Читать книгу Marrying A Millionaire - Laura Martin - Страница 7

‘MUMMY, tell me about our new house again!’

Cathy placed the last of her cooking utensils into the large cardboard box and sat back on her heels, glad of the diversion. She had been up since first light, making sure everything was organised for the move, and felt absolutely exhausted, even though it was barely three in the afternoon.

‘Well, it’s old, and it has four little windows at the front which look out onto a narrow lane, and there’s a square of grass at the front and a much larger piece at the back…’

Robbie slid onto her lap and linked his arms around her neck. ‘Tell me about the tree!’

Cathy smiled, cuddling him close. ‘There’s an apple tree in the front garden, just below your bedroom window, and soon it will have fluffy white blossom on it and later on there will be apples which we’ll be able to pick any time we like.’

‘And no one will tell us off?’

‘No one will tell us off,’ Cathy agreed.

‘And we can pick the apples even if it’s dark?’

Cathy laughed and kissed her son’s cheek. ‘Yes, even then.’

‘I’m going to climb that tree, right to the top!’

‘We’ll see.’

A worried look flickered across Robbie’s young face. ‘And will there be friends for me to play with?’

‘Oh, yes!’ Cathy’s expression was deliberately reassuring, for she knew this was an aspect of the move which was worrying Robbie greatly. ‘There must be quite a lot of children in the village because they’ve got a lovely little school with a brand-new play area and a pond—’

‘And if I don’t like it we can come back here?’

Cathy pushed the curtain of fiery red hair back from her face and looked around the dismal kitchen, with its damp walls and cheap melamine units. If she had to endure even so much as another day in this box in the sky, then she felt she’d go stark raving mad.

She looked out of the window. From this position on the kitchen floor all she could see were grey lumpy clouds; there wasn’t a tree in sight—no buildings either, come to that. Cathy heaved a sigh. Presumably somebody somewhere had thought it clever to put people in boxes instead of houses, and stack them so high that the tenants could actually feel the building swaying in the wind, but she couldn’t for the life of her imagine why. A handy way of solving the housing problem, she supposed—except of course that living like this created more problems than it solved—far more.

Cathy thought of the graffiti and the litter and the smell which accompanied every journey to this, the twelfth floor; then she looked down at her son, snuggled on her lap. He would be able to read soon, and in no time the paint-sprayed words would begin to mean something and his sweet, mischievous innocence would be tainted before its time.

‘’Cos Dale says it’s really boring in the countryside,’ Robbie continued. ‘He says there are no shops and if you want sweets then you have to walk miles! He says—’

‘Well, when we’re settled in you can invite Dale over and show him how good the countryside really is, can’t you?’ Cathy announced, before Robbie could repeat any more of his friend’s little insights into country life. ‘Don’t worry, you’re going to absolutely love it, sweetheart,’ she told him with a cheerful smile. ‘We both are.’

Daniel turned the collar up on his jacket. Hell! It was cold. He really needed to get the heating system mended on the Land Rover; three weeks of freezing March winds was as much as he could take. He drove past the garage which looked as if it had been caught in a time warp, with its singular petrol pump and its pre-war signs advertising anything from chocolate to washing powder, and mentally vowed to book it in first thing in the morning.

It was quiet in the village this evening; several lights were shining in the row of old cottages which lined the green, but few people were braving the rain on this cold, raw evening. Damn! Must get the brakes looked at too. He pressed his foot down hard on the pedal and the Land Rover came to a halt—eventually. Daniel regarded the van which blocked the lane for a moment—a rental vehicle, by the looks of things. The back was up and there was a small quantity of furniture inside which was getting wetter by the minute. Not exactly the best of times to move house.

He glanced towards the cottage. A single bulb dangled dismally from the ceiling in the front downstairs room. He knew the house—he knew all the properties in the village. It was rather run-down, in need of a total overhaul. The place had character—provided, that was, you could overlook the rotten windowpanes and moss-covered roof, and sundry other things that were doubtless in need of repair.

He exhaled a breath, regarding the vehicle with irritation. The lane was blocked and there was clearly still a fair amount of moving in to do. He’d have to turn around and take another route, which was annoying, considering he was less than half a mile from reaching his destination.

A man appeared at that moment, hurrying down the path from the house, wearing baseball cap and worn denims and a short leather jacket which did little to protect him from the torrential rain. The youth—for he was barely twenty, Daniel saw as he came nearer—glanced across at the Land Rover and hurried over. Daniel wound down his window.

‘We’re going to be a little while yet, mate. Not much point in ’anging around.’ A hard, assessing gaze. ‘Not unless you fancy giving us an ’and, that is.’ The young man glanced back towards the house. ‘Truth is, I’m a bit lumbered here.’

