Читать книгу Rags To Riches: At Home With The Boss: The Secret Sinclair / The Nanny's Secret / A Home for the M.D. - Кэтти Уильямс, Elizabeth Lane, Cathy Williams - Страница 12

SARAH wondered how she had managed to let her emotions derail her to such an extent that she had nearly ended up back in bed with Raoul. The words unfinished business rankled, conjuring up as they did visions of something disposable, to be picked up and then discarded once again the minute it suited him.

Had he imagined that she would launch herself into his arms in a bid to take up where they had left off? Had he thought that she would greet his assertion about still wanting her as something wonderful and complimentary? He didn’t want her seeing anyone else—not because he wanted to work on having a proper relationship with her, but because he wanted her to fill his bed until such time as he managed to get her out of his system. Like a flu virus.

He was an arrogant, selfish bastard, and she had been a crazy fool to get herself lulled into thinking otherwise!

She had a couple of days’ respite, because he was out of the country, and although he telephoned on both days she was brief before passing him over to Oliver, which he must have found extra challenging, given Oliver’s long silences and excitable babbling.

‘I think we’ll tell him at the weekend,’ she informed Raoul crisply, and politely told him that there would be absolutely no need for him to rush over the second he got back, because at that time of night Oliver would be asleep anyway.

On the other side of the Atlantic, Raoul scowled down the phone. He should never have let her think about what he had said. He should have kissed her doubts away and then just made love to her until she was silenced.

Except, of course, she would still have jumped on her moral bandwagon. What had been so straightforward for him had been a hotbed of dilemma for her. He told himself that there were plenty of other fish in the sea, but when he opened his address book and started scanning down the names of beautiful women, all of whom would have shrieked with joy at the sound of his voice and the prospect of a hot date, he found his enthusiasm for that kind of replacement therapy waning fast.

Whereas before he had been comfortable turning up at Sarah’s without much notice, he had now found himself given a very definite time slot, and so he arrived at her house bang on five-thirty to find Oliver dressed in jeans and a jumper while she was in her oldest clothes, her hair wet from the shower and pinned up into a ponytail.

‘I thought we could sit him down and explain the situation to him,’ were her opening words, ‘and then you could take him out for something to eat. Nothing fancy, but it’ll be nice for him to have you to himself without me around. I’ve also explained the whole situation to Mum and Dad. They’re very pleased that you’re on the scene.’

Within minutes Raoul had got the measure of what was going on. She was making it perfectly clear that they would now be communicating on a need-to-know basis only. Her bright green eyes were guarded and detached, only warming when they had Oliver between them so that they could explain the situation.

Finally fatherhood was fully conferred onto him. He was no longer the outsider, easing himself in. He was a dad, and as she had predicted it was a smooth transfer. Oliver had had time to adjust to him. He accepted the news with solemnity, and then it was as though nothing had changed. Raoul had brought him back a very fancy but admirably small box of bricks and an enormous paintbox, both of which were greeted with enthusiasm.

‘Take a few pictures when he starts painting in your living room,’ Sarah said sarcastically. ‘I’d love to see how your leather furniture reacts to the watercolours.’

‘Is this how it’s now going to be?’ Raoul enquired coldly, as Oliver stuffed his backpack with lots of unnecessary items in preparation for their meal out.

Defiant pink colour suffused Sarah’s cheeks. She didn’t want to be argumentative. He was going to be on the scene, in one way or another, for time immemorial, and she knew that they had to develop a civil, courteous relationship if they weren’t to descend into a parody of two warring parents. But she was truly scared of reaching the point they previously had, which had been one of such easy friendship that all the feelings she had imagined left behind had found fertile ground and blossomed out of control. She had let him crawl under her skin until the only person she could think about had been him, so that when he’d finally touched her she had gone up in flames.

