Читать книгу Mistress To A Millionaire - Helen Brooks - Страница 8

HOW dared he, how dared he poke and pry into her private life like that? Slade Eastwood was a stranger; he was nothing to her; he had no right to hire other strangers to find out her personal circumstances. It was nothing short of outrageous.

For a long time after Slade had left Daisy sat—her eyes burningly dry and her mouth a tight white line in the paleness of her face—and brooded on their conversation.

She just couldn’t believe anyone would have the nerve to do something like that and then brag about it, she told herself bitterly, although she shouldn’t be surprised at anything the male sex was capable of if she thought about it.

The thought brought her mind focusing on Ronald and immediately she pushed him away. Not yet; she couldn’t think of him yet, not without wanting to die or kill him or both, and the bitterness and rage were weakening and she needed all the strength she had right at the moment if she was going to get out of this hospital.

She had to leave this place in the morning whatever the doctor said. She had asked the nurse earlier that afternoon just how much it was costing Slade Eastwood for her to stay here, and if she hadn’t been lying down she would have fallen down when the woman had told her. And each day was upping the bill by as much money as she could earn in a month. Hot panic caused her to take too deep a breath and pain from her ribs sliced through her.

‘Steady, girl, steady.’ She spoke out loud into the tranquil surroundings, the beautiful furnishings and hushed luxury mocking her. Why, oh, why had he insisted she be brought here, instead of allowing her to be taken to a National Health hospital? she asked herself desperately. She would give the world to be in a noisy, utilitarian ward with no frills and fancies right now! But she would leave in the morning—she would—no matter what the medical staff advised.

The decision brought a measure of comfort and she lay back in the bed with a tired sigh. She could phone Stephanie, she thought suddenly. Her friend had been brilliant over the last sixteen or so months, unswervingly loyal and totally committed to her even though Stephanie’s husband had been Ronald’s best friend, and she had promised the other girl she would let her know how the interview had gone when she had spoken to her three nights ago. Stephanie must be wondering why she hadn’t phoned the following night.

Stephanie answered on the second ring and on hearing the familiar voice Daisy suddenly had the ridiculous urge to cry. She breathed in slowly and then exhaled, gripping the receiver tightly as she said, her voice bright, ‘It’s me, Steph.’

‘Daisy? Oh, Daisy, where’ve you been? I’ve phoned the house several times over the last two days and each time someone different has answered and said there’s no reply from your room. I’ve been so worried,’ Stephanie said plaintively.

‘It’s all right.’ Daisy felt immensely cheered by the naked concern in her friend’s voice. ‘I haven’t thrown myself off London Bridge yet.’

‘Don’t joke; I’ve had all sorts of crazy thoughts,’ Stephanie said weakly. ‘You’ve gone through so much and been so brave, but everyone has a breaking point. Did you get the job?’ she added as an afterthought. ‘The one you mentioned when we last spoke?’

‘Not exactly.’ This bit was going to be difficult; Daisy wouldn’t put it past Stephanie to come hurtling down to London in an effort to persuade her to go back home with her. ‘Now, don’t panic, but I’ve got something to tell you…’

Stephanie listened in absolute silence while Daisy filled her in on all that had happened, finishing with, ‘But don’t worry because I really am fine. You ought to see this room, Steph. It’s beautiful. I’ve never been so cosseted in my life.’ Daisy glanced about her as she spoke, her eyes rueful.

‘Oh, Daisy.’ There was a snuffle and sniff before Stephanie continued, ‘You’re the nicest person I know and for this to happen after everything else that’s gone wrong—it just doesn’t seem fair. And he jolly well should be taking care of things in my opinion!’

‘It was my own stupid fault, Steph.’

There was a long pause and then Steph said, ‘Look, there’s something you should know, Daisy, but I don’t know how to tell you. It’s… Ronald’s back. And…and he’s looking for you. He’s already tried to persuade Malcolm to give him your address.’

