The Simple Life Of Riley

By Christine Wood

Riley, is an ex policewoman, an ex army officer and ex wife and a sorrowful mess, she takes up a job she didn't realize she'd applied for, just to get her life back on course and get the calm and order she so desperately needed back into it. It was only housekeepers job, what could possibly go wrong doing simple cooking and cleaning? Easy until she meets and falls head first in lust with a man she has just met...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christine Wood
• Release date: Jul 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310088032

Christine Wood

I am a 52 year old mother of four and a would be writer and avid fan-fiction writer. Love stories are my thing. I write because I have always wanted to, and I have always been and still am hampered by being a dyslexia sufferer. So if grammar is your forte, then please do not read on and leave a bad review telling people I am a bad writer and grammarist, when you were warned... I put the books up for a minimal amount because of this fact... leave a review either way because I'm interested in what you think...

Book preview

The

Simple Life

Of Riley:

Christine Wood

Copyright © by C Wood 2022

Any resemblance, to people, events, and places, written within the pages of this book is purely coincidental, as this is a work of total fiction.

There is some sexual content making it unsuitable for under eighteen readers.

This e book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e book may not be re sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it wasn’t purchased for your use only, then please return this to were you purchased it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

Feedback is much appreciated, good or bad, so I can fix errors or improve the story.

Warning: I am a hopeless dyslexic, and please bear that in mind when reading.

Also: UK & US are minefields of miss matched grammar.

Tyre vs. Tire & my favourite Arse vs. Ass.

CHAPTER ONE:

The advertisement for the job didn’t do this place justice at all, it is a wonderful old beautiful big house, it was really more of a country mansion. The advert led me to believe it would be a large house, because it simply stated a housekeeper was required for a family home. The large mansion could be seen as I drove up the road, it was hardly a large family home either, it’s really more the size of a grand hotel, wow it was really impressive.

I know I seem hung up on its size, but this was not what I was expecting. I look out at the eighteenth century gothic looking house, which comes complete with two roof turrets at each end of the building, and wow the grandiose entrance looked impressive. I wow again, as I realise this was now my home.

I took the keys from my purse and headed in. The door creaked as it opened, and oh we have the added in the old spooky house sound, then the smell hit me, the damp unlived in smell. Hopefully this would not be a problem, but then again, the house has been empty, for ten years. It is only checked over twice a year, and given a look over and fix up, if needed.

Umm I guess they missed a few things? It was my job, as housekeeper, to get it ready for the family to move into in the coming summer. I had three months to clean and get it ready. Looking at the place, I would need every day and help doing it too. I read the house map to find the red brick powerhouse and with several outbuildings, the map was definitely needed.

I had plenty of time to explore out here later, but for now the house and I need to be awash in light, so getting light and heat into the building was my first priority. I found the one I needed, and I walked around the old brick building.

Finding it secured and with a massive padlock on the double doors, so taking another key from the bundle that I’d found in the car at the airport, which was a new four by four, a car that was waiting for me as I got off the plane at the airport. Calgary was some twenty kilometres away from the house and the house was at least two more from the road, so it had to be self sufficient. Moor House, my new home, was smack bang in the middle of nowhere, well it was somewhere between Bragg Creek and Cochrane anyhow.

I opened the door and finding the generator room easily enough, I follow the instructions and it came to life. I did the self cheering for a job well done. I checked the fuel levels, and it was full, both for the generator and the oil for the heating, that pump was turned on. The diesel fuel tanks were also full. The incinerator was in here too, that produced the necessary heat for all the outbuildings.

I looked for the circuit board for the house and flipped the switches for it to light up the house. The last job in here was to get water into the house. This was fed up here by a pump from a large freshwater well. I turned on the water pump, hearing it glug and splutter to life, I headed back into the house.

Again, looking at the map, I went in search of the heating panel in the kitchen. Flipping the switches on and then lighting the boiler, it whooshed into life, and I stepped back, according to the letter this may take a couple of days to get heat to the entire house and I would need to regulate the cast iron radiators in all the rooms too. I then went in search of my rooms, finding them they were yet again impressive. Turning the heaters on in my three rooms, I could soon hear water and air travelling through the radiators.

I would be warm soon. The two radiators in my bedroom and bathroom were huge. My lounge also had a stone fireplace, and I’d read in the mass of house manuals, that all the chimneys had been cleaned and swept. The files and the other things were all couriered to my home in Toronto, two weeks ago, with instructions to read and learn about the place that would soon become my home and read I did.