‘No. It’s not. I apologise for that remark,’ she responded stiffly, stooping down to adjust Oliver’s backpack, whilst taking the opportunity to secretly remove some of the unnecessary stuff he had slipped in. ‘Now, you’re going to be a good boy, Oliver, aren’t you? With your dad?’ Oliver nodded and Sarah straightened back up to address Raoul. ‘What time can I expect you back? Because I’m going out. I’ll only be a couple of hours.’

‘You’re going out? Where?’

Raoul gave her the once-over. Sloppy clothes. Damp hair. She was waiting for them to leave before she got dressed.

‘I don’t think that’s any of your business, actually.’

‘And what if you’re not back when I return?’

‘You have my mobile number, Raoul. You could always give me a call.’

‘Who are you going to be with?’

Raoul knew that it was an outrageous question. He thought back to his brief—very brief—notion that he might get in touch with another woman, go on a date. The idea had lasted less than ten seconds. So … who was she going out with? On the first evening he had Oliver? With a man? What man? She had claimed that there was no one at all in her life, that she had been just too busy with the business of trying to earn some money and be a single parent. She might not have had the time to cultivate any kind of personal life, but that didn’t mean that there hadn’t been men hovering on the periphery, ready to move in just as soon as she found the time.

The more Raoul thought about it, the more convinced he became that she was meeting a man. One of those sensitive, fun-loving types she professed to like. Had she made sure to appear in old clothes so that he wouldn’t be able to gauge where she was going by what she was wearing?

He was the least fanciful man in the world, and yet he couldn’t stop the swirl of wildly imaginative conclusions to which he was jumping. He was tempted to stand his ground until he got answers that satisfied him.

Sarah laughed incredulously at his question. ‘I can’t believe you just asked that, Raoul.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s none of your business. Now, Oliver’s beginning to get restless.’ She glanced down to where he was beginning to fidget, delivering soft taps to the skirting board with his shoe and tugging Raoul’s hand impatiently. ‘I’ll see you in a couple of hours, and you know how to get hold of me if you need to.’

Sarah thought that it was a damning indication of just how quickly their relationship had slipped back into dangerous waters—the fact that he saw it as his right to know what she was getting up to. They might not have become lovers, the way they once had been, but it had been a close call. Had she sent out signals? Without even being aware of doing so?

She was going out with a girlfriend for a pizza. Wild horses wouldn’t have dragged the admission out of her. She would be gone an hour and a half, tops, and whilst she knew that she shouldn’t care one way or another if he knew that her evening out was a harmless bit of catching up with a pal, she did.

So instead of her jeans she wore a mini-skirt, and instead of her trainers she wore heels. She wasn’t quite sure what she was trying to prove, and she certainly felt conspicuous in the pizza parlour, where the dress code was more dressing down than dressing up, but she was perversely pleased that she had gone to the trouble when she opened the door to Raoul two and a half hours later.

Oliver was considerably less pristine than he had been when he had left. In fact, Sarah thought that she could pretty much guess at what they had eaten for dinner from the various smears on his clothes.

‘How did it go?’

Raoul had to force himself to focus on what she was asking, because the sight of her tight short skirt and high black heels were threatening to ambush his thinking processes.

‘Very well …’ He heard himself going through the motions of polite chit-chat, bending down to ruffle Oliver’s hair and draw him into the conversation. Crayons and paper had been produced at the restaurant, and he had drawn some pictures. Happy family stuff. There would be a psychologist somewhere who would be able to say something about the stick figure drawings of two parents and a child in the middle.

‘Right … Well …’

Raoul frowned as she began shutting the door on him. He inserted himself into the small hallway.

‘We need to discuss the details of this arrangement,’ he told her smoothly. ‘As well as the details of the house move. Everything’s signed. I’ll need to know what needs to be removed from this place.’

‘Already?’

‘Time moves on at a pace, doesn’t it?’

Sarah fell back and watched him stride towards the sitting room. ‘I’ll get Oliver to bed and be back down in a sec,’ she mumbled helplessly to his departing back.