‘Malcolm didn’t, did he?’ Daisy asked urgently, her heart hammering as she sat up straighter.

‘No, course not,’ Stephanie said drily. ‘He values his conjugal rights too much to make a mistake like that! But apparently Ronald’s walked out on Susan; he said to Malcolm that the shock of receiving the decree absolute made him realise what he’s thrown away and he wants to ask you for another chance.’

Another chance? Daisy felt sick. He thought she could ever forgive him after what he had done? He must be mad.

‘I don’t want to see him, Steph,’ she said flatly.

‘No, I knew you wouldn’t.’ There was another pause and then Stephanie said, her voice quiet but the sound of howling babies in the background, ‘The twins have woken up; I’ll have to go but I’ll ask Mum to have them for a day or two and come down to see you.’

‘Steph, there’s no need, really.’

‘I want to.’ And now Stephanie’s voice was even quieter when she added, ‘Malcolm said Ronald is determined to find you. He said he won’t take no for an answer, that he’ll do anything—camp on your doorstep for ever—but he intends to get you back. He really thinks he can persuade you, Daisy.’

‘He can’t.’ Daisy’s voice was grim.

‘I know.’

Once the goodbyes had been said and Daisy had put the phone down she lay for some minutes without moving, her head whirling and her stomach sick as Stephanie’s words reverberated in her head.

Ronald was looking for her. Even now he might be on his way to London. She had only let a few close friends have her new address and hopefully they would have the sense to keep her whereabouts secret if Ronald asked, but she couldn’t be sure about that. She hadn’t stated specifically for him not to be told simply because it hadn’t occurred to her that he would come looking.

Her stomach turned over again and she felt she needed to get to the bathroom, but as she swung her legs over the side of the bed the room turned into a kaleidoscope of whirling colour and she made a little, ‘Oh,’ of distress.

She sat quite still for a moment or two and gradually the spinning hues solidified, the room stopped revolving and everything settled into its rightful place.

Daisy stretched her feet tentatively towards the floor. She felt odd, very odd, but if she rang the bell and asked for the nurse to accompany her into the bathroom it was sure to be reported and it would make it more difficult for her to insist on leaving tomorrow. She would just take it nice and slow and she’d be fine; it was only a few feet to the en suite after all.

She was halfway across the room when she felt she was going to black out. A part of her brain which was governed by instinct and self-preservation warned her to sit down before she fell down, and she sank on all fours, her knees and hands taking her weight and her head hanging down. Oh, she felt ill. She felt so, so ill. How on earth was she going to get back to bed.

‘What the hell…?’

Daisy hadn’t been aware of the door opening, neither was she conscious of the footsteps across the room, but as strong-muscled arms lifted her up as effortlessly as if she were a child she relaxed into them with a little sigh of helplessness whilst willing herself not to pass out completely.

And then, as a whiff of delicious and expensive aftershave enhanced by clean, warm male skin invaded her senses it sent a shot of adrenalin straight into her wilting frame, and she opened dazed golden eyes to see Slade’s hard, handsome face just inches from hers. The shock of it made her want to faint again.

‘Oh…’ She wriggled feebly, but in the next instant he had reached the bed, whereupon he placed her gently into its welcoming folds before drawing the duvet securely around her.

She shut her eyes again—this couldn’t be happening; it was a mirage, an awful but frighteningly seductive dream—but when they flickered open it was to see him standing by the side of the bed, his dark face frowning as he rang the bell.

‘Don’t…don’t do that,’ she murmured faintly. ‘Leave it.’

He glanced at her and then in answer rang it again.

‘Please… I’m all right now, really.’

‘Don’t talk such utter rubbish.’ It was curt and sharp and altogether too much, and to Daisy’s utter horror she felt the prick of tears against the back of her eyes.

No, she couldn’t cry! Not in front of him, not in front of Slade Eastwood! The thought was there but Daisy was powerless to follow it through, and in the next instant, as she felt her face crumple, she put her hands over her eyes to hide their betrayal.

