why do you need accommodation?’
‘We don’t have a car,’ Holly told him. ‘And, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s snowing and your driveway is a disgrace. It took me half an hour to trudge up here and Gran’s not as young as she used to be.’ She tilted her chin and met his gaze head on. ‘And our accommodation has to be heated.’
‘Heated!’ Stanley gasped, as though the word was an abomination, and Angus thought of the freezing, musty bedrooms throughout the castle, and the great draughty staircases and how much effort and expense it would take to get this place warm by Christmas. The snug had the only fireplace that didn’t seem to be blocked.
But Holly was glaring a challenge and all of a sudden he was thinking of his half-brother and -sisters, who’d lived for years under these conditions, with the old man’s temper as well, and he thought...maybe he could put the effort in. Maybe he could make the place less of a nightmare for them to remember. He was not his father.
‘Done,’ he said. ‘With one proviso.’
‘Which is?’
‘That you come in now, dry out and tell me why you’re wearing those stupid sodden shoes.’
‘I need to get back to Gran.’
‘We’ll drive you back in a few minutes,’ he said, goaded. ‘But I’ll dry you out first. I believe I just hired you. You’re therefore my employee. You can sue me if you’re injured on the way to and from work, so I’m looking after my investment. Come into my castle, Miss McIntosh, and we’ll talk terms.’
‘And have some of that fruit cake?’ For heaven’s sake, he thought, stunned. She sounded hungry!
‘I believe that can be arranged.’
‘Then your offer is gratefully accepted,’ she said and trudged back towards them. She reached the front steps and Angus walked down to meet her. He held out his hand to steady her as she climbed the icy stone steps. She stared at his hand for a long moment and then she shook her head.
‘I’ll do this on my own terms, if you don’t mind,’ she said briskly. ‘I need your job. I’d also quite like your fruit cake, but I don’t need anything else.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Nothing.’ She peeped a smile at him and he saw the return of a mischief that he suspected was a latent part of this woman. ‘So any thought that you might be having your wicked way with the hired help, put out of your mind right now, Lord Craigenstone. Just leave that dark side you’re talking about outside. I might be coming to live in your castle, but I know my rights. Also, I’ve just been burned. Ravishment isn’t in any employment contract I intend to sign, now or ever.’
CHAPTER TWO
INSIDE, ENSCONCED IN one of the huge fireside chairs in the snug, her hands cradling a mug of hot chocolate, Holly seemed even younger than first impressions. And even more cute. Once she’d ditched the army greatcoat, he could see even more of her. Her cropped copper curls rioted as soon as she took off her beanie. They matched her cheeks which, in the warmth of the snug, grew even more flushed than they’d been when she was losing her temper out in the snow.
She concentrated on her hot chocolate and fruit cake. She ate three slices while Angus reread her résumé and then read her grandmother’s.
This might work. According to the résumés, Holly could definitely cook and her Gran could definitely clean. They might even have the skills to provide him with a decent Christmas.
But her appearance didn’t fit. He glanced again at her résumé. She was a cook—no, a chef—but she was looking like something the cat had dragged in. The little dog had sidled across to her when she sat down. He’d leaped up on her knee and she was fondling him while still cradling the last of the warmth from the hot chocolate.
They looked waifs and strays both.
‘If you’re who you say you are,’ he said slowly, ‘you must be one of the best paid chefs in Australia.’
‘I am,’ she said and then corrected herself. ‘I was.’
‘Can I verify this?’
She glanced at her watch. ‘Yes,’ she said decisively. ‘I’d like you to. It’s midday here. That makes it nine at night in Sydney. I have contact numbers for the head chefs for all of the last three but one of the restaurants where I’ve worked. On a Monday night at this time of year, most chefs will be in their kitchens. Phone them. I’ll wait.’
‘But I can’t phone the last?’ he asked, homing in on detail.
‘The last place I owned myself,’ she said bluntly. ‘With my partner. It didn’t work out.’ She hesitated and then decided on honesty. ‘He was my fiancé and business partner. He robbed me.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. Ring the others.’
He glanced at her and saw her face set in a mulish expression. She wanted him to ring, he thought, and with a sudden flash of insight he knew why. She was looking like a waif and she knew it. Putting herself on a professional footing would be important for her pride.
So he rang as she ate yet more fruit cake, and he received an unequivocal response from all three chefs. Three variations of a common theme.
‘If you have Holly McIntosh you have a godsend. I’d hire her back in a minute. We’ve heard her place here has gone belly-up. Tell her the minute she gets back to Australia there’s a job waiting.’
He disconnected from the last call. She was watching him gravely, and he could see she’d settled. She was on a more solid footing now.
‘You want to explain the trainers?’ he asked. She’d kicked off her sodden shoes and the socks beneath. She’d done it surreptitiously, kicking them under the chair and then tucking her feet up under her, but it hadn’t been surreptitious enough. Her feet would be freezing, he thought. She’d been standing in sodden canvas on ice. ‘Why the soaking footwear?’
‘I arrived here two days ago,’ she said. ‘But my baggage is still cavorting somewhere around the world. The airline says they’ll find it—eventually. None of Gran’s clothes fit so I’m stuck.’
‘You don’t think you should buy yourself some decent footwear while you wait?’
‘I don’t have any money,’ she said flatly. ‘That’s why I need the job.’
‘Not even enough for a pair of wellingtons?’
She took a deep breath, stared into the remains of her hot chocolate and then laid her mug down on the side table with a decided thunk. Those clear green eyes met his with an honesty he was starting to expect.
‘I’m a chef,’ she said. ‘A good one. I and my...my ex-partner decided to set up on our own. We bought a restaurant, a great little place overlooking Sydney Harbour. We did the finances and were sure we could do it. We put everything we owned into it, or rather I did because it turned out Geoff didn’t have the money he said he did. He was my fiancé. I trusted him, but I was a fool. I thought we had double the capital we had but he lied. Anyway, a month ago the creditors moved in and Geoff moved out. Fast. I don’t know where he is now, but my credit cards are maxed out, I’m in debt to my ears and I’m suffering from a bad case of shattered pride. Not to mention a broken heart, although it’s a bit hard to think I loved someone who turned out to be a toe-rag.’
‘So you came to Scotland?’ he asked incredulously. ‘How does that make sense?’
‘See, here’s the thing,’ she said slowly. ‘I’m only Scottish through my Scottish dad—the rest of me’s pure Australian—but I have Scottish pride and so does my very Scottish Gran. My parents died in a car crash when I was twelve. My mother’s mother took me in, but she died last year. Now Maggie’s the only relative I have left and when