What You Made Me. PENNY JORDANЧитать онлайн книгу.
live there alone?’ What on earth had prompted her to blurt that out?
‘Why? Thinking you might take up where you left off?’ His eyes slid to Simon, who was listening to their conversation although his face was averted. ‘Not completely. My mother lives with me and her companion, as to the rest…’ his mouth curved in a humourless smile, ‘sometimes I live alone and sometimes I don’t, does that answer your question?’
‘THIS way.’ Scott preceded them across the flagged area at the front of the hall, indicating a door in the East wing which was new to Philippa. Simon lagged behind, scowling darkly, and Philippa suppressed a rush of sympathy. Poor Simon; what had he expected, that Scott would immediately recognise him as his son? It was unfortunate that Simon should have seen his birth certificate, and the blame lay with her for naming Scott as his father in the first place, but she had been so distressed after Simon’s birth, so lonely, so aching for Scott’s presence, that she had given his name quite automatically, still drowsy from Simon’s birth, barely aware of what she was doing.
Once they were inside the building and Scott was describing the work his company was engaged on Simon’s attitude changed. As far as Philippa was concerned it was all way above her head, although she couldn’t help admiring the way what she remembered as vast, empty rooms had been transferred into a luxury office suite. A smiling receptionist acknowledged their arrival and from there Scott had shown them round the other offices, Simon drinking in every word he said, asking questions which brought a quick frown of surprise to Scott’s forehead and a curt, ‘He’s extremely bright,’ in an aside to her when he saw that Simon’s attention was elsewhere.
‘What did you expect? That because he was my child he would be dim?’ How angry he was making her with his hateful assumptions. Couldn’t he see what was screamingly obvious to her? Couldn’t he recognise himself in Simon?
‘This is where most of the real work is done.’ It was a large room running the length and breadth of the wing, on the second floor, full of banks of computers and other pieces of equipment all totally incomprehensible to Philippa, but Simon was pouncing on them with glee, studying them with a keen-eyed fascination that drew smiles from the two young men working busily among the equipment.
‘This is where we test out the new equipment. It isn’t manufactured here of course. That’s done in our factory near York, but we perform most of the field tests on the equipment here.’ Simon interrupted with several questions which Scott answered, both of them involved in a discussion far too technical for Philippa to begin to follow. ‘You’re interested in this sort of thing I take it?’
‘He’s interested in anything he can take apart and put back together again,’ Philippa said wryly, remembering the first time she had come home and found their ancient television set in bits.
‘Umm, not something he’s inherited from Rivers,’ Scott remarked acerbically to her whilst Simon’s back was turned. ‘As I recall he was quite happy to play the playboy on what daddy had earned.’ Before she could make a retort, he added, ‘We’ll leave Simon here and I’ll show you my own suite, it’s on the next floor.’
She had expected something even more luxurious than the suite of offices on the ground floor but to her astonishment Scott’s office was almost monastic in appearance. Another office led into it, and this would be hers, he told her, gesturing to the banked telephones and the word processor on the desk. ‘My previous secretary couldn’t stand the isolation of working here, and I need someone experienced enough for me to rely on. I have to go abroad quite frequently, and it will be up to you to take care of things when I’m gone.’
‘You trust me to be able to?’
There was a wealth of fine irony in her voice, but Scott didn’t take her up on it, merely saying, ‘You come very highly recommended. You’ve worked for Sir Nigel, who’s reputed to be one of the hardest-headed businessmen around. I don’t think he pays you simply to sit around looking pretty.’
‘How long do you intend to keep me here?’ Philippa demanded, reminding him that she wasn’t here of her own free will. ‘Until you can find another secretary?’
‘As long as it takes,’ he told her unequivocally, ‘and remember, Philippa, whilst you’re here you’ll fulfil any role I give you, that was part of the deal.’
What exactly did he have in mind? Philippa wondered as he showed her the Directors’ dining room and the conference room which lay beyond his own. Last night when he had given her his ultimatum she had seen in his eyes a look which had stripped her body of every shred of clothing she had worn, and which had committed even worse outrages against her, but she had put his violence down to his shock at seeing her, dismissing it in the calm light of morning as no more than a trick of her fevered imagination. Now she wasn’t so sure. Scott ached to humiliate her as he thought she had once humiliated him and she would be a fool if she tried to deny that fact.
‘I’ll show you the other wing. It’s this way.’
A long gallery connected the two wings, and the doors which Philippa remembered as once opening on to the main body of the Hall and the family’s living quarters had been sealed off, apparently, because the wall was now blank, presumably to ensure that Scott had privacy when he retired to his own part of the house.
‘Did you plan to do this when you… when you left for America?’ she asked him, feeling slightly foolish when he turned and subjected her to an ice-cold, acerbic glare.
‘I wasn’t in any mood to plan anything,’ he flung at her bitterly. ‘I was aching too much from what you had done to me, Philippa. No, it was only when my grandfather died that I realised I might have a chance of getting the Hall back. I was doing quite well then, but it wasn’t until two years ago that the company was doing well enough for me to buy it.’
They had reached the door at the end of the gallery and he pushed it open, standing back so that she could precede him. The doorway was narrow and Philippa felt the hairs on her arms stand on end as she brushed past his suit-clad body, the violent response of her nerve endings to his proximity so totally unexpected that it threw her off balance, both physically and mentally, and she was glad that she had her back to Scott for the few seconds it took her to get herself back under control.
What was the matter with her, for heaven’s sake? She wasn’t seventeen any longer. She had met many handsome and sexy men since she left Garston but none of them had affected her in the way that Scott had just done. Neither had he eleven years ago, but then she had trusted and loved him with innocence and inexperience, now she was immediately wary of the undeniably physical response of her body to his, her sense relaying to her the total maleness of him, the faintly arousing scent of his body whenever he came close to her, the diabolical ease with which her mind supplied her with an image of his unclothed body, even to the extent of adding the changes that time would have brought, turning’ him from a boy to a man.
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