Rescued by the Brooding Tycoon / Fixed Up with Mr. Right?: Rescued by the Brooding Tycoon / Fixed Up with Mr. Right?. Marie FerrarellaЧитать онлайн книгу.
been called opponents, rivals, competitors. But the bad times had changed all that, bringing out much bile and bitterness that had previously been hidden for tactical reasons.
As so often, Harriet was hovering on the edge of his mind, an enemy who was at least open about her hostility. Tonight he’d had the satisfaction of confronting her head-on, a rare pleasure in his world. He could see her now, cheeky and challenging, but not beautiful, except for her eyes, and with skin that was as soft as rose petals; something that he’d discovered when he’d held her face prisoner between his fingers.
This was how he’d always fought the battles, gaining information denied to others. But now it was different. Instead of triumph, he felt only confusion.
After watching the darkness for a long time he went to bed.
CHAPTER THREE
HARRIET prided herself on her common sense. She needed to. There had been times in her recent past when it had been all that saved her from despair. Even now, the dark depths sometimes beckoned and she clung fiercely to her ‘boring side’ as she called it, because nothing else helped. And even that didn’t make the sadness go away. It simply made it possible to cling on until her courage returned.
She knew that people had always envied her. Married at eighteen to an astonishingly handsome young man, living in apparently perfect harmony until his death eight years later. As far as the world knew, the only thing that blighted their happiness was the need for him to be away so often. His work in the tourist industry had necessitated many absences from home, but when he returned their reunions were legendary.
‘A perfect couple,’ people said. But they didn’t know.
Brad had been a philanderer who had spent his trips away sleeping around, and expected her not to mind. It only happened while he was out of sight, so what was she complaining about? It was the unkindness of his attitude that hurt her as much as his infidelity.
She’d clung on, deluding herself with the hope that in time he would change, presenting a bright face to the world so that her island neighbours never suspected. Finally Brad had left her, dying in a car crash in America before the divorce could come through, and the last of her hope was destroyed.
To the outside world the myth of her perfect marriage persisted. Nobody knew the truth, and nobody ever would, she was determined on that.
All she had left was Phantom, who had been Brad’s dog and who’d comforted her night after night when he was away. Phantom alone knew the truth; that behind the cheerful, sturdy exterior was a woman who had lost faith in men and life. His warmth brought joy to what would otherwise have been a desert.
It was the thought of her beloved dog that made her set out one morning in the direction of Giant’s Beacon. There was still a chance to improve relations with Darius Falcon, and for Phantom’s sake she must take it.
‘I suppose I’m getting paranoid about this,’ she told herself. ‘I don’t think he’d really do anything against Phantom, but he’s the most powerful man on the island and I can’t take chances.’
She recalled that at their last meeting he’d actually spoken to him in a kindly tone, calling him ‘You daft mutt’ and ‘a good fellow’, thus proving he wasn’t really a monster. He probably had a nicer side if she could only find it. She would apologise, engage him in a friendly chat and all would be well.
The road to Giant’s Beacon led around the side of the house, and over the garden hedge she could see that the French windows were open. From inside came the sound of a man’s voice.
‘All right. Call me again when you know. Goodbye.’
Excellent, she would slip inside quickly while he was free. But as she approached the open door she heard him again, ‘There you are. I know you’ve been avoiding my calls—did you really think I’d let you go that easily?—I know what you’ve been doing and I’m telling you it’s got to stop.’
Harriet stood deadly still, stunned by his cold, bullying tone. She must leave at once. Slowly, she flattened herself back against the wall and began to edge away.
‘It’s too late for that,’ Darius continued. ‘I’ve set things in motion and it’s too late to change it, even if I wanted to. The deal’s done, and you can tell your friend with the suspicious credentials that if he crosses me again he’ll be sorry—what? Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. There’ll be no mercy.’
No mercy, she thought, moving slowly along the wall. That just about said it all. And she’d kidded herself that he had a nicer side.
No mercy.
Quietly, she vanished.
‘There’ll be no mercy.’
Darius repeated the line once more. He knew that these days he said it too often, too obsessively. So many foes had shown him no mercy that now it was the mantra he clung to in self-defence.
At last he slammed down the phone and threw himself back in his chair, hoping he’d said enough to have the desired impact. Possibly. Or then again, maybe not. Once he wouldn’t have doubted it, but since his fortunes had begun to collapse he had a permanent fear that the person on the other end immediately turned to a companion and jeered, ‘He fell for it.’
As he himself had often done in what now felt like another life.
That was one of the hardest things to cope with—the suspicion of being laughed at behind his back; the knowledge that people who’d once scuttled to please him now shrugged.
The other thing, even harder, was the end of his family life, the distance that seemed to stretch between himself and his children. It was easy to say that he’d given too much of himself to business and not enough to being a father, but at the time he’d felt he was working for them.
Mary, his wife, had been scathing at the idea.
‘That’s just your excuse for putting them second. You say making money is all for them, but they don’t want a great fortune, they want you there, taking an interest.’
He’d sacrificed so much for financial success, and now that too was fading. Lying awake at night, he often tried to look ahead to decide which path to take, but in truth there was no choice. Only one path stretched forward, leading either to greater failure or success at too great a cost. They seemed much the same.
He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the mood, and turned on the radio to hear the local news. One item made him suddenly alert.
‘Much concern is being expressed at the suggestion of problems with the Herringdean Wind Farm. Work has only recently started, yet—’
‘Kate,’ he said, coming downstairs, ‘what do you know about a wind farm?’
‘Not much,’ she said, speaking as she would have done about an alien planet. ‘It’s been on and off for ages and we thought it was all forgotten but they finally started work. It’ll be some way out in the channel where we don’t have to look at the horrid great thing.’
‘Show me,’ he said, pulling out a map of the island.
The site was located about eight miles out at sea, within England’s territorial waters. As these were owned by the Crown, he would gain nothing. He could even lose, since the island might be less appealing to potential buyers.
‘They’ve actually started putting up the turbines?’ he said.
‘A few, I believe, but it’ll be some time before it’s finished.’
He groaned. If he’d bought this place in the normal way, there would have been inspections, he would have discovered the disadvantages and negotiated a lower price. Instead, it had been dumped on him, and he was beginning to realise that he’d walked into a trap.
Fool! Fool!
At all costs that must remain his secret. Kate was too naïve for him to worry about, and nobody