Tempted to get out of her ridiculous gear, she decided against it. Whatever technicalities had to be discussed wouldn’t take long, although she was surprised at how fast the house had become available. The last time she had seen it, it had been something of a derelict shell. At the time, she had confided in Raoul what she would like in terms of furniture, but that was the last she had heard on the subject, which had been a couple of weeks ago. She had assumed that the whole process would take months, and had deferred thinking about the move until it was more imminent.

‘I can’t believe the house is ready. Are you sure?’ This as soon as she was back in the sitting room, where he was relaxed in one of the chairs, with his back to the bay window. ‘I thought these things took months …’

‘Amazing what money can do when it comes to speeding things up.’

‘But I haven’t really thought about what to fill it with. I mean, none of this stuff is mine …’

‘Which is a blessing, judging from the quality of the furnishings.’ Raoul watched as she nervously took the chair facing his on the opposite side of the tiny sitting room. She had to wriggle the short skirt down so that it didn’t indecently expose her thighs and his lips thinned disapprovingly. The top was hardly better. A vest affair that contoured her generous breasts in a way that couldn’t fail to arouse interest.

Sarah couldn’t be bothered to react because she didn’t disagree.

‘It’s going to be weird leaving here,’ she thought out loud.

‘Oliver’s excited.’ Who had the short skirt and the tight top and the high heels been for? ‘He’s looking forward to having a bigger garden. Complete with the swing set I promised him. Did you enjoy your evening?’

Sarah, who had still been contemplating the prospect of being uprooted sooner than she had expected, looked at Raoul in sudden confusion.

‘You’re dressed like a tart,’ he expanded coolly, ‘and I don’t like it.’

Sarah gripped the arms of the chair while a slow burning anger rose inside her like red spreading mist.

‘How dare you think that you can tell me how I can dress?’

‘You never wore clothes like that when I was around. Yet the very first time you have a bit of free time without Oliver you’re dressed to the nines. I’m guessing that you’ve used your time profitably by checking what’s out there for a single girl.’

‘I don’t have to … to … dignify that with a response!’

No, she didn’t, and her stubborn, glaring eyes were telling him that he was going to get nowhere when it came to dragging an explanation of her whereabouts out of her.

Hot on the heels of her rejection, her self-righteous proclamation that their sleeping together wasn’t going to be on the cards, her strident reminders to him that she wanted commitment, Raoul finally acknowledged what had been staring him in the face.

When it came to Sarah he was possessive, and he wanted exclusivity. He didn’t want her dipping her toe into the world of dating and other men. Seeing her in that revealing get-up, he realised that he didn’t even want her dressing in a way that could conceivably attract them. If she had to wear next to nothing, then he wanted it to be for his benefit and his benefit only.

He had never been possessive in his life before. Was it because she was more than just a woman to him? Because she was the mother of his child? Did he have some peculiar dinosaur streak of which he had hitherto been unaware? He just knew that the thought of her trawling the clubs made his blood run cold.

So he had never been moved by the notion of settling down with anyone? Well, life wasn’t a static business. Rules and guidelines made yesterday became null and void when situations changed. Wasn’t flexibility a sign of a creative mind?

He wondered that he could have been disingenuous enough to imagine his perfectly reasonable proposition that they take what they had and run with it might be met with enthusiasm. Sarah would never settle for anything less than a full-time relationship. And would that even be with him? he wondered uneasily. It was true that the sexual chemistry between them was electrifying, but it certainly wouldn’t be the tipping point for her.

‘Let’s just talk about the practicalities,’ she continued firmly. ‘If you give me a definite date as to when we need to be out of here … I haven’t given notice to the landlord,’ she said suddenly. ‘I need to give three months’ notice …’

‘I’ll take care of that.’

‘And I suppose we should discuss what days suit you to come and see Oliver. Or should we wait until we’re settled in the new place? Then you can see how easy it is for you to get to where we are. Public transport can be a little unreliable. Oops, sorry—I forgot that you wouldn’t be taking public transport …’

Raoul was acidly wondering whether she was eager to get her diary in order, so that she knew in advance when she would be able to slot in her exciting single life. What the hell was going on here? He was jealous!

