His Defiant Mistress: The Millionaire's Rebellious Mistress / The Venetian's Midnight Mistress / The Billionaire's Virgin Mistress

‘Goodbye, Miss Carver,’ he said formally, and made no further reference to the deal before driving away.

Sarah watched him go, frowning. Now she had to get through the rest of the day with nothing to do. From a practical, purely financial point of view she knew very well that she should have said yes to Alex’s offer there and then. But because his name was Merrick she was not only going to turn him down, but make him wait all weekend before she did.

Sarah decided to stay on site all day, until Ian and Josie turned up in the evening. Perhaps she could persuade her young caretakers to spend the entire day here on Sunday while she was out with Harry. The weather forecast was good, and they would probably enjoy a day spent in the sun in the courtyard of number one. She’d offer to stand them a takeaway lunch as inducement. Until the cottages were sold—whoever bought them—she would need the services of her young security guards. Sarah locked up with care and drove back to the local Post Office stores to buy food, added a paperback novel to her haul, and then returned to Medlar Farm cottages for the day.

She passed some of the time with more gardening in the sunshine, though by now there was very little left to do. The shrubs looked healthy, the lawns were greening up satisfactorily, and the property as a whole was very different from the barely habitable row of houses she’d first seen with Oliver.

Sarah rang him later, to tell him about the offer she’d had from Alex Merrick.

‘Splendid, darling. I’m very proud of you. Is it all signed and sealed?’

‘Of course not. I haven’t accepted the offer, Oliver.’

‘You mean you didn’t jump at it?’ demanded Oliver in astonishment. ‘My dear child, what were you thinking of?’ He paused. ‘I suppose if he were a rose by any other name you would have said yes to Alex right away.’

‘Exactly, Oliver. How percipient of you.’

‘Far be it from me to try to run your life,’ he said, an edge to his voice, ‘but if you’re going to succeed in your line of business sentiment’s a luxury you can’t afford, Sarah.’

‘I know, I know,’ she sighed. ‘Don’t worry. The agents who valued the houses assure me they’ll have no trouble in selling them.’

‘Or in creaming off some of your profit,’ Oliver reminded her.

‘True. But it would be worth it,’ said Sarah. ‘I can’t bear the thought of Merrick hotel guests living in my cottages.’

‘Ah, but that’s not the plan. I had a little chat with George Merrick the other night and put out some discreet feelers on the subject. Apparently young Alex intends to use the houses as retirement homes for long service employees of the Merrick Group.’

‘What?’ Sarah’s eyebrows shot to her hair. ‘Are you sure about that?’

‘I’m merely passing on what his father told me. In confidence, by the way,’ warned Oliver.

Sarah shook her head in wonder. ‘I was sure Alex Merrick meant to put them to work to make money, as an annexe for his hotel.’

‘I hinted as much to George. But he said that Alex, much to old Edgar’s disgust, is hell-bent on philanthropy. And he makes it very plain who’s in charge these days. So instead of making them pay for themselves, the cottages will house deserving ex-employees who will live in rural, rent-free bliss in your first venture into property development, Sarah. Should you sell to him, of course.’

‘Well, that’s a turn-up for the books,’ she said, deflated, and stayed silent for a while, thinking it over.

‘Are you still there, Sarah?’ demanded Oliver.

‘Yes. I was thinking. Much as it grieves me to say so, if what you say is true I suppose it would be a pity not to let Alex Merrick have them.’

‘At the money he’s offering it would be downright stupidity to turn it down, my girl. Forget about his name for once and accept his offer. As your practical father,’ he added with emphasis, ‘would have urged you to. And take my advice—which to anyone else is inordinately expensive—in future transactions use your head, not your heart, Sarah. And ring me on Monday to let me know what happened.’

Harry collected Sarah from Medlar House at twelve next day, in cords and a tweed jacket, and sporting a new haircut.

‘You look very smart, Harry,’ she told him, and dumped her rubber boots in the back of the pick-up.

‘So do you,’ he said, eyeing her crisp striped shirt and newly laundered jeans. ‘A mighty big improvement on those overalls of yours.’

