Читать книгу The Billionaire's Baby Chase - Valerie Parv, Valerie Parv - Страница 8

The child planted tiny fists on small hips. “Mummy, what’s a spitting image?”

Zoe looked up from the property brief she was studying and suppressed a smile. “It means a person who looks very much like somebody else. Where did you hear that?”

Genie frowned. “Simon’s mummy says he’s the spitting image of his daddy.” She paused, wrinkling her face in concentration. “Am I the spitting image of you?”

Zoe fought to keep her feelings from registering on her face. Genie was far from being her spitting image. The child was as dark as she herself was fair. Genie’s eyes, fixed expectantly on her, were a vivid blue in contrast to her own eyes, which were the color of autumn leaves.

A heart-wrenching rush of love for those self-same features tore through Zoe, making her eyes blur with tears of happiness and gratitude. She was blessed to have the chance to be a mother to a child as beautiful both in looks and nature as Genie. They didn’t have to look alike to share a bond she could feel like a steel filament stretching between them.

To cover the torrent of emotions flooding through her, she ruffled Genie’s thick chestnut hair, so unlike her own tangle of straw-colored curls. “You don’t need to be anyone’s spitting image, sweetheart. You’re a beautiful, precious one-of-a-kind.”

Genie sighed heavily. “I don’t want a mummy who went away. I want to be borned your little girl so I could be your spitting image.”

Zoe felt another jolt deep inside her even as she masked the reaction with a loving smile. Genie so seldom mentioned her real mother that it came as a shock to be reminded of the reality.

She was annoyed with herself for reacting badly to the reminder now, instead of counting her blessings. A child was one blessing her ill-fated marriage to Andrew hadn’t bestowed, although she had dreamed of it long and hard enough. There was nothing physically wrong, doctor after doctor had assured her, not unless you counted deep unhappiness. But Andrew’s jealous behavior had frozen something deep inside her.

Her life had settled onto a much more even keel since her husband died, although she still shuddered to think of how quickly everything had changed. He simply hadn’t believed she was attending a business seminar with a workmate. Convinced she was on her way to meet a man, Andrew had followed her, slamming his car into a telegraph pole in his unseeing rage. He had died instantly.

Zoe no longer allowed herself to dream of an ideal relationship, although the longing for a child of her own was harder to subdue. That she hadn’t even been close to managing it had become obvious the day she got the chance to foster Genie and love her as her own. No child could have been more cherished.

Zoe set the folder aside and took Genie’s chubby hands in her own. “Don’t I tell you almost every day that you are my little girl in every way that matters and I love you very, very much?” The child nodded solemnly and Zoe pulled in a deep breath. “Do you remember the teddy bear I made for your last birthday?”

Genie nodded again. “Yes.”

“And Big Ted that Santa brought you before that?”

“When I was little,” Genie confirmed so seriously that Zoe had to make an effort not to laugh.

“Do you love Big Ted any less because I didn’t make him for you?”

Genie looked affronted at the very idea. “’Course not. I love both my teddies zackly the same.”

Zoe enveloped the child in a hug, feeling her eyes threatening to brim again. “Now you know how I feel about you. You’re my special little girl and it doesn’t matter one bit that you didn’t grow inside me.”

“Or if Santa brought me.” Genie finished on a triumphant note. Then she added more hopefully, “Maybe if I asked Santa—”

“Santa doesn’t bring children,” Zoe interjected before Genie could embellish the notion. “Any more than he brought you.”

Genie chewed her lower lip. “I know, but it would be fun if he could bring me a baby brother or sister.”

A pang gripped Zoe. She knew just how Genie felt. Maybe she was getting greedy, but sometimes her arms ached to hold a baby and feel its mouth nuzzling against her breast. The desire for another child to grow with Genie, to share her games and discoveries, and the outpouring of maternal love Zoe knew she had to offer was almost more than she could bear. Not for the first time she made herself count her blessings. She had Genie to love and care for, and it was more than she had ever dreamed would be hers. She managed a tremulous smile. “Speaking of fun, isn’t it time you got ready to go to playgroup?”

