Читать книгу Nights of Passion: Mendez's Mistress / Bedded for the Italian's Pleasure / The Pregnancy Affair - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 7

THERE was someone at the door. Rachel could hear the bell ringing quite clearly and she struggled up in bed, wondering who on earth would call at this hour of the morning.

But it wasn’t the doorbell. As soon as she sat up and got her bearings, she realised it was the phone beside the bed that had awakened her. It was silent now. Daisy must have answered it downstairs, she thought resignedly. It wasn’t like her daughter to be up so early, but it was holiday time, not a school morning; go figure.

What time was it? she wondered, groping for the small travelling clock she kept beside the bed. She was horrified when she saw it was after ten o’clock. She rarely slept in, but after the restless night she’d had it was hardly surprising. She must have fallen asleep eventually, but right now she felt decidedly rough.

Pushing her legs out of bed, she swayed a little as she got to her feet. Too much red wine, she thought, hauling on her towelling bathrobe and opening the bedroom door. Wasn’t it just typical that, the one morning someone chose to call her this early, she was still in bed?

She almost jumped out of her skin when the phone began to ring again. She’d stepped out onto the landing, wondering where Daisy had got to, when its insistent peal assaulted her ears. Daisy could answer it, she thought, starting down the stairs. It was most likely someone for her.

But Daisy didn’t answer it and Rachel looked back up the stairs, wondering if her daughter had slept in too. Daisy’s bedroom door was closed, but that didn’t prove anything. She tended to regard her bedroom as her private space, and Rachel rarely intruded without an invitation.

Continuing down the stairs, Rachel picked up the receiver in the hall. ‘Yes?’ she said, the headache that was beginning to throb behind her temples making her sound snappy.

‘Rachel?’ Her throat dried. Oh God, it was him again. Joe Mendez. He must be ringing to find out what she’d decided. Had he spoken to Steve? ‘I just wanted—’

‘To know about Daisy,’ she interrupted him quickly. ‘I did intend to ring you later today.’

‘No.’ Joe spoke crisply. ‘I didn’t ring you to find out about Daisy. I know you’ve agreed to let her go. She told me so herself.’

Rachel blinked. ‘She told you?’ She was confused.

‘Wait a second.’ There was a momentary shifting of the phone, a muffled protest, and then a reluctant voice said, ‘Hello, Mum.’

It was Daisy. Rachel groped for the oak chest that served as both a place to drop the mail and somewhere to sit to change one’s shoes and sank down onto it. ‘Daisy!’ Her voice cracked. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Don’t be mad, Mum.’ Daisy, at least, knew how she was feeling. ‘I had to come and see Mr Mendez. I had to tell him you were okay with me travelling with him.’

Rachel felt dazed. ‘Why?’

‘Well, because I heard what you said to Dad, and I didn’t—’

‘Anything I said to your father was between us two, do you understand that?’ Rachel’s headache felt so much worse now. ‘Honestly, Daisy, I thought I could trust you. Now—now I don’t know what to think.’

‘Oh, Mum.’

‘Where are you, anyway?’

‘At—at Mr Mendez’s house.’

‘His house?’ Rachel was stunned. ‘How did you know where he was staying?’

‘It was on his card,’ muttered Daisy unhappily. ‘You just left it in the hall, and I—I picked it up.’

‘Oh, Daisy!’ Rachel could hardly take it in. ‘You had no right to read that card, let alone go out without my permission to visit someone you hardly know!’

‘Don’t be like that, Mum, please.’

‘How do you expect me to be?’ Rachel felt her temper rising. ‘I can’t believe you’d do something so deceitful. Particularly as I’ve been awake half the night worrying about this trip.’ Well, that was only partly true, but Daisy didn’t need to know that. ‘And now I discover you’ve taken matters into your own hands.’

There was another muffled exchange and then Joe said, ‘Sorry if this has been a bit of a shock. I guess you’ve been wondering where Daisy was. I’m going to bring her home, but I felt I ought to let you know she’s okay.’