He stood up, and Sarah hastily followed suit, bemused by the fact that he seemed to be leaving pretty much as fast as he had arrived. Not only that, but he had somehow managed to make her feel like a cheap tart. Although she knew that he had no right to pass sweeping judgements on what she wore or where she went, she still had to fight the temptation to make peace by just telling him the truth.

‘The house will be ready by the middle of next week.’

‘But what about my things?’

‘I’ll arrange to have them brought over. If all this furniture is staying, then I can’t imagine that what’s left will amount to much.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ she said in a small voice, perversely inclined to dither now that he was on his way out.

Raoul hesitated. ‘It’s going to be fine,’ he said roughly.

‘The house will be entirely in your name. You won’t have to be afraid that you could lose the roof over your head, and really, it’s just a change of location.’

‘It’ll be great!’ She tried a bright smile on for size. ‘I know Mum and Dad are really thrilled about it. They haven’t been too impressed with our rented house, what with the busy street so close to the front door and not much back garden for Oliver.’

‘Which brings me to something I haven’t yet mentioned. Your parents.’

‘What about them?’

‘I want to meet them.’

‘Whatever for?’ Sarah asked, dismayed. Try as she had, she couldn’t stop feeling deeply suspicious that neither of them had really believed her when she had told them that Raoul was back on the scene but that it was absolutely fine because she had discovered that she felt nothing for him.

‘Because Oliver’s my son and it makes sense for me to know his grandparents. There will be occasions when they visit us in London and vice versa.’

‘Yes, but …’

‘I also don’t want to spend the rest of my life with your parents harbouring misconceptions about the kind of man I am.’

‘They don’t have misconceptions,’ Sarah admitted grudgingly. ‘I told them how much time you’d spent with Oliver, and also about the house.’

‘I’d still like to meet them, so you’ll have to arrange that and give me a few days’ advance notice.’

‘Well, maybe when they’re next in London …’

‘No. Maybe within the next fortnight.’

With the house move a heartbeat away, and a date set in the diary for the three of them to visit her parents in Devon, Sarah had never felt more like someone chucked onto a rollercoaster and managing to hang on only by the skin of her teeth.

Her possessions, once she had packed them all up, amounted to a few cardboard boxes, which seemed a sad indictment of the time she had spent in the rented house. Nor could she say, with her hand on her heart, that there was very much that she would miss about where she’d lived. The neighbours were pleasant enough, although she knew them only in passing, but the place was wrapped up in so many memories of hardship and trying to make ends meet that she found herself barely glancing back as the chauffeur-driven car that had been sent for them arrived to collect her promptly on Wednesday morning.

Oliver could barely contain his excitement. The back of the opulent car was strewn with his toys. Of course Raoul’s driver knew who they were, because from the start Raoul had flatly informed her that he couldn’t care less what other people thought of his private life, but she could see that the man was curious, and amused at Oliver’s high spirits. Sarah wondered whether he was trying to marry the image of his boss with that of a man who wouldn’t mind a four-year-old child treating his mega-expensive car with cavalier disrespect.

Sarah was charmed afresh at the peaceful, tree-lined road that led up to the house, which was in a large corner plot. Anyone could have been forgiven for thinking that London was a million miles away. It was as far removed from their small rented terraced house on the busy road as chalk was from cheese. Whatever her doubts and anxieties, she couldn’t deny that Raoul had rescued them both from a great deal of financial hardship and discomfort.

Hard on the heels of that private admission she felt a lump in her throat at the thought of them being friends. She had been so offended by his suggestion that they become lovers for no other reason than they were still attracted to one another, and so hurt that he only wanted her in his bed as a way of exorcising old ghosts … She had positively done the right thing in telling him just where he could take that selfish, arrogant proposal, and yet …

Had she reacted too hastily?

Sarah hurriedly sidelined that sign of weakness and scooped Oliver’s toys onto her lap as the car finally slowed down and then swept up the picturesque drive to the house.

