Читать книгу Prada And Prejudice - Katie Oliver - Страница 14
ОглавлениеWhen Natalie came downstairs, she saw reporters loitering outside the front doors. They were as persistent – and irritating – as midges. Thrusting her sunglasses on, she detoured once again to the back service entrance and peered cautiously out. No one was in sight.
Halfway down the alley to her car, Natalie heard a shout behind her.
“Natalie! Where’s Rhys? Is it true you’re seeing each other?”
“How do you feel about Dominic and Keeley’s engagement? Give us a quote, love!”
She flung herself inside the car and slammed the door, then gunned the engine. Her heart pounded as she threw the Peugeot in gear and screeched out onto Sloane Street, narrowly missing a taxicab in the process. She looked in the rear-view mirror. Thankfully, no one followed her.
Natalie found a parking spot on a side street and let out a ragged breath. Bloody media! What she needed was someone to talk to. Someone calm and sensible…
She grabbed her mobile and scrolled to Sir Richard’s private number. “I need to see you, grandfather,” she said without preamble when he answered. “Right now.” Her voice wobbled. “Thanks. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Cherie James peeled the last potato, ready to add it to the others arranged around the roast, when the phone rang. “Yes?”
“Hullo, darling, it’s me.”
“Alastair,” Cherie said as she eyed the roast, “don’t tell me you’re working late again. You promised to be home in time for dinner tonight—”
“I know, and I’m sorry. But Gordon wants ideas to improve our bottom line, and he wants them by tomorrow morning. I don’t know when I’ll get home. Don’t wait up.”
“Don’t worry,” Cherie said tightly as she put the roast in the Aga and slammed the oven door, “I won’t.” The meat would taste like a boot by the time Alastair finally sat down to eat.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised. “We’ll go to that new French restaurant you’ve wanted to try. I’ll make reservations for Saturday night when I hang up.”
Despite her anger, she relented. “All right,” she said finally. “It’s not your fault. It’s just that you’re always staying late. I’m bloody sick of my own company.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. But at least Hannah’s there.”
“Another year and she’ll be off to university.” Then what would she do? Cherie wondered, and fought back the sudden rise of despair. “I miss you,” she added softly. “I miss us.”
“As do I, darling.” He paused. “Look, if I push it, I might finish up by ten o’clock. Wait for me?”
“Of course. I’ll see you then.”
She rang off and wondered, not for the first time, if Alastair was having an affair. But as quickly as the idea occurred, she discarded it. He wasn’t that sort of man. Besides, if anyone was entitled to have an affair, Cherie reflected irritably, she was. Putting up with Alastair’s late hours, worrying about their daughters, what with Holly living on her own in London, and Hannah, off to uni next year—
Oh, stop, she scolded herself. You’ve a good husband and two lovely daughters who’ve never given you a moment’s trouble. You’ve nothing to worry about.
She took out the flour and sugar and decided to make a treacle tart for dessert.
Affairs were for other people, after all. Not for people like Alastair and her.
Miraculously, there were no reporters outside Sir Richard’s townhouse when Natalie arrived. Nevertheless, she parked around the corner and made her way cautiously to the front door.
She’d barely raised her hand to knock when the door swung open. “Come in, miss, your grandfather’s expecting you.”
“Thank you, Lyons.” She smiled at Sir Richard’s butler. “Is he in the drawing room?”
“He’s in his study, miss. Would you like a drink?”
She’d like more than a drink, she’d like an entire bottle, thank you, and no need for a glass. But, “No thanks,” she said, and walked quickly to the end of the hall. Sir Richard stood before the window, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Grandfather,” she said in a rush as she tossed her handbag aside, “I’m so glad you’re here. You’ll never believe what that awful Rhys Gordon’s done now!”
He turned away from the window and fixed a rheumy eye on her. From his desk, he picked up a copy of the Daily Mail, held it up, and asked, “Has it anything to do with this?”
A photograph was prominently featured on the cover. It was a long shot, and grainy, but it unmistakably showed Natalie standing on the pavement in front of her flat, pressed against Rhys with her arms looped around his neck. It was headlined, ‘Exclusive Photos! D&J Heiress Gives Gordon the Business’.
She grabbed it from him, shocked. “What?!”
“I read the papers every morning, and occasionally, I read the tabloids. Although today, I wish I hadn’t. You can imagine my dismay to see my granddaughter prominently displayed on the cover of this—” his lip curled in distaste “—publication.”
Natalie hurled the tabloid aside. “This is all Rhys’s fault! He engineered all of this for publicity!”
“Well, then,” Sir Richard said, “it seems he’s succeeded.”
“Is that all you can say?” she demanded. “He’s using this fake affair nonsense to get Dashwood and James in the headlines! He’s using me as tabloid fodder! At the party, he pretended to help me, after I…when I…” She faltered, and bit her lip.
“After you got drunk and threw your drink at him?” he said, his expression forbidding. “An action meant, if these stories are true, for that twit of a boyfriend of yours.”
“Ex-boyfriend,” she murmured.
“Natalie, sit down,” he commanded. “It’s time we talked.”
Grandfather rarely issued commands, most especially not to her. This was serious, indeed. She sank without a word into one of the wing chairs facing his desk.
“First of all, I know it was you Rhys referred to in the board meeting this morning,” he informed her. “It was you who treated him so shabbily. I know, because I asked you to cover for Mrs. Tuttle in the lingerie department last Saturday.”
“I was hung over—” she began.
“It doesn’t matter, Natalie,” he cut in sharply. “There’s no excuse for treating a customer – any customer – so poorly. I won’t have it.”
