What's A Housekeeper To Do? / Tipping the Waitress with Diamonds: What's A Housekeeper To Do? / Tipping the Waitress with Diamonds
focus on the book and the property development and nothing else. I’m sure taking this step will be all I need to get past the writer’s block that’s been plaguing me.’
Lally didn’t know how long it took to write a top-selling novel in a crime-thriller series, but she imagined it would be quite stressful not to be able to get the story moving while the days rushed by towards a deadline.
And, for Lally, she needed to work to put some money in the coffers. When the job ended she would dig back into her usual place among her relatives and continue to look after them through a variety of gainful employment opportunities.
For their sake. Lally worked for their sake. And it didn’t mean there was anything wrong just because she’d been obliged to get out into the real workforce at this time either. No one in the entire mix-and-match brood happened to need her just at the moment. That was all.
Lally tipped her chin up into the air, drew a deep breath and forced her attention to their surroundings; South Australia in November. It was cool and misty over the lake this morning, but that was only because the park was shaded, leafy, the lake substantial and the hour still early. Later it would get quite warm.
‘It is certainly mood-inducing weather,’ Lally said. ‘For this kind of research.’
‘Yes, and the burst of rain last night has resulted in a nice mist effect here this morning.’ He glanced about them.
Lally was too interested in the man, not the scenery. She admitted this, though she rather wished she hadn’t noticed him quite so particularly. She usually worked very hard to avoid noticing men. She’d been there and made a mess of it. She still carried the guilt of the fallout. What had happened had been so awful—
Lally pushed the thoughts away and turned her attention to the dip of the oars through the water, turned her attention back to Cameron Travers, which was where it needed to be. Just not with quite so much consciousness of him as a man. She trailed her fingers through the water for a moment and quickly withdrew them.
‘You said on the phone yesterday that you have plenty of experience in housekeeping?’ The corners of Cameron’s eyes crinkled as he studied her.
Lally nodded. ‘I’ve worked in a housekeeping role more than once. I’m a confident cook, and I know how to efficiently organise my time and my surroundings. I’m a quick learner, and used to being thrown in the deep end to deal with an array of tasks. I see new challenges as fun.’
‘That sounds like what I need.’ His voice held approval, and for some silly reason her heart pattered once again as she registered this fact.
‘I hope so.’ Lally glanced away and blabbed out the first thing that came to her mind. ‘Well, it may be November, but trailing my fingers through that water made it clear it’s still quite chilly. I wouldn’t want to fall in.’
‘Or dip your hand into water that might be hiding a submerged crocodile.’ Cameron eased back on the oars a little. ‘Wrong end of Australia for that, of course.’
‘I’ve spent time in the Northern Territory and the Torres Strait islands. I have relatives up that way, on my mother’s side of the family, but I’ve never seen a crocodile close up.’ Lally suppressed a shudder. ‘I don’t want to.’
Lally didn’t want to fall into awareness of her potential new boss, either—not that she was comparing him to a dangerous crocodile. And not that she was falling into awareness.
Cameron gave a thoughtful look as he continued to ply the oars until they reached the centre of the lake. Once there, he let the boat drift. ‘It looks quite deep out here. I suspect the water would stay cold even in mid-summer.’
In keeping with the cool of the morning, he wore a cream sweater and blue jeans. The casual clothes accentuated his musculature and highlighted the green of his eyes.
Lally glanced at her own clothing of tan trousers and black turtleneck top. She needed to take a leaf out of her dress-mode book and be sensible about this interview, instead of being distracted by the instigator of it. She drew a steadying breath and gestured to the package in the bottom of the boat. ‘You said we’d be tossing that overboard?’
He’d told her that much about his morning’s mission when they’d met where the boat had been moored, at a very small-scale jetty at the edge of the lake.
‘Yes. It’s only a bundle of sand in a bio-friendly wrapping. I’ll be using my imagination for the rest.’ His gaze narrowed as he took careful note of their surroundings. ‘I need to get the combination of atmosphere and mechanics properly balanced in my mind. How much of a splash would there be? How much sound? How far out would the water ripple? The dumping would need to build tension without the reader figuring out what’s going on, so I’m after atmosphere as well.’
‘Ooh. You could throw a body over.’ Lally paused to think. ‘Well, no, the sand isn’t heavy enough for that. What are you throwing in the story—a weapon? Part of a body?’
‘Do I detect a hint of blood-thirsty imagination there?’ He laughed, perhaps at the caught-out expression that must have crossed her face.
‘Oh, no. Well, I guess maybe I was being blood-thirsty…a little.’ Lally drew a breath and returned his smile. ‘You must have a lot of fun writing your stories.’
‘Usually I do.’ His gaze stilled on her mouth and he appeared arrested for a very brief moment before he blinked. Whatever expression she’d glimpsed in his eyes disappeared.
‘If you take me on as your housekeeper, I’ll do everything I can to help you.’ When she’d applied for this job Lally had only had two criteria in her mind: it had to be temporary, and she had to feel she could do the required work. Now she realised this truly could be interesting as well, even perhaps a little exciting; there was also plenty of room for a sense of achievement and to know that she had truly helped someone.
She might only be the housekeeper, but she’d be housekeeping for a crime writer on a deadline!
If it occurred to Lally that she had been a little short on excitement for a while, she immediately pushed that thought aside.
Lally shifted on her bench seat and quickly stilled the motion. She didn’t want to rock the boat—literally. ‘I haven’t read anything suspenseful for a while. I usually save that for watching movies, but a good crime novel, curled up on a sofa…’ She drew a breath. ‘I’ll try not to badger you with questions while you’re plotting and writing. Well, that is, if you end up employing me.’
‘I doubt it would bother me if you asked questions. ’ He smiled. ‘Provided they don’t start or end with the words “How many pages have you written today?”’
‘I think I could manage not to ask that.’ That would be like her mum painting, or Auntie Edie working with her pottery, and Lally demanding an account of the time they’d spent.
Lally cast another glance at Cameron Travers. He shared her dark hair, though his was short and didn’t grow in waves, unlike her own corkscrew curls that flowed halfway down her back.
He had lightly tanned skin, and ‘come lose yourself in me’ eyes; now that she looked closely she saw very permanent-looking smudges beneath those beautiful eyes.
So, the man had a flaw in his appeal. He wasn’t totally stunning and irresistible to look at.
If you could call looking weary a flaw. ‘Will I be helping you to get more rest?’ That hadn’t exactly come out as she’d intended. ‘That is, I don’t mean to suggest I’ll be boring you to sleep at the dinner table or something.’ He probably had a girlfriend to fuss over him anyway. Or maybe one tucked in every port, just like Sam had.
Well, Sam had had a wife.
And Lally.
She was not going there.
Sam was a topic Lally rarely allowed to climb all the way to the surface of her thoughts. It annoyed her that it had happened