I started a fire going, the wood in the hearth was dry and the box at the fire side full of wood and paper and things to set a fire. I watched the small flickering flames come to life, as I did, I warmed my cold hands. This place was going to be nice, especially when my furniture arrived from storage. My bedroom was big too, with a big brass bed and it looked comfortable enough, I needed to get that aired.

Then right next to my bedroom was my own massive bathroom. The house and the rooms are all enormous, and I wonder just what I have let myself in for. I opened a cupboard, and a mouse ran past me. I don’t know who was more afraid, it or me. An exterminator needed to be called first thing in the morning. I opened other cupboards tentatively, only to see more droppings, sheisk it seems we were infested. This needed seeing to before the family’s furniture arrived.

I opened the wardrobes, and they were all clear, with no furry friends, but plenty of evidence of their previous visits is visible. My rooms were heating up nicely. I ran the water in the bathroom, it came out as dark and smelly at first, so I left it running to see the rest of the house. According to the detailed plans and the manuals, there were fifteen bedrooms in the main house, all complete with connecting bathrooms, along with seven large entertaining rooms, a massive kitchen, complete with a room sized pantry, which needed stocking.

A commercial laundry, a whole host of cellar spaces, including a massive wine cellar and attic spaces, and then the two staff quarters. I was to get a handyman in the next couple of days, he like me was to be living in, and he would occupy the other rooms opposite mine. I had a very quick look around the ground floor and it was heating up nicely. Why have this place and not live in it?

It was and is beautiful. The curtains, which would have been beautiful in their day, were now sun bleached and moth eaten. I half expected when I opened them, that they would fall off in my hand, but they didn’t. Tomorrow the task of taking them all down, and then burning them would begin, hopefully the smell in here would drastically improve.

I’d arrived in the middle of February, and it is freezing here especially with the snow lying thickly on the ground, with the sky looking like it is thickly loaded with even more snow to follow. I tried to keep in some of the warmth, by closing the wooden window shutters, these were thick oak, but out here on the moors. They would need to be, to keep the cold icy winds from the massive windows.

It’s a tad chilly out there and shutting them gives me a small semblance of security. The big fireplaces would be kept going to heat the place up too and so I started a fire in each one I passed. The house had character and charm, I am in awe of the place and get a little giddy when I imagine how it will look when it is finished.

The ground floor would need very little doing in way of actual repair, the decorators would be in soon and would be bringing the old place back to the elegant place I imagined it once was. It was devoid of all furniture, everything including the expensive rugs that would be an embellishment to the intricately designed parquetry floors, were all in storage. The page upon page of instructions on how each room would eventually look upon completion were overwhelming, they were also breath taking, and I couldn’t wait.

I explored more of the upstairs rooms. The big blue bedroom I presume to be the master was a surprise, because it still had the furniture in it and I’d had to use the key to open it, all the others were open. Perhaps this was used by the twice-yearly maintenance guy? There was evidence of a fire having been lit, perhaps they thought I would use this room too?

I seemed to be at it for hours, opening and closing curtains and shutters and the heat was taking its sweet time to get to the top floor and the attic spaces were still freezing, the attics though were crammed full of antiques, family knick knacks, mirrors, pictures, and old nursery things. All the nursery things needed to be out, cleaned, repaired, and placed back into the nursery. They had a baby, a young child and a nanny, to be homed in the nursery wing.

The new occupiers of Moor House, the very lucky St Pierre family, who were I’m told, shocked when they inherited this from a distant cousin, along with the funds to live and maintain the house. They are the very lucky to be getting it, I will keep my fingers crossed I get on with them, now there’s a big ask!

The only stipulation to their wealth being the house had to be lived in by someone all year, but the family only had to reside here for the required six months, it was a strange fact to tell me, but one the solicitor insisted I knew about. I think he thought I would hate the loneliness, but I smiled and thought how wrong he was. That was to be my task, six months at their disposal and for the other six months I act as a caretaker, and it suited me fine. I’d then get plenty of time for my books and my music.

I decided to unpack my things, so driving around to my entrance I parked. I’d had to stop for supplies in Calgary, which was a two hour round trip, so doing that for just for a loaf of bread, I didn’t think so and as I didn’t know what was needed, until I actually got here. I got mainly snack foods, bottles of water and beer and the staples for a week. The credit card they gave me was used to purchase bedding and basic cooking stuff.