‘Lumbered?’ Daniel followed his gaze, watching as another figure, dressed more appropriately in a long yellow mackintosh with hood pulled up, scurried down the path towards the van.

‘Yeah, I was let down by a mate.’ The man wiped the rain away from his eyes and turned his collar up, huddling into the inadequate protection of his jacket. ‘We’ve done most of the small stuff, but now we’ve got a bed to shift, and to be honest I don’t see how we’re going to do it.’

Daniel watched as the mackintosh-clad figure glanced towards his vehicle, then clambered up into the van and began to attempt to manoeuvre a bed towards the edge of the van.

‘Hey, don’t be stupid! You’ll do yourself an injury!’ The man’s voice rang out sharply in the damp night air. He glanced back at Daniel. ‘See what I mean?’ He swore sharply as the bed teetered dangerously, then jogged over to the van and hoisted himself up, issuing instructions in a harsh, irritated voice.

Daniel exhaled a breath, glanced around the interior of the Land Rover and retrieved a long, waxed raincoat, which had definitely seen better days, from amongst the mess and muddle in the back. It looked as if he was going to have to help, or be witness to a rain-soaked disaster that wouldn’t be fit to sleep on tonight.

The bed wasn’t particularly heavy, but it was awkward. All the more so with the seemingly willing but rather ineffectual helper in the yellow mackintosh getting in the way. Daniel lifted the bed to the edge of the van, then jumped down and helped the jacketed youth carry the item down the garden path and into the house.

The interior was gloomy, and rather cold, but far better than being out in the rain. Yellow Mackintosh led the way like a beacon of light, and between them Daniel and the other man manoeuvred the bed through the narrow hallway and up a short flight of stairs to a large bedroom with faded pink rosebuds and several large damp stains on the walls.

‘Thanks a lot. Just here will be fine.’

She sounded young and immensely grateful. Daniel wondered why the possibility of her being a woman hadn’t occurred to him before. He gave the yellow mackintosh more than a cursory glance, watching with interest as the shrouded figure pulled down the hood to reveal a riot of crazy auburn curls which were a stark and colourful contrast against the shiny yellow material.

The girl was an amazing and vibrant apparition amongst the drabness of the house. Daniel found his gaze drawn to the delicate complexion, to the flash of emerald eyes. His mouth curved with surprise and the girl’s mouth curved too, into a hesitant, shy smile. ‘This is very good of you,’ she murmured. ‘I don’t think we could have managed on our own, could we, Gary?’

‘Nah. There’s a couple more pieces.’ Gary raised questioning brows. ‘Any chance of giving us a hand with those, mate? Then I can clear out of your way with the van.’

‘Sure.’ Daniel nodded. His gaze returned towards the girl. She looked exhausted. ‘You might as well stay out of the rain,’ he told her. ‘No point in getting wet unneccesarily.’

‘Thanks.’ She managed another smile which, Daniel could see, involved some effort. ‘I’d better go and check on Robbie. He’ll be frightened if he wakes up and I’m not around.’

‘Robbie?’ The question was out before he realised.

‘My son.’ Steady green eyes met Daniel’s enquiring gaze. ‘He’s asleep in a chair downstairs.’ She glanced towards the youth. ‘Gary, if you could get his bed next, that would be really helpful.’

‘Yeah, OK, I’m doing my best.’ He scowled. ‘Can’t promise anything.’

It took another thirty minutes before the last of the furniture was off-loaded from the van. It had been a rather scant haul: a few pieces of heavy, mismatched furniture and jumbled possessions.

‘Thanks, mate. Couldn’t have done it without you.’ Gary let out a sigh of relief and proffered a somewhat grimy hand in thanks. ‘If there was a pub around here, I’d buy you a pint.’

‘There is, actually, but don’t worry.’ Daniel’s mouth curved into a perfunctory smile. ‘I’m on my way somewhere.’

‘You’re very wet. I’m so sorry we had to trouble you.’

He watched as she came into the front downstairs room. The mac had been removed to reveal ubiquitous, loose-fitting jeans and a baggy red jumper which clashed madly with her hair. In her arms was a child of about five or six, with silky brown hair and a cherub face. Daniel smiled. ‘He’s sleeping soundly.’

‘Yes, thank goodness!’ She glanced affectionately down at her son, then looked back at Daniel. ‘I know it’s not much, but would you like a cup of tea before you go? You’ve been so kind, helping us out like this. It’s the least we can offer.’

Her voice was a great attraction: soft and soothing with a hint of huskiness. The sort of voice that stayed in your mind long after any words had been spoken. Daniel gazed for a few moments at mother and child, then, realising he was in danger of staring, made an effort and collected his thoughts. ‘Thanks, but no, thanks. You’ve got your hands full enough as it is.’ He smiled briefly. ‘I’ll leave you both to settle in.’