To Zoe’s intense relief, the distraction worked as it usually did. “Are you coming, too?” Genie demanded, all thoughts of Santa and babies miraculously forgotten.

Zoe wished she could distract herself so easily. She shook her head. “Simon’s mummy is taking you both today.” Simon’s mother, Julie, lived next door and was Zoe’s friend and self-appointed morale officer. “I have to show a house to a nice man who’s coming all the way from the country to see it.”

Genie made a face. “Do you have to? Why can’t he look at a house by his own self?”

Zoe laughed at the child’s persistence. “Because he can’t, that’s why. Now scoot. Auntie Julie will be here any minute.”

The child scampered off down the hall to her bedroom. In minutes she was back, carrying her koala backpack and favorite Barbie doll, just as the doorbell pealed. As soon as Zoe opened it, Genie launched herself at Simon and his mother, who were waiting outside. Amid promises to be good and hugs all around, they left in a flurry of chatter and excitement.

Zoe barely had time to assemble the documents she would need for the house inspection when the doorbell pealed again.

James Langford waited with barely leashed impatience. When he had asked his secretary to arrange the appointment with Zoe Holden, he had not expected to meet her at what was obviously her own home. He had been fully prepared to spin some tale that would end in her inviting him home after they had inspected the Strathfield mansion.

Being invited here was beyond all his expectations and he could barely suppress a shiver of anticipation. He was so close to finding his daughter he could practically taste his success.

The signs of a child in residence made him catch his breath, his chest tightening painfully. A battered tricycle lay on its side on the front lawn while a ball made a splash of scarlet beneath a rosemary bush. In the report which had awaited him on his desk after he returned from the doctor’s office the investigators had noted these signs and more.

A good deal more.

The child living with Zoe Holden was unquestionably Genevieve Langford.

It had taken James half an hour before he recovered sufficiently to read beyond that simple statement to the proof the investigators had amassed, and the background they had supplied on the Holden woman.

It seemed she hadn’t always worked as a property manager. Until she obtained her real estate agent’s license, she’d been a live-in nanny. Her late husband had lived next door to her employer, which was how they’d met. After the husband died, she’d supported herself by looking after other people’s children in her home, while she studied for her present career.

According to the report, Ruth had left their child with Zoe frequently while she made a new life for herself under a false name. Thinking of what sort of life she’d chosen, James felt his features tighten. Freed of the constraints of their marriage, she had thrown herself into all sorts of wild adventures, trying everything from parachuting to whitewater rafting and, finally, to sailing on Sydney Harbor. She hadn’t survived her last escapade.

James’s jaw muscles worked as he considered what could have driven his wife to do such crazy things. Was she trying to prove something to herself? Or was she thumbing her nose at James himself, knowing he would never approve of her life-style?

Damn it, he wasn’t a tyrant, expecting his wife to sit at home and be a meek little wife and mother. But he did believe that parenthood conveyed some responsibilities, not least of which was surviving to see your child grow to adulthood.

He dragged in a strangled breath. Even though it had happened eighteen months before, finding out about Ruth’s death so abruptly had hit him harder than he had expected. Not because he still loved her. He wasn’t that much of a fool. But because her death had been so senseless. Like the proverbial candle in the wind, she had burned herself out long before her time. And because she had never discussed her feelings with him, he had no idea what part he himself might have played in the tragedy.

By hiding herself and Genevieve under a false identity, Ruth had left the authorities no way to trace him after her death. According to the investigator’s report, all avenues of inquiry had been tried, many of them by Zoe Holden herself. When any family had proved impossible to trace, she had finally fostered the little girl.

