Читать книгу Bought: One Bride - Miranda Lee - Страница 8

“I’M GOING now.”

Richard looked up from his laptop, taking a few moments to focus on his mother, who was standing in the study doorway.

“You’re looking very smart,” he said.

“Thank you,” she returned, her hand lifting to lightly touch her exquisitely groomed blonde hair. “Nice of you to notice.”

Richard had noticed more than her new hair. She was a totally different woman today, all due to Melvin’s arrival in her life, no doubt.

“I’m sorry I’m going out, Richard. But you could have warned me you were dropping by. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you for weeks.”

“I’ve been exceptionally busy,” he said, and let her think he meant at the bank.

In reality, he’d been busy, wining and dining his five final selections from Wives Wanted. So far he’d taken out four of them. The first three, on successive Saturday nights. Number four, however, hadn’t been able to make it tonight, so he’d taken her out last night.

The evening had proved as disappointing as the three previous dinner dates.

Richard had been going to go into work today—he often worked on a Saturday—but he’d decided at the last moment, and in a spirit of total exasperation, to come and tell his mother about his quest for a new wife via Wives Wanted. He hadn’t wanted to discuss his lack of success so far with Reece, and certainly not with Mike, who knew nothing of his wife-finding endeavours. Richard had even brought his laptop with him to show his mother the Wives Wanted database.

But when he’d arrived she’d been so excited about her own date with Melvin that Richard had abandoned that idea.

And now he was glad he had. Because she would never understand why he wanted a marriage of convenience. Not unless he told her the truth about Joanna. And he refused to bare his soul like that.

“I won’t be back till late,” she said. “We’re going to the theatre after dinner. But there’s pizza in the freezer. And a nice bottle of wine in the door of the fridge.”

“Watch it, Mum. You’re in danger of becoming a party girl.”

Her face visibly stiffened. “And what if I am?” she snapped. “I think it’s about time, don’t you?”

Richard was startled by her reaction. Did she think he was criticising her?

Possibly. His father had been a critical bastard. He didn’t know how his mother had stood being married to him. It had been bad enough being his son. Richard had learned to survive by excelling in all his endeavours. Difficult for a father to find fault when his son came first at everything.

After his father had died several years back, Richard had expected his mother to marry again. She’d only been in her late fifties at the time. And she was a good-looking woman. Reginald Crawford wouldn’t have married any other kind.

But she hadn’t married again. She’d lived a very quiet life, playing bowls once a week on ladies day, and bridge on a Tuesday night. Mostly, she stayed at home where she looked after her garden, watched TV and read. Then suddenly, at sixty-five, the travel bug had hit.

Not wanting to explore the world alone, she’d placed an ad on the community bulletin board at the local library for a travelling companion. Melvin had applied a fortnight ago and was found to be very agreeable. A retired surgeon, he was a widower as well. Not a man to let grass grow under his feet, Melvin had already organised their world trip to start this coming Friday.

“I wasn’t being critical, Mum,” Richard said carefully. “I think what you’re doing is fabulous.”

“You mean that, Richard? You don’t think I’m being foolish?”

“Not at all. But I would like to meet Melvin personally before you leave.”

“Check up on him, you mean.”

“You are quite a wealthy widow, Mum,” he pointed out. “And I’m your only son. I have to keep an eye on my future inheritance, you know.”

This was a load of garbage and his mother knew it. Richard had made more money during his relatively short banking career than his father had in forty years of accounting. Reginald Crawford had always been too conservative with his own investments. He gave excellent advice to his clients but couldn’t seem to transfer that to his own portfolio.

Still, by the time he’d dropped dead of a heart attack at the age of seventy, he’d been able to leave his wife their Strathfield home, mortgage-free, along with a superannuation policy that would keep her in comfort till her own death. Which hopefully wouldn’t be for many years to come.

“You don’t have to worry, Richard,” she said airily. “Melvin is wealthy in his own right. Far wealthier than me. You should see his home. It’s magnificent.”

“I’d like to. So how old, exactly, is Melvin, by the way?”

“Sixty-six.”

Only one year older than his mother. A good match. Better than with his father, who’d been twelve years older.

“He sounds great. Better not keep him waiting, then. See you in the morning. Have fun,” he called after her as she headed for the front door.