‘And I’ll shift the van.’ Gary’s voice was rough and harsh, over-loud in the echoey emptiness of the room. The child stirred in the young woman’s arms.

‘He’s very tired. It’s been a long day.’ The girl inhaled a steadying breath as she wrapped the blanket more tightly around her son, bending her head to kiss the silky brown hair. ‘Goodbye, then.’ Her eyelids were heavy with sleep. ‘And thanks again.’

It was the strangest thing, Daniel mused as he hurried, head bent, through the still pouring rain to his Land Rover outside. Why on earth should he feel a compulsion to stay?

He opened the door and climbed in, waiting for Gary to move off in the van. He looked across at the uncurtained window. The house was dismal and cold. He thought of the girl and her son; presumably the two of them had some form of heating sorted out, but even so…

The van was moving. Daniel started his engine, allowed himself one last look across at the cottage, at the solitary light bulb swinging from the ceiling, realised suddenly that he didn’t know her name, then thrust the battered vehicle into gear and pulled away.

All Cathy wanted to do was sleep—impossible, of course, with so much to do, but that was always the way of things. She’d had so many restless nights recently, worrying about the move, frightened to death that she wasn’t doing the right thing, and now she felt dead on her feet.

She carried Robbie to the settee and settled him down beneath a pile of blankets; the mattress on his bed felt slightly damp, and she didn’t want to risk giving Robbie a chill. She placed gentle fingers against his rosy cheek to check his temperature. He was as warm as toast, which was more than she could say for herself, she thought, as a shiver racked her body.

There was a cold draught of air coming from somewhere. She walked out into the narrow hall to investigate. Typical Gary; he hadn’t shut the front door properly. She watched as he jogged back down the garden path. His trainers weren’t as white as when he’d first started the move, she noticed; he wouldn’t be pleased with that. ‘I’ll be getting back.’ He huddled beneath the dilapidated porch, unsuccessfully trying to shelter from the driving rain.

‘You don’t want something to eat or drink before you go?’ Cathy asked dutifully. She was relieved when he briefly shook his head. ‘Nah, I need to get the van back.’ He pulled back the cuff of his leather jacket and glanced down at his wristwatch. ‘Marty wanted it back before nine, and it’s gone that now.’

‘OK.’ Cathy leaned forward and kissed his cheek. ‘You’ve been a great help. Come and see me, won’t you, when I’m properly settled in?’

‘Yeah, I might if I’m at a loose end.’ He hesitated, glancing around into the gloom of the night. ‘Although, why anyone would want to live out here in this Godforsaken wilderness I’ll never know!’

‘It’s not a wilderness.’ Cathy smiled. ‘It’s a beautiful village; there’s a duck pond and a church, and a tiny shop which sells just about everything—’

‘Yeah, well, it’s your funeral…’ Gary lifted his sloping shoulders in a shrug. ‘Me—I’d go mad. And what about Robbie?’

‘He’s going to be fine about the move,’ Cathy replied, with more conviction than she felt. ‘Once he settles in, sees how much more enjoyable life can be in the country, he’ll be fine.’

‘Yeah! So you keep saying.’ Gary turned away, clearly uninterested. ‘Anyway, I’ll see you.’

‘Yes, bye!’ Her voice, she thought, sounded forlorn in the dark night. Cathy waited until the van had pulled away, then closed the door on the dark, rainy night, conscious, as the silence engulfed her, that the moment she had been waiting for had finally arrived.

She wandered back into the front room, her gaze skimming over the faded wallpaper and dingy surfaces. Funny how much better things seemed when the sun was shining and the birds were singing, and you were caught in the grip of excitement about the new start in life you were going to make.

She stood in the middle of the room and listened. It was so quiet. Nothing. Not the distant hum of traffic or the banging of car doors, or people shouting. Silence. It was going to take a bit of getting used to after the continual noise of the estate. Cathy inhaled a deep breath. Gary was right; Robbie was going to miss his friends. He had just started school, got used to everything, and she had whisked him away from all that was familiar to try and fulfil some crazy, hare-brained dream of living in the country.

She thought about the impromptu farewell her friends and neighbours had given her just before she’d left. It had been such a nice surprise. Everyone had gone to so much trouble: baking a cake, wrapping up some simple housewarming presents, telling her how much they were going to miss her.

She turned towards the kitchen to search for a bucket and mop. There was a piece of wrapping paper still caught around the handle and she picked it off absent-mindedly.

He had been so handsome…tall and muscular in comparison to Gary’s wiry frame…dark eyes, warm smile, large, capable hands…older than herself…Cathy reached into a box and pulled out a large bottle of cleaning fluid. Thirty, maybe…She turned on the hot tap and water splashed into the bucket; it was freezing cold. Such a relief when he had helped. She had been worrying about the move ever since Gary had turned up at the flat without his so-called mate. He had been on his way somewhere. A glimpse of a jacket beneath the old coat he’d worn, smart trousers, polished shoes. To visit a girlfriend, perhaps? Or just home from work, straight to a restaurant to meet his wife for dinner?

