Читать книгу The Billionaire's Christmas Gift - Кэрол Мортимер, Carole Mortimer - Страница 7

‘HAVE I understood the situation correctly, Mr Steele?’ Beth repeated as she stood in the privacy of the corridor outside the teachers’ staffroom, talking on her mobile. ‘Mr Steele …?’ she prompted sharply as he still made no reply.

It had been a struggle for Beth to come into school at all for these last two days of term, after she had woken on the morning following that disastrous meeting with Nicholas Steele with a debilitating cough and a sore throat.

She was actually feeling a little better today, but not enough to deal with the lethally attractive and—as one of the school governors and the parent of one of her pupils—potentially dangerous Nicholas Steele!

Her fingers curled tightly about her mobile. ‘Mr Steele—’

‘You can’t possibly be the same Mrs Morgan my daughter talks about all the time!’ he burst out disbelievingly.

Beth frowned slightly. ‘Obviously I have no idea whether or not Bekka has been boring you by talking about me, Mr Steele, but I assure you I am indeed your daughter’s biology teacher, Bethan Morgan.’

‘Mrs Morgan?’ he bit out harshly. ‘The widowed Mrs Morgan?’

Beth felt a familiar ache in her chest at the description: ‘the widowed Mrs Morgan’.

The accurate description.

Her name was Morgan, and she was a widow.

Only twenty-six years old, and already a widow.

Shockingly.

So much so that Beth still sometimes had difficulty in believing it herself. In accepting that all of Ben’s incredible happy-go-lucky life force, along with that of Beth’s parents, had been wiped out in a single moment. Gone for ever, when Ben had crashed the car he had been driving the three of them in two years ago.

She and Ben had been the same age. Had grown up together in the same village. Attended school together. Gone off to university together. Become engaged, and then married once they had both attained their degrees—Beth in teaching, Ben in economics.

Losing both her parents and Ben in that sudden way had been as painful for Beth as she imagined having a limb severed might be.

She certainly didn’t appreciate having Nick Steele—a man who had been less than sympathetic after knocking her down two days ago—call and invite ‘the widowed Mrs Morgan’ to spend Christmas with him and his daughter. As if Beth were some sort of charity case. A lonely widow in need of his pity!

Beth might spend a lot of time alone, might be lonely on occasion, but it was a loneliness of choice; she had spent the past two Christmases alone because she wanted it that way, not because she had nowhere else to go. She had plenty of aunts and uncles, grandparents too, that she could have spent the holidays with. She had just chosen not to—too aware, still, of their sympathetic glances, the awkward omissions in conversation of all mention of both her parents and Ben.

‘Bethan …?’ Nick prompted when the woman’s silence became uncomfortably long. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I seemed less than polite just now, but—’ He broke off with an impatient shake of his head. ‘Surely you can understand my surprise at discovering that Bekka’s teacher, Mrs Morgan, and the woman from two days ago are one and the same?’

‘I perfectly understand, Mr Steele,’ Bethan Morgan came back softly. ‘I also accept, given the circumstances, that Bekka must have somehow forced you to make the invitation for me to join the two of you on Christmas Day.’

‘I rarely allow anyone to force me into doing anything, Mrs Morgan!’ Nick cut in; he preferred to think that Bekka had coerced rather than forced him!

‘I—Excuse me.’ Beth broke off as she was beset by a sudden fit of coughing.

‘Have you seen a doctor about that?’ Nick frowned at the realisation that this woman’s spill onto the icy wet road two days ago was probably responsible for the cold she had now.

That her huskily sore throat was the reason Nick hadn’t immediately recognised her voice on the telephone a few minutes ago.!

‘Believe it or not, I feel a lot better today,’ she dismissed gruffly once the coughing had ceased.

‘Look, I’m coming to school later this afternoon to attend the Nativity Play.’ Nick frowned his impatience, aware that the minutes were ticking by; he hadn’t expected this telephone call to take as long as it was. ‘Perhaps we could discuss this again then …?’

‘I assure you there’s nothing more to discuss, Mr Steele,’ Beth said hoarsely. ‘I’m aware of the honour you’re bestowing by issuing the invitation, of course, but—’

‘Honour?’ Nick echoed sharply. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

Beth gave a weary sigh, longing to get back to the hot cup of tea she had left in the staffroom. ‘Bekka is a lovely little girl, with a kind heart, and I like her tremendously.’ In fact she still found it hard to believe that Bekka was this particular man’s daughter! ‘But those things don’t change the fact that your invitation is completely inappropriate.’

There was a brief, chilling silence. ‘In what way “inappropriate” …?’ Nick Steele finally snapped.

‘In that it’s totally unsuitable for a teacher to spend Christmas Day at the home of one of her pupils.’