The Tuscan Tycoon's Wife. Lucy GordonЧитать онлайн книгу.
hard but treated like royalty.
‘I’ll swear they remember you,’ Barton said as they nuzzled Leo.
‘They don’t forget a sucker.’ Leo grinned.
While admiring the horses he contrived to glance at Selena, who was having a dressing fixed to her forehead.
‘Take it easy for a day or two,’ the doctor was saying. ‘Plenty of rest.’
‘It was just a little bump,’ she insisted.
‘Just a little bump on your head.’
‘I’ll make sure she rests,’ Barton said. ‘My wife’s getting a room ready right now.’
‘That’s nice of her,’ Selena said awkwardly, ‘but I’d rather stay here with Elliot.’
She indicated the piles of hay as though wondering why anyone could want more.
‘Well, you’ve gotta come in to eat,’ Barton exclaimed. ‘We’re just having a snack because we’ll be starting the barbecue in a couple of hours.’
‘You’re very kind but I can’t come in the house,’ Selena said, horribly conscious of her shabby, dishevelled appearance.
Barton scratched his head. ‘Mrs Hanworth will be offended if you don’t.’
‘Then I’ll come in and say thank you.’
She wouldn’t need to stay long, she reckoned: just enough to be polite.
Reluctantly she followed them across to the house, which was a huge white mansion, the very sight of which made her feel awkward. She wondered how Leo would cope. In his shabby jeans and scuffed trainers he looked as out of place as she felt, although it didn’t seem to bother him.
The sound of eager shrieks made Leo look up, and the next moment he was engulfed by the Hanworth family.
Delia, Barton’s wife, was colourful, exuberant, and looked ten years younger than her true age. She and Barton had three children, two daughters, Carrie and Billie, younger versions of their mother, plus Jack, a studious son who seemed to live in a dream world, semi-detached from the rest of the family.
The household was completed by Paul, or Paulie as Delia insisted on calling him. He was her son by an earlier marriage, and the apple of her eye. She spoiled him absurdly, to the groaning exasperation of everyone else.
Paulie greeted Leo as a kindred spirit, slapping him on the back and predicting ‘great times’ together, which made Leo feel like groaning too. Paulie was in his late twenties, good-looking in a fleshy, superficial way, but self-indulgence was already blurring his features. He was a businessman in his own estimation, but his ‘business’ consisted of an internet company, his fifth, which was rapidly failing, as the other four had failed.
Barton had bailed him out, time and again, always swearing that this time was the last, and always yielding to Delia’s entreaties for ‘just one more’.
But just now the atmosphere was genial. Paulie, on his best behaviour, had recognised Selena.
‘I’ve seen you riding in the rodeo at—’ he rattled off a list of names. ‘Seen you win, too.’
Selena relaxed, managing a smile.
‘I don’t win much,’ she admitted. ‘But enough to keep going.’
‘You’re a star,’ Paulie said, taking her hand and pumping it up and down between his two. ‘It surely is an honour to meet you.’
If Selena felt the same she disguised it successfully. There was something about Paulie that laid a disagreeable sheen even over his attempts to flatter. She thanked him and withdrew her hand, fighting the temptation to rub it on her jeans. Paulie had a clammy palm.
‘Your room is ready now,’ Delia said kindly. ‘The girls will show you upstairs.’
Carrie and Billie immediately took charge of Selena, drawing her up the huge staircase before she had time to protest. Paulie followed, impossible to shake off, and by the time they reached the best guest bedroom he’d contrived to get in front and throw open the door.
‘Only the best for our famous guest,’ he carolled facetiously.
Since Selena wasn’t famous, and knew it, this only made her look at him askance. Already she could see a neon sign over Paulie’s head, reading ‘Trouble’. She was glad when Carrie eased her brother out of the room.
She looked around her, made even more uneasy by the magnificence. The large room had been decorated in pink, mauve and white, Delia’s favourite colours. The carpet was a delicate pink that made Selena check her boots for mud. The curtains were pink and mauve brocade and the huge four-poster bed was hung with fine white net curtains. It could have slept four, she thought, testing the mattress gingerly. It was so soft and springy that she took a step back. How did anyone sleep on that without bouncing off?
She took a tour of the room, wondering if they’d put her in the wrong place. Perhaps the Queen of England would step out of the wardrobe and say this was really her room.
The bathroom was equally alarming, being frilly and feminine, with a tub shaped like a huge seashell. If there was one thing Selena knew she wasn’t, it was frilly and feminine. She would have preferred a shower, but the cap wasn’t quite big enough to protect the dressing on her forehead, so she ran a bath.
When it was just right she climbed in gingerly, relishing the comfort of sinking into the hot water and feeling it soothe her bruises. She sorted her way through the profusion of soaps until she found the least heavily perfumed and began to lather herself with it. Gradually the turmoil of the day slipped away from her. Maybe there was something to be said for soft living after all. Not much, but something.
A row of glass jars stood along a shelf just above the bath, each filled with crystals of a different colour. Curious, she took one down, unscrewed the top and gagged at the aroma, which was even more overpowering than the soap. Gasping, she hastened to replace the top, but her fingers were too slippery to grip properly and the jar slipped straight through them, down into the water and crashed against the bath with an ominous splintering sound. The shock, coming on top of everything else, surprised a yell from her.
Leo, settling into his own room across the hall, was undressing for a shower and had just stripped off his shirt when he heard the yell and paused. Stepping out into the corridor, he stopped again, listening. Silence. Then, from behind Selena’s door came a despairing voice.
‘Oh no! What am I going to do?’
He knocked on her door. ‘Hello? Are you all right?’
Her voice reached him faintly. ‘Not really.’
He pushed open the door, but could see nobody inside.
‘Hello?’
‘In here.’ Now he could tell that she was in the bathroom, and he approached the open door gingerly, trying not to gasp from the sweet, powerful aroma that surged out and surrounded his head like a cloud.
‘Is it all right for me to come in?’ he asked.
‘I’m stuck here forever if you don’t.’
Moving cautiously he looked around the door to the great pink shell. Selena was in the middle of it, her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at him with frantic eyes.
‘I smashed a jar of crystals,’ she said desperately.
He looked around. ‘Where?’
‘In the bath. There’s broken glass everywhere under the water, but I can’t see where it is. I daren’t move.’
‘OK, don’t panic.’ He found a white towel and handed it to her, averting his eyes as she reached for it.
When she’d covered her top she said, ‘You can look. I’m decent—ish.’
‘Can you