There was no doubt that his search was almost over, but he couldn’t let himself accept it. Not yet. Until he was reunited with Genevieve, he was reluctant to trust any amount of evidence. But he would trust his instincts. They had urged him to follow just one more hopeless lead and not to give up. Thank providence he hadn’t, or he wouldn’t be standing here now with his throat drying and his palms sweating while his heart raced a mile a minute. Setting up a modern telecommunications network for a volatile Middle Eastern country hadn’t reduced him to this state.

Drawing in a steadying breath, he let his hand edge toward the doorbell again. Before he could press it, the door swung open and he was confronted by the woman whose face he had been studying in photographs all day.

The first thing he realized was that she was more attractive by far than the grainy picture had suggested. She was slighter, too, and as he had suspected, he could have spanned her waist with both hands. What the photo hadn’t revealed was the determined lift to her chin and the flash of challenge in her amber eyes which made him feel as if he’d been king-hit. The crackle of awareness arced through him again, stronger now that she was before him in the flesh. It was even more of an effort to gain control of his vocal cords. Only years of top-level business negotiations gave him the skills to conceal her effect on him. “Zoe Holden?” he made himself ask, although he already knew the answer.

She swallowed hard, looked away and then back at him. Could he possibly be having a similar effect on her? To her credit, she sounded composed when she said, “You must be James Langford.”

The woman’s eyes had widened at the sight of him and although he was used to the reaction, he felt a perverse satisfaction at knowing he had impressed her. He knew his six-foot-two height could be intimidating. His sister accused him of working out deliberately to pack solid muscle around nature’s formidable packaging. She was wrong, of course. These days fitness was a business asset. If it made his rivals think twice about crossing him, it was an added bonus.

Intimidated or not, the woman extended her hand and James felt a quick flaring of respect for her. Although her hand was swamped by his larger one, her grip was firm and businesslike. “I’m Zoe, pleased to meet you.”

The musical cadence of her voice was as startling as her handshake, although not quite as startling as the mass of golden curls, which crowned an almost classically sculptured head and neck. She was beautiful enough to take a man’s breath away. If he had been no more than a client she was to show over a house, he would have been seriously tempted to invite her to discuss the deal with him over dinner that night.

He was seriously tempted, he admitted to himself, but was stopped by the certainty that she would want nothing further to do with him once she knew the real reason he was here. “Call me James,” he said and she nodded.

She opened the door wider. “Fine, James. I’ll get the paperwork for the Strathfield house and we can be on our way.”

James waited at the door while Zoe gathered the papers together and slid them into a leather document case. She was aware of his dark eyes following her movements. The attention had an odd, uplifting effect on her mood.

Most of her clients were elderly investors who treated her like a daughter, sometimes inviting her to their family gatherings. It wasn’t often she dealt with a man of the caliber of James Langford. She knew him by reputation, of course, as most people did. His company had pioneered satellite communications in Australia and now operated all over the world. He presided over a pay-television network, radio stations and something to do with computer software. The office had supplied her with some background details on him as soon as he showed an interest in the Strathfield mansion.

However, no amount of research could prepare her for the sheer physical impact he had on her. It wasn’t only his size, although it was daunting to discover that she only reached his shoulder even in high heels. His eyes were an arresting blue which would have given Paul Newman tough competition.

Coming on top of a long, lean body which had serious athlete written all over it, the effect was thoroughly arresting. But it was more than his appearance that made her catch her breath. He projected a sense of elemental power that was almost mesmerizing. It wasn’t hard to see why he was so successful. His air of command had struck her like a physical force as soon as she opened the door. Yet he bore the mantle of power so easily she had the sense that his genes must go all the way back to Alexander the Great in an unbroken line.

She almost laughed aloud at herself. After her disastrous marriage, what did she know about men and their genes? Alexander the Great, indeed. The man was a client. A rich, successful, incredibly virile and attractive one, but still a client. She had no business constructing an entire fantasy around a greeting and a handshake.

Her friend Julie was probably right. She was spending too much time either on her own or with Genie. Maybe she should make the effort to circulate more. If she allowed the memory of her marriage to Andrew to sour the rest of her life, she would let him defeat her twice.

