A Single Step - Book 1 of The Grayson Trilogy

Chapter 1

 

“Tell me about the kickboxing. How did you get into it?” A surprising first question that I’d neither expected nor prepared for. I met the cool blue of Cavendish’s eyes, determined not to look away or show I’d been shaken, in an attempt to present good body language, just as the situation required.

“I took up kickboxing for exercise, mostly…but also to relieve stress a couple of years ago,” I replied, a little bewildered.

“Stress?” He looked at me sharply as his brow furrowed, deepening the frown lines already forming between his eyes. Damn, I thought, my heart sinking, I’ve screwed up already – why did I mention that? He’s not going to want someone working for him with stress problems. I was annoyed with myself for bringing it up, although it could have been worse I argued; I could have launched right in and told him all about my anger issues as well. I tried to explain in an attempt to mitigate.

“I’d had a bad couple of years and found this type of exercise more than anything else provided an outlet. It always succeeded in making me calmer and more relaxed so I stuck with it.”

“Hmm…I can see how that would work,” he nodded thoughtfully as though understanding, which was encouraging. “So, do I take it you prefer solitary sports to team games?”

“Yes.” I could feel my anxiety rising as I couldn’t think of anything to add to this rather blunt response.

“Okay, your instructor has indicated you’re pretty good and I believe you’ve competed on behalf of your club a few times?”

He’s spoken to my instructor?

“Yes, that’s correct,” I replied, not at all sure where he was going with this.

“You’ve also learnt self-defence, I see. Do you enjoy that?”

“Yes I do, and although fortunately I haven’t had to use it in a real-life situation, I think I’m quite proficient if the need ever did arise.”

“Excellent. Your instructor used the words, er…” He opened the envelope file on his lap on which he’d rested the rather sketchy copy of my CV and flicked back and forth between the surprisingly large number of sheets it contained. I took a deep breath in an attempt to relax and looked towards the far end of the room where there were four floor-to-ceiling windows which afforded a view onto a well-manicured lawn and immaculately tended flowerbeds, though these were currently not very flowery.

I’d been nervous coming to attend an interview anyway and had already been thrown on my arrival by finding that I was going to be interviewed by Lord Henry Cavendish himself, instead of Mr Trent, who was the estate manager. I’d then been further surprised when shown to the office by the butler, Forster, to find Cavendish – for that was how he introduced himself to me – was considerably younger than I was expecting. The title, I guessed, had mentally added at least twenty years but he was only in his mid-thirties; tall and attractive with a friendly, open face and dark hair, short at the sides and slightly longer on top, combed forward.

We sat in his large office on a couple of settees, of which there were several in the room, and I wondered when so much seating would ever be needed. Ours were set at right angles to each other around a large coffee table and in front of an unlit fireplace. The mantelpiece was stone, limestone I thought, creamy yellowy-brown, the same as the Manor and the wall that enclosed the estate. A tray of refreshments had been delivered by a young woman while I was waiting for Cavendish to find my file amongst the mountain of paperwork on his desk. She was slim and wore smart black trousers, a white fitted shirt and flat shoes. Her brown hair was tied in a high ponytail which swung as she walked. As she’d come across the room she’d given me a friendly smile which I’d tried to reciprocate, though mine had felt weak in response, betraying my anxiety. Carrying a large tray, she’d deposited it on the coffee table in front of me, whispered for me to help myself then quickly left the room. Looking at the cup of coffee in front of me now I could see a skin starting to form on the top as it cooled.

I started as Cavendish suddenly came upon what he had been looking for. “Ah yes, here it is – he used the words ‘committed’ and ‘quite brutal’ about your self-defence techniques.” Cavendish looked back up at me, appearing to be highly delighted with this.

I could feel myself blushing. “Ah, yes…I caught him with a lucky punch one day, and he took some time to get over it.”

“Oh, that’s very good. Okay, I think that’s all I wanted to ask you. Do you have any questions?” What? I thought with some alarm. Is that it?

“Well…” I replied, nonplussed, “I’m a little surprised by the direction this interview has taken. I was expecting some questions about my experience with horses, that sort of thing.”

He looked at me in surprise, and then went on to explain: “Oh! I’m sorry, I’m not used to doing this. Trent usually handles all employee issues for me. I should maybe have explained at the outset that we’ve already carried out a fully comprehensive background search, including references on you, your experience, etcetera, so there’s nothing else I really need to ask. I’ve got it all here in my file.” He shuffled through the pile of papers on his lap before pulling out a sheet which he then scanned down. “I’ve got details here of each riding school, livery yard or farm you worked at after school and during weekends and holidays in each of the places you lived, I believe swapping your work for lessons and riding experience?” As he looked up I confirmed my agreement with this. “And you then settled in Crowbridge and worked at the local riding school in your free time,” and then hesitating, he finished quietly, “…until four years ago.” He stopped as I tensed, exposing my unease as to what he might say next, and meeting his eyes I could see his discomfort. Realising my arms had unconsciously wrapped themselves around my body I looked away, reluctantly releasing them and forcibly placing my hands back in my lap. He didn’t acknowledge my behaviour in any way, for which I was grateful, but cleared his throat before carrying on steadily, “We’ve taken references from all these places and they all say the same things. You’re conscientious and knowledgeable and while you haven’t had your own horses to look after you’ve often had sole responsibility for other people’s horses.

“We’re not looking for an instructor, Mrs Grayson, the children can already ride, although they will be spending time at the stables during their holidays which you would have to be prepared for and manage. Would you be all right with that?”

He was looking at me keenly and I nodded, partly with relief that the awkward moment had passed, but also as it seemed to be the right thing to do, although in all honesty I didn’t know how all right I would be with that. However, I did know I wanted this job and having been surprised to have got as far as an interview I really didn’t want to mess it up now.

The advert for the position had originally arrived through my letterbox on my birthday in January, anonymously, delivered as if it were a gift – it was my only one. It was quite short, torn from a magazine, advertising for a stable manager/groom to look after the family horses for the Melton Manor estate which, being some way away, I was not familiar with. A cottage came with the position and pets were allowed – I wouldn’t have considered applying otherwise.

My interest had been immediately piqued and although I now doubted I’d have enough recent experience to be successful in getting the job, horses had once been my passion. They had provided the stability I’d craved during the unsettled years I’d faced growing up and were the recipients of the love I had to give in lieu of anyone else; I’d ridden and worked with them obsessively, as is common with many girls. But then unlike most, who tended to move on once boys came on the scene, I’d continued working at a local yard in my free time, always intending one day to have a horse of my own. That, however, was not to be.

I’d thought about the advert for quite a while considering the position. The fact that it had even raised my interest told me something and I came to the conclusion that as horses had provided the balm I’d needed to soothe my soul during turbulent years before, perhaps they could provide that relief for me again.

I’d also mulled over who had put it through my letterbox in the first place, dismissing most of the names I came up with and leaving me with one suspect. My still viciously raw feelings towards her and the thought that her motivation for doing this was to get me to move away almost made me tear it up. In the end, however, so as not to spite myself, I’d written a CV, attached it to an email as requested, and sent it together with a covering letter. And now here I was.

Cavendish continued, “Everything we’ve heard about you leads us to believe you’re the person we’re looking for and that’s why my wife and I would like to offer you the job, if you want it?

“This interview was more so you could ask me anything you wanted to and for us to organise all the other things – what date you can start, signing the contract and the NDA, that sort of thing.”

“So you’re not interviewing anyone else?” I questioned with some surprise.

“No, although Trent won’t be happy as he preferred another candidate, and I’ve rather taken advantage of his absence to offer the job to you.” He smiled to himself as he said this, as if it...