she and my father could come and stay for free.”

Lottie sensed his genuine fondness for his mother as he shook his head with good-natured amusement. “Thank your lucky stars she didn't have her heart set on the Taj Mahal,” she said.

“That's what I said. I asked her if she wouldn't prefer me to buy Blenheim Palace.” Tyler rolled his eyes. “But that evening I took a look at your website, purely out of curiosity, and all of a sudden it occurred to me that I could do it, that it might be just the change I needed. It's a fantastic place—my parents had already vouched for that. And if the price was fair, there'd be no risk. With properties like these…well, you can't go wrong. That's when I picked up the phone and called Freddie.” He paused and shrugged. “That was less than two weeks ago. And now here I am. Beats Wall Street hands down.”

Lottie marveled at Tyler's ability to make such a life-changing decision and to act upon it. He'd bought eight vacation homes, just like that. She'd spent longer choosing a new winter coat.

Aloud she said, “You make it all sound so easy. Didn't you have to be interrogated by immigration?”

Tyler said drily, “The British Consulate couldn't wait to grant me the visa, once they heard how much money I was planning to invest.”

Hell, he must be loaded. And if after a few years he got bored, presumably he'd just sell the business and move on again. Maybe try an Australian sheep farm next.

Curious, Lottie said, “Are you sure Fox Cottage is going to be OK for you?”

“Hey, I'm no namby-pamby.” Tyler clearly found the unfamiliar expression hilarious. “Besides, it's only for a few months. I can handle that.”

So, a few months. Disappointment settled over Lottie like a sheet over a parrot's cage. She gave herself a mental shake. “And after that?”

“Didn't Freddie tell you? He's planning to move out of Hestacombe House after Christmas. If I'm interested, I can buy it from him then.”

This time Lottie's heart turned over. She still hadn't been able to come to terms with the thought that Freddie was dying.
Planning
to
move
out.

“You don't look exactly thrilled,” Tyler observed.

“No, it's not that.” He didn't know; he didn't know, and she couldn't tell him. “I just hadn't—”

Lottie was saved from further awkwardness by the sound of a car pulling up outside. Relieved, she checked her watch. “Oh, that'll be the Harrisons.”

Tyler sauntered after her out of the cottage. The doors of a maroon minivan were flung open and Glynis and Duncan Harrison and their five boisterous children spilled out.

“Here she is, waiting to welcome us,” Glynis exclaimed with delight. The Harrisons had been coming to Teacher's Cottage for the last ten years. “Hello, Lottie love, you're looking well!” She enveloped Lottie in a rib-crushing, violet-scented hug. “Ooh, it's so lovely to be back.”

“It's lovely to have you back.” Lottie meant it; she'd grown fond of so many of her clients. “Good journey?”

“Construction on the M5 and the kids trying to murder each other in the backseats, but we're used to that by now. And who's this then?” Releasing Lottie in order to give Tyler an appreciative once-over, Glynis said, “Got yourself a new fellow at last, love? I say, well
done
.” Eager to be introduced, she stuck out her hand and beamed up at Tyler. “I was only saying to Duncan on the way down—wasn't I, Duncan?—it's about time Lottie found herself a nice young man.”

Lottie opened her mouth to explain but Tyler beat her to it. Greeting Glynis with a warm handshake and a wicked smile, he drawled, “Tyler Klein. Good to meet you. And I couldn't agree with you more about Lottie. It's definitely time she found herself the right man.”