“But he was insufferably rude—”
“He was testing you. He wanted to see how you’d handle the situation. You failed miserably, by the way.”
“It was sneaky, what he did!”
“I may not care for his tactics, but his instincts are spot on. Nor does he avoid unpleasantness. Unlike you, Natalie, who’s avoided unpleasantness – and work – for two years.”
“That’s not fair,” Natalie protested. “I worked. I did! Well, for a bit…but I wanted to be with Dominic instead.”
“Ah, yes. Dominic.” Distaste was plain upon his face.
“I thought…I was sure I was in love with him.”
“Yes. So you followed him on tour, putting your own life on hold, and let him treat you like – pardon my vulgarity – shit.” He held up a hand as she protested. “Ever since you met him, you’ve drifted along like an unmoored ship. I allowed it, because I thought eventually you’d settle down…to something, or someone. But you haven’t. And now, this.”
“I can explain—”
“Can you indeed? Can you explain how Rhys Gordon ‘engineered’ this photo of you, pressing yourself against him with your arms round his neck?”
Natalie blushed. “I was drunk, and furious at Dominic. But nothing happened. Rhys took me home, and left.”
“Then you’re very lucky. I’m not so far past it that I don’t remember what young men can be like, especially when it comes to taking advantage of a situation. How fortunate for you that Mr. Gordon behaved like a gentleman.”
Natalie hung her head.
“Your mother called me earlier. Reporters and photographers are camped out in front of her house, ringing her telephone—”
“I know. She left me four messages.”
“Did it never occur to you to call her back?”
“I couldn’t! I had a lunch meeting with Rhys and couldn’t check my messages until this afternoon.”
Sir Richard regarded her, his expression unreadable. “I hate to say it, Natalie, but things can’t continue on as they are. You must either find employment, or settle down with a more suitable young man. I won’t allow you to throw your life away in this irresponsible manner any longer.”
She looked at him in alarm. “What do you mean?”
“You must learn to make your own way. You’ve been provided with an excellent education and every privilege a young woman could want. Natalie, I love you dearly. But I will not tolerate – or finance – your bohemian lifestyle any longer.”
“But…how will I pay the rent on my flat without my quarterly allowance? Or put petrol in my car?”
“You’ll find a job, I expect, like the rest of the world.” He paused. “You might even find that you like being useful.”
Stiffly, Natalie stood and retrieved her handbag. It was unbearable to hear grandfather echoing Rhys’s own words. “I came here because I thought you’d understand. Instead, you’re telling me you’re cutting me off unless I find a job, or a husband. Have I got the gist of it?”
“I dislike having to say these things as much as you dislike hearing them. But they must be said.”
“I feel completely blindsided,” Natalie whispered, and her throat tightened. “Dominic’s dumped me, Caro’s getting married…everyone’s getting on with their lives, doing things, building careers. Moving on…and leaving me b-behind.”
Sir Richard drew her into his arms and stroked her hair as she wept. “None of that, now. You have a lot to offer, Natalie, and it’s only yourself that’s holding you back. I know your father’s suicide gutted you. It was a terrible thing. He was my only son, you know.” He patted her back as she hiccupped out a sob. “But life – and business, unfortunately – continues. We must soldier on.”
Natalie forced a watery smile and lifted her head. “You sound like the Queen.”
“Dashwood and James are in serious trouble. We owe money – taxes, a great deal of them – and I need help to straighten out the mess. Rhys is right to implement his changes. I don’t like them any more than you do.” He sighed, and he suddenly looked like what he was, a tired old man. “But he’s our only hope.”
Then we’re in serious trouble, she thought grimly, but didn’t say it. “He asked for my help today.”
“Did he? Good. I’ll speak to him about hiring you on and putting you in that small office next to his.” He picked up the telephone. “Now, I’m ending this tabloid nonsense. I won’t have you or your mother bothered by reporters.”
Natalie kissed his papery cheek. “Thanks, grandfather. I love you masses.”
“I love you too, you cheeky girl. Run along, now.”
She paused at the study door. “I’ll need new clothes if I’m to look like a proper businesswoman, won’t I?”
He regarded her sternly. “Natalie, I’ve already allowed you to get your ‘Peony’ handbag—”
“Poppy,” she corrected him. “It’s a ‘Poppy’ handbag.”
“—but I must reiterate that we cannot afford these sorts of expenditures any longer. I’m sure you can find something suitable to wear from within your own overstuffed closet.”
She sighed. “Oh, very well. I suppose I might unearth something, even if it’s last season… It’s just so dreary, practising all this economy. I’m not used to it.”
“I know it’s difficult. But if we do our part, and live more frugally, and if Rhys Gordon makes good on his promise to turn things around, things will improve.”
“I hope you’re right.” Scepticism coloured her voice. “But you have far more faith in Mr. Gordon than I do.” She smiled and waggled her fingers. “Goodnight, grandfather.”
“Goodnight, my dear. Don’t forget your mother’s birthday luncheon in the tearoom on Monday. Eleven o’clock sharp. And don’t be late!” he called out after her.
When she’d gone, Sir Richard took a pill out of his pillbox, his hand trembling slightly, and swallowed it with a grimace. Blood pressure pills…angina pills…pills to help him sleep and pills to keep him alert. It was a dreadful thing, to have to take so many damned pills.
But as he pressed the box closed, a smile curved his lips. He would sleep well tonight, with or without his pills.
Natalie would be sorted, at last. That was one worry he could cross off his list.
