Читать книгу Hired: Mistress: Wanted: Mistress and Mother / His Private Mistress / The Millionaire's Secret Mistress - Шантель Шоу, Carol Marinelli - Страница 14

PREDICTABLY, Katrina had a plumber screeching up the driveway within seconds of Dante’s chopper lifting off the smooth lawn, and Matilda could almost envisage her bags being moved yet again, but quietly hoped for a miracle. And it wasn’t all about Dante. Waking up to the most glorious sunrise, stretching like a lazy cat in the scrummy bed, as superficial as it might be, Matilda was terribly reluctant to leave her very nice surroundings.

‘White ants!’ Katrina almost choked on her Earl Grey as the plumber she had summoned popped his head around the kitchen door and Matilda smothered a smile as she loaded a tray with coffee to take out to the workers for their break. ‘Well, surely you can replace the water system and then we’ll get the place treated once…’ She managed to stop herself from saying it, but the unspoken words hung in the air and Matilda took great interest in filling up the sugar bowl as Katrina paused and then, rather more carefully, spoke on. ‘Just sort out the water, please. It doesn’t all have to be done today.’

‘Can’t do, I’m afraid,’ he said cheerfully. ‘The wall’s not stable enough to hold a new system. The place needs to be treated and then some of the walls will have to be replaced—it’s going to be a big job.’

It wasn’t the only big job the next couple of days unearthed.

Katrina practically moved into Dante’s, appearing long before he went to work and staying well into the night when Dante finally got home—not that Matilda really noticed. All her energies were taken up with the garden—her efficient start to the job but a distant memory as problems compounded problems. The glorious willow tree had roots that weren’t quite as wondrous, thwarting Matilda’s carefully lain plans at each and every turn. And a rather unproductive day followed by a floodlit late night were spent with the plumber and electrician, trying to find a suitable spot to lay the pipes for the water features. Then, just when that was taken care of, Matilda awoke to the news that, despite her inspection, the white ants had migrated from the summerhouse to the rear wall of the fence, which would set things back yet another day while it was ripped out and replaced. More skips delivered, more delays ensuing, and by the time she dragged herself back to the house, all Matilda could manage was a warmed-up meal and a very weary goodnight as, drooping with exhaustion, she headed off for bed.

Still as the week drew to a close, if not order then at least a semblance of control had been restored. Finally the pipes were laid, the electricity was on and the garden that had till now merely lived in her mind could actually start to emerge.

‘I think we must have a mole on steroids,’ Dante quipped, eyeing the mounds of earth that littered the area, and his easy humour bought the first smile in a long time to Matilda’s tense face as he wandered in with Alex late one evening to check on the progress. ‘I hear things haven’t gone exactly to plan.’

‘On the contrary,’ Matilda replied. ‘Things have gone exactly to plan—there’s always a disaster waiting to happen with this kind of work. But I think we’re finally under control.’

‘Will you be joining us for dinner?’

‘Us?’ Matilda checked, because Alex was clearly ready for bed.

‘Katrina and Hugh have come over—I should give Janet the numbers.’

‘No, thanks.’ Matilda shook her head but didn’t elaborate, didn’t make up an excuse or reason.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been over.’ Dante switched Alex to his other hip. ‘My trial preparation has taken up a lot of time, things have been busy—’

‘Tell me about it,’ Matilda said, rolling her eyes.

‘I’m sure that I’d bore you to death,’ Dante responded, completely missing the point. But somehow the language barrier actually worked in their favour for once, the tiny misunderstanding opening a door, pushing the stilted, polite conversation way beyond the intentions of either participant. ‘Are you really interested?’

‘Very,’ Matilda responded. ‘Completely unqualified, of course, but terribly interested.’

‘But you know that I cannot discuss it with you.’

‘I know,’ Matilda answered. ‘I mean, at the end of the day, the barrister mulling over his case with the gardener…’

‘I cannot discuss it with anyone,’ Dante broke in, and she watched as his eyes closed in shuttered regret, felt again the weight of responsibility that rode on his broad shoulders and ached to soothe him.

‘I know,’ Matilda said softly, then gave him a little spontaneous nudge. ‘Well, I don’t know exactly, but I have got pay TV.’ She smiled at his frown. ‘I’ve paced the courtroom floor with the best of them, and from what I’ve gleaned you’re allowed to talk in general terms.’

‘You’re crazy.’ Dante laughed, his palpable tension momentarily lifting, but the shrill of his mobile broke the moment. Matilda watched as he juggled his daughter and flicked out his mobile, watched the vivid concentration on his face, the turn of his back telling her that this call was important. She reacted as anyone would have, held out her arms and offered to take his daughter, lifting the little girl into her arms, hardly registering the surprise on Dante’s face as he barked his orders into the phone.

‘She went to you!’