There was a moment of blank silence and then she felt a crisp handkerchief being pushed under her nose and heard a soft and altogether different voice say, ‘Hey, come on; it’s not as bad as all that. You’re doing fine.’

She didn’t want his handkerchief, she didn’t want his words of comfort, and she certainly didn’t want him to sit on the edge of the bed and put his arm round her shaking shoulders; but that was what was happening, Daisy realised with a touch of horror.

The hospital nightie was pretty as hospital nighties went—at least it wasn’t a monstrosity of stiff white linen and wide gaping holes which were regulation hand-outs in state hospitals—but the pale pink cotton was thin and the gypsy-style neck was low, and her skin was tingling and heated at his nearness. She could feel his hand burning her where it rested on the top of her arm and he had pulled her into him, half cradling her against his chest. The black leather jacket was open and the dark blue silk of his shirt was soft and fragrant against her hot face and he smelt wonderful. Intoxicatingly wonderful.

As the thought hit her she jerked away from him, her hands unconsciously reaching out and pushing him away and her eyes wide with shock as she hitched into the far corner of the bed like a small animal seeking sanctuary from its predator.

The nurse had chosen that particular moment to open the door and now, as she glanced at Daisy’s scarlet countenance and Slade’s grim face, her voice was purposely bland and her expression scrupulously professional when she said, ‘You rang, Daisy?’

‘I rang,’ Slade bit out tightly. ‘I just came back to give Miss Summers some papers I’d promised her and I found her collapsed on the floor. What the hell is going on?’

‘It’s not her fault.’ Daisy’s protest was hotly indignant.

‘I’m very sorry, Mr Eastwood.’

‘Sorry is not good enough.’

They were both ignoring her as though she were invisible, Daisy thought frustratedly, and she was the patient!

‘I can assure you it won’t happen again, but Miss Summers does only have to ring the bell if she is feeling unwell,’ the nurse said carefully. ‘This was fully explained.’

‘I don’t want her left alone for the next twenty-four hours.’

Slade’s voice was clipped and cold and Daisy felt terribly sorry for the poor nurse and furiously angry with him. She went into attack mode. ‘Now look here!’ Her voice was loud and she didn’t try to moderate it as she continued, once she had Slade’s attention, ‘It was my fault I was out of bed, not hers, and I hadn’t collapsed anyway. I was just feeling a little…peculiar, that’s all.’

‘You term lying stretched out on the floor looking like death “peculiar”, I call it a collapse,’ Slade growled darkly. ‘Either way it shouldn’t have happened.’ He turned back to the nurse accusingly.

‘You’re quite right, Mr Eastwood.’ The nurse was trying to pour oil on troubled waters, her voice placating, but Daisy had the bit between her teeth now.

‘He is not.’ Now it was she who was glaring at the uniformed figure and as she suddenly recognised the fact Daisy made an effort to school her features into a more acceptable expression. ‘He is not,’ she repeated more calmly. ‘I simply felt a little faint for a moment or two, that’s all. There’s no need for all this fuss. And I feel fine now, absolutely fine,’ she finished brightly.

‘There is every need and the matter is not open for discussion.’

The sheer arrogance took Daisy’s breath away, and her fury was not helped by the subservient stance the nurse was taking as far as Slade was concerned. Daisy glowered at him with intense dislike, and he looked back at her, his arms crossed against his chest and the black denims and heavy jacket making him appear even more dark and forbidding. And handsome. Oh, yes, definitely handsome, Daisy acknowledged silently, but in a cruel, imperious, scornful way that made her long for the power to dent that outsize ego. But he was invincible—it was written all over him—and made of ice, not flesh and blood.

The next few minutes were taken up with the nurse fussing about taking Daisy’s temperature and checking her blood pressure. ‘It’s a little high.’ She frowned at the equipment in her hand. ‘We’ll check it again later.’