There was a restaurant on the green. Cathy had noticed it when she had first visited this place. It was very refined and expensive-looking, way out of her league—she could barely stretch to a bag of chips. Not that any of that mattered. She had moved here fully prepared for the struggle which lay ahead. Money was important, but only to the extent that she could pay her bills on time, earn enough so that Robbie was warm and clothed and well-fed. She knew she would have been better off staying in the flat in town—financially at least—but what about the quality of their lives? That mattered too, didn’t it?

She glanced down at the picture on the bottle in her hand: a gleaming sink, sparkling taps. She gazed at the grimy work surfaces in front of her and jerked into action. She would need to boil lots of kettles for hot water, then she’d begin upstairs in Robbie’s room. If she was lucky, by morning she might have the most important rooms cleaned and ready for habitation…

It was late. Daniel negotiated the narrow lanes with care, even though he felt like driving fast. That was what an evening spent with his parents did to him—or more particularly with his mother. He released an exasperated breath. When would she learn? More to the point, when would he? How many times had he fallen into the same trap? ‘Just a few friends round for dinner, darling. Can you come? Nothing too grand. I need another man to make up numbers. And besides…’—and this was where guilt always made him fall for it—‘…it’s been so long since we last saw you…’

The rain was still heavy, lying on the road in places, splashing up against the sides of the battered Land Rover as he turned right into the village once again. It was a ghastly night—not made any better by having spent almost three hours having to endure his mother’s unsubtle attempts at matchmaking.

Poor Lucy. Nice girl, as long as you were prepared to spend half the night talking about horses and the other half discussing the merits of various kinds of retail outlets—Harrods or Harvey Nichols? He replayed her voice in his head. Goodness, it really was so difficult to choose.

Daniel yawned, dragging a hand through his dark hair. Hell, he was tired. He glanced at the clock on his dash-board—almost eleven-thirty. He thought of his own place, situated in a quiet spot at the far end of the green. Nearly there. He hoped the fire would still be on—he’d banked it up well with wood before he’d left so it ought to be. A little relaxing music and a stiff drink before he hit the sack. Alone.

There was no doubt Lucy had been attractive. His mother, for some obscure reason, felt he had a penchant for long blonde hair and blue eyes. Daniel’s mouth curved into a smile. Not a bad guess. Trouble was, long blonde hair and blue eyes alone weren’t enough.

He needed something more—much more.

His mother had looked disappointed, as well she might given the trouble she had gone to. ‘Nothing grand’, she had said, but there had been enough crystal and Wedgwood on the endlessly long dining table to stock three antiques shops, and his father had looked predictably uncomfortable in his dinner jacket.

Daniel’s thoughts meandered back to the girl in the yellow mackintosh again. For some reason she had been in the back of his mind all evening. How old? Twenty-three, he guessed, roughly the same age as her partner, or husband, or whatever he was. Not a typical beauty, not like Lucy with her wide, blue eyes and perfectly shaped nose, or any of the other girls who had crossed his path during however many years it was of bachelorhood, but there had been something about her, some indefinable quality which had arrested his attention, something strangely appealing…

Daniel yawned again, wondering vaguely about her name as he approached her cottage. No van blocking the way this time—that was something. He glanced across. The lights were still on. Was she really still working? He remembered how tired she’d looked earlier in the evening, glanced at the clock on his dashboard to confirm the time, and for some unexplainable reason brought the Land Rover to a temporary halt in the lane outside.

He thought about getting out, about walking up the garden path and knocking on the front door. But he didn’t do it. If she were alone, as would seem quite likely, given that the van wasn’t anywhere to be seen, she’d hardly be comfortable about letting him in to the cottage at this late hour—she didn’t even know his name.

His thoughts flitted about. He felt curiously unsettled. Why did it bother him so much? Why did she? He found he wanted to help. There was clearly a lot of work to do in the cottage. It would surely be days before the place was properly habitable. He pictured the boy asleep in her arms, protected and warm, oblivious of the tired strain on his mother’s face.

Her hair had been like fire, such a contrast to the pale face and large green eyes. What could he do for her? Maybe she was struggling at this very moment with a heavy piece of furniture, or dealing with a burst pipe.

A light flicked on in an upstairs window and she came into view. She was carrying a bucket. She didn’t look tired, he decided, watching her face, just determined and purposeful.

Daniel shook his head, running a hand through his thick dark hair. He really was acting in a most peculiar manner. What on earth was he doing, lingering outside a strange woman’s house late at night? He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol all evening, so it couldn’t be that.

He smiled a little, gave the figure at the window one last glance, then thrust his vehicle into gear and drove away.