Raoul was waiting for her inside.

‘I would have brought you here,’ he said, picking up Oliver, who demanded to be put down so that he could explore, ‘but I’ve come straight from work.’

‘That’s okay.’ Sarah stepped inside and her mouth fell open—because it bore little resemblance to the house she had last seen.

Flagstone tiles made the hallway warm and colourful, and everywhere else rich, deep wood lent a rustic, cosy charm. She walked from room to room, taking in the décor which was exactly as she would have wanted it to be, from the velvet drapes in the sitting room to the restored Victorian tiles around the fireplace.

Raoul made a show of pointing out the bottle-green Aga which took pride of place in the kitchen, and the old-fashioned dresser which he had had specifically sourced from one of the house magazines which had littered her house.

‘You had a crease in the page,’ he informed her, ‘so I took it to mean that this was the kind of thing you liked.’

Oliver had positioned himself by the French doors that led from the small conservatory by the kitchen into the garden, and was staring at the swing set outside with eyes as round as saucers.

‘Okay,’ Sarah said on a laugh, holding his hand, ‘let’s have a look outside, shall we?’

‘I don’t remember the garden being this well planted,’ she said, looking around her at the shrubs and foliage that framed the long lawn. There was even a rustic table and chairs on the paved patio, behind which a trellis promised a riot of colour when in season.

‘I had it landscaped. Feel free to change anything you want. Why don’t we have a look upstairs? I can get my driver to keep an eye on Oliver,’ he added drily. ‘We might have a fight on our hands if we try and prise him off the swing.’

Raoul had had considerable input with the furnishings. He had hired the very same mega-expensive interior designer who had done his own penthouse apartment, but instead of handing over an enormous cheque and giving her free rein he had actually been specific about what he wanted. He knew that Sarah hated anything modern and minimalist. He’d steered clear of anything involving leather and chrome. He had stopped short of buying artwork, although he had been tempted by some small landscapes that would have been a terrific investment, but he had done his utmost with a bewildering range of colour options and had insisted that everything be kept period.

‘I can’t believe this is going to be our new home,’ Sarah murmured yet again, as she ran her hands lovingly over the Victorian fireplace in what would be her bedroom. A dreamy four-poster bed dominated the space, and the leaded windows overlooked the pretty garden. She could see Oliver on the swing, being pushed by Raoul’s very patient driver, and she waved at him.

‘Did you choose all this stuff yourself?’

Raoul flushed. How cool was it to have a hand in choosing furnishings for a house? Not very. Especially when there had been a million and one other things clamouring for his attention at work. But he had been rattled by her rejection, and had realised that despite what he saw as an obvious way forward for them he could take nothing for granted.

‘I think I know what you like,’ he prevaricated, and received a warm smile in response.

Sarah squashed the temptation to hug him. He did things like this and was it any wonder that her will-power was all over the place? She had expected to find a house that was functioning and kitted out in a fairly basic way. Instead there was nothing that wasn’t one hundred percent perfect, from the mellow velvet curtains in the sitting room to the faded elegant wallpaper in the bedroom.

Oliver’s room, next to hers, was what any four-year-old boy would have dreamt of, with a bed in the shape of a racing car and wallpaper featuring all his favourite cartoon characters.

Yet again she had to remind herself that she had done the right thing in turning her back on what had been on offer. Yet again she forced herself back onto the straight and narrow by telling herself that, however good Raoul was at being charming, going the extra mile and throwing money at something with a generosity that would render most people speechless, he was still a man who walked alone and always would. He was still a man with an inbuilt loathing of any form of commitment, which in his head was the equivalent of a prison sentence.

Yet again she was forced to concede that his invitation to be his lover would have sounded the death knell for any ongoing amicable relationship they might foster, because she would have been the one to get hurt in the end. She knew that if she got too close to him it would be impossible to hold any of herself back.

But the steps he had taken to ensure that she walked into a house that was brilliant in every way moved her.