A full fifteen minutes had passed. Fifteen minutes of Dante talking into the phone as Matilda at first held Alex but when she got a bit heavy, Matilda put her down, gathering the few exhausted, remaining daisies from under the willow, slitting the stalks with her thumb and making if not a daisy chain then at least a few links—chatting away to an uncommunicative Alex. But the little girl did appear to be watching at least and now Dante was kneeling down with them, staring open mouthed at what Matilda considered was really a very normal scene.

‘Sorry?’ Matilda was trying to wrestle a very limp stalk into a very thin one.

‘Alex actually went to you.’ Dante’s voice had a slightly incredulous note as he watched Alex take the small chain of daisies Matilda was offering.

‘I’m really not that scary, Dante.’ Matilda smiled.

‘You don’t understand. Alex doesn’t go to anyone. You saw what she was like the other day when it was me trying to pick her up.’

‘Maybe she’s ready to start trusting a little again…’ Matilda looked over at Dante and spoke over the little blonde head that was between them. Even though it was Alex she was talking about, they knew her words were meant for both. ‘Maybe now she’s done it once, it will be easier the next time.’ For an age she stared at him, for an age he stared back, then his hands hovered towards his daughter, ready to pick her up and head for the house, ready to walk away yet again. But Matilda’s voice halted him. ‘Let her play for a few minutes. She’s enjoying the flowers.’ She was, her little fingers stroking the petals, concentration etched on her face, and for all the world she looked like any other little girl lost in a daydream. ‘Talk to me, Dante,’ Matilda said. ‘You might surprise yourself and find that it helps.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘I do,’ Matilda said firmly, watching as his gaze drifted to Alex, and finally after the longest time he spoke.

‘Remember when we talked at the restaurant?’ She could hear him choosing his words carefully. ‘You asked if I ever regret winning and I said no?’ Matilda nodded. ‘I lied.’

‘I know,’ Matilda answered.

‘Not professionally, of course.’ Dante pondered, his accent a little more pronounced as his mind clearly wandered elsewhere. ‘I always walk into a courtroom wanting to win, I wouldn’t be there otherwise, but, yes, sometimes there is a feeling of…’ He snapped his fingers in impatience as he tried to find the right word.

‘Regret?’ Matilda offered, and Dante shook his head.

‘Unease,’ he said. ‘A sense of unease that I do my job so well.’

‘There would have to be,’ Matilda said carefully, knowing she couldn’t push things, knowing she had to listen to the little information he was prepared to give.

‘There is another side, too, though…’ His eyes found and held hers and Matilda knew that what he was about to tell her was important. ‘There are certain cases that matter more. Matter because…’ He didn’t continue, couldn’t perhaps, so Matilda did it for him.

‘Because if you won there would be no unease?’ She watched the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, knew she had guessed correctly, that Dante was telling her, as best he could, that the man he was defending was innocent and that this case, perhaps, mattered more than most.

‘You’ll win,’ Matilda said assuredly, and Dante let out a tired sigh and gave a rather resigned smile, pulling himself up to go, clearly wondering why he’d bothered talking to her if that was the best she could come up with! ‘You will—you always do,’ Matilda said with absolute conviction. ‘Your client couldn’t have better representation.’

‘Matilda,’ Dante said with dry superiority, ‘we’re not talking about my client and, anyway, you have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh, but I do.’ Her green eyes caught his as he reached out for his daughter.

‘You know nothing about law,’ Dante needlessly pointed out. ‘You know nothing about—’

‘Perhaps,’Matilda interrupted. ‘But you’ve already told me what you’re capable of, already told me that you can do it even if you don’t believe…’ She paused for a moment, remembering the rules, remembering that she had to keep it general. ‘If I were in trouble, I mean.’ She gave a cheeky grin. ‘Suppose I had been caught taking those chocolates and assuming I could afford you…’ She gave a tiny roll eye as her fantasy took on even more bizarre proportions. ‘I’d want to walk into court with the best.’

‘Am I the best for him, though?’ He raked a hand through his jet hair and it was Dante who forgot to keep things general.

‘Absolutely,’ Matilda whispered. ‘I’d want the best I could afford, Dante, but having you believe in me would mean a thousand times more. Think of what you’ve already achieved then imagine what you’re capable of when you actually believe in someone.’A frown marred his brow, but it wasn’t one of tension, more realization, and Matilda knew that she’d got through to him, knew that somehow she’d reassured him, maybe helped a little even. ‘You’re going to be fine,’ Matilda said again, and this time he didn’t bite back, this time he didn’t shoot her down with some superior remark, just gave her a gentle nod of thanks.

‘Time for bed, Alex,’ Matilda said, holding her arms out to the little girl, and even though Alex didn’t hold out her own arms, she didn’t resist when Matilda picked her up and wandered with Dante to the gate.

‘She likes you,’ Dante said as he took a sleepy Alex from Matilda.

‘I’m very easy to like,’ Matilda answered.

‘Very easy,’ Dante said, only, unlike before, Matilda knew there were no double meanings or cruel euphemisms to mull over. As he walked away the echo of his words brought a warm glow to her tired, aching body.

Quite simply it was the nicest thing he’d ever said.