The Rich Man's Mistress. CATHY WILLIAMS

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ he divested himself of his wet waterproofs and his boots and socks. His black hair was slick from the snow and he went to squat in front of the fire, rubbing his hands together and raking them through his hair.

      ‘So you haven’t got bored yet with fooling around on the computer?’ he asked, with his back to her. He pulled his thick jumper over his head and stood up, pulling down the shirt underneath. Another tee shirt, this time with some faded design on the front of what was once a bulldog next to a glass of beer. ‘What have you done?’ He sat down next to her, depressing the sofa so much that she had a job not to slide straight into him, thigh against thigh.

      ‘Not much. Is the snow just as heavy outside?’

      ‘What do you think of the house? Like it?’

      Miranda angled the screen away from him, suddenly shy at exposing her efforts to him. ‘You promised I could use your mobile to call Dad. Which reminds me…’ yes, a good healthy dose of irritation to bring her back on course ‘…whoever said you could call my father? And how did you get his number? And what did you have to say to him, anyway?’

      ‘Questions, questions, questions. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that when a man returns from some hard labour, the last thing he needs is a whinging woman?’

      ‘My mother died when I was eight.’

      ‘Oh, yes. I’m sorry.’ He leaned back on the sofa, hooking one foot around the leg of the table in front and pulling it towards him so that he could rest both his feet on the surface. He had replaced his boots with the same worn, tasselled loafers that had greeted her when she had arrived the previous day. He rubbed his eyes, then folded his arms behind his head and looked at her.

      His blue eyes were hypnotic. When she looked into them, she had the strangest sensation of giddiness and a feeling that, if she wasn’t careful, she could easily fall into their fathomless depths and drown.

      ‘You haven’t answered my questions,’ she reminded him tartly.

      ‘Oh, so I haven’t. Well, if you really want to know, I have a little method of obtaining the number of the last call on my phone, which I did last night after you had called him in his office. And I thought I might as well touch base, let him know that nothing untoward had happened to his baby during the night. Here, call him yourself now if you like.’ He felt in his pocket and retrieved the palm-sized phone which he handed to her. Except, he didn’t quite hand it over, more dangled it in front of her so that she had to reach for it.

      Depressingly, her father seemed to have been reassured by Luke’s phone call.

      ‘Might do you a spot of good being stuck in the middle of nowhere for a few days,’ he joked, impervious to her horror at any such suggestion. Miranda clamped the phone tighter against her right ear and inclined her body slightly away from Luke’s undisguised interest in what she was saying and what was being said to her.

      ‘How can you say that, Dad?’ she muttered, but the question was bypassed in her father’s sudden need to get going to a meeting. His driver, apparently, was waiting. He had to dash but he would be in touch, probably later in the evening when he was back home.

      ‘I hope he’s not too worried about you,’ Luke said piously, reaching out for the mobile and resting it on the table next to his feet. ‘I did try and set his mind at rest. Told him how well you were being looked after. I even said that I had lent you my laptop so that you could amuse yourself on it for a couple of hours.’

      ‘I’m sure my father doesn’t want lengthy explanations from you on how I’m doing,’ Miranda informed him haughtily.

      ‘So, what have you managed to do? Anything at all?’

      ‘You never bothered to tell me what your boss meant by renovating. Does he intend to knock walls down? What specifications is he after?’

      ‘My, my. I take it you’re wearing your technical interior designer hat now?’

      ‘If you want to sit there and smirk, then why don’t we just forget this?’ Miranda said. ‘You can have your little toy back to do whatever it is you need to do and I can’t imagine what, and I’ll just content myself with one of those detective novels on the bookshelf.’

      Luke pulled the computer towards him so that it was partially resting on his lap and looked at what she had done. ‘So, you are capable of using a computer. Accept my humble apologies for implying otherwise…’ When she looked at him, his face was patently lacking in remorse. He was flicking through the rooms she had designed, seemingly interested. ‘There’s no need for a dining room that big,’ he murmured.

      ‘How do you know? Don’t tell me: you’re so close to this boss of yours that you have insider knowledge into how often he plans to entertain and for how many people. Are you sure this boss is a man and not a woman?’

      ‘Oh,’ Luke murmured softly, scrolling through her work and using various icons to magnify certain aspects, ‘I’m most emphatically certain on that point.’

      ‘Well, what does this man want to do with the house?’

      ‘I gather he intends to move out of London and use it as a base for his work. So, and I’m presuming here, I expect he would want a fairly large working area.’

      ‘What does this man do?’

      ‘Something to do with finance, I believe.’

      ‘You mean he hasn’t bothered to bore you with the details?’ It was Miranda’s turn to smirk and she did so with relish. ‘Perhaps he thought that you weren’t up to understanding the technicalities of his job.’

      ‘What’s this?’

      ‘It’s an archway. I’ve bashed through those two rooms and linked them with an archway. On either side you can incorporate stained-glass windows as features to break the monotony of the brick wall.’

      ‘Very creative. He’ll like that touch, I’m sure. And what’s this?’

      ‘I haven’t finished with that bit yet.’

      ‘That’s not what I asked.’

      ‘Well, that bit, if you can picture it…’

      ‘Which might be difficult due to the dullness of my brain…’ he murmured, without looking at her, apparently absorbed by her little efforts at the task he had set her with his tongue in his cheek.

      ‘Is a wrought-iron gate—and he should be able to get an original one—separating the bathroom from the bedroom, so there’s a feeling of tremendous space.’ She could feel two patches of excited colour on her cheeks and remembered that her efforts would be deleted before her enforced stay was over.

      ‘Very imaginative.’ He closed the screen, shut the lid of the computer and stood up, leaving a void of coldness next to her. He lazily tipped a couple of logs into the fire, so that it sparked up again, hissing, then he glanced over to the bookshelf and selected a book, tossing it lightly to her.

      ‘What’s this for?’

      ‘Reading fodder.’

      ‘And what about my design work?’

      ‘What СКАЧАТЬ