So she wasn’t in her restaurant with the professional sous chefs and servers; she’d prepared a simple but perfect meal and the ancient Homestead de George did have servants. She had everything ready, instructions for Mrs. Brimacombe, the regular cook, and a couple of hours to get herself ready.
What a blessing to sit down to her own meal and not in her chef’s garb. Even better, raiding Maxine’s closet was like a trip to Saks or Barneys, without any need of a credit card.
“Can I really choose anything?” This was said for form’s sake, while she and her sister stood in front of a loaded wardrobe. She and Max had shared clothes forever.
“Since when did you have to ask?”
“Since you started dressing so much better than I do. The chances that you’ll be borrowing anything of mine are remote.”
Max’s country attire today consisted of a pair of Rock & Republic jeans that hugged a body in much better shape than Rachel’s, a Stella McCartney shirt in turquoise worn with chunky beads, and, adorning her feet, a pair of black Marc Jacobs flats. Her makeup hadn’t smudged, her hair didn’t frizz. Rachel knew she must be a very good person to be able to love her sister.
“Looks like I’ve gone up a size and you’ve gone down one.” She looked at the gorgeous array of booty and pouted. “Probably nothing in here will fit anyway.”
“Nonsense. Neither of us have changed that much. You haven’t gained weight, you stopped working out. Besides, you’ve always had the curves in the family.”
Rachel turned to look at herself in Maxine’s full-length mirror and pulled her T-shirt tight against her belly. “I’ve been having a three-way affair with Ben, Jerry, and that cute European, Häagen-Dazs.” She sighed and dove into the glorious bounty.
“You’re already feeling better, aren’t you? Admit it. Coming to England was a great idea.”
She pulled out a black Dolce & Gabbana dress with tiny, expensive-looking white polka dots. “It was a great idea.”
She put the dress back and withdrew a suede skirt softer than melting butter. The label was in Italian. “TV sure pays better than chefing.”
Max watched her for a few minutes from the bed, then rose and gently nudged her aside. The wardrobes here hadn’t been built with Max’s clothing in mind and there certainly wasn’t room for two to stand abreast.
Max pushed a few things aside and reached for a loose wine-colored velvet jacket with gold stitching. It had a sexy elegance to it that was still relaxed. “There’s a skirt that goes with it, all loose and ethnic, and I wear it with these boots.”
“It’s so…” Rachel was almost speechless. “It’s so romantic and sexy.”
“I know. The color will look great with your skin tone and hair, don’t you think?”
“My hair is a disaster.”
“No, it’s not. It’s long and needs a trim and styling. But we can make you gorgeous until we get to the salon. I always liked your hair long.”
“I cut it for work.”
“Now you can let it grow if you want.” She shoved the clothes at Rachel. “Try everything on. Oh, here’s the blouse.”
It was something out of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, that blouse. All falling lace and soft linen. Victorian boho.
She yanked off her jeans and shirt and pulled on the clothes in a rush.
Max shook her head.
“What?”
“Watching you throw yourself into an outfit actually hurts me. It’s how you would feel if you witnessed a diner bolt your carefully prepared food like it was a Big Mac.”
Rachel grinned at her. “You were always the clotheshorse. Not me. Anyhow, I’m in a hurry to see it all on.”
They looked together as she preened in front of the mirror. Maybe the button was a little snug on the skirt, but otherwise the outfit could have been made for her. The rich wine color made her eyes glow and brought out the highlights in her hair. Her skin didn’t look so pasty now. It looked like old-fashioned porcelain. The style suited her, too. Loose and relaxed, but sexy. She turned in the mirror, letting the skirt sway. “I love it.”
“You look fabulous. Now, I insist that you spend some quality time in your bathroom with creams, cosmetics, and bath products.” Her sister’s forehead creased in sudden concern. “You do have decent makeup, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
She rolled her eyes. “You got some expert to do me over for that photo shoot in Gourmet, remember? And then you bought me all the products for my birthday.”
“Right.” Max’s eyes twinkled. “I’m a good sister, huh?”
“When you don’t make me want to kill you? You’re the best.”
“As soon as you’re ready, come back and I’ll do your hair for your big dinner date tonight.”
She bent to pull off the boots. “Why are you doing this? You just warned me about Jack and now you’re wrapping me up like a Christmas gift.”
Max inspected her nails. Then glanced up. “Truth?”
“No. I want you to lie to me like you usually do.”
Her sister took a breath. “The truth is you’ve seemed happier since he wandered into your kitchen than you have since you got here. I’ve told you what he’s like. You’re a big girl and can make your own decisions.”
Sometimes Rachel forgot how perceptive her sister was. She walked over and perched beside her on the bed. “I won’t break my heart over him.”
“Of course not.”
She traced a unicorn in the blue tapestry bedspread. “But I might be interested in some uncomplicated vacation sex.”
Max stared at her for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Like I said, England has a fine tradition of turning out studs.”
“So you’re not going to give me a hard time about this?”
“As your big sister, I reserve that right into perpetuity.”
Rachel felt suddenly and unaccountably misty. “I have missed you so much,” she said, throwing her arms around Maxine.
“Me, too.” They hugged tightly. “Everything’s going to work out. You’ll see.”
“I’m unemployed, broke, divorced, and wearing a borrowed dress to dinner in a castle.”
“Things worked out okay for Cinderella,” her upbeat sister reminded her.
A knock on the door had them pulling apart. “Come in,” Maxine said, and George appeared. “Ah, sorry, didn’t know you had company,” he said, and prepared to depart.
“No. Don’t leave,” Rachel said. “I was on my way out.”
“I hope you don’t mind having one more guest for dinner.”
“Not at all. I only hope my cooking’s okay. I’m not used to the oven.”
“I’m sure it will all be lovely. And if it isn’t, we’ll blame poor old Mrs. Brimacombe,” he promised her.
“Jack seemed very eager to, um, sample Rachel’s wares,” Maxine said.
“Yes.” George glanced at her. “He’s quite taken with you.”
“We know, George,” Maxine said. “Did you tell him to stay tonight?”
“Yes, of course.” He walked over and put a hand on Maxine’s shoulder. They were always touching each other, Rachel noticed. A brush of the fingers here, a pat there. She doubted they were even aware of it. They weren’t a couple she’d have imagined would work. They were so different, and yet looking at them together, she knew the mysterious couple thing she’d never been able to get right worked for them.
“Do you know,” George said, “he keeps a packed case in his Jag? He often has to fly to the continent with only a couple of hours’ notice.”
“What does he do exactly?”
“He’s a financier. Always doing complicated things with money. I think he’s involved with hotels at the moment. Or is it vineyards?” George shook his head. “Both, I expect.”
Jack was rather looking forward to dinner as he crunched across the gravel parking area to fetch his case. In it was a change of clothes, toothbrush, toiletries, even a modest supply of condoms. Jack didn’t believe in missing opportunities, in business or in pleasure.