Hired for the Boss's Bedroom. Cathy WilliamsЧитать онлайн книгу.
her warring visitors had disappeared, she considered the excellent life she had.
Wonderful job, doing the one thing she couldn’t have been happier doing, illustrating children’s books, getting inspiration from her garden which she translated into pictures that were slowly achieving notoriety as works of art in themselves. She worked from home, travelling into London once a month so that she could go through her graphics with her art editor. It was a real luxury.
She also owned her cottage outright. No mortgage; no debt owing, in fact, to anyone. Which made her as free as a bird.
True, there was no man in her life, but that, she told herself, was exactly how she wanted it.
Little snippets of her past intruded into her peaceful cottage: Brian, as she had first known him when she had still been a young girl of eighteen and he had been on the brink of his glittering career. Blonde hair, straight, thick and always falling across his face, until he had had it cut because, he had told her seriously, in his profession men all wore their hair short.
Heather blinked and shoved that little nest of bitter memories back into their Pandora’s box. She had learnt years ago that dwelling on things that couldn’t be changed was a waste of time.
Instead, she shifted her attention to the kitchen which still bore the remnants of Daniel’s hastily eaten meal of spaghetti Bolognese. His father, he had told her, had planned on taking them out to dinner but he hadn’t wanted to go. He hated those fancy restaurants they went to. He hated the food. As a postscript, he had added that he hated his father.
Which made her start thinking of Leo and, once she started, she found that she couldn’t seem to stop. That cold, ruthless face swam into her head until she was forced to retreat to her little office and try and lose herself in the illustration she was currently working on. She was peering at the detail of a fairy wing, every pore in her being focused on the minute detail of painting, when the bang on her front door sent her jerking back, knocking over the jar of water, which shattered into a thousand pieces on the wooden floor.
A second bang, more demanding this time, had her running to the front door before she had time to clean up the slowly spreading mess on the ground.
She pulled open the door before a third bang brought down the roof.
‘You! What are you doing here?’ He was no longer in his suit. Instead, he was wearing a pair of cream trousers and a navy-blue polo shirt. Behind him was a gleaming silver Bentley.
At nearly nine in the evening, the sun had faded to a dull, mellow, grey light.
Leo dealt Heather a grim nod. ‘Believe me, I don’t want to be here any more than you want me to be here, but I have been put in the difficult position of having to ask you to accompany us to the cinema tomorrow. Daniel has dug his heels in and refused to budge. I’m being blackmailed by someone who hasn’t even graduated to books without pictures. It’s ridiculous, but it’s true, hence the reason I’m here when I should be reading over a due-diligence report that can’t wait.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Why don’t you let me in and I can explain?’
‘I’m sorry, but can’t this wait until tomorrow? It’s late, and I have stuff to do.’
‘Late?’ Leo made a show of consulting his watch. ‘It’s ten past nine. On a Friday night. Since when is that late?’
Heather heard the amused incredulity in his voice and felt her hackles rise.
‘I was working,’ she said stiffly.
‘Of course. You never got around to telling me exactly what you do for a living.’
‘You aren’t interested in what I do for a living.’
Leo thought that she was spot on with that, but circumstances had forced his hand. He had returned to the house with Daniel in frozen silence and had endured what could only be called silent warfare.
The mobile phone had been looked at and then refused, on the grounds of, ‘Thank you very much, but the teacher doesn’t allow mobile phones at school.’
And, ‘It’s a kind thought, but young children don’t need mobile telephones,’ from his mother.
Frustration had almost driven him to ask his mother what the hell was going on because surely, surely, this complete lack of co operation couldn’t just be caused by the fact that he had missed a Sports Day! But Katherine had taken herself off to bed at a ridiculously early hour, and so here he was, compelled to try and do a patch-up job with the amateur psychologist in the hope that the weekend might not end up a complete write-off.
‘You seem to have something on your face…’ He rubbed his finger along the blue streak adorning her chin and gazed in bemusement at his finger. ‘What is it? Paint? Is that how you spend your Friday evenings—painting your house?’
Heather pushed the door, but Leo wasn’t having any of that. He wedged his foot neatly into the open space and met her hostile stare with a grimly determined expression.
‘You can’t just come here and disturb me at this hour,’ she said through gritted teeth.
‘Needs must. Now, are you going to let me in?’ He stood back and raked his hands impatiently through his hair. ‘I don’t suppose,’ he said heavily, ‘that I was the only father who didn’t make it to the Sports Day.’ It was a concession of sorts and as close to an olive branch that Leo was going to offer.
Situation defused.
‘Yes.’
‘You’re kidding, right?’
‘No, I’m not. Every single parent was there, taking pictures. Daniel had asked me to come along to watch, pretended that he didn’t care whether you came or not, but I watched him, and he kept looking around for you, wondering if you were somewhere in the crowd.’
‘Are you going to let me in?’ Leo asked brusquely, not liking this image of himself as some kind of heartless monster.
Heather reluctantly opened the door and allowed him to stride past her. She hadn’t noticed earlier, but he dominated the space—not just because he was tall, but because of that aura he exuded, an aura of supreme power. He owned the air around him in a way that Brian never had, even though it had seemed so at the time. She shivered.
‘So, where were you painting?’ Leo asked, looking around him. He had quizzed his mother about Heather, ignoring her look of surprise at his interest, and had gleaned that she and Daniel trotted over to the cottage whenever they had a chance. Heather had, it would seem, become quite a fixture in the household. Little wonder that she had been polishing her soapbox in anticipation of his arrival.
He followed her into a room at the back of the house, and was confronted by walls on which hung every manner of artwork. Yet more were housed in an antique architect’s chest against the wall.
‘I broke my glass,’ Heather said, kneeling down so that she could begin carefully picking up the shards. ‘When you banged on the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone.’
‘You…paint?’
Heather looked briefly at him and blushed, suddenly feeling vulnerable as those flint-grey eyes roved over the artwork on her walls. ‘I told you that I had a job,’ she said, before resuming her glass-collecting task. It would take a heck of a lot more elbow grease to fully clean the ground, but the biggest bits had been collected; the elbow grease would have to wait until the morning, because right now she was finding it hard to think properly. She just wanted him out of her cottage so that she could get her scattered wits back into order.
Leo dragged his eyes away from the paintings and focused entirely on the woman standing in front of him. When she had told him that she had a job, he had assumed something along the lines of a secretary, maybe a receptionist somewhere, perhaps. But she was an artist, and it explained a lot. Her apparent lack of any recognisable fashion sense,