Circulating was one thing, she knew. Allowing herself to get involved with a man, especially a take-charge man like James Langford, was quite another. Nobody knew better than Zoe that getting involved meant giving up control of your life. In Andrew’s case, it had meant giving up every shred of control, becoming accountable to him for every minute of her time. She had no intentions of putting herself in such a position again.

By the time she rejoined James, document case under her arm, her smile was coolly professional. “Shall we go? My car’s parked outside.”

“We’ll be more comfortable in mine.” He indicated a sleek black Branxton Turbo that managed to make her sedan, of which she was normally quite proud, look positively shabby. How did you make a car gleam like this anyway?

“But I know the way,” she countered, wondering why it was suddenly important to her to win this round. She told herself she was being practical, insisting on her own transportation, but the reason went deeper. For some reason, James Langford set her senses on automatic alert, although she couldn’t think why.

It wasn’t his stature or his wealth. In the property management business she’d learned to operate at all levels. And oddly enough, she felt her honor was safe with him, although he’d probably find such an old-fashioned notion laughable, if not a slight to his manhood.

No, there was something else about him which counseled caution, even if it was only her imagination, which seemed to be working overtime today.

She was mildly surprised when he slid into the passenger seat of her car without further discussion, reaching across to open her door from the inside. He seemed to take up a great deal of space inside the compact car, she noticed.

“Have you inspected many properties in Sydney?” she asked, trying to switch into professional mode before her thoughts ran away with her again. Around James it seemed all too easy.

“My deputy has looked at a number of them, but none entirely suits the company’s needs.”

She cast a sidelong look at him, almost disappointed that the conversation had switched to business so readily. “What are your company’s needs exactly?”

“A top location, naturally. A substantial parcel of land. And a property that has heritage value so our visiting executives gain some sense of the Australian character while they’re here.”

“Then you’re not buying for yourself?”

He shook his head. “Not to live in, no. I already keep a penthouse in the city and my main residence on the border of the Watagan State Forest, a few miles north of Sydney.”

Her eyes widened with delighted surprise. “I know it. My grandparents lived not far from Wollombi. I used to hand-feed kangaroos outside their back door.”

His interest was clearly piqued. “Perhaps I know them.”

A pang shot through her. “They died some years ago, within months of each other. I haven’t been up that way in a long time.”

She couldn’t have been more than fourteen the last time she stayed with her grandparents, although she’d visited them often as an adult. The memory of walking through lush green rain forests and trying to carry on a conversation over the summer evening anthem of cicadas remained with her.

Was it because her grandparents’ house was the only real home she’d known as a child? Her parents had been botanists, well enough known in their respective fields, but genteelly impoverished. Most of their time had been spent out in the field while their only daughter was farmed out to relatives, since they couldn’t afford boarding-school fees.

After her father succumbed to a rare tropical disease on an expedition to South America, her mother had retired to the south coast of New South Wales, amid a jungle of a garden where she grew medicinal herbs.

By then mother and daughter were so estranged that Zoe couldn’t imagine living with her mother. Fortunately by then she was working as a nanny, living with her charge’s family, so the question never arose. Her mother wouldn’t have enjoyed an enforced family existence any more than Zoe herself would.

“And your husband?”

James’s voice snapped Zoe back to the present with a jolt, banishing the floodgate of memories opened by his mention of her childhood home. “My husband died two years ago in a car accident,” she said quietly.

She accepted James’s murmured condolences with a nod, not feeling inclined to explain to him that the only sorrow she felt on Andrew’s behalf was over his untimely death, not to any sense of loss of her own.

It had taken her months to stop feeling guilty because Andrew’s death had freed her from his obsessive jealousy. At first she had wondered what sort of woman she was, not to grieve for her husband, until Julie had reminded her sternly that Andrew himself had killed her love for him.

“I noticed the toys on your front lawn,” James went on. “How many children do you have?”

