The Tycoon's Mistress. Кэрол Мортимер
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she was going to be tomorrow evening…
‘Not yet,’ he answered the manager enigmatically. ‘By the way—’ he turned his full attention on the other man now, his smile at its most charming ‘—I would like to compliment you on the smooth and efficient running of your hotel. I travel all over the world on business, and this is definitely of a world-class standard.’
The other man visibly preened at this effusive praise—as he was meant to do; the last thing Max wanted to do was make things difficult for January at her place of work. With any luck, Max’s words of praise would override any of this man’s previous curiosity as to Max’s interest in January.
‘It’s very kind of you to say so.’ The other man beamed.
‘Not at all,’ Max continued lightly. ‘It’s refreshing to stay at such an obviously well-managed hotel.’ Too effusive? Not if the other man’s flush of pleasure was anything to go by.
‘If you require any assistance during the remainder of your stay, please don’t hesitate to call on me personally,’ Peter Meridew told him in parting.
Well, there was one happy man, at least, Max acknowledged ruefully as he watched the other man’s retreating back.
Wishing that he could feel the same, Max sobered heavily, his earlier annoyance at what he was sure were January’s evasive tactics returning with a vengeance.
But if she thought she would succeed in avoiding him for ever, she was in for a surprise.
A big surprise!
CHAPTER TWO
‘MAY, what on earth is wrong with you today?’ January frowned concernedly at her eldest sister, May having dropped one of the plates as the three of them stood up to clear away after eating their dinner.
May had been banging the pots and pans around serving the meal when January had come downstairs earlier, had been very quiet during dinner, only adding the odd grunt to the conversation between January and March as the three of them had eaten.
The three sisters—May, twenty-seven; March, twenty-six, and January, twenty-five—were very alike to look at, all tall and dark-haired, with a creamy magnolia skin—although that tended to colour to a healthy tan during the summer months. Only their eyes were different, May’s green, March’s a mixture of green and grey, and January’s smoky grey.
But May, being the eldest, had always been the calm, unruffled one, able to deal with any emergency. Something she certainly didn’t seem to be doing this evening!
‘Still tired from doing the pantomime?’ January sympathized.
Completely absorbed in the farm most of the time, May had found an outlet from that several years ago by joining the local drama group. They had put on the pantomime Aladdin in the small local theatre over the Christmas period, with May being given the leading role, traditionally played by a female. It had been tiring but fun, but had necessitated May being involved in evening and matine´e performances over several days, as well as working on the farm.
‘If only it were that…’ May looked up now from picking up the pieces of broken plate. ‘We had a visitor today,’ she stated flatly.
January instantly stiffened, wary of whom that ‘visitor’ might have been; she might have escaped from the intense Max the night before, but she doubted he was a man who cared to be fobbed off by anyone. Quite how he might have found out where she lived, she had no idea, but she doubted even that was beyond him…
May’s green eyes swam with unshed tears as she straightened. ‘You remember that letter we had before Christmas? The one from that lawyer on behalf of some big American corporation? About buying the farm,’ she prompted as both March and January looked blank.
‘Of course we remember it. Damned cheek!’ March scorned as she grabbed some kitchen towel to wipe up the mess from the plate that had landed on the stone floor. ‘If we were interested in selling then we would have put the farm on the market.’ She threw the soiled towel deftly into the bin.
‘Yes,’ May sighed, sitting down heavily in a kitchen chair. ‘Well, the lawyer came in person to see us today. Or rather me, as I was the only one available at the time.’ She grimaced.
January, as was her usual routine on the nights she was working, had been in bed most of the day, and March had been out making the most of the New Year’s Day public holiday as she had a job she went to from nine till five Monday to Saturdays usually. May was the only sister who worked full-time on their small hillside farm, who also did most of the cooking and cleaning, too. It wasn’t the most ideal arrangement, meant that they all effectively had two jobs, but the farm just wasn’t big enough to support all three sisters without the additional financial help of January’s and March’s outside employment.
Their visitor obviously hadn’t been the intense Max, but January wasn’t sure she liked the sound of this particular visitor, either.
‘I thought it was all just some sort of joke.’ January frowned now as she could see just how upset her eldest sister was.
May gave a humourless laugh. ‘This lawyer didn’t seem to think so,’ she muttered. ‘In fact, he went so far as to offer an absolutely ridiculous price for the farm.’ She scowled as she quoted the price.
January gasped, March swallowed hard; all of them knew that the farm wasn’t worth anywhere near as much as the offer being made. Which posed the question, why was this lawyer offering so much for what was, after all, only forty acres of land, a few outbuildings, and a far from modern farmhouse?
‘What’s the catch?’ March prompted shrewdly.
‘Apart from immediate vacancy, there didn’t seem to be one,’ May answered slowly.
‘Apart from—! But we were all born here,’ January protested incredulously.
‘This is our home!’ March said at the same time.
May gave the semblance of a smile. ‘I told him that. He didn’t seem impressed.’ She shrugged.
‘Probably because he lives in some exclusive penthouse apartment somewhere,’ March muttered disgruntledly. ‘He wouldn’t recognize a “home” if he were invited into one. You didn’t invite him in, I hope?’ she said sharply.
May gave a firm shake of her head. ‘I was outside loading hay onto the trailer for feeding when he arrived. Once he had introduced himself, and his reason for being here, I made sure we stayed outside in the yard. His tailor-made suit certainly wasn’t suitable for visiting a hillside farm in January, and he got his highly polished handmade shoes all muddy, too,’ she added dryly.
January laughed at her elder sister’s look of satisfaction. ‘And you sent him away with a flea in his ear, I hope!’
‘Mmm.’ May nodded, that frown back between clear green eyes. ‘But I have a distinct feeling he’ll be back.’
‘What’s it all about, do you think?’ January frowned her own concern.
‘Oh, that’s easy,’ March answered dismissively. ‘The same corporation this lawyer represents bought the Hanworth estate a couple of months ago for development of some kind. And with our farm smack in the middle of the Hanworth land…’ She shrugged. ‘I expect we’re rather in the way.’
James Hanworth, the local equivalent of ‘squire’ the last fifty-five years, had died six months ago, leaving no wife or children to inherit his vast estate, just half a dozen distant relatives who had obviously decided to sell the place and divide the profits.
‘Why didn’t you tell us that before?’ May turned to March impatiently. ‘No wonder they’re trying to buy us out!’ she added disgustedly.
Yes, no wonder, January mentally agreed. But this farm had first belonged to her grandparents, and then her parents, and now the three sisters, and, although it was sometimes a struggle to financially survive, selling it wasn’t