I was informed the place would be a money pit for the first six months and until the gardens and the kills from the great hunting grounds filled the cupboards and stores, I had to use it for everything to make this place a home. I tried the phone, but it was off, this being the main link to the outside world, though I had my mobile with me, the signal was bad out here and was only hovering between a couple of bars and at a pinch could be boosted to three, if I was willing to do what looked like Chinese acrobatics to get a better signal.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to look like an idiot trying to get a better reception, but for the first week I was on my own anyway, so I could do the idiotic poses, safe in the knowledge I was in my own company. I shut the front door, bolting it. I was on my own, the alone thing didn’t bother me, I had my protection with me and wasn’t afraid to use it.

The gun safe here was empty, I love my guns and they are a great passion of mine, the rest of my collection is on its way here, with my personal belongings. The gun safe here is massive so will be able to hold my collection. It’s solid wood and built into the walls and bolted into the space from the inside of the cabinet, it’s a serious gun closet. I did have a hope that the guns were all still in storage too. It would be a pity if they had been sold though, because I loved to shoot old guns. I had my own hunting rifle here with me and along with that, my other baby, my pistol. I am safe just in case. My brother calls me Annie Oakley and he always has done, I am a much better shot than he is.

His name is Alastair, but since our parents died, both he and my sister Alice, have been very distant with me and that’s an understatement too, they had not spoken to me since the reading of our parents will, their partners were just as opinionated as my siblings and hateful words were exchanged, so I left said goodbye to my nephews and nieces and went back to Grandma’s house.

I’ve only been back to Scotland a couple of times to try to see the children, but I’m banned from the property. So unless the children need me, I never will return. I live in hope they will get in touch, as the old Laird has my details for them to contact me at Grandmas should they want me for anything.

I’m brought back to the present, as my belly is hungry for food. I put the rifle on the side table here in the kitchen and put the pistol on the shelf above the cooker, within gripping distance. My late father was a highland gamekeeper, and I had been taught to handle a gun and learned to shoot at an early age and I loved it.

It is better to be safe than sorry, because for the next week I am on my own out here, and I need the protection. I’d been asked in my interview if I liked to hunt, if interview was even the right word for the emails and the phone calls that got me the job of my dreams! The whole thing was a mystery, and a damned strange way to get a job that I couldn’t remember applying for, but I had applied for hundreds, so it was possible this was one of the many.

I need to get organised for the night, so I unpacked the bedding, as my rooms were warm and pleasant now. I turned the mattress in my room, which had warmed nicely. The water too is now clear and hot. Flushing the toilets in all the bathrooms had helped. I flushed mine again and went to clean the kitchen, after I’d remembered I was supposed to be hungry. I unloaded the iPod from my backpack and put it in its docking station, so I could have it blasting out whilst I cleaned.

The cooking range was an old wood burning stove. Boy, I’ve not used one of these in quite a while. I smiled at remembering helping Dad light the one in the big house. My mother the cook hated that task. I’m not surprised I remembered how to do it, because I’d had ten years of harsh training. The cupboards were empty, apart from the droppings, but after a good clean with bleach and plenty of good old elbow grease, the kitchen was coming together nicely.

I had the boxes of food on the massive wooden table in the middle of the kitchen. This was mouse free, thank god. I made myself dinner and decided enough had been done today, as the light was fading outside, and the night was drawing in quickly. I made myself a pan of curried chicken pasta soup, as it would do me for a couple of days and it was both filling and tasty.

I sat at the table eating the red-hot soup, dunking in the bread. I was disturbed by the extremely loud and angry knocking at the back door. I turned off the music and went for the pistol. I wasn’t expecting anyone and being so far in the wilderness, I couldn’t be too careful.

Yes, how can I help you? I shouted through the door.

You could start by letting me in, its freezing out here and my key won’t open the damned door with the bar over.

I’m not opening the door to anyone, first tell me who you are? What are you doing here?

I start work here tomorrow, who the hell are you?

I started work here today.

Right, you’re the housekeeper, you’re not meant to be here until Monday. I’ll pass my letter and passport through the spy hatch here, if you open it.

I wasn’t expecting the handy man until next week. What was his name, Jason, Jacob, shit Jackson? My memory is usually a lot better, hell, everything is usually better!

Right, try any crap and I have a gun and I really do know how to use it. I opened the flap, and he passed his documents through. His documents said he is Jacob Moore, which was the name I recognised from the files. I slid off the latch and opened the door.

I’m sorry, but in my defence, I wasn’t expecting you until next week. Please come in get warm. Wrapped up in thick clothes he stumbled in and in doing so the snow fell from him, I hadn’t noticed the snow falling. Sorry you must be freezing, go through to the kitchen, the range is good and hot, there’s hot food and the kettles on.

