Mistress to a Millionaire

by Helen Brooks

  And then the tears came, hot and acidic, burning a painful trail down her face and dripping off her chin. And even when she was in bed, curled up in a tiny embryonic ball beneath the covers, the tears continued to flow until at last, utterly exhausted, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep in which there was no past, no present and—blissfully—no future.

  CHAPTER TEN

  IT WAS the brilliant sunlight falling on her face that woke Daisy at eleven o’clock the next morning.

  She had been aware of rising through layers and layers of warm, comfortable cotton wool moments before she opened her eyes, but there had been something telling her not to rush—to take her time—and once she was really awake she knew why, as the recollection of the night before came rushing in.

  ‘Oh, make it not be true.’ Daisy gave a muffled groan as she rolled over with her face stuffed into the pillow, but it was a vain prayer and she knew it. She had made a fool of herself—oh, boy, had she ever—and how she was going to face Slade again in this lifetime she just didn’t know.

  She sat up abruptly, drawing her knees into her chest as she groaned again. She had thrown herself at him, no more and no less, and he had refused, in no uncertain terms, what she had offered him.

  She swayed backwards and forwards a few times amidst the rumpled covers before the bedside clock caught her attention. Eleven o’clock? She stared at it in horror. She was always up at seven so she could be washed and dressed for breakfast at eight with Francesco! And her mother and sisters were here. The recollection of their arrival the day before hit her like a ton of bricks. But she had been so distraught last night after the scene with Slade that she must have forgotten to set her alarm. But why hadn’t someone called her and where was everyone?

  The thought propelled her out of the bed like a small missile. Where was Francesco? And her mother and Rose and Violet? The house seemed unnaturally quiet and subdued.

  She paused in her dash to the bathroom as another thought hit, and this one was full of mingled relief and pain. Slade would be gone by now. She shut her eyes tightly for a moment as a shaft of something hot and fierce pierced her heart. And he would be thinking goodness knew what about her after last night. She had been so incredibly, unforgivably foolish.

  She showered and dressed at record speed, not bothering with any make-up and bundling her hair into a high ponytail at the back of her head. She glanced at her reflection briefly just before she left the bedroom and grimaced at the fine-boned, slender girl staring anxiously back at her. She looked about sixteen this morning with her scrubbed face and utilitarian hairstyle, she thought dismissively, missing the ethereal beauty in the fragile, delicate face that stared back at her.

  As Slade watched her walk down the stairs some moments later he did not dismiss it, and it caused his voice to be very soft as he said, ‘At last! If it had been winter I would have thought you were hibernating up there.’

  ‘Slade!’ She had whirled round so quickly he thought she was going to overbalance, and then, as the colour flooded into her face in a painful red tide, her voice came rushed and agitated as she said, ‘I thought you were going to Geneva this morning? You said you were leaving early.’

  ‘I changed my mind.’ He shrugged easily, a smile about his lips, but she noticed his eyes were not smiling and her unease increased tenfold. ‘I can do that; I am the boss.’

  ‘Where are my mother and the girls?’ said Daisy quickly.

  ‘Mario and Isabella have taken them sightseeing and Francesco has gone along for the ride,’ he said smoothly. ‘Isabella has packed a picnic large enough to feed an army, so I don’t expect them back much before nightfall.’

  ‘Nightfall?’ She stared at him in bewilderment. ‘But it’s their first day here and I haven’t seen them in ages. Didn’t they want to…?’ Her voice trailed away as she read the answer in his dark eyes. ‘You sent them away?’ she asked accusingly. ‘And you didn’t let anyone wake me up?’

  ‘I suggested they might like to have an enjoyable excursion and get to know Francesco better at the same time,’ Slade answered comfortably, ‘and everyone was most enthusiastic.’

  ‘Were they?’ She was angry and upset and not a little frightened by the dramatic turn of events, and she couldn’t work out where Slade was coming from. ‘Well, I’d have liked to go too!’

  ‘Do you want to know why I made such a proposition?’ Slade was watching her very closely.

  She rubbed at her nose—something he had noticed she did when she was upset or out of her depth—and the gesture caused his heart to twist with tenderness. ‘Not particularly but I’m sure you are going to tell me,’ she bit out jaggedly, her tone wiping away the tenderness and replacing it with frustration.

  ‘That I am.’ His voice didn’t betray his impatience by a single syllable. ‘But first you are going to eat. I noticed you hardly ate a thing last night and that has got to stop.’

  She couldn’t believe they were talking like this—but then, she couldn’t believe he was here! ‘What I eat or don’t eat is nothing to do with you,’ she began tightly, before realising they had had this particular conversation before. He had won then and there was no reason why he wouldn’t again, she thought resentfully. ‘Look…’ She took a deep breath and prayed for calm. ‘I’ve a hundred things to do and I’m sure you have too; what time is your plane?’

  ‘Damn my plane.’ It was said in such a conversational tone that it took a moment to register. ‘And you will sit down and eat, Daisy; it was an order, not a request.’

  She stared at him, her jaw dropping, and she saw he meant every word. ‘You said Isabella was out,’ she prevaricated.

  ‘She is.’ He smiled, a crocodile sort of smile. ‘But I am in, and I’ve prepared an early lunch for the two of us.’