She wasn’t surprised it was high, Daisy thought as she slanted a quick glance at Slade Eastwood from under her eyelashes. The last ten minutes had been enough to send anyone’s temperature rocketing. Why couldn’t she have stepped in front of an ordinary family saloon with a little grey-haired old man at the wheel?

‘Now, can I get you both a drink? Tea, coffee?’ The nurse was obviously out to make amends—she was all bustle and activity and her smile was bright as she turned to face them before leaving the room.

‘A coffee would be most welcome,’ Slade replied easily.

And Slade had returned to charm mode, Daisy noted viciously as she gritted her teeth and watched him settle himself in a comfy chair he had pulled close to the bed.

Once the door had shut behind the nurse Daisy stared at Slade warily and he looked back at her quietly for a few moments before saying, ‘Relax, won’t you? I’m not about to give you the third degree.’

‘I’m perfectly relaxed, thank you,’ she lied stiffly.

‘You’re like a cat on a hot tin roof,’ he stated firmly, quite unimpressed by the falsehood. ‘I’ve dealt with some difficult women in my time but you’re one on your own. Is it me you dislike or men in general?’ he added sardonically.

‘I’m sure there must be some men who aren’t complete and utter rats.’ It was out before Daisy even had time to consider her words and brought the black eyes narrowing on her flushed face with even more intensity.

‘But you doubt it,’ he said with silky softness. ‘Is that right?’

This conversation was not going the way she would have liked it. ‘I didn’t say that,’ Daisy prevaricated quickly, ‘but obviously a divorce leaves something of a nasty taste in one’s mouth. Now, you mentioned some papers you wanted me to look at?’ It was a clear request to change the subject and much to her surprise he acquiesced, contenting himself with one more long, level look before reaching into the inner breast pocket of his black leather jacket and bringing out a bulky envelope which he handed to her.

There was a letter detailing the offer of employment on a trial basis of three months from commencement of duties, along with a contract of terms and conditions. The salary took Daisy’s breath away—in three months she would earn far more than she could expect in a year as a nursery nurse. She felt out of her depth and quite stunned at the power and wealth of this man.

‘I don’t expect an immediate decision but I thought I might as well get the details to you for you to consider overnight,’ Slade murmured softly when she didn’t move or raise her head from the papers in her hands. ‘And of course all travelling expenses, storage costs here in England if you want to keep some furniture or personal items in a safe place—anything of that nature—would be covered by myself too.’

It was generous—it was incredibly, wildly generous; she just couldn’t believe it, Daisy acknowledged blankly.

‘Your rooms at Festina Lente would comprise of your own small sitting room, bedroom and en suite bathroom,’ Slade continued smoothly, ‘which are situated next to Francesco’s suite.’

‘Festina Lente?’ Daisy caught at the name of the villa as much for something to say as anything else—she had never felt so overwhelmed in all her life. And gauche. Painfully gauche.

‘It means hurry slowly—that is, take things easily,’ Slade answered after the slightest pause. ‘My wife did not approve of my lifestyle—’ his voice was sardonic ‘—and naming the villa such was her way of reminding me of the fact. It was a gentle reminder—’ the mordant note deepened ‘—because Luisa was not a confrontational woman; in fact she couldn’t cope with conflict.’

Daisy nodded. He hadn’t added, Unlike you, but she felt the words in the air nevertheless and it rankled.

‘You would like to see a photograph of Francesco?’ It was a rhetorical question: he had already placed the picture in front of her on the bedcover, leaving her no choice in the matter.

Daisy looked down at the small, brown-eyed and black-haired little boy who was looking into the camera with a serious face, his wide, heavily lashed eyes guaranteed to melt the hardest heart, and fell immediately in love. He was so sweet, so small and fragile, and not at all as she had expected.

‘This was taken only a couple of months ago,’ Slade said softly as she picked the photograph up to scrutinise it more closely. ‘Of course the mental and physical strain of the accident and the ensuing months have meant he is not as robust or as big as other children his age, although the doctors have assured me this will rectify itself in time.’

