At The Millionaire's Bidding. Lee Wilkinson
Читать онлайн книгу.
several things she could have done with, nervous in case their money ran out, she had held back.
But now, though they would be eating with the staff at Greyladies, she would need to have something tidy to change into when the day’s work was done.
The nearest department store had just started its summer sale, and she went in to look around. In the lingerie department she bought some cheap, but pretty, undies.
Then, going through to Ladieswear, she chose a skirt and two tops from one of the reduced ranges and, with a sudden, unaccustomed feeling of recklessness, a simple shift in subtle shades of mauve and blue.
On her way out, a pair of sandals caught her eye and, with scarcely a qualm, she added them to her purchases.
By the time she got home, conditioned to not spending, she had started to regret her recklessness. But she wouldn’t feel guilty, she told herself firmly. The lot barely came to what Dave had spent on a jacket, and they now had ten thousand in the bank and a job that should pay well…
Next day dawned fine and, though the sky was still grey and overcast, there were breaks in the clouds. The weather report on the radio suggested that a high-pressure system was moving slowly in, which meant a settled spell was on its way, with soaring temperatures forecast.
Rejoicing at the prospect of seeing a bit of sunshine, even if it was only through some window, Eleanor cleared the small fridge and made herself a salad lunch. Then, having dressed in a patterned skirt and a plain lavender-coloured top, she swirled her hair into a neat knot before finishing her packing.
Dave was late, and it was nearly four-thirty before she heard the sound she’d been waiting for. Grabbing her case, her shoulder bag, and her jacket, she hastily locked up and made her way downstairs.
Outside, the fume-laden air was appreciably warmer, and the pavements were dry for the first time in what seemed weeks.
The white van was waiting by the kerb. Sliding open the rust-spotted door, she pushed her belongings inside, before climbing into the passenger seat.
‘I was wondering where you’d got to,’ Dave looked anything but pleased. ‘I’m parked on double yellows.’
‘I was wondering where you’d got to,’ she found herself saying, as they pulled out to join the traffic stream. ‘You’re more than an hour late.’
‘Had a game of snooker with the boys. It looks like the last bit of fun I’ll be getting till next weekend, stuck in some dead-and-alive hole.’
He made it sound as if it was the end of the world, she thought. Then chided herself for being so edgy. She didn’t usually criticise Dave in this way.
‘But it’s worth it, surely?’ She made an effort to sound cheerful.
‘I suppose so.’ Having reached out a hand and patted her knee, he turned on the radio. He liked his pop music loud, which made any kind of conversation virtually impossible.
As usual, the traffic was heavy, and stopping and starting they crawled their way out of London at a snail’s pace.
Left with her thoughts, Eleanor made a concentrated effort to steer them towards the—hopefully—not too distant future, when the business was thriving, and she and Dave could be married.
But the more she tried to focus on that future, the more nebulous it became, a kind of mirage that, as she attempted to grasp it, receded steadily, so that it was always out of reach.
The moment she stopped concentrating, her thoughts refocused on Robert Carrington. He had made such an impact on her, that since the previous afternoon she had thought of little else.
Images of his compelling, strong-boned face, his dark-lashed wolf’s eyes, his austere, yet oddly sensitive, mouth had filled her head. She remembered his voice and his well-shaped hands, how she had felt when he touched her.
He had flustered and disconcerted her, made her angry and reckless, altogether rattled her; and through it all had run a strong thread of attraction, fascination even, that she had refused to admit.
But apart from the way he had affected her, and the fact that he owned Greyladies, she knew nothing about him. Had he a wife? Children?
She recalled him saying, “Someone who loves you? In that case you’re one up on me”.
Did that mean he had no wife? Or a wife who didn’t love him? The media, while admitting that he guarded his privacy fiercely, had apparently dubbed him as a ladies’ man.
Of course that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t married… But if he was a philanderer, it might explain why his wife didn’t love him….
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.