Mistaken Mistress. Margaret Way
Читать онлайн книгу.
the man better than I can anyway, and maybe pay a courtesy call on the old patriarch, Brierly. He still has a stake in a few of our property developments, as you know. Again he’ll be pleased to see you. One aristocrat to the other. My polish is superficial. Yours isn’t.”
“Don’t you believe it,” he clipped off ironically. “Anyway since when did so-called polish have anything to do with success in business?”
Owen laughed. “I know, I know, but old man Brierly really liked you. Do it for me, pal? I want you to know the best thing I ever did was take you on as a partner.”
“And I salute you as my mentor. What time do you expect to be back? Our return flight is booked for 9:00 a.m. Means we have to be at the airport by…”
“Don’t fuss, don’t fuss,” Owen chortled, hugely happy. “By the way, I have some great news for you.”
God here it comes. His first reaction was a deep biting anger. Why? When it was all said and done he had no right to interfere in Owen’s life.
“It’s everything I’ve been seeking,” Owen was saying, his voice thick with emotion. “For all of my life it seems.”
“Sounds like it’s been making you very happy?” He tried to keep the sadness out of his tone. Who was he to sit in judgment on Owen? Owen had been almost a father figure to him; yet the muscles in his neck tensed as he waited for Owen to continue.
“The answer is a great big yes!” Owen’s deep voice boomed down the line. “But I’ll have to defer the telling. It needs time. Lots of time. I’ve wanted to tell you for ages, but the timing hasn’t been quite right. This has altered my life, Lang. I didn’t think it was possible to know such joy. I want to shout about it to the world. I want it proclaimed.”
“Can’t you tell me some of it now?” he as good as begged.
“I’d love to, mate, I know you’re the man to fully understand. I love you like a son, which you’re not, thank God. I’ve got plans for you. I know why people respect you like they do.”
“Hey what’s all this about?” Owen was throwing out question marks galore.
“Life’s too short not to say what we really feel,” Owen exclaimed, his emotions uncharacteristically showing. “Listen, pal, there’s a knock at the door. I’ll go. I’ve hired a car. See you tonight. We’ll have dinner. I want you to meet someone. Righto, righto!” This was obviously directed to the person at the door. “See ya, Lang,” Owen spoke briskly into the mouthpiece.
“See you,” Lang repeated. “Go with God.”
Now why had he said that? It sounded so sombre. Almost final. He sought an answer even as he hung up. Maybe it was a releasing of his own acute tension. Maybe it was because he feared for his friend. A man like Owen, a middle-aged man so much in love, could be badly damaged if things went desperately wrong. He was absolutely certain Owen had suffered emotional trauma in his youth. The poor man could be fooling himself he had found the answer to his life’s happiness. There was Delma. There was Robbie. With a divorce a shattered Delma would move away with Robbie. A child needed his father. He should know.
Was it so strange Owen was acting the way he was? Beneath the tightly controlled facade Owen was a passionate man. It was just that he was sorry, so sorry. Sorry for all of them.
Except the girl.
She was kidding herself if she thought snaring a much older married man, a very rich man, was her right. No one could blame her for falling in love but when the outcome was going to cause so much lasting damage it was time to muster real character.
His meeting began with Burgess, a very successful tourism entrepreneur whose operations extended from the Queensland Gold Coast with its glorious beaches and luxury resorts, to their part of the world, the tropical north of the state over a thousand miles away. Rod was delighted to see him, and after a while steered the conversation away from business to talk cricket. Rod was mad about the game and he’d heard he’d been a dab hand with the bat in his university days.
They parted on the most amicable of terms, Rod sending his best regards to Owen. “Tell him from me, his best years are to come!”
A prophecy?
He decided to grab a bit of lunch before seeing Sir George Brierly. Owen had some information he’d like to show the old man in his room. He’d borrow Owen’s key from reception as soon as he got back to the hotel. All his nagging worries seemed to be getting the better of him but his working philosophy was to keep going and concentrate on the job ahead. It wasn’t like him to feel morbid. A good strong cup of black coffee would clear his head. The coffee Rod served at his office was pretty darn terrible when he thought about it. There was no excuse, either. The coffee plantations of North Queensland were turning out very fine quality coffee, but he’d felt a little hesitant to point that out to Rod who drank his down with every appearance of pleasure. Obviously Rod was a tea drinker.
Reception handed over Owen’s key without a murmur. The management knew both of them well. Knew they were close friends and business partners.
In the lift he used the security key to get himself to the top floor. This was the first time Owen had bothered with a suite. Owen, like himself, usually settled for a deluxe room. After all, they spent precious little time in it. His dark thoughts were returning. Was this Owen’s little love nest when he came to town? Surely not? Owen wouldn’t expose himself or his young love in this way.
He opened the door, seeing the empty space before him; the suite was commodious, comfortable, stylish, a home away from home for the businessman under pressure. He went to the desk along a wall hung with a large genuine oil painting, a seascape, of considerable merit. The hotel liked to trust its up-market guests. He spotted the folder at once. It contained coloured photographs, designs, architectural drawings still in the planning stage for a challenging new project, some twenty-five spacious luxury villas they intended to build along the Hibiscus coast shoreline. The resort would include a private marina, seafront pool and twenty-four-hour security. Last year they’d won platinum in the Best of the New Millennium Awards. He was riffling through the folder when he heard a sound from the master bedroom beyond. He hesitated, frowning. Was it possible the suite was being serviced? With the large folder in his hand he walked to the corridor calling out, “Hello?”
Even as he did it, the warning bells rang. He knew in a very few moments he was going to come face to face with the love of Owen’s life.
Hell and damnation. He wasn’t ready for it.
She emerged from the bedroom looking disturbed before she even caught sight of him. She’d been dressing. That was clear. She’d probably spent the morning in bed. He took in the silky black masses of waves and curls tumbling to her shoulders, little tendrils still damp from the shower. She wore no shoes on her narrow feet. Up close he saw her eyes were lotus-blue, like her dress. Nor could he stop noticing, like last night, she was trembling. If he were truthful with himself he’d have to admit there was something approaching violence in the emotions that shot through him. He didn’t want it, but he couldn’t stop it. He despised this girl but he knew now he wanted to see her again. The full realisation shocked him.
“You!”
The word was a little cry, a reminder of the night before. If possible she was more agitated than he was.
“I’m sorry.” He knew his voice was curt to cutting. “I didn’t realise anyone was here. Lang Forsyth.” He introduced himself. “I’m Owen’s partner.”
“Yes.” There was such stillness about her. She might have been a painting. “Owen has told me so much about you.”
“How fascinating!” He recognised that as acid. “I must go now.” He had to get out of there before he told her what he thought of her. That would be much too much. The end of everything with Owen.
“Please…” It was an appeal and it stopped him briefly. “You were at the restaurant last night.”
“I