He was trying to tug on her heartstrings—manipulate her for his own advantage. Daisy knew it but somehow—with the photo of his motherless son in her hands and the appealing little face looking up at her with an expression deep in the soulful eyes that no child should have—it didn’t matter.

‘Yes, I’m sure it will,’ she said quietly. ‘Children are far more resilient than we give them credit for.’

Anything else he might have said was interrupted by the return of the nurse and a coffee tray groaning with fresh scones and cream and strawberry jam. ‘I thought you might fancy a snack with your coffee.’ She was bustling about pulling the coffee table close to Slade and missed the dark, amused look he gave her, but Daisy noticed it and her soft lips tightened.

He thought he only had to snap his fingers and the rest of the world jumped, she thought irritably—and that was probably because they did! If it had been anyone else—anyone else—she would have been overcome with gratefulness for all they had done for her, and she didn’t doubt for a minute he was quite willing to forget all she owed him as he had suggested. But she would rather die than be beholden to this man. She couldn’t explain why—there was no logic or rhyme or reason to it—but he didn’t even have to open his mouth to catch her on the raw.

In spite of the prevailing atmosphere Slade seemed to thoroughly enjoy his scones and coffee, sitting back comfortably in the easy chair—one leg crossed over the other and the big body perfectly relaxed—as he munched his way through three of the scones and drank two cups of black coffee.

Daisy forced herself to eat one scone—she certainly wasn’t going to let him think she was nervous or in any way affected by his presence—but each mouthful was a huge effort and the food tasted like cotton wool. And behind the calm mask she found her brain was working at express speed.

Ronald was looking for her—she had to face that, along with the knowledge that her ex-husband always accomplished anything he set out to do. He was a determined man and—she had come to realise in the last sixteen months—an extremely ruthless and selfish one. He wouldn’t care a fig about her feelings or the fact that she didn’t want to see him; in fact any opposition would only make him more intent on having his own way.

They had met when she was at college in Cambridge—her family having lived in the area—and Ronald was attending the university there. He had been taking maths and physics and was a brilliant student, and his striking good looks had meant he was never short of female hangers-on, but right from the moment he had seen her at one of the nightclubs in the town the students frequented he hadn’t looked at another woman. Or so she had thought. Yes, so she had thought!

Oh, she had been so gullible. It made her want to squirm if she thought about it. She forced herself to bite into the scone and chew steadily as her stomach muscles clenched at the memory.

When her father had received a marvellous job offer in the States and the family had decided to uproot themselves from everything familiar, she had stayed. For Ronald. And a year later, when he had graduated with a first, they had married. She now knew that he had been seeing other women—one-night stands mostly—all through their courtship and engagement, and marriage hadn’t changed him. Not one iota.

He was a serial adulterer. That was how Stephanie had described him when the full story had come to light, and she was right. But by then Daisy’s heart had been smashed to smithereens.

She took a sip of coffee, that same heart pounding at the unwelcome memories that were crowding in. She wasn’t aware of an ebony-black gaze trained on her pale face, or the intensity in Slade’s eyes as he watched her—she was back in Scotland on a cold, snowy December night some sixteen months ago, and she had just opened an envelope which had been waiting for her on her return home from work.

She had expected to find a Christmas card—it was only a week before Christmas Eve and hordes of cards were arriving daily—but instead her fingers had closed on the photographs the envelope had contained. Explicit photographs—foul in content—of Ronald and another woman. She had stared at them for long minutes, her mind and body stunned and still, and then she had walked through into their shining kitchen and sat and waited for Ronald to come home.

He had blustered and shouted—he had even raised his hand to slap her at one point in the almighty row that had followed his return, but something in her eyes had stopped him. And he had lied, over and over again, saying his association with the woman in the pictures had been over before he had met her. But a hundred little question marks which had been mounting for years were adding up and Daisy hadn’t let the matter go.

Eventually he had admitted to the affair, saying it had finished six months before and that the woman in question was jealous of her. The woman had been jealous, but not of her— Ronald had just started seeing the woman’s best friend, which had sent the female in question into a frenzy of bitter resentment and spite at his rejection.

