Point Of No Return. Кэрол МортимерЧитать онлайн книгу.
Jerome. Old Squire Towers, as Henry had been called, had run into debt over the estate, refusing to ask his nephew for help, claiming he was a pompous snob who would gloat over his uncle’s misfortune, and instead the Squire had resorted to selling off parts of the estate.
Of course the nephew had bought back all these smallholdings—except theirs!—and so old Squire Towers might just as well have asked him for the help in the first place. But at least this way he had been spared the humiliation of approaching his nephew with a begging bowl. The fact that Jerome Towers was a millionaire, and his uncle was scraping together every penny he could, should have told the former that unless he offered his help it would never be asked for. Obviously by the sale of the land he had never offered.
Megan walked up the long gravel driveway, admiring the rambling beauty of the house and accompanying stables, and walked around the back of the house to knock nervously on the kitchen door. It wouldn’t do for her to knock on the front door, not when she was just hired help!
A short, plump, red-faced woman opened the door, her ample frame covered by a paisley patterned overall. This just had to be Freda, the cook.
‘Yes, love?’ she smiled.
Megan smiled back shyly, and explained about her mother’s illness and the fact that she had come as her replacement.
Freda was suitably sympathetic about Emily Finch’s illness, although she looked rather harassed. ‘Thank goodness you’re here, love, that’s all I can say,’ she sighed. ‘Patsy’s not come in today either, and I’ve just cooked Mr Towers’ brother’s breakfast and there’s no one to take it up but me. I don’t like showing myself in the main part of the house. I’m a cook,’ she smiled happily, her three chins wobbling, ‘and a cook’s place is in the kitchen.’
And if this woman was any advert for the success of her own cooking it must indeed be first class!
‘Isn’t it a bit late for breakfast?’ Megan asked, hanging her jacket up behind the door. She had changed into a tan wool blouse and deep brown skirt, as her denims were hardly suitable for working here. Especially if she had to run all over the house with breakfast trays!
‘That it is. But he’s been having a bit of a rest. He only arrived yesterday.’
‘Well, so had she, but that didn’t mean she could laze about in bed all morning. In fact, she had been up earlier this morning than she usually was. ‘I didn’t know Mr Towers had a brother,’ she said interestedly, having thought him an only child.
‘Neither did we.’ Freda put a rack of toast on the tray with the plate of sausages, eggs and tomatoes. ‘Not until he arrived.’
He sounded exactly like his brother, thoughtless and selfish. ‘Shall I take the tray through now?’ Megan offered.
‘I’ll just put this pot of tea on, he likes tea in the morning. There!’ she looked down at her handiwork, ‘that ought to keep body and soul together until lunchtime.’
As it was almost that now, Megan wouldn’t be at all surprised. ‘Which way is the dining-room?’ she asked,
‘Oh, he isn’t in the dining-room, love,’ Freda smiled. ‘He’s upstairs in his bedroom.’
‘Oh,’ After her recent experience at the hospital she wasn’t sure she dared risk going to any man’s bedroom.
‘At the top of the stairs, fourth door on the right,’ Freda directed, not noticing her reluctance. ‘It’s very good of you to stand in for your mum, Megan. A good worker, is your mum.’
Megan knew that. Her mother had never been able to sit idle while there was work waiting to be done, and as there was usually plenty of work to do on the farm … ‘The rest will do her good,’ she smiled. ‘And I’ll do my best to take her place.’
‘I’m sure you will, love. I didn’t mean—–’
‘I know you didn’t,’ Megan laughed, knowing very well that this friendly lady had meant it as a compliment to her mother. ‘I’ll try not to be long with this,’ she promised.
She had the impression of unobtrusive luxury as she walked through the house, The Towers having been completely redecorated and refurnished before the new owner had moved in. The workmen had been working on the place for weeks before Jerome Towers moved in. Megan didn’t pause over her admiration of the new colour schemes, not wanting to arrive at the bedroom with a cold breakfast.
Not that she didn’t think the man deserved it. It was typical of Jerome Towers’ brother to arrive on the doorstep unannounced and then want to be waited on hand and foot. Breakfast in bed at ten-thirty in the morning, indeed! Brian had already put in five hours’ work by this time! It just didn’t seem fair.
She knocked on the wood-panelled door, hearing the mumble of some sort of answer. She knocked again, just in case it had been an instruction to wait and not to come in.
She heard another mumble inside, a crash as something hit the floor, and then the door swung open.
‘You!’ she exclaimed in horror, the tray almost falling out of her hands.
Standing in front of her, his blond hair tousled from sleep, his eyes bleary, his only garment a pair of blue silk pyjama trousers resting low down on his hips, the beginning of his recent appendectomy in evidence, was Roddy Meyers!
THE sleepy look left his eyes and he leant casually back against the doorjamb. ‘Well, well, well,’ he drawled mockingly, ‘if it isn’t Little Megan Finch!’
She had recovered from some of the shock by now—but not all of it! And she had thought she would never see him again, had hoped she would never see him again. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded accusingly. She must have the wrong bedroom, must have turned left instead of right, but that still didn’t explain this man being here.
The last time she had seen him had been when he had been pulled off her as she lay helpless on her bed, helpless because he had just pushed her there before attempting to make love to her. They had been discovered by a senior nursing officer as she did her rounds of the nurses’ home, and although Megan had claimed her innocence her story hadn’t been believed, because this man, Roddy Meyers, had claimed she had invited him there, had said she had been attracted to him from the first. Then of course the first incident in his private room had been brought up.
She couldn’t blame the people in charge for thinking the worst, not on the evidence they had. But she would never forgive this man for the lies he had told about her. He was despicable, and she hated him more than she had ever hated anyone in her life.
She pushed past him to put the laden tray down on the dressing-table. Damn Jerome Towers’ brother, he would have to wait for his breakfast, be it cold or not. She had something much more serious to deal with at the moment.
‘I asked you a question.’ She turned on Roddy Meyers, her green eyes sparkling angrily. ‘What are you doing at The Towers?’
‘I would have thought it was obvious,’ he taunted, obviously not realising how close he was to being struck. ‘I’m staying here.’
‘What is this?’ she snapped. ‘A hotel?’
He raised blond eyebrows. ‘Not as far as I know. What do you mean?’
Megan sighed, wondering why it was that she had resisted this young man’s advances so relentlessly that he had had to resort to force. He was good-looking in a youthful sort of way, twenty-five years of age, blond hair that was worn much too long, blue eyes, a handsome face, and yet she just hadn’t been attracted to him. That he hadn’t felt the same indifference had been obvious from the first moment they met; he had asked her every chance he got if she would go out with him. That her constant refusals had been responsible for her downfall she had no doubt.
‘I