Runaway Lawyer Falls in Love with Billionaire

Chapter 5

“Here you are.” Eddie takes a huge box of eggs out of the fridge, plonks them on the counter, and lifts the lid. “Should be enough there, I’d imagine!”

Before me are rows and rows of brown eggs. What do I think I’m doing? I can’t make bloody eggs Benedict. I can’t make these people breakfast. I’m going to have to confess.

I turn round and take a deep breath.

“Mr. Geiger … Mrs. Geiger …”

“Eggs?” Tanya’s voice cuts across mine. “Eddie, you can’t have eggs! Remember what the doctor said!” Her eyes bore into me. “What did he ask you for, Olivia? Boiled eggs?”

“Er … Mr. Geiger ordered eggs Benedict. But the thing is—”

“You’re not eating eggs Benedict!” Tanya practically shrieks at Eddie. “It’s full of cholesterol!”

“I’ll eat what I like!” Eddie protests.

“The doctor gave him an eating plan.” Tanya is dragging furiously on her cigarette as she speaks. “He’s already had a bowl of cornflakes this morning!”

“I was hungry!” says Eddie, defensive. “You had a chocolate muffin!”

Tanya gasps as though he’s hit her. Small red dots appear in her cheeks.

“We will have a cup of coffee each, Olivia,” she announces at last in a dignified voice. “You may serve it in the lounge. Use the pink china. Come along, Eddie.” And she sweeps out before I can respond.

I’m not sure if I want to laugh or cry. This is ridiculous. I can’t carry on with this charade. I have to tell the Geigers the truth. Now. I walk decisively out of the kitchen into the hall, but then behind the closed door of the sitting room I can hear the shrill, indistinct voice of Tanya angrily berating Eddie, and Eddie’s defensive rumbles in return. Hastily I back away again into the kitchen and switch the kettle on.

A quarter of an hour later I’ve arranged a silver tray with a French press coffeepot, pink cups, creamer, sugar, and a sprig of pink flowers I snipped from a hanging basket outside the kitchen window. Fifteen minutes, just to make a cup of coffee. At Carter Spink I would have earned the firm £125 in that time.

Of course, I would have been quicker if I hadn’t had to work out how to use the French press first. And if my first batch of coffee hadn’t tasted like dishwater.

I approach the sitting-room door, put the tray down on the table in the hall, and knock cautiously.

“Come in!” Tanya calls.

As I enter, she’s sitting in an overstuffed striped velvet chair by the window, holding a magazine at a rather artificial angle. Eddie is on the other side of the room, examining a wooden carving.

“Thank you, Olivia.” Tanya inclines her head graciously as I pour out the coffee. “That will be all for the moment.”

I feel as though I’ve stumbled into some bizarre Merchant Ivory costume drama, except the costumes are pink yoga wear and golfing sweaters.

“Er … very good, madam,” I say, playing my part. Then, without meaning to, I bob a curtsy.

There’s a staggered pause. Both Geigers just gape at me in astonishment.

“Olivia … did you just … curtsy?” says Tanya at last.

I stare back, frozen.

What was I thinking? Why did I curtsy? Housekeepers don’t bloody curtsy. This isn’t Gosford Park.

They’re still goggling at me. I have to say something.

“The Edgerlys liked me to … curtsy.” My face is prickling all over. “It’s a habit I got into. I’m sorry, madam, I won’t do it again.”

Tanya is squinting at me as though she’s trying to make me out. She must realize I’m a fake, she must.…

“I like it,” she pronounces at last, and nods her head in satisfaction. “Yes, I like it. You can curtsy here too.”

What?

This is the twenty-first century. And I am being asked to curtsy to a woman called Tanya?

I take a breath to protest—then close my mouth again. It doesn’t matter. It’s not real. I can curtsy for a morning.

As soon as I’m out of the room, I dash upstairs, along the corridor, and into my bedroom to check my mobile. But it’s only half charged and I have no idea where I’m going to find a signal. If Tanya could get one, I must be able to. I wonder what network she’s on—

“Olivia?”

Tanya’s voice rises from the ground floor.

“Olivia?” She sounds annoyed. Now I can hear her footsteps coming up the stairs.

“Madam?” I hurry back along the corridor.

“There you are!” She frowns slightly. “Kindly do not disappear to your room while on duty. I don’t want to have to be calling you like that.”

“Er … yes, Mrs. Geiger,” I say. As we arrive down in the hall my stomach flips over. Beyond Tanya, I can see the Times lying on the table. It’s open at the business pages and a headline reads glazerbrooks calls in receivers.

My eyes run down the text as Tanya starts rootling around in a huge white Chanel bag—but I can’t see any mention of Carter Spink. Thank God for that. The PR department must have managed to keep a lid on the story.

“Where are my keys?” Tanya sounds fretful. “Where are they?” She rummages more and more violently in her Chanel bag. A gold lipstick goes flying through the air and lands at my feet. “Why do things disappear?”

I pick up the lipstick and hand it to her. “Do you remember where you lost them, Mrs. Geiger?”

“I didn’t lose them.” She inhales sharply. “They’ve been stolen. It’s obvious. We’ll have to change all the locks. Our identities will be taken.” She clutches her head. “This is what these fraudsters do, you know. There was a huge article about it in the Mail—”

“Is this them?” I’ve suddenly noticed a Tiffany key fob glinting on the windowsill. I pick it up and hold out the bunch of keys.

“Yes!” Tanya looks utterly amazed. “Yes, that’s them! Olivia, you’re marvelous! How did you find them?”

“It was … no trouble.” I shrug modestly.

“Well! I’m very impressed!” She gives me a significant look. “I will be telling Mr. Geiger.”

“Yes, madam,” I say, trying to inject the right note of overwhelming gratitude into my voice. “Thank you.”

“Mr. Geiger and I will be going out to pick young Nathaniel from the station in a minute,” she continues, producing a scent spray and spritzing herself. “Kindly prepare a light sandwich, its his favourite for lunch for one o’clock, and get on with the downstairs cleaning. We’ll talk about dinner later.” She swivels round. “I might tell you, we were both very impressed by your seared foie gras menu.”

“Oh … um … good!”