Catching Katie. Sophie Weston
Читать онлайн книгу.gravely. ‘No more unloading other people’s knickers from the machine before I can do my washing. No more queuing for the telephone. No more booking the bath. Oh, bliss.’
All he wanted, thought Haydon Tremayne, was peace and a bath.
The overnight plane from New York had been full and late. Now there were too many pushing bodies round the baggage carousels and so many people were shouting into their mobile phones that Haydon could not hear himself think. He said so.
‘Redirecting whoever was meeting them,’ said the respectful airline official beside him. It was the first time she had greeted this newest of the company’s non-executive directors and she was working hard at it. Haydon Tremayne had the reputation of being as tough as he was gorgeous. And he was gorgeous.
She looked at him and sighed. Tall and athletic, dark good looks—definitely not a typical millionaire. At least not in her experience. A movie star maybe. She had met plenty of those too. Except no movie star had that air of taking harsh decisions hourly—and not regretting a single one. She would not like to get on the wrong side of Haydon Tremayne.
And then he surprised her again.
‘The great technological advance,’ he said sardonically. ‘For which I and my kind are responsible.’
She looked up. His blue eyes were lit with wicked laughter. She smiled back, relaxing a little.
She touched her own mobile phone. ‘Would you like me to notify anyone?’
He shook his head. ‘Not a problem.’
Of course, she thought. It would not be a problem for the owner of Tremayne International. No doubt he had a brigade of personal assistants looking after the practical details.
He confirmed it. ‘Bates will wait as long as it takes. That’s what I pay him for.’
She was sure he was right. Bates, whoever he was, would do just that. Haydon Tremayne had the superb assurance of a man who had not been disobeyed in a long time.
‘Well, at least we should be able to get you through this quickly.’
Gorgeous though he undoubtedly was, Haydon did look tired, she thought sympathetically. No—more than tired; wiped out. She led him quickly through Customs and out onto the main concourse. In spite of his exhaustion, Haydon gave her a warm smile.
‘Thank you,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘I really appreciate your help. Goodbye.’
she shook hands. ‘Goodbye.’ She surprised herself by adding, ‘I’d go home and have a good rest if I were you.’
A weary smile lit his eyes. ‘I’m not even going to wait that long. I’ve been thinking about stretching out on the back seat of the Roller for the last three hours.’
It was true. He was so tired that he felt his bones crumbling inside him, but he was not worried. He scanned the crowd. Thank God all he had to do was keep upright for another few minutes and then Bates would take over.
Bates was a rock, Haydon thought. He was always waiting when he said he would be, on the same spot—just to the side of an automatic door, away from the push of the crowd—always immaculate, always blessedly silent. Thank God for Bates.
‘Haydon,’ called out a voice.
Not Bates. Bates called him Mr Tremayne in public and Harry in private, or when he forgot. Mr and Mrs Bates had been with him ever since Carla had announced that millionaires’ wives did not keep house. In fact the voice sounded horribly like Carla’s for a moment. He braced himself.
But it was not Carla, the unregretted first Mrs Tremayne. It was Viola Lennox. Who wanted to be the second.
‘Haydon. Over here.’
What had that girl said? Go home and have a good rest? Just exactly the plan he had himself. He looked at Viola, advancing on him vivaciously, and assessed his chances of carrying it out in the immediate future. None.
She was upon him.
‘Viola,’ said Haydon without enthusiasm. ‘What are you doing here?’
Viola was not deterred. She was bright-eyed and quite determined that he was delighted to see her.
Haydon groaned inwardly. Asleep on his feet and he had to play social games. Oh, well, Bates would be along in a moment and then he could make his escape. In the meantime he pulled himself together and held out his hand with composed good manners.
But Viola was not interested in good manners. She flung her arms round him.
Haydon recoiled, but tiredness slowed his reactions. It was too late. She was kissing him full on the mouth.
‘Darling,’ said Viola.
Haydon swayed.
Viola cuddled in closer. ‘It’s been so long,’ she murmured.
Haydon let his case fall and stabilised himself with care. Then he caught her by the wrists and held her away from him.
‘What’s this?’
Viola’s eyes fell. ‘You seem to have been away for ever,’ she cooed. But her laugh sounded forced.
This, thought Haydon grimly, is entirely my own fault.
Break the rules once—just once—and you’ve got only yourself to blame.
He said drily, ‘You knew exactly how long I was going to be away, Viola. My secretary arranged a meeting for next week.’
She looked pained. ‘But that’s business.’
‘Oh, God,’ muttered Haydon under his breath.
The Tremayne board had decided some months ago that they needed a PR campaign to fight off a rumoured takeover bid. He had reluctantly agreed, and he had to admit Viola Lennox and her team had done a good job.
The problem had arisen one evening when, after a long day and a longer official dinner, Viola had made it more than clear that Tremayne International was not all she was interested in.
Haydon had been feeling very alone that night. He’d stayed. He’d regretted it immediately.
Being Haydon, he was used to facing unpleasant truths and then dealing with them. So he had told her so. Viola had not appeared to hear him.
She had gone on not hearing him for months. Haydon had got more and more suspicious. Take this morning—Viola was not normally demonstrative. He would have said the spontaneous kiss was utterly out of character. And yet . . .
He said gently, ‘Viola, I’m out on my feet. This is no time to talk if you want me to make sense.’
She nestled into his shirt-front. ‘Then don’t let’s talk,’ she murmured.
Haydon looked at her incredulously.
She caught herself at once and smiled appealingly. ‘Oh, it’s good to have you back. I’ve thought about you so much.’
Now why didn’t that ring true? Haydon thought. He looked at her: expensively disarranged hair, long, shapely legs, a skirt that professional women’s fashion decreed should be three inches above the knee, black suit with red facings. The facings, he noted with his usual precision, were exactly the same colour as her crimson nails. And lips. For her own private reasons she might have chosen to start behaving like a Labrador puppy. But she was still turning herself out like the successful career woman she was. Even on a Saturday morning, meeting the man she professed to be in love with.
He let go of her wrists. ‘Have you?’ he said drily.
Viola’s eyes fell away from his. ‘I was beginning to think I’d missed you—you’re so late. Was it a terrible flight? I’ve been here for ages.’
Haydon said coolly, ‘There was no need. Bates is collecting me.’
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