‘Practically anything would be. I hope it’s not putting your sister out to have an extra guest for lunch,’ added Sarah.

‘If you can put Mavis and Bob in the way of making a bit of money she’ll be glad to do it every Sunday,’ he assured her. ‘They never had sons, which means paying for labour now the girls are married and can’t help out any more, so things are a bit tight on the farm these days. Mind,’ he added awkwardly, ‘I didn’t say that to influence you.’

‘I know that, Harry! But it struck me yesterday that I’m going to be like a lost soul with no work to do. I do so hope the barns are a feasible proposition.’

To Sarah’s intense relief they were. After introducing her to his sister and her husband, Harry kept in the background while Mavis, a smaller, jollier version of her brother, insisted on serving coffee before she let her large, amiable husband take Sarah on a tour of the barns. The meal giving out savoury aromas in the big farm kitchen would be ready in one hour exactly, Mavis informed them.

‘So you’d best go too, Harry,’ she said, ‘and make sure Bob brings Miss Carver back here on time.’

Sarah was jubilant later, on the way home. The barns were small enough to be viable for conversion, though not to the holiday lets the Grovers had intended. Permanent dwellings were essential for Sarah to gain her necessary profit. A lane separated the barns from the main farm, and gave good access for the equipment Sarah would hire—also for the tenants who would eventually occupy the finished houses.

‘What do you think, Harry?’ she asked. ‘If I make an offer to your brother-in-law are you game to go on working with me?’

‘Wouldn’t have mentioned the barns else,’ he assured her. ‘So you see them as a workable proposition?’

‘I certainly do.’ She gave him a sparkling look. ‘Mr Grover told me he owns fishing rights on a short stretch of the river, too, which could appeal to male buyers. And for women who don’t fish it’s not far to Hereford for retail therapy.’

Harry laughed. ‘You had all this worked out in your head before Mavis dished up the rhubarb crumble.’

Sarah grinned. ‘I certainly did.’ She sobered. ‘But I can’t make a firm offer until I sell the cottages. With luck I should be able to some time next week.’

‘You’ve got someone interested in one of the cottages?’

Sarah nodded. ‘I’ve got a possible buyer for the lot, but I haven’t clinched the deal yet.’

‘All six houses?’ Harry took his eyes off the road for a second to look at her. ‘You don’t look all that pleased about it.’

Sarah smiled ruefully. ‘We’ve been working on those cottages for quite a while now, Harry. It’s a wrench to part with them.’ Especially to a Merrick. ‘But if the sale goes through I can start planning the new look for the barns right away. Do you think Ian and Fred will fancy helping again?’

‘Try stopping them,’ said Harry dryly as he drove into Medlar House. ‘Now, get a good night’s rest. I’ll check up on the youngsters myself on the way back.’

Sarah did her best to take Harry’s advice, but after a phone call from Oliver to confirm that she still intended to sell to Alex she was too wound up to sleep much—partly from excitement over the barns, but mainly because she couldn’t rid herself of the idea that now, when she’d finally, reluctantly, made up her mind, Alex Merrick would say his offer had been withdrawn when she rang him to accept it.

When the sun began streaming through the shutters next morning Sarah gave up all pretence of even trying to sleep and got dressed. She let herself out of the flat, and later enjoyed her morning coffee all the more for the mile long round trip to buy a paper. She ate some toast while she caught up on the day’s news, then just sat with her phone in her hand, gazing out at the sunlit garden as she waited for the appointed hour. Exactly on the stroke of nine she rang Alex Merrick’s office number, and in response to Greg Harris’s familiar accents told him Miss Carver wished to speak to Mr Merrick.

‘I’ll see if he’s free,’ said the young man stiffly, obviously still smarting from their previous exchange. ‘Will you hold?’

‘Certainly.’

‘I’m putting you through,’ he said a moment later, and her stomach clenched as the familiar, confident voice came on the line.

‘Good morning, Miss Carver.’

‘Good morning, Mr Merrick.’

‘I take it you have an answer for me?’

‘Yes. I accept your offer for the Medlar Farm Cottages.’