Читать книгу The Wedding Contract - Nicola Marsh - Страница 9

AS SOON as Steve entered his hotel room he noticed the red blinking light on the phone, indicating he had a message. Perhaps it was Amber, giving him another serve before she went to bed?

Surprisingly, it was his mother, urging him to call as soon as possible, regardless of the time. He dialled the number, not in the mood for one of his mother’s famous tirades. What had he done or not done this time?

She answered on the first ring. ‘Darling. Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get hold of you all evening.’

‘Business, Mother. You know, that thing I do for a living?’

He heard a sniff and imagined the disdainful expression on his mother’s well-preserved face. ‘Don’t bait me, darling. You know you don’t have to work. It’s just some perverse streak that pushes you to earn a living when you’re more than comfortable.’

Georgia Rockwell, queen of the understatement. His mother’s version of ‘comfortable’ meant filthy, stinking rich, a fact he’d been only too aware of his entire life. She’d never understood his ambition to be self-made, to spend his hours grappling with complex problems in order to feel some degree of achievement.

No use trying to convince her now, he’d wasted enough breath in the past. ‘What did you want, Mother?’

She sighed, a superficial sound she’d used many times over the years to coerce him into doing something he didn’t want to do. ‘Your grandmother’s condition is progressively worsening. I just thought you should know.’

A strange hollowness filled his heart at the thought of the delicate old woman, who had been the only person to show him any real love growing up, lying helpless in bed, eaten away by cancer.

‘How bad is she?’

‘The doctors only give her another few months at the most.’

Panic gripped him. He’d made a promise to Ethel St John when she’d first been diagnosed and unfortunately had yet to follow through. She’d said it was the one thing sustaining her, the thought of him marrying and bearing an heir for her fortune. That was one thing they particularly shared, a lack of confidence in his society mother, who would squander the money rather than fulfil a dying lady’s wishes.

His mother’s next words made him sit down. ‘She told me, Steven.’

‘Told you what?’ Surely his grandmother hadn’t confided in the daughter she despised?

‘About your promise. So what are you doing about it?’

He proceeded with caution. His mother hadn’t mentioned the money and he found that unusual. If she’d known about the stipulation in Ethel’s will she would have been screaming into the receiver rather than speaking in the cultivated sotto voce he’d grown to hate. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Stop answering my questions with questions. You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. Mother informed me that the only reason she’s fighting this nasty disease is to see you married. Well?’

Her short, clipped tones reminded him of endless criticisms of days gone by. ‘Steven, don’t talk with your mouth full. Don’t run inside. Don’t speak like a commoner. Don’t let me catch you playing with that little tramp from next door…’ It had continued throughout his childhood, a never-ending nightmare.