The Beautiful Widow. HELEN BROOKSЧитать онлайн книгу.

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      CHAPTER ONE

      STEEL LANDRY WAS running out of patience. A man who suffered fools badly, he’d spent most of the morning sorting out what he termed as a ‘pig’s ear’ of a mess. Since his property business had mushroomed into a multimillion-pound operation with tentacles reaching into a dozen major cities in the UK, out of necessity he’d been forced to rely on the personnel he employed in the various offices he had all over the country. He couldn’t be everywhere at once—much as he would have liked to have been. And one of his managers had let him down badly, ignoring contractual obligations and placing the name of Landry Enterprises in disrepute. The morning had been a damage control exercise and although the matter was now resolved it had left a nasty taste in his mouth. Add to that the fact he hadn’t slept well the night before—his brother-in-law had phoned an hour ago to say Steel’s sister was in hospital with a threatened miscarriage, and his very able and reliable secretary had given in her notice due to her husband’s job moving to the States—and it summed up the perfect Monday.

      He glared at the smoked salmon sandwiches his secretary had fetched for his lunch and called the hospital for the second time in twenty minutes. The answer was still the same: Mrs Wood was as comfortable as could be expected, which in hospital jargon probably meant she was suffering the torments of the damned.

      As soon as Jeff, his brother-in-law, had phoned, Steel had contacted the hospital and arranged for a private room and the top consultant. Now he resolved he’d put all further business for the day on hold and go across London to the hospital himself to make sure Annie was having the best treatment available. Jeff was a great guy and devoted to Annie, but a typical high-brow academic who was so absorbed in his job as an astronomer, researching satellite communication systems and space agency work at a top avionic company, that he barely saw what was in front of him on planet earth.

      Decision made, he checked his diary. Nothing that couldn’t wait. And then he frowned. Although there was that woman he was interviewing at the end of the day for the post of interior designer, the one James had personally recommended. What was her name? Oh, yeah, Toni George. He glanced at the gold Rolex on one tanned wrist. Getting on for three o’clock, and Mrs George was due to arrive at five-thirty.

      Steel flexed his muscled shoulders, rotating his head to ease the tension in his neck. The hospital was only a stone’s throw from his apartment; he didn’t particularly fancy battling back to the office after he’d left there only to retrace the journey once the interview was over. Flicking the switch on the intercom on his desk, he said, ‘Joy, this interview later with Toni George. See if you can contact her and arrange for her to call at my apartment instead of here. I’m going to be leaving the hospital about that time. Do it now, would you?’

      Less than two minutes later his secretary tapped on the door and put her sleek blonde head into the room. ‘All arranged,’ she said briskly, ‘although I did mention you were visiting your sister in hospital close to your apartment when she seemed a little … wary about the change of location. She was fine after that.’

      He surveyed Joy through amused eyes. He hadn’t thought this Mrs George might think he had ulterior motives; perhaps he should have. Reaching for his suit jacket on the back of his chair, he stood up. ‘Thanks,’ he said briefly. ‘Oh, and give Stuart my congratulations on the promotion.’

      ‘Will do.’ Joy regarded him sympathetically. She knew Steel thought the world of his sister and this news had knocked him for six, although as ever the hard, handsome face showed little emotion. She had worked for him for four years and not only was he the most generous boss she’d ever had, but the most attractive too. If she wasn’t so in love with her husband she could have fallen for Steel in a big way, she thought—for possibly the thousandth time. Perhaps she was in love with him a little, but he’d always been so businesslike and correct in his dealings with her it had been easy to conceal it.

      Outside, the warm June air carried city dust and fumes in its embrace, but once in his black Aston Martin Steel relaxed a little. He liked driving and the car was a dream, the air conditioning and state-of-the-art luxury making the experience pleasurable even in the worst London snarl-ups. He drove automatically, his mind on Annie. She and Jeff had been trying for this baby for a long time; ever since they’d married, in fact, three years previously. At twenty-six, Annie was twelve years younger than him and he had virtually brought her up when their parents had been killed in a car accident when Annie was six years old. He’d been about to go away to university but he’d got a job instead, and this income, added to his half of the nest egg which his parents had been accumulating in the bank, had meant he could continue to pay the rent on the three-bedroomed house that had been home. Annie had lost their parents, he hadn’t wanted her to lose the familiarity and security of the home she’d lived in all her life. Annie’s half of the estate had been in trust until she was eighteen and had been a nice little inheritance for her.

      They had managed. His mind wandered to the years of Annie’s childhood. Their paternal grandparents had already died, but his mother’s mother and father had stepped into the breach and looked after Annie every day after school until he collected her from them. Neighbours and friends had also been kind. And now Annie was a beautiful, well-adjusted young woman, and he was in a good place. Independent, autonomous, answerable to no one and no one relying on him.

      Not that he’d resented caring for Annie. His mind immediately dealt with the issue as though someone had put the idea to him. He’d done it because he wanted to. Pure and simple. But the long years until she had met Jeff when she’d been twenty-one had taught him something. He didn’t want to be responsible for another human being again. He wanted a life free of emotional liability and obligation. A life where he could take off at the drop of a hat. No involved arrangements. No explanations. No … accountability. He’d done his time with all that—from the age of eighteen until he was thirty-three. Fifteen years. And now he relished his freedom, fed on it.

      He’d had girlfriends from the age of puberty: a few long term, most ships that passed after a couple of months, due—he had to admit—to his determination to continue in the single state once his parents had died. Now he dated sophisticated,