Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 124180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Butthole. Charity fought to keep her annoyance out of her expression. She nodded and carefully placed the linen at the foot of the bed, before making her way to the attached bathroom. She neatly placed the towels on their racks, replaced the toilet paper, and put his favorite soap, shampoo, and conditioner in the shower.
When she returned to the bedroom, it was to witness him polishing off the last of the sandwich and washing it down with the hot chocolate.
He noticed her hovering and jerked his head toward the tray. “You might as well remove this.”
He had barely touched the salad, and she bit the inside of her cheek to refrain from commenting. He had clearly been ill but hadn’t eaten the healthiest thing on the tray. It wasn’t her place to say anything. Instead, she gathered up the tray and once again bade him goodnight.
“Mrs. Cole.” His voice halted her retreat right at the door, and she lifted her eyes to meet his cool, gray gaze. “No more interruptions.”
“Yes, sir.”
After she left his room, she fled to the kitchen. It was her haven, and she felt safe and in control here. She picked up a pen and some paper and sat down to make a list of everything she needed to get done in order to take the house out of snooze mode and get it one-hundred-percent operational again.
She always did the cooking, and while she had cleaning staff in once every fortnight when the Hollingsworth family wasn’t in residence—preferring to do most of the light cleaning herself—she would have to arrange for them to come in at least twice a week with Mr. Hollingsworth there.
She made a mental note to text Amos later to let him know the boss was back. The elderly man usually joined her for breakfast a couple of times a week when the Hollingsworth family wasn’t in residence, and she wasn’t sure what the straitlaced Mr. Hollingsworth would think if the gardener showed up at the kitchen door in the morning expecting breakfast.
She usually ordered massive amounts of food online when she knew the family was coming on holiday, and she liked to have their menus planned—first day to last—weeks ahead of time. But she would have to “wing it” this time. God, how she hated spontaneity when it came to her job. She liked to know exactly what she needed to do and by when it had to be done. This upheaval would probably require a physical shopping trip to Knysna—the closest big town—because delivery for online orders tended to take longer. The prospect of going to town had her stomach in knots. She hated leaving. Hated being out in public. She always felt at risk…
And visible.
She even did her clothing and cosmetic shopping online. Books, movies, music, all the things she needed were delivered right to her doorstep or straight to her tablet. She enjoyed the isolation—venturing out to the closest town once a week—and liked having only a few trusted people in her life. It kept things uncomplicated.
Safe.
Charity prided herself in anticipating what Mr. Hollingsworth and his family would need before they even realized it themselves, and she knew him well enough by now to predict what food he would want and what personal toiletries he would require—she even knew what brand of condom he favored. It was her job to make his stay pleasant and stress free and, as he had been ill, it was more imperative than ever to ensure this particular visit was smooth and problem free.
She put down the pen and rolled her neck, trying to keep her growing headache at bay. No point in even attempting to get any more sleep tonight. There was way too much to do.
The thundering rain woke him.
Miles opened his eyes and was momentarily confused by his gloomy surroundings. His body clock told him it was later than it appeared and a glance at the bedside clock confirmed that it was nearly eleven in the morning. It felt earlier because of the miserable weather. He sat up and disentangled himself from the bunched-up duvet, a silent testament to his restless sleep.
He made his way over to the glass doors that led into his private corner of the extensive garden. A glance out confirmed it was coming down in sheets. And an ominous roll of thunder in the distance told him that the weather would last for a while. The verdant garden was a dramatic counterpoint to the grim weather. But that was the beauty of the Garden Route; because of the rain it was usually lush and green in winter. Rain had been scarce over the last few years, but from what he had heard, this winter had seen welcome relief from the drought.
He turned away from the view and went to the spacious walk-in closet. He was gratified to note that his closet was stocked with clothes from his last stay as he didn’t feel like rummaging through his suitcase for something to wear. Mrs. Cole would undoubtedly unpack everything for him later. He grabbed some stuff, tossed it onto the rumpled bed, and went to the bathroom. He needed a long, hot shower to clear the remaining cobwebs from his head.