Kathryn Ross – Tycoon's Choice: Kept by the Tycoon / Taken by the Tycoon / The Tycoon's Proposal (страница 12)

Still in her night things, she was making coffee when he strolled into the kitchen with a towel knotted around his lean hips.

‘Mmm…smells good.’

Madeleine had just turned to hand him a mug when she saw a car pull up outside and a familiar figure jump out.

Filled as she was with a sudden panic, her hand trembled so much that a lot of the coffee slopped over.

‘Steady there.’ Noel took the mug from her.

White to the lips, she whispered, ‘Oh, dear God, it’s Rafe. I don’t want to see him. I can’t bear it.’

‘So don’t answer the door.’ Noel shrugged.

‘He has a key,’ she admitted miserably. Then in desperation, ‘What am I going to do?’

‘I’ll soon send him packing…No, better still…Come on, kiddo, let’s give the cheating swine an Oscar-winning performance.’

Grabbing her hand, Noel hurried her into the bedroom, coming to a halt in line with the open door.

‘Put your arms round my neck and close your eyes,’ he instructed. Dropping the towel, he pulled her close and began to kiss her just as the front door opened and Rafe walked in.

Noel broke the kiss, and they both looked towards the man standing there as though the sky had fallen in on him.

Shock, and a kind of raw disbelief, showed in his face, closely followed by anger. Then the shock and anger iced over and with a razor-sharp edge to his voice he said, ‘So this is Noel…I can quite see why you didn’t want to come to Paris…’

Tossing the key he was holding onto the coffee-table, he added, ‘We’ll meet again, Madeleine, one day. Mark my words…’ and, turning on his heel, walked out.

‘That’s put paid to the swine,’ Noel remarked with satisfaction, and, using one hand to cover Madeleine’s eyes, stooped to grab the towel.

‘Now, then, if you promise to keep your eyes shut while I make myself decent, I’ll allow you to pour me another mug of coffee…’

Though she kept them shut, there was no real need to—they were blinded by tears…

Chapter Four

AS THOUGH the fates had conspired against her, the bitter end to the affair coincided with a further blow. After slipping into a deep coma, her mother died three days later at the age of just forty-four.

At the funeral Madeleine was dry-eyed, too frozen for tears. Blaming herself for her mother’s death, as she had blamed herself for her husband’s, she felt leaden, desolate, weighed down by grief and guilt.

Eve and Noel were the only other mourners. Madeleine’s aunt and uncle wrote to offer their condolences, and to apologise for not being there.

The letter ended, ‘If you feel like getting right away come and visit with us, do, and stay for as long as you want to.’

The suggestion seemed like a lifeline.

Her job at the clinic was almost over, and Noel, on summer leave, and with nowhere to live, professed himself happy to flat-sit for her.

With Eve’s encouragement, Madeleine notified her private patients, and accepted her aunt and uncle’s invitation to visit them in Boston.

Her only regret was leaving Katie, who, on hearing the news, threw her thin arms around Madeleine’s waist and, her big brown eyes overflowing with tears, cried, ‘I don’t want you to go.’

‘But you’re almost better now. If you keep on doing your exercises you don’t really need me any longer.’

‘I do, I do,’ the child wailed.

‘I promise I’ll come and visit you as soon as I get back, and then you’ll be able to show me how well you’re managing.’

Tears still running down her cheeks, Katie sniffed dolefully. ‘How long will you be gone?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Madeleine told her. ‘A few weeks…A month maybe.’

‘I’ll miss you, the little girl said, brushing away her tears.’

‘Tell you what—suppose I write to you?’

‘Can I write back?’

‘I’ll expect you to. Now, give me a smile, and don’t forget to do those exercises.’ Madeleine smiled, an ache in her heart as she said goodbye to the little girl who reminded her so much of Rafe.

‘I won’t.’

When Madeleine arrived in Boston, her aunt and uncle, who had a big house on the edge of the Common, welcomed her with open arms and, seeing how shattered she looked, did their utmost to cheer her up.

For their sakes she tried to appear cheerful, but her mother’s death had left her desolate, and she missed Rafe with a raw, ragged, savage pain that made her feel as if she’d been mauled and left for dead.

She had intended to stay in Boston for a month at the most, but, unable to regain her grip, and giving in to her aunt and uncle’s urging, the visit lengthened to five weeks.

After six weeks had gone by, feeling unable to accept their generous hospitality any longer, she declared her intention of returning to England.

‘Do you want to go home?’ her aunt asked.

‘No,’ Madeleine admitted—suppose she ran into Rafe, or saw the announcement of his wedding in the papers?—‘but I must get back to work.’

‘You’re not just worrying about money, are you? We’re not exactly poor, and I’m sure—’

‘You’re very kind, and I appreciate it. But I do want to start work again as soon as possible.’

Agreeing that that might be for the best, her uncle offered her a position in the physical-therapy unit of the Wansdon Heights Fitness Center, which he owned.

After some thought, she accepted. If she stayed safely in Boston, surely sooner or later she would forget about Rafe?

Either that or she was afraid she would grieve for the rest of her life.

Her aunt and uncle were delighted that she was staying and, when she announced her intention of finding a small apartment to rent, urged her to live with them.

‘We love having you here, and we’ve five spare bedrooms. We can turn the biggest into what you Brits call a bedsit.’

She thanked them sincerely but, needing to be independent, insisted on paying a fair rent and keeping herself.

Unable to change her mind, they agreed.

A phone call to London settled that when Noel went back to the Middle East he would hand in the keys to her flat, and Eve would store her relatively few possessions.

That part was easy. The letter to Katie, who was looking forward to having her back, was much harder to write.

The answer came by return. Her parents, apparently to soften the blow, were buying the child a computer for her birthday, and after extracting a promise that Madeleine would keep in touch by email Katie seemed reasonably cheerful.

The fitness centre was extremely busy, and in an effort to put the past behind her and give herself less time to brood Madeleine chose to work long hours, finding it rewarding and, after a time, therapeutic.

The bleakness of disillusionment, mingled with the longing for what might have been had Rafe proved to be the man of principle she had thought him, began to fade but still never truly left her thoughts. By the time Alan Bannerman joined the staff, she was over the worst. Or so she told herself.

Somehow—perhaps it was his mild manner, his charming diffidence—he got through to her, and when they had been colleagues for some six weeks she accepted a date. Apleasant, undemanding companion, he proved to be an antidote to loneliness.

When they had known each other for three months he asked her to marry him. Thinking him placid and unemotional, she was surprised by how ardently he pressed her. Unable to give him an immediate answer, she asked for time to think it over. She was relieved when he agreed to wait a week, and they arranged to have dinner the following Saturday evening.

When Saturday morning came and Madeleine still hadn’t been able to make up her mind, she decided to phone Eve and ask her opinion.

Listening to the familiar voice answer laconically, ‘Hello?’ she felt a surge of homesickness.

‘Hi, it’s me.’

‘Maddy! It’s great to hear from you!’ Eve exclaimed. ‘How are things?’