It had been that revelation which had opened the door to further disclosures—unearthed slowly over a matter of weeks whilst she had been staying with Stephanie and Malcolm. The present woman—Susan Bannister—was wealthy, very wealthy, rich enough to finance the business Ronald had been longing to set up for some time, and it hadn’t seemed to worry Susan that her lover’s wife was five months pregnant.

She had lost the baby.

Daisy took another deep gulp of the coffee as her stomach churned and the blackness came. She had had a miscarriage—brought on by extreme stress and anxiety, according to the doctor at the hospital—and her daughter had lived for three minutes. She had held the tiny body in her arms for much longer than that, and as she had stared into the beautiful little face her love for Ronald had turned to hate.

And now he was looking for her, and there would be confrontation after confrontation—she knew enough about Ronald to know that. And he could get nasty, very nasty—she knew that too.

‘…if that suits you?’

‘I’m sorry?’ Daisy came out of the black abyss to the realisation that Slade had been talking and she hadn’t heard a word.

‘I said should you decide to accept the post of nanny to my son I would like you to fly out to Italy no later than the middle of May if that is convenient?’ Slade repeated patiently. The patience was unusual for him but he had seen something in her face which had appalled him in the last few moments.

She stared at him—the hospital room, Slade, the normality of it all strange after the darkness of her thoughts.

‘And I would like you to make a decision as soon as possible, of course,’ he added carefully. ‘Three months is not very long and the clock is already ticking away.’

And that same clock might be bringing Ronald nearer and nearer. The thought spun in her head. And she was never going to come to terms with the loss of her daughter and all that had happened with the threat of Ronald in the background.

Italy was far, far away. Her ex-husband wouldn’t find her in Italy, and perhaps she might even find some peace of mind in an alien land where there was nothing to remind her of that terrible Christmas Eve when they had buried her daughter in a tiny little white coffin? Perhaps…

She looked straight at Slade now and the hard, glittering eyes were waiting for her response, their darkness unfathomable.

‘You…you said a trial period?’ she asked numbly.

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving her white face. ‘Yes, I did,’ he said evenly. ‘And you have my word that if you find the post is not to your liking there will be no questions asked or pressure brought to bear. You will be flown home at the end of three months and that will be that.’

‘You might find I’m not to your liking,’ Daisy said quietly, her voice shaking a little. ‘It works both ways.’

Slade looked into the deep honey-gold eyes with their thick, silky lashes, at the small, straight nose and full, generous mouth framed by a silver halo of white-blonde hair, and he nodded again. ‘Yes, I might,’ he agreed expressionlessly, his dark face giving nothing away.

She was crazy to even be considering accepting this job. She didn’t want to work for him and she certainly didn’t want to be a mother figure to the sad little boy in the photograph when her arms were still aching for her own baby daughter, Daisy told herself silently. And then she heard a voice—which sounded suspiciously like her own—saying, ‘All right, Mr Eastwood, I would be very pleased to accept your generous offer if you are sure I am suitable for the post. But…but if you want me to come to Italy I would prefer to do it soon—as soon as possible in fact.’

‘I see.’ The deep, slightly husky voice betrayed no surprise or emotion whatsoever, and Daisy found it helped enormously. Suddenly it wasn’t such a crazy thing to do—it was a job, just a job, and if it didn’t work out on either side nothing was lost. But she would be out of Ronald’s grasp, in a different environment, and that could only be good. ‘But there is one thing I must stipulate,’ he added quietly.

‘Yes?’ she asked weakly, suddenly nervous again.

‘My name is Slade. This “Mr Eastwood” makes me feel sixty-four instead of thirty-four,’ he murmured with dark amusement.

And then he smiled, really smiled, and the cold, autocratic face turned into someone else—someone much younger, someone who could be tender, someone who was so breathtakingly attractive that it was mind-blowing…and someone who scared her to death.