He wasn’t sure if he heard right, but he was pretty sure she’d muttered, “I intend to.”

The front door banged shut, leaving Richard to an empty house, but not an empty mind.

Sixty-six, he mused. Was a man past it at sixty-six?

He doubted it.

One thing he knew for sure. A man wasn’t past it at thirty-eight.

Ignoring his growing sexual frustration was proving difficult. His male hormones, now directed where they normally went, had been giving him hassle. Yet there was no hope for them in sight.

It had been six weeks since Reece had put him in touch with the woman who ran Wives Wanted, a striking-looking but tough lady named Natalie Fairlane. Six weeks, and he wasn’t any closer to finding a woman he wanted to continue dating, with a view to matrimony.

He returned to his laptop and brought up the photo of his fifth selection. Another brunette. She was as beautiful on the screen as the other four had been. But not one of them had had any effect on him in the flesh.

There’d been no chemistry, as Reece would have put it.

They’d all been far too eager to please him as well. He’d seen the lack of sincerity in their eyes. In a couple of them, he’d sensed downright greed. They’d chosen the most expensive food on the menu, and the most expensive wine.

That had been one of his little tests. Letting them choose the wine, of which he never drank much. No way did he want any decision he made influenced by being intoxicated. By the end of dinner, every one of the four had made it obvious they would be only too happy to accompany him home to bed.

Richard didn’t think he was that irresistible to women.

He was a good-looking enough man. Tall and well built with strong, masculine features. His steely grey eyes, however, were on the hard side, he’d been told, and his manner was formidable.

Forbidding was the word one female employee had called him.

He supposed his approachability was not helped by his manner of dress, which could only be described as ultra conservative. The board at the bank preferred their CEO to look dignified, rather than sexy. The mainly pinstriped suits he wore were expensive, but not trendy. His dark brown hair was kept short. He shaved twice a day when necessary, and his after-shave was discreet. His only jewellery was a gold Rolex watch.

Women did not throw themselves at him as they did at Reece, or even at Mike, whose long-haired bad-boy image seemed to attract a certain type of lady. Probably the ones who liked to live dangerously.

No, Richard didn’t think it was his natural sex appeal that had made his dates salivate by the end of each dinner. More likely the unlimited limit on his credit card.

So he’d sent each of them home in a taxi afterwards and returned home alone, where he’d filled in the questionnaire required after each date, ticking the box that said he didn’t want to see the lady again and emailing it to Natalie Fairlane.

That was another of Wives Wanted’s hard and fast rules. If either person didn’t want to see the other again, that was it. Finis. If the female attempted further contact they were struck off the database. If it was the male doing the harassing, he was no longer a client of Wives Wanted.

No doubt this system was much better than going through a normal introduction agency or internet dating service. For one thing, the weirdos were weeded out. Richard knew he’d been put through an extensive background check before being accepted as a client. Ms Fairlane had informed him of this necessary procedure during his personal interview, at the same time assuring him that every girl on the database had been through the same security check, and was exactly what she purported to be.

Physically, at least, that was true. Each girl he’d dated had been as beautiful as they were in their photos.

But more and more Richard was beginning to think Mike was right. Most of these women were gold-diggers. Maybe Reece had just been damned lucky with Alanna.

But, having paid his money, he was determined to see the list through before giving up on the idea. He was planning to contact his fifth choice on the list when the front doorbell rang.

“Who on earth?” he muttered, standing up and making his way across the study and into the main hallway.

The Crawford family home was not a mansion, but it was spacious and solid, with the kind of character associated with houses built in Sydney’s better suburbs in the nineteen thirties. Tall ceilings, decorative cornices, wide verandas, and wonderful stained-glass panels on either side of the front door.

As Richard strode towards the door the sunshine filtered through those panels, making coloured patterns on the polished wooden floor, then on the pale grey trousers he was wearing.

Wrenching the door open, the first thing he saw was a huge bunch of red roses. Followed by a face peeping around them.

A female face.

“Oh,” the owner of the face exclaimed, her big brown eyes widening. “I wasn’t expecting… I didn’t realise…” She grimaced, then drew herself up straight, holding the roses at her waist, a bit like a nervous bride. “Sorry. I don’t usually babble. Is Mrs Crawford home?”

“I’m afraid not,” Richard replied, whilst thinking to himself that he already liked this girl much better than any on that damned database.

