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

BETH knew the name Nicholas Steele, of course. Didn’t everyone? The man probably owned or had developed half of London, and he had even merited special mention by Miss Sheffield when Beth attended her initial interview. The headmistress at St James’s explained that the daughter of Nicholas Steele was a pupil at the school, and that, ‘Mr Steele is on the board of governors and also our most influential parent.’ For ‘influential’ Beth had known she should read wealthy!

This man was Nicholas Steele?

Rebekka Steele’s father?

Incredible!

Rebekka was such a lovely little girl, very warm and open, whereas this man—Well, he might still be as gorgeous as sin, but the last few minutes had also shown Beth that he could be arrogant, and there was a definite edge of ruthlessness to those sculptured lips.

‘There won’t be any repercussions,’ Beth declared firmly as she carefully placed the card on top of the dashboard before turning to open the passenger door.

Nicholas Steele’s hand on her arm prevented her from actually getting out of the car.

Beth turned to look at him irritably. ‘Yes?’

The perplexed frown between his brows deepened to a scowl before he slowly released her arm. ‘If you’re sure you’re okay …?’ he muttered gruffly.

She gave an abrupt nod before scrambling quickly out of the car, slamming the door behind her and hurrying into the school building.

‘The bell rang for the start of lessons some time ago, Mrs Morgan.’ Miss Sheffield’s voice rang out disapprovingly across the cavernous hallway.

Beth turned reluctantly to face the middle-aged headmistress. ‘It really is an awful morning, isn’t it?’

The other woman’s mouth tightened. ‘I’m pleased to say that all of my other members of staff seemed to take that fact into account by leaving home earlier than usual to ensure that they arrived on time!’

Maybe so, but then none of Miss Sheffield’s other members of staff had been delayed because they’d been knocked down by the school’s ‘most influential’ parent!

‘Am I speaking to Mrs Morgan?’ Nick prompted tersely when his telephone call was finally answered.

The two days since Bekka’s initial request for her biology teacher to be invited to their home on Christmas Day—correction, on Bekka’s birthday, which just happened to be Christmas Day!—had been decidedly uncomfortable ones for Nick, as his daughter had brought the subject up every time the two of them were together. Initially wheedling and cajoling, Bekka had soon become whining and tearful as Nick had steadfastly refused to give in to her pleas.

The frosty drive in to school this morning, the last day of term, had been the final straw as far as Nick was concerned. To the extent that Nick had eventually decided to at least telephone the woman; with any luck the widowed Mrs Morgan would have the good sense to refuse the invitation!

Whatever the outcome of this telephone call, Nick knew his Christmas was already shot to hell. Forced into being polite on Christmas Day to some old lady he didn’t know—and didn’t want to know, either!—if the woman accepted. Or given the silent treatment by his daughter if this Mrs Morgan turned down the invitation—because Nick had absolutely no doubt who Bekka was going to blame if her teacher refused to join them!

Wasn’t eight a little young for his daughter to be entering the terrible teens? Or perhaps Bekka was more like Janet, her petulant mother, than he had previously realised.

‘Speaking,’ Mrs Morgan suddenly confirmed gruffly.

And slightly familiarly, Nick recognised with a frown. Had he met Bekka’s biology teacher before? Perhaps during one of the numerous school events he had been expected to attend since becoming a governor of the school two years ago?

‘This is Nick Steele,’ he explained tersely. ‘Bekka Steele’s father—’

‘I know who you are, Mr Steele. Although I’m curious to know how you acquired my private mobile number?’ she prompted suspiciously.

She’s paranoid, Nick decided irritably. Paranoid, with a deeply husky voice that made Nick wonder if she actually did have that moustache and whiskery chin to go with it!

‘Your headmistress very kindly gave it to me—’

‘Miss Sheffield did?’ That soft voice sounded dismayed now rather than suspicious.

‘Once I had explained the reason for my call, yes,’ Nick answered with rising impatience. Really, he didn’t have time for this. He still had several meetings to get through today, before he would be able to leave his office just after lunch so that he could attend Bekka’s Nativity Play this afternoon—thankfully the last school event before it closed down for the holidays.

Which, with his parents flying to America to spend Christmas with his sister, and so not able to help look after Bekka as they usually did, was going to provide Nick with yet another headache.

How had Janet managed? Nick wondered, for what had to be the hundredth time. Although their divorce three years ago had resulted in Janet being more than adequately provided for. Enough so that she didn’t have to juggle a job as well as motherhood, in the way that Nick was trying to juggle his business interests and recently acquired single parenthood.

Get over it, he instructed himself impatiently.

This was just the way it was.

The way it was going to remain.

Nick had no intention of ever remarrying. Things might be hard now, with a constant juggling act of Nick’s time, but Bekka wasn’t going to be with him for ever, whereas a second wife would be!

Hiring a nanny was the obvious answer, of course, but Nick had already tried that—twice—when Bekka had first come to live with him after Janet died. Both those nannies, for different reasons, had been a disaster.

The first nanny, a woman in her fifties Nick had thought would be a perfect surrogate grandmother-type,

had turned out to possess the disposition of a drill sergeant. The second, much younger nanny, had been waiting for him naked in his bed when he’d returned late home from work one evening!

As Bekka was actually at school most of the time, and his parents had always been willing to help out with Bekka whenever they could, Nick had decided, after those two disastrous attempts, to dispense with the nanny idea altogether.

‘And exactly what is the reason for your call, Mr Steele?’ Mrs Morgan spoke slowly now.

Get it over with, Nick, he instructed himself impatiently. Ask the woman, make polite murmurings at her refusal, and then just hang up. ‘Bekka would like—Bekka and I were wondering if you would care to spend Christmas Day with the two of us …?’

There was complete silence on the other end of the telephone line. As the woman tried to think up an excuse for refusing, Nick hoped.

‘Are you being serious, Mr Steele?’

Nick scowled darkly as he detected the tone of disbelief. ‘Of course I’m being serious, Mrs Morgan. Christmas Day also happens to be Bekka’s birthday, and she—Bekka and I,’ he corrected again through gritted teeth, ‘would love you to spend the day with the two of us.’

There was another loaded silence. Finally, there was a gruff reply. ‘Let me see if I’ve understood you correctly, Mr Steele. You knocked me down with your car two days ago. I’ve had the most dreadful cold as a result of the soaking I received. And now you’re inviting me to spend Christmas Day with you and Bekka …?’

Nick reeled from the absolute shock of realising that paranoid and old Mrs Morgan was, in fact, the definitely un-paranoid and very young red-haired woman he had accidentally knocked over with his car two days ago …!