Rachel’s shoulders hunched. She was too ashamed to say she hadn’t even known her daughter had gone out, but she managed a polite, ‘That was kind of you.’

‘Yeah, well.’ She suspected he might have detected the irony in her voice and his next words seemed to prove it. ‘Don’t be too hard on her, right? I think she meant well.’

Rachel tried not to feel resentful that this man—this stranger—felt he had the right to advise her about how to treat her daughter. But all she said was, ‘Thanks. I appreciate your comments,’ and rang off before indignation got the better of politeness.

However, as soon as she’d replaced the receiver she realised she had no idea where Joe’s—house? Hotel?—was. She’d hardly glanced at his card. And now she could only guess how much time she might have before they got here.

She was desperate for a cup of coffee, but she didn’t dare wait while it brewed. Instead, she spooned grains into the filter and left it to percolate while she took a swift shower.

Her hair was still damp when she stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, surveying her appearance. Tucking the artificially darkened strands back behind her ears, she decided it didn’t look too bad. It was foolish, she knew, but instead of her usual working gear of shorts and a cotton top she’d chosen to wear a dress. It was a simple camisole, in shades of cream and brown, which she thought complemented her lightly tanned skin. The dress ended at her knees, and she left her legs bare.

The shower had eased her headache somewhat, but she took two paracetamol with her coffee. Then, realising she hadn’t put on any make-up, she dashed back upstairs, and was in the process of brushing a bronze shadow onto her lids when she heard a car in the road outside.

Her hand shook for a moment, and she was forced to repair the damage before realising she hadn’t time to put on any lipstick now. She could hear Daisy opening the door downstairs and, praying she didn’t look as nervous as she felt, Rachel smoothed damp palms over her hips and left the room.

Descending the stairs, she felt as if she’d timed her entrance. Which simply wasn’t true. She would have much preferred to be drinking her coffee in the kitchen when they arrived, and she hoped Joe didn’t think it was deliberate.

Still, she couldn’t prevent her eyes from sliding over him before they fastened on her daughter. He was more formally dressed this morning, his charcoal-grey suit and lighter grey shirt fairly screaming their designer label. His only concession to the occasion was the fact that he wasn’t wearing a tie. The top two buttons of his shirt weren’t fastened and, as she came down the stairs, she was offered a disturbing glimpse of night-dark hair in the opening.

Predictably, it was Daisy who spoke first. ‘You look nice, Mum,’ she said, and Rachel felt an embarrassing wave of colour surge into her face. Not that she didn’t know what Daisy was trying to do. Her daughter wasn’t exactly subtle.

But Joe was watching and, although her eyes promised retribution later on, she said, ‘Thank you.’ Then, more pointedly, ‘You should have let me know you were going out.’

‘I didn’t want to wake you,’ said Daisy blithely, and Rachel hoped that Joe didn’t think she often overslept.

‘How thoughtful,’ she managed, before turning to their visitor. ‘I’m sorry about this, Mr Mendez. I had no idea Daisy would come to your house.’

‘No problem.’ His dark eyes were disturbingly intent as they rested on her hot face, and Rachel felt as if her insides had turned to liquid. ‘She’s quite a character, your daughter.’ His mouth twisted. ‘And very entertaining.’

‘Is she?’ Rachel wondered what Daisy had been saying to inspire that kind of response.

But before she could say anything else he spoke again. ‘Well, I guess I better get going. I’ve got a lunch meeting with some business colleagues at twelve o’clock.’

Rachel licked her lips. ‘You wouldn’t like some coffee before you leave?’ she ventured, and then chided herself anew when he shook his head.

‘Not right now, thanks,’ he said, pulling a face at Daisy when she showed her disappointment. His gaze switched back to Rachel. ‘How would it be if I called you later about the arrangements for Monday? I’ve got your number, if you’ll forgive the pun.’

Rachel nodded. ‘This afternoon, you mean?’

‘Or this evening?’ He gave her a quizzical look. ‘Will you be in?’

Most definitely, thought Rachel ruefully, but she managed to sound as if she’d had to think about it. ‘I’ll be here,’ she agreed.