Yet she wasn’t nearly as beautiful. Or as well groomed.

Her long dark brown hair was somewhat wind-blown. And there wasn’t a scrap of make-up on her oval-shaped face. Her outfit of a wraparound floral skirt and simple blue T-shirt shouted department-store wear, not designer label.

But, for all that, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“My mother’s gone out for the day,” he heard himself say whilst his hormone-sharpened gaze took in her ringless left hand.

Not that that meant much. She could still be living with someone, or be dating some commitment-phobic fool who hadn’t snapped her up off the single shelf. That was one thing each of his Saturday night dates had bewailed over the dinner table. How many men these days didn’t want to become husbands and fathers.

“She won’t be back till very late tonight,” he added. “Can I help you perhaps? I’m her son. Richard.”

“Yes, I know that,” she said, then looked flustered by her admission.

“In that case, you have the advantage on me,” he replied smoothly. “Have we met before?” He knew damned well they hadn’t. He would have remembered.

“No. Not really. I mean, I saw you at your wife’s funeral. I…um…I did the flowers.”

She seemed embarrassed at having to mention the occasion. On his part, Richard was pleased that he could be reminded of that day without too much pain.

Yes, he was definitely ready to move on.

“I see,” he said as he wondered how old she might be. Late twenties perhaps?

“Please forgive me if I say I don’t recall noticing the flowers that day,” he said ruefully. “But I’m sure they were lovely. I presume these are for my mother?” he said, nodding towards the roses she was holding. Probably from crafty old Melvin.

“Yes. It’s a phone order which was never picked up today. I know how much Mrs Crawford likes flowers—roses particularly—and I thought she might like them. I realise she’s going away next Friday but they won’t last that long.”

“You know about Mum’s trip?”

“Yes, she…um…told me about it herself last week. And about her new doctor friend. Melvin, isn’t it? It’s a pity, really. If she’d still been looking for a travelling companion, I might have applied for the job myself.”

Richard was taken aback. “Why on earth would a girl like you want to travel anywhere with a woman old enough to be her grandmother?”

She shrugged. “Just to escape, I guess.”

If she’d said to travel the world on the cheap, Richard might have understood. But to escape screamed something much more emotional. So did the bleakness that had suddenly filled her big brown eyes.

“Escape from what?” he probed gently. “Are you in some kind of trouble? Man trouble perhaps?”

She wasn’t a raving beauty but, the more Richard looked at her, the more attractive he found her. She had lovely eyes, a sexy mouth and a fabulous figure.

He fancied her. Other men would, too.

She shook her head. “No, no, nothing like that. Here. Give these to your mother when she gets home, will you? Tell her they’re from Holly. Just say they’re a little thank-you present for all the times she’s dropped in at the shop for a chat. She’s a really sweet lady, your mum.”

Richard refused to take the flowers. “Why don’t you come inside and arrange them in a vase for her?” he suggested before she could cut and run. Any girl who wanted to get away that badly sounded like a girl who wasn’t very happy with her life at the moment. If she did have a boyfriend, he sure as hell wasn’t doing the right thing by her.

She blinked, then stared at him.

Richard had no idea what she was thinking, which in itself was as intriguing and attractive as she was. He’d been able to read those women he’d taken to dinner like an open book.

“Look,” he said with what he hoped wasn’t a “big bad wolf” smile. “I have absolutely no talent with flower arranging, whereas you’d have to be an expert. So what do you say, Holly? You do the flowers and I’ll make us both some coffee. I’m good at coffee.”

She still hesitated, making Richard wonder if he was easier to read than she was. Maybe she could see his intentions in his eyes. Not that they were evil intentions. He just wanted the opportunity to learn a bit more about her. He wasn’t planning to seduce her.

Not yet, anyway.

“Who knows?” he said lightly. “Maybe Melvin will prove to be an utter bore and Mum will come home early, still looking for that travelling companion.”

She laughed. “I don’t think there’s much chance of that happening, and you know it. You’re just being nice, like your mum.”

Nice. She thought he was being nice.

Richard’s conscience stirred. But he swiftly put aside any qualms.

Faint heart never won fair lady.

“We will adjourn to the kitchen,” he said before she had time to think up some excuse to flee. “This way.” And taking her arm, he ushered her inside.