The Argentinian's Demand. CATHY WILLIAMS

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ a place that was, frankly, a dump. The paint on the walls was peeling, there were signs of rising damp, and the heating system was so rudimentary that it was preferable to leave it off in winter and just make do with portable heaters.

      She wondered what Leandro would think if he were ever to stray accidentally into this part of the world and into her cramped living quarters.

      He would be horrified. On the salary she was paid she should have been able to afford somewhere more than halfway decent in a good part of London. But after her money was spent there was precious little left for life’s small indulgences, such as passably comfortable living quarters...

      She got on the phone to Oliver before she could begin to wind down, and he picked up on the second ring.

      There would be a slight delay in their plans, she told him, and sighed wearily. She perched on the chair in the hall. It was so uncomfortable that she felt her landlord must have redirected it to the house when it had been on its way to the skip to be disposed of, because that was all it was good for.

      In her head, she pictured Oliver. The same height as her, fair hair, blue eyes—hardly changed at all from the boy of fifteen she had once dated for the laughably short period of three months, before exam fever had consumed her and before he and his family had sold their mansion and disappeared off to America. They had kept in touch sporadically, but even that had faded after his parents had died in an accident ten years previously.

      ‘What sort of delay?’

      She explained. Two weeks away, and then she would be back and they could progress. She knew that it was a delay barely worth writing home about, but she was desperate to get this whole thing wrapped up—although she made sure to keep that desperation out of her voice.

      She spent the rest of the evening in a state of mild panic. Two weeks abroad with Leandro. Two weeks in the sun. Sunshine was synonymous with holidays, with relaxing, and yet she would be on tenterhooks the whole time, guarding herself against...

      Against what...?

      As she continued to tie up her loose ends—loose ends that needed to be securely tied up before she left—her mind continued to play with that suddenly persistent question.

      Guarding against what...?

      Unbidden, thoughts of Leandro floated past her walls of resistance, lodged themselves in her head. Thoughts of how he looked, the way he had stared at her with those dark, semi-slumbrous eyes, the soft, silky angle of his questions, the way their conversation had dipped into murky uncharted territory...

      There had been no mention of what sort of clothes she should take. She vaguely knew the layout of the resort—knew that it comprised individual cabanas on the beach: sweet little one and two-bedroom huts that looked as though they had been there for time immemorial but which in fact were equipped to the highest possible standard and had only been standing for six months tops.

      They formed a charming cluster in front of the main hotel, which itself was small and likewise very organically designed. There was a pool which mimicked a waterfall, plunging into a quirkily laid out lake, but each of the cabanas came with its own plunge pool anyway.

      It was the height of luxury and, like it or not, she was not going to be able to pull off her usual uniform of starchy suits and sensible court shoes.

      Swimsuits, shorts, sundresses. The sort of clothes she didn’t possess. And she had neither the time nor the inclination to go out on a shopping spree.

      * * *

      The prospect of facing him the following morning was not a pleasant one, and she made sure to arrive, yet again, shortly before nine. If he interpreted that as some sort of restrained rebellion then so be it.

      In fact she arrived to find a message on her desk telling her that he would be out for the day. Judging from the list of instructions for her, it seemed that he had hit the office even earlier than he normally did.

      And the number one instruction was for her to sort out flights to the island. As if she were in any danger of forgetting it!

      By five Emily was drained, and she was getting ready to leave when the phone rang and she was accosted by the dark timbre of his disembodied voice down the line.

      How had she spent so long never being affected by that? How was it that his voice had never made her toes curl the way it was doing now?

      In the act of putting on her jacket, she literally had to sit down and control her breathing as he demanded a debrief on the various things he had asked her to do. Had she sent those emails to the Hong Kong subsidiary of the electronics plant he was taking over...? Had she seen the response from the Briggs lawyers...? The Glasgow arm of his telecommunications outfit needed confirmation of price bands for new contracts and—could she make sure to hard copy all the relevant data by the morning...? And, last but not least, had she booked their flights.

      * * *

      Leandro relaxed back in his chauffeur-driven car. He had spent the day in a buoyant mood. He had one more company under his belt after some hard bargaining, and the following day...

      Underneath his annoyance and frank bewilderment at Emily’s decision to resign, his shock at the reason she had given and the uncomfortable sense of betrayal at her short notice and lack of forewarning, there was a tug of intense satisfaction at the prospect of them travelling to the Caribbean.

      He had spent a lot of the day thinking of her. He had played over in his mind the conversation they had had, the changing expressions on her face. She had been...shifty. She had answered his questions when pushed, but he had been left with the feeling that her answers only skimmed the surface.

      The fact that satisfying his curiosity would ultimately have no bearing on her departure was an irrelevance as far as Leandro was concerned. He got a kick just thinking about travelling down an unpredictable path for once when it came to the opposite sex.

      Was he becoming jaded? It was a question he had never asked himself. He was thirty-two years old, in his prime, and he enjoyed a wide-ranging and satisfying love-life. Or so he had always imagined. Now he wondered whether it was quite as satisfying as he’d thought if he could find himself so taken over by the pleasurable novelty of discovering this untapped side of his secretary.

      The last woman he had dated had faded from the scene three weeks previously and here he was, becoming fixated by this new vision of Emily Edison—an Emily Edison who was suddenly so much more than the sum total of her parts.

      Hell, he had been fantasising about her! Wasn’t that a little bizarre?

      Had he reached a stage where novelty was so compelling? He had nothing against marriage, per se. He assumed he would marry eventually. Someone suitable. Someone from an equally wealthy background. He had had a narrow and salutary escape years ago, from a woman who had played the hard to get game to perfection. She had teased him for just the right length of time, convinced him of her shyness and her indifference to his money... Her real agenda had been uncovered only because he had happened to overhear a conversation she’d had on the phone to her mother...

      So, sure, he would marry in due course—someone he knew was not after his money. His sisters were all married, after all, and his parents had had a long and satisfying marriage. He could enjoy the freedom of a bachelor life for as long as he wanted. But how satisfying, exactly, had that been of late?

      He frowned and thought of СКАЧАТЬ