You weren’t meant to be here until next week. I have been knocking for ages after failing miserably to get in through the front door. Perhaps you couldn’t hear me above the boss? Loud is he mad, loud is always the best volume for Bruce? I was supposed to be here to make sure the generator and everything was ready for you. He started to peel of the heavy coat and things he had on, placing them over the hooks above the hallway radiator.

He turned to look at me, and lord he was so nice looking. His cropped blond hair, those piercing dark green eyes, with what seemed to be little flecks of gold running through them. The man was in excess of six-foot easily, this man was, and is well built and the smell coming from him was a heady aroma one of musk and spices, wow my head was giddy. His smile was the cherry on the top of the cake. The way he carried himself, I’d say he was military or police force, you can always tell their stance.

You are called what? You have me at a disadvantage Miss, Mrs or Ms? I looked at him.

Oh sorry, how rude of me. I’m Anne Riley Summers, Miss and no I’m not that Anne Summers and no I don’t give out free demonstrations. I do however use my middle name Riley, it’s far less embarrassing. He laughed. I am so sorry to keep you freezing out there. Let me put the gun away and I’ll get you something to eat. He laughed again at me.

Is it loaded? I knew I was expecting a lady called, Ms Summers, but the notes were brief as to who you were and what your job entailed, other than housekeeper. Given the details in the other folders I was a little shocked, there was nothing on who is to be my companion for the winter months. I turned and smiled.

Yes, stripped down, cleaned and reloaded, and yes, I do know how to use it too, and my notes said to expect a Jacob Moore on Monday, like you said, they messed that information up. Yes, my manuals are massive, and yes mine also go into great detail, though not on you. I put the gun back in my jeans and watched as he warmed his hands on the range.

When did you get here?

My flight got in first thing this morning, so I did a little shopping at the grocery store in Calgary. He sat down as I got him a bowl full of the pasta soup concoction I made for myself.

I expected to be coming into a freezing house and having to mess around in the dark, thank you, you saved me a job.

I just followed the map and instructions, it wasn’t rocket science, and it was so bloody freezing until a couple of hours ago. I’m sorry, but your rooms aren’t ready yet either. I was doing them tomorrow. If they are like mine, they are mouse or rat infected and damp. I can make you a bed up in my sitting room, it’s nice and warm and I have a fire going too.

I will be fine, and I can do my rooms myself. Just point me in the right direction. He is peering at me with those eyes, as if he’s staring into my soul.

I shiver as a slight chill runs through me, either that or there’s a door opening somewhere. I pour him a mug of tea, the crappy instant coffee is hiding in the mass of boxes, not being a coffee drinker, I picked up a cheap one, so the builders don’t waste time drinking it all day. There was method in my buying it, but what if he’s a coffee drinker. Heck, I don’t want to be trekking into town for more.

I will show you your quarters after you have eaten and had a drink to warm yourself through. He smiled, he ate the bowl of soup, and I watched as he ate, he really is cute, shit I needed to get my mind back to the job in hand. What I really need to get is laid, I’ve not had sex in a while, but jumping the bones of the first person to be in touching distance, is so damn wrong, umm but no harm in thinking of it.

There had been no one in that department, not since I had my sorrowful time with Eddie Prince, Prince by name but dickweed by nature and he was a fucking married dickweed too. That man made me swear, even miles apart, fuck him and the convict ship his relatives sailed to America on.

Pity it didn’t sink it would have saved the world from having that bloody man in it. Then I remembered the hateful idiot before him, Nigel Smith Jones, the thought of Nigel and what he did made me sick to my stomach, I hated the thought of his touch I hated the smell, but more so I hated myself for letting it happen.

I suddenly don’t need a man. I need a stiff drink and my bed. My experiences with men is limited, horrific and damn near forgettable. I will stick with my best friend Slim. That voice coming from that mouth grabs my attention again, and he’s staring at me too. Had he asked me a question and in my reminiscing, did I miss it?

Where in Great Britain are you from, you have and English accent, but then a hint or twang as you Brits say, love the colloquialisms you have over there. Yours has a hint of a Scottish or is it an Irish dialect? I’m sorry those accents are kinda hard to tell apart to a dumb arse from over the boarder?

Very observant Mr Moore, though I was born here in Canada thirty-two years ago, though I was raised in Scotland in a castle, in the Muir of Ord, outside Inverness. I have just come out of an eighteen-month stint with the Royal Canadian Police, then before that out of the British Army, having done my time as a Combat Officer.

"So you weren’t kidding, you know how to fire that