Surprise shot through her. Usually male clients weren’t the slightest bit interested in her domestic affairs once they established whether or not she was married. She told herself James was only making polite conversation.

She paid attention to the road. The turnoff to the Strathfield place wasn’t far. Then she became aware that James was regarding her steadily, awaiting her answer.

“I don’t have any children of my own,” she said flatly, wondering at the same time why she was telling him more than he probably wanted to know. “I have a foster daughter, Genie, who’s at playgroup this afternoon.”

He moved restively, his athletic body tensing against the restraining seat belt. Already regretting his interest in her family, she concluded. Well, he needn’t worry. She wasn’t about to drag out a sheaf of baby pictures.

His next comment caught her off guard. “I had a little girl of my own. They can be a source of great joy.”

His use of the past tense didn’t escape her. Had his child died? Her own all-consuming love for Genie made it easy to understand the anguish the loss of a child would mean. “Did something happen to her?” she asked gently.

Her sidelong glance caught the hardening of his jaw. “Yes, but it wasn’t some childhood ailment. That would have made some sense.”

Her knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. Oh, no, not a kidnapping. His prominence in the business world made the possibility frighteningly real. “Then what?”

“My wife decided our marriage wasn’t to her liking,” he said. “She took my daughter to another country and used an assumed name to make sure I couldn’t find them.”

The pain in his voice vibrated through Zoe. Although she and Andrew had never had a child, she could imagine her despair if he had done such an awful thing to her. She blinked hard. “Do you know where they are?”

Her peripheral vision caught his taut nod. “It’s taken me a long time, but I do now.”

He added no more details, leaving her to speculate that wherever his wife had gone, there was no chance he could retrieve his daughter. Otherwise, she suspected, he would move heaven and earth to do so.

“How old is your foster daughter?” he asked.

The strain in his voice tugged at her. Far from being a polite question, it suggested that he wanted to discuss her child, perhaps to distract himself from thinking of his own loss.

“She’s four and a half,” she said, obliging him. “She starts school in a few months. I don’t know how I’ll get through the days without her.”

“You and your husband never had children of your own?”

“It…didn’t work out for us. We had a few problems,” she added with difficulty. Even now it was hard to talk about her marriage, which had started so well until Andrew’s true character emerged. “Genie has more than made up. She’s an adorable child, full of mischief like most children her age, but so loving that I can’t stay annoyed with her for long.”

James folded his arms across his broad chest. “Does that mean you spoil her?”

She flashed him a wry smile before returning her attention to the road. “Is it possible to spoil a four-year-old? She doesn’t get everything her own way, but when it comes to loving her, I don’t believe you can go overboard, do you?”

His weight shifted on the seat bedside her, attracting her attention. In profile, his features were half in shadow. “Unfortunately I didn’t get the chance to find out.”

Horrified with herself, she fell silent. What was she thinking of, going on and on about the joys of parenthood when it only reminded him of his loss? He had started the conversation, she told herself, but she could have framed her answers with a little more sensitivity. With relief she sighted their turnoff. “We’re almost there.”

If he sensed her relief, he gave no indication. Nor did he take more than a cursory interest in his first sight of the mansion as the electronically operated gates swung open to admit them. Was he acting disinterested as a prelude to some hard bargaining? He had seemed far more animated when discussing their children than he did as they got out of the car and approached the house, their footsteps crunching on the freshly raked gravel driveway.

Apart from a caretaker who lived in a cottage on the grounds, the property was unoccupied. Her sense of unease returned. She put it down to the silence settling around them as soon as she switched off the engine. “Would you like to see the house or the grounds first?” she asked, unaccountably hoping he would choose to explore the garden.

“The house,” he decided. “There are six bedroom suites, I understand.”

Her unsettled feeling was probably due to the discussion about his missing daughter, she thought. Knowing how she would feel under the same circumstances was bound to affect her. She was thankful to be able to switch the conversation to the virtues of the mansion.

