Tiger Man. Penny JordanЧитать онлайн книгу.
you two are going to engage in one of your arguments I’m off to the kitchen,’ Mrs Templeton announced. ‘Coffee, Storm?’
‘Yes, please. I’ll give you a hand with the trolley.’
‘You won’t escape that way, my girl,’ warned her father. ‘We’ll thrash this out later. Think a little, love. The man’s got a job to do, don’t go out of your way to make it any harder for him. He’s going to need all the help he can get.’
‘Not according to what one reads in the papers,’ Storm retorted. ‘To read them you’d think he was a one-man miracle worker!’
Over her downbent head her parents exchanged exasperatedly affectionate looks.
‘There’s a documentary on television I wouldn’t mind seeing tonight,’ Mr Templeton announced, changing the subject.
Storm followed her mother out into the kitchen.
‘Your father’s right, you know, dear,’ Mrs Templeton said gently as they washed up. ‘You mustn’t let loyalty to David blind you to his faults.’ She gave a faint sigh. ‘I know it’s none of my business, Storm, but somehow I can’t see David as the right man for you…’
‘Because he’s gentle and kind and doesn’t have sex on the brain?’ Storm retorted fiercely, causing her mother to frown anxiously.
‘I know you think you love him, Storm,’ she said quietly, ‘but if you did I should expect you to want him to have “sex on the brain”, as you put it. Things were different in my day, I know, and sex wasn’t discussed as openly as it is now, but there was never a single doubt in my mind that I wanted your father as my lover, very, very much indeed. I don’t think you can say the same about David.’
This unexpected frankness brought a touch of colour to Storm’s face.
‘Too much importance is placed on sex,’ she announced defensively. ‘It’s only one part of a relationship.’
‘The mere fact that you can tell me that, Storm,’ her mother replied softly, ‘just confirms what I’ve been saying. You can’t possibly love David as a woman should love a man.’
Her mother was hopelessly romantic, Storm thought as she finished her chores, but even so her words lingered, making it impossible for Storm to concentrate on the documentary. When it had finished Mrs Templeton announced suddenly,
‘I forget to tell you—the house down the road has been sold.’
‘Good lord!’ Mr Templeton exclaimed. ‘I never thought it would go so quickly. How much were they asking for it? Well over a hundred thousand, wasn’t it?’
The house in question was their nearest neighbour, the last word in modern design and yet built in such a fashion that it blended perfectly into its rural surroundings. Much use had been made of huge expanses of tinted glass and natural wood. The house had extensive grounds and overlooked the wooded copse that lay between Storm’s parents’ house and it, and Mrs Templeton, who had been inside it, said that it was as beautiful inside as it was out.
‘Going out with David tonight?’ Mrs Templeton asked Storm a little later.
‘No. He’s got some work to do, and so have I.’
‘Making sure the new boss doesn’t catch you off guard?’ grinned her father.
Storm elected to take refuge from his teasing in a disdainful demeanour.
‘Certainly not. I couldn’t care less what Jago Marsh thinks of me!’
But she could not get away from the fact that hateful though he might be, Jago Marsh was going to be in a position of authority over her, and worse still, capable to taking from her a job which she thoroughly enjoyed and had worked hard for.
It was an unpalatable thought to take to bed, and she was unusually quiet when she said her goodnights. Upstairs in her room she dawdled over her preparations for bed, stopping to lean her elbows on her casement window and stare out at the night sky.
Why of all people had David had to confide in Jago Marsh? her rebellious heart demanded, her inner eye seeing him as he had appeared to her during his lecture. He had been wearing a tailored suit, his dark hair neatly brushed, outwardly a conformist adhering to the rules of society, but his face had been that of a man who admits to no rules, except his own; a man who would either lead the pack or turn his back on it; a man who in her heart of hearts she acknowledged was dangerous.
She vowed there and then that when the confrontation came, he would not find her unprepared.
IT was to come far sooner than she had expected.
The day had not got off to an auspicious start. Far from it, Storm thought as she tussled with a recalcitrant zip. She had overslept, and the fact that she had an important appointment with the managing director of a Gloucester-based employment agency whom she had hoped to persuade to make use of the station’s advertising facilities made her all fingers and thumbs as she pulled on a pale grey skirt and a toning lavender blouse.
The blouse was startlingly effective against her hair, reflecting the colour of her eyes as she blended subtly shaded mauve eyeshadow over her eyelids, adding the merest touch of mascara and kohl pencil, before snatching up her fox jacket—a combined twenty-first birthday present from her parents and brothers. At least the fur gave her a touch of elegance, she thought ruefully as she applied damson lip gloss—something she considered herself badly in need of. She studied herself in the mirror, frowning a little. Thank goodness for high heels! Five foot two did not make for the soignée model girl elegance she envied so much. Her lack of inches was a constant source of irritation to her. ‘Titch’ and ‘Pint Size’ were only two of the derogatory names used by her brothers during their adolescence, and to add insult to injury they both took after their father, easily topping six foot!
Conditioned to her spectacular colouring, Storm was oblivious to the vivid effect of her russet curls against the creamy warmth of her skin, or the generously full curve of her mouth beneath its covering of lip gloss. Wrinkling her nose, she picked up her bag and fled. She was late enough already without wasting more time staring at her own reflection.
Breakfast was a hurried affair, with her mother scolding her affectionately as she swallowed her coffee and refused anything more substantial. Mrs Templeton was lending Storm her Mini and, as always when time was short, this temperamental dowager refused to start first time.
‘She won’t start if you speak to her like that,’ Mrs Templeton warned Storm who was muttering curses over the Mini’s obstinacy. ‘She’s an old lady and it’s a cold morning.’
Storm grinned. Her mother’s habit of treating her elderly car as an eccentric member of the family was a standing joke.
‘Don’t worry,’ she promised, ‘I’ll pay due consideration to her advancing years and uncertain health!’
Very little traffic used the winding road to Gloucester. The early morning mist had dispersed, leaving only the odd patch here and there in low-lying hollows. The glinting autumn sun sparkled on frost-rimed hedges, and Storm hummed happily as she drove along.
Later she admitted to herself that she had been guilty of letting her mind wander, and perhaps even taking up more than her allotted half share of the road, but that was later. Her first instinctive reaction when she saw the powerful green car leaping towards her devouring the slender distance that separated them was one of furious resentment that its driver should behave with such a lack of regard for any other road users.
With almost unbelievable speed the other car swerved away, narrowly missing her, and as Storm glared revengefully at its occupants, she realised that the man seated in the passenger seat was Neil Philips, the local estate agent. Which meant that in all probability the driver was none other than their new neighbour. Scarcely a