Tall, Dark and Cranky. Kate LittleЧитать онлайн книгу.
designed pieces, with sumptuous drapery, original artwork and interesting porcelain and statuary. Yet the decor didn’t look at all stuffy or museumlike. The rooms retained a fresh, light-filled look Rebecca found inviting.
“Grant has a few rooms upstairs, but when he was released from the hospital, the doctors advised me to set him up on the ground floor. I fixed a suite of rooms for him in the west wing of the house, including an exercise room with all types of equipment for his therapy. I’m in the city during the week, but I’ve hired a private nurse to take care of him during the day. A young man named Joe Newton. He’s been great with Grant, very patient.”
While most health-care professionals needed to extend patience to their charges, Rebecca sensed Grant Berringer required an extraordinary effort in that respect. Not a good sign.
“Our housekeeper, Miriam Walker, lives in,” Matthew continued. “There’s an intercom system throughout the house, so Grant can call her if there’s any need.”
Rebecca listened and nodded. It sounded as if Matthew had thought of everything. They had passed several large main rooms—a banquet-size dining room, an impressive parlor and a huge kitchen stocked with professional-looking cooking equipment. Lured by the view, Rebecca couldn’t help but slow her step to glance inside the doorway.
“Great kitchen,” she remarked when Matthew turned to glance at her.
He smiled. “You must like to cook if the sight of all those pots and pans and gadgetry turns you on.”
“I do. When I have the time.” She thought of the tiny, ill-equipped kitchen in her apartment in the city. It was a challenge, but she still managed to turn out some great meals for dinner guests or for herself and Nora when she had the time and inspiration to experiment. What a treat it would be to cook in a kitchen like this one.
“It’s a very relaxing hobby, I hear,” Matthew said. “Never caught my interest, though. I much prefer to work out my frustrations on a golf course…then visit a good restaurant for dinner,” he joked. “But my brother loves to cook. He had just had the kitchen redone before the accident. He was quite a chef. He had so many interests—tennis, sailing, skiing, traveling to the most exotic places. He played hard and worked hard. He’s known on Wall Street, too. Notorious, in fact, for being tough, even ruthless, some say. Grant is a successful, self-made man who knows how to live life to the fullest. Or did, before the accident,” Matthew added. “You couldn’t guess it, though, to see him now.”
“He could be that way again,” she said optimistically. “In time.”
“Yes, I suppose,” he agreed with a heavy sigh. “But it’s hard to believe when you see him now.”
They had arrived at double doors at the end of a long hall. Matthew knocked once, and a male voice answered. “Just a moment.”
A young man with short dark hair answered the door. Joe Newton, the private nurse, Rebecca assumed. He smiled at Rebecca in greeting. He had a kind, gentle manner, she thought, if first impressions were any clue. He looked quite strong, as well. Was Grant Berringer so incapacitated that he required a weight lifter’s aid? From what she’d read of his injuries, it shouldn’t be as dire as all that.
Matthew led her into the room and made some quick introductions.
“How’s Grant doing this afternoon?” Beneath Matthew’s casual tone, Rebecca could sense his concern.
Joe shrugged a hefty shoulder. “About the same, I’d say. I persuaded him to go out on the beach after breakfast, then he wanted a nap. He refused to do any exercise today. Said his hip hurt too much,” Joe reported with a frown. “He’s been resting for some time now. I was just about to try to get him up.”
A nap, in the middle of a day like this one? His depression was deep. While she had a degree in psychology as well as one in physiotherapy, she wondered if she was professionally equipped to treat this man.
“Let me go into him alone first,” Matthew said.
Matthew disappeared into the adjoining room and Rebecca was left alone with Joe. “Are you interviewing as a physical therapist?” he asked her.
Rebecca nodded. “Have there been many others here so far?”
“Matthew has hired plenty. But they don’t last very long. Grant scares them away,” Joe replied with a laugh.
Matthew Berringer had neglected to add that tidbit of information during their talk, Rebecca realized. Perhaps her chances of getting this job weren’t as bad as she thought.
“I don’t scare easily,” Rebecca told Joe with a smile.
“He’s tough,” the nurse assured her. “I try to help him as much as I can. To get his strength back and such. But he prefers me to be more of a glorified baby-sitter.”
“Matthew said you were patient with him. He appreciates that,” Rebecca confided.
“I try to be.” She could see that the compliment had touched him. “Grant’s a good guy underneath it all. I’d like to see him get back to his old self.”
It seems everyone who knew Grant shared the same hope, Rebecca reflected. Then she heard Matthew’s voice. “Ms. Calloway, could you come in here, please?”
“Be right there,” she replied. She turned away from Joe and began walking to the open doorway.
“Good luck,” he whispered as she passed. She simply smiled in reply. She didn’t know why she felt such a fluttering in her stomach. She was never nervous about meeting prospective patients.
She entered the room slowly. It seemed very dark and stuffy, considering the weather outside. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light, then she could still see that the place was a mess, with books and newspapers scattered about, a tray of food that looked barely picked over and an unmade bed in the midst of everything. Considering the appearance of the rest of the house, she could only assume that Grant Berringer preferred his personal area to be left in such a state.
Some distance from the doorway, she could make out Matthew’s tall form, and beside him a man in a wheelchair who she assumed was Grant. His back was turned to her. Not a good sign, she thought.
As she walked toward them, Rebecca’s first instinct was to pull open the long curtains that covered one wall. From the layout of the adjoining room, she guessed the drapery covered glass doors that led to the long deck and framed an ocean view. Some sunlight and fresh air would do a world of good in here, she thought.
But she didn’t touch the curtains. Instead, she continued to approach the two men. Matthew’s voice cut through the tense silence.
“Ms. Calloway, I’d like you to meet my brother Grant.” His tone was so smooth and sociable, Rebecca thought she might have stumbled into a garden party instead of this dark, stuffy lair.
“I would like to meet him,” Rebecca replied, standing just a few feet from them. “If he’d be so kind as to turn around.”
Matthew looked at Grant, a tense expression on his face. But he didn’t say anything. They waited what seemed a long time, though it was perhaps only a moment or two.
Then finally Grant Berringer spun his wheelchair around and Rebecca had her first look at him. His hair was dark and thick. Appealingly so, she thought. She couldn’t tell if he was growing a beard or had just neglected to shave for a day or two. His cheeks had a scruffy appearance that could not detract from his strong good looks. With his hair combed straight back from his forehead and his broad, high cheekbones and angular jaw, his face had a distinctly regal, lionlike appearance.
He was extremely attractive, she thought, though not in a smooth, typical way, the way his brother, Matthew, was handsome.
She’d learned the basic facts of his physical appearance from his medical records—six feet in height, one hundred and seventy-five pounds. At thirty-eight years old, he was almost ten years her senior. Yet the basic facts had not prepared her for