He responded in kind, asking shrewd questions about the house, its history and the land surrounding it. By the time she had shown him everything, over an hour had gone by. Apart from his questions, his demeanor gave her no clues as to whether or not she had a sale.

Somehow she also found herself talking more about her own life, she noticed. His questioning was so subtle that it wasn’t until the inspection was almost over that she realized they’d talked more about her than about the house.

“If you want to see the house again, I’ll be happy to arrange a second inspection,” she told him as they walked back to her car.

“There’s no need. I’ll take it.”

She could hardly believe her ears. A million-dollar property and he would take it, just like that? The commission from this one sale alone would take care of most of Genie’s needs for some time to come.

“You will?” she said, professionalism failing slightly as elation gripped her. “That’s great. I had a feeling it was right for you when you explained your company’s requirements.”

He nodded briskly. “The company will want to make some changes. Add a few more modern conveniences and more secure car parking, of course.”

“I’m authorized to discuss offers,” she assured him, mentally calculating the cost of the improvements he’d outlined. No doubt he would expect the final selling price to reflect them.

He named a figure only slightly below the asking price, which she had privately decided was above market value anyway. Evidently James agreed with her because his offer was exactly the one she would have made in his shoes. She was sure her clients would accept his offer without further negotiation.

At her car she swung around to face him. “I’ll call the vendors on the way back to my place. I’m sure your offer will be acceptable, so we can go to my office and get the preliminary paperwork under way this afternoon if you like.”

He braced an arm against the roof of her car, meeting her gaze with disturbing directness. A woman could drown in those blue pools, she thought. She had the uncanny sensation that he knew everything there was to know about her—every secret, every dark place. And found it intriguing.

She shook her head slightly to clear it. More fantasies, Zoe? What was the matter with her today? It must be the thrill of making such an important sale. She refused to believe her state of mind could be blamed on James’s effect on her.

His slightly lopsided smile warmed her. “Do you have the offer document with you?”

She nodded and drew it out of her portfolio. He barely glanced at the fine print before writing in the price they’d discussed and scrawling his signature at the bottom. It was as firm and bold as everything else about him, she noticed.

“There, you have my offer in writing,” he confirmed. “Everything else will be handled by my deputy, Brian Dengate, at my head office.”

A faint sense of disappointment rippled through her. So he wasn’t to be involved in the purchase beyond today’s inspection. She dismissed the thought with surprising difficulty. “In that case, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you, James.” She slid into the driver’s seat and he got in beside her. “I’ll have you back at your car in fifteen minutes.”

“There’s no hurry,” he said, catching her unawares. “I still have some matters to discuss with you.”

Unaccountably her spirits lifted. He probably wanted to question her about the local zoning laws and heritage listing requirements, but it didn’t seem to matter. She only knew she was happy to continue the conversation.

They had reached her house before she realized he hadn’t asked any of his questions, talking instead about inconsequential matters. “Would you like to come in for coffee?” she offered and found herself holding her breath as she waited for his answer.

He nodded, his face impassive. She couldn’t tell whether he was as drawn to her as she was to him, but at least he hadn’t refused. Her step was light as she led the way inside.

Her home was modest but well-cared-for. Not what he would be accustomed to, she thought as they stepped over toys in the hallway to reach the living room. She’d decorated it herself with cream wallpaper, a handwoven Mexican rug and a few inventive touches such as a pottery jar holding giant paper sunflowers.

James settled himself on the sofa while she fetched coffee and homemade walnut cake. But he refused the cake and his coffee sat untouched at his elbow as he leaned toward her. “I have something to tell you, Zoe.”

He looked so serious that alarm shrilled through her. “If you’re worried about the heritage listing—”

“This isn’t about the property.” He forestalled her. “It’s about Genevieve.”

For a moment the name confused her, then the truth dawned. “You mean Genie. What about her?”

James reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a sheaf of documents. “There’s no easy way to tell you this, but there’s absolutely no doubt. The child you know as Genie is my daughter, Genevieve. All the proof you need is in these reports.”