‘Great.’ A trace of a smile appeared. ‘Speak to you later then.’

As she watched him walk down the path to the gate, Rachel wondered what had ever possessed her to think that he’d want to spend any more time with her than he had to. He’d done the gentlemanly thing and brought Daisy home, but that was that. Job done.

She closed the door without waiting for him to get into his car. After Monday, she’d probably never see him again. And that was just as well for all concerned. Now all she had to do was deal with Daisy who, she noticed wryly, had already made herself scarce ….

Joe drove back to his house in Eaton Court Mews with an odd sense of frustration. He felt as if he’d handled the whole business with Rachel Carlyle badly. But, damn it, he was doing her a favour here, wasn’t he? So why the hell did he feel as if he was in the wrong?

He scowled. He wished he’d never offered to give the kid a ride across the Atlantic now. It was creating all sorts of problems he hadn’t even thought of when Steve had told him his daughter was coming to Florida for a visit.

In truth, he’d felt sorry for the guy. It couldn’t be easy, living the better part of four-thousand miles from your only offspring, and according to Steve his ex-wife had blocked his last few attempts to see Daisy. Naturally she could only come to stay during her school vacations, but at both Christmas and Easter Rachel had had other plans.

That was why he’d suggested that the kid could travel with him. Surely her mother could have no objections to that? He and Steve had known one another for over five years, ever since Carlyle had come to work for Mendez Macrosystems in London, and since his move to Miami last year they’d become friends.

But evidently Steve hadn’t chosen to tell his ex-wife of the arrangements. Despite what he’d been told about her, Joe didn’t think Rachel’s shock at learning that Daisy wouldn’t be flying on a commercial airline was simulated. She hadn’t known. He’d bet his life on it.

He shook his head. Which begged the question: why hadn’t Steve told her? Okay, he was prepared to accept that their relationship must have suffered when they’d got a divorce, but she could hardly blame Steve for that. According to the account he’d heard, there’d been faults on both sides, not least the fact that Rachel had done everything she could to sabotage her husband’s career. Ted Johansen had told him that Lauren would never have got involved with Steve if he and Rachel hadn’t been having problems. According to him, his daughter wasn’t that kind of girl.

Something Joe had reserved judgment about.

Nevertheless, Steve should have explained what was happening. Just because he found Rachel difficult to reason with didn’t excuse him entirely, and Joe had every intention of giving him a piece of his mind when he got back to the States.

Now he pulled the Lexus into Eaton Court Mews and drew up outside the house he’d bought on one of his frequent trips to London. He’d liked it because of its character and antiquity, its wisteria-clad walls a far cry from the busy thoroughfare that passed just a few feet beyond the arched entrance to the mews.

He entered via an oak-studded door to one side of the ground-floor garage and took the stairs to the next floor, where the first level of living rooms was situated. It had taken him some time to get used to not calling this the ‘second floor', as they did back home, but Charles Barry, his English housekeeper, was gradually educating him.

Charles himself appeared as Joe walked into a comfortably furnished sitting room. Furniture, which Charles had helped him choose, gave the room an attractive authenticity, with lots

of polished wood and distressed-leather sofas beneath the narrow-paned dormer windows.

‘Mission accomplished?’ he asked, referring to his employer’s undertaking to deliver Daisy back to her mother, and Joe pulled an amused face.

‘I guess so,’ he said, without conviction. He shook his head. ‘I just wish I didn’t have the feeling that I’m the bad guy here.’

Charles, a slim, prematurely grey-haired man in his fifties, arched an enquiring brow. ‘Mrs Carlyle doesn’t appreciate your consideration, I gather?’

‘You could say that.’

‘Something of a harridan, is she?’

‘Hell, no.’ The words were out before Joe could stop them. But they were true. No way could Rachel Carlyle be described as a harridan. And that was possibly one of the reasons why he was feeling so frustrated now.

Charles frowned. ‘I detect a note of ambiguity here,’ he said. ‘Do I take it you’re having second thoughts about delivering the girl to her father?’

