The Women in His Life. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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all other drinks and snacks, and gave his entire attention to his business papers, hardly glancing up, so intense was his concentration. When he had done as much work as he could, he locked the folders in his briefcase, pushed this under the seat, made himself comfortable and closed his eyes. He found it impossible to sleep, but did manage to relax sufficiently enough to rest his tired body. Half an hour later Maxim roused himself, sat up, looked out of the window.
They were floating through a vast stretch of cumulus clouds, soaring higher and higher above the Atlantic. He stared into the infinite space, contemplated Alix, his daughter. She was the reason he had decided to return to New York a few days earlier than he had originally planned. He wanted to see her, to talk to her, to spend the weekend with her. He desperately needed to put things right with his first-born child. They were both at fault, she more than he in so many ways. Nevertheless, he was quite prepared to take full blame for the rift that had developed between them. He would apologise, ask her forgiveness, if necessary. In fact, he would do just about anything to win her trust again, to have her back in his life.
A female voice he did not recognise answered the telephone. ‘Alix West’s office. Can I help you?’
‘I’d like to speak to Miss West, please,’ Maxim said.
‘I’m sorry, but Ms West isn’t in today,’ the young breathy voice went on to inform him. ‘May I ask who’s calling?’
‘This is her father. To whom am I speaking?’
‘Oh good morning, Sir Maximilian,’ the voice said in a tone that now sounded a little awed. ‘This is Geraldine Bonnay, her new assistant. Alix flew to California this morning. On business.’
‘I see. When will she be returning to New York?’
‘Hopefully on Monday, Sir Maximilian. It’s a quick trip. She has a meeting with a client in Beverly Hills tomorrow and is flying right out again on Sunday. Unless there are unexpected problems, of course. She will be calling me sometime tomorrow. Can I give her a message?’
‘No, not really,’ Maxim began, and paused, thought quickly. ‘As a matter of fact, Miss Bonnay, I’d rather you didn’t say I telephoned today. I have something special for her … a surprise,’ he improvised. ‘So please, not a word, it would only spoil everything.’
‘Of course I won’t tell her!’ Geraldine Bonnay assured him, her genuine sincerity echoing down the wire, ‘and just in case you do change your mind and want to talk to her tonight, or on Saturday, Alix is staying at the Bel-Air Hotel.’
‘I think not … the surprise, you know. But thank you for the information anyway.’
‘Oh it’s my pleasure, and it’s been lovely talking to you, Sir Maximilian.’
‘Likewise, Miss Bonnay. My thanks again. Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye.’
Maxim let his hand rest on the phone for a moment, fighting back his disappointment that Alix had left New York the very same day he had arrived. He had so wanted to see her, to spend time with her. He ought to have checked with her about her plans, he supposed, made sure she was going to be in the city for the weekend. Obviously that would have been the most intelligent and sensible thing to do. On the other hand, if he had phoned from London he would have alerted her to his arrival and she, more than likely, would have fled. Or found innumerable reasons why she was not able to see him. Surprise was always the most successful technique to use with her he had discovered long ago.
He sighed under his breath. There was no doubt in his mind that Alix still harboured all manner of grudges, even though she persisted in denying this. He was equally convinced that her smouldering dissatisfaction with him was more than likely being fanned into a roaring bush fire by her brother. Michael had always had enormous influence over her, ever since their childhood, more so than anyone else and in an infinite number of ways. Furthermore, his son had his own axe to grind these days, filled with grievances and resentment as he was, and not a little anger. Maxim was patently aware of that anger, and the frustration in Michael, even though he, too, denied there was anything wrong just as his sister did. Children, Maxim muttered to himself. Why do they want to make things so difficult? As if life isn’t hard enough without having them inventing problems and blowing things out of all proportion.
Shifting slightly in the chair behind his desk, Maxim turned his head, allowed his gaze to rest on the photograph of Alix that stood framed in silver on the ebony table near the window along with other family portraits. This had been taken six years ago to commemorate her twenty-first birthday, and it struck him yet again what a lovely young woman the tomboy of a child had grown up to be, so fair and creamy of skin, with delicate bone structure in a face whose expression was invariably so serene, so calm it made him catch his breath. But most beautiful and striking were her eyes. Widely spaced and enormous, they were an unusual pale grey-green and filled with pellucid light. Alix was tall, as he was, and lissome, with a fine athletic body, and she moved with considerable grace and elegance. Aside from her great looks, his daughter had a quick, intelligent mind, and was extremely clever, most especially when it came to business and finance. In fact, she was as smart as her brother, perhaps even a fraction more astute than he, which was saying a great deal for her since Michael was brilliant.
Alix had wanted to come and work with him since her teens. He had been thrilled at the idea of having his daughter in the business, and everything had been planned most carefully. And then four years ago, just before she started at the New York office, they had quarrelled badly. It had been about her entanglement with a man whom he considered to be highly disreputable, amongst several other things which now seemed too petty to recall, and she had gone off in a huff and started a business of her own.
Without as much as batting an eyelash, she had opened an office in the middle of Manhattan, had set herself up as an art and antiques broker, working primarily with English and European dealers and leading art galleries.
She bought and sold only the most sought-after items, the kind of rare, precious and costly objects and paintings that generally made it to the auction floor of Christie’s and Sotheby’s. Some few years earlier she had taken several courses at Sotheby’s in London, and her knowledge of paintings and objets d’art was considerable. Also, she had been gifted with the beady, critical eye of a true expert who recognises excellence instantly and can just as quickly and easily spot a fake. These attributes, plus her extraordinary taste and natural head for business, had proven to be an invaluable combination. She had been successful right from the start and he was inordinately proud of her. Nonetheless, he still hankered after her presence at the office, wished she worked alongside him.
Perhaps it was not too late. Maybe he could still lure her into West International – once they had made their peace. And he was determined to do that. He heard his mother’s voice reverberating in his head … ‘It’s never too late to repair the damages of the heart, Maxim. It’s never to late to start over again, to come back to a loved one by mending a quarrel.’ His mother had said that to him countless times over the years and he had always believed her. He still did. He had to, because that belief reinforced his hope that he would win Alix back, that they would be as close as they were before their ghastly row.
He had never missed anyone as much as he missed his daughter.
Alix’s absence from his life was so acutely felt it was a genuine physical pain in the region of his chest. A savage ache that rarely if ever dissolved. He hurt in a way he never had before. No, that wasn’t strictly true. He had once experienced this same kind of longing, this yearning for someone a long, long time ago.
It had been for Ursula.
Once again Maxim’s eyes strayed to the photograph of Alix.
She had the same fine blonde hair and flawless complexion as Ursula, the same lovely, luminous eyes full of dreaminess and tranquillity.
Ursula. He had thought of her so often recently; he began to wonder why she had been