Joe’s jaw compressed. ‘Steve didn’t bother to tell his exwife that Daisy would be travelling with me,’ he explained flatly. ‘On the Jetstream, I mean. She assumed we’d be using public transport.’

‘I see.’ Charles considered this. ‘And that’s created a problem?’

Joe gave a curt nod. ‘You got it.’

‘Ah.’ Charles was thoughtful. ‘But surely, now that she’s met you for herself, Mrs Carlyle must be reassured?’

‘You think?’

‘She’s not?’ Charles looked taken aback. ‘So what kind of woman is she? Didn’t Mr Carlyle say that she’s a writer?’ He cupped his chin in one hand. ‘I’m imagining a rather … overweight lady, all flowing scarves and Birkenstocks. Am I right?’

Joe couldn’t prevent the laugh that erupted from him then. ‘You couldn’t be more wrong!’ he exclaimed, picturing Rachel as he’d first seen her in her cotton vest and shorts. ‘No, she’s not overweight, Charles. She’s not skinny, you understand? She’s got some shape. But she’s not fat.’

Charles regarded him intently. ‘But not young? Not like the second Mrs Carlyle?’

‘No.’ Joe conceded the point. Steve had definitely gone for looks over intelligence the second time around. It had also helped that Lauren’s old man was one of the directors of the company, he reflected, before adding, ‘But Rachel’s okay. Quite attractive, actually.’

Charles’ brows ascended again. ‘Well …’ He didn’t appear to know how to answer that so, changing the subject, he asked if his employer would like something to drink before he left for his meeting. ‘You did say you had a luncheon appointment,’ he reminded him politely, and Joe glanced somewhat impatiently at his watch.

‘Oh, yeah,’ He blew out a breath. Then, ‘No, that’s okay.’ He nodded towards the built-in bar hidden behind a wall of bookshelves. ‘I’ll get myself a soda, if I want one.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Charles withdrew and Joe moved across to the windows, staring out unseeingly onto the mews below. He found himself wondering what exactly had gone wrong with the Carlyles’ marriage. Sure, he’d heard Steve’s—and Johansen’s—interpretation of events. But having met Rachel personally, he found it harder to believe that she would neglect her home and family in favour of her career. A woman like that would hardly put up any opposition to exactly how her daughter was to travel to Florida. Indeed, she’d probably be glad of the break from teenage angst, however it was going to be achieved.

Still, he had to factor in the probable resistance she had to Daisy spending any time with her father and stepmother. If Steve was to be believed—and until the last couple of days he’d had no reason to doubt that he was—she’d done her best to turn Daisy against him and Lauren.

His scowl returned. He could so do without this, he thought irritably. Do without this damned lunch with the company’s British executives, too. If he hadn’t promised his father to follow in his footsteps, and keep all branches of Macrosystems in the frame, he’d have scrubbed any and all business meetings and spent the rest of the day at the nearest race track.

Still, this evening he had his date with Shelley Adair to look forward to. She’d been most put out when he’d cried off the party she’d been giving the evening before. But after his altercation with Rachel Carlyle, he hadn’t been in the mood for the kind of noisy reception Shelley favoured. Besides, if he was perfectly honest, he’d expected Rachel to have second thoughts and ring him to apologise and, when she hadn’t, he’d gone to bed feeling decidedly aggrieved.

So why was he wasting more time thinking about her? He’d been downright astounded when Daisy had turned up at his door this morning. It had been the last thing he’d expected, and at first he’d thought she’d come because her mother had asked her to. Finding out Rachel hadn’t even known she’d left the house had soon disabused him of that notion, and he’d been half inclined to blame Daisy’s behaviour on her mother. But bringing up a teenager like Daisy on her own couldn’t be easy. That was why he’d reined in his own irritation when Rachel had reacted as she had.

He sighed. Were Steve’s complaints about her justified? The way Rachel was acting made him inclined to think again. He just wished he wasn’t involved in the situation, wished he didn’t have these suspicions that she was the victim here.