  ‘You’ve prepared lunch?’ Her eyes opened even wider.

  ‘Don’t look so surprised.’ His smile was positively lethal now. ‘Call it brunch if it makes you feel better.’

  She didn’t care what they called it! And feeling better wasn’t an option. Not with the two of them alone here.

  ‘Come on.’ He took her arm and such was his grip she didn’t even think about pulling away, walking through with him to the breakfast room and then out through its patio doors and on to the small paved area beyond where the small wooden table it housed had been set for two, with pretty plates and crystal glasses.

  ‘Sit.’ He pointed to one of the chairs.

  ‘And stay?’ she asked resentfully. The tone he had used was more suitable for a dog than a human being and it rankled.

  ‘Just so. I’ll be back in a moment.’

  Once he had disappeared back into the house Daisy put her hands to her hot cheeks as she screwed up her eyes for one brief second. The world had gone mad. She’d gone mad. And Slade had definitely gone mad. She opened her eyes and looked at the bottle of wine staring back at her. Wine? With her breakfast? Well, she needed something and in the absence of caffeine…!

  By the time Slade returned with Isabella’s trolley laden with piping hot ham and cheese omelettes, cold meat, green salad, bowls of pasta and savoury rice, along with warm croissants and various preserves, the glass of fruity red wine Daisy had consumed had given her enough Dutch courage to smile fairly normally and say, her tone light, ‘You aren’t going to tell me you did all that?’ She waved her hand at the food.

  ‘Of course.’ He eyed her easily, his dark face autocratic.

  ‘I didn’t know you could cook.’

  ‘Daisy, there are many things about me you do not know…yet.’ The dark voice was wicked, but then it changed to one of firm determination as he added, ‘But now you are going to eat a hearty lunch, yes?’ It was another order, not a suggestion.

  ‘As in the condemned man…?’ she countered swiftly.

  Slade smiled. ‘That was breakfast,’ he said smoothly.

  ‘This is my breakfast.’

  ‘Ah…’

  In spite of the butterflies in her stomach Dais
y found she was remarkably hungry once she began to eat—mainly due to the fact that she had been unable to eat any of Isabella’s excellent dinner the night before—and the food was delicious. The omelettes were light and fluffy and just how omelettes ought to be, the green salad was covered in the most marvellous dressing, and the tomato and herb pasta was gorgeous. It was all gorgeous, Daisy admitted silently to herself, and especially nice eaten alfresco in the warm sunshine. They could be a newly married couple sitting here eating lunch together… She jerked her mind back from such dangerous musing and bit savagely into a warm croissant, catching Slade’s eye as she did so and forcing a bright smile. And why did he have to look so gorgeous?

  It was over the cappuccino that Daisy’s unease returned a hundredfold. There was something in Slade’s voice—she couldn’t exactly describe what—that told her his mind wasn’t really on the conversation they had been having about the sightseeing trip Mario had taken her mother and sisters on. She found herself looking at him warily but she aimed to make her voice brisk as she said, ‘That was lovely, Slade, but I must be holding you up? You never did say what time your plane was.’

  ‘No, I never did.’ She would have risen but he reached out and put his hand over hers, and when he looked at her he allowed her to see what was in his face for the first time and it scared her to death. ‘I came to your room last night to ask you something.’

  ‘No, Slade.’ She couldn’t take the tenderness, the love that was turning the piercing ebony eyes into soft, warm velvet. ‘Don’t do this.’

  ‘I have to. There is something I need to ask you, Daisy.’

  He was going to ask her to marry him? Was that it? Fear swamped her like a thick sea fog and suddenly the fortifying effects of the meal were gone. She sat like a petrified rabbit, her eyes on his and her face white. ‘What?’ It was a tiny whisper but he heard it.

  ‘Who is Jenny?’

  The world stopped revolving and became still. ‘What?’

  She wasn’t aware she had spoken but she must have done because he repeated patiently, his hand still hard on hers and his eyes tight on her face, ‘Who is Jenny? Is she the other woman? The one your husband was having an affair with when you left him?’

  He didn’t know. The relief was short-lived. He would find out; he would dig and dig now he had a name because that was what he was like. ‘Who…who told you about Jenny?’ she asked numbly even as she knew it must have been her mother or sisters.

  ‘No one has told me anything; that’s the trouble.’ There was the ring of deep frustration in his voice but he mastered it instantly, his tone soft again as he said, ‘Last night after you had gone Rose asked your mother if you were all right, and she said—’

  ‘Yes?’ Her eyes were fixed on his face but behind them her mind was racing, seeking an explanation that would satisfy him—something, anything, except the truth.

  ‘Your mother said she wished you would talk about Jenny and then she would know you were all right,’ Slade said quietly. ‘I asked who Jenny was and it was like hitting a brick wall; they were clearly horrified I had overheard.’

  She was glad she was sitting down; her legs were trembling so much they would never have held her. She stared at him silently.

  ‘Who is Jenny?’ he persisted. ‘And why is she still so important in your life? You don’t love Ronald any more; a blind man could have seen that when you two met.’

  ‘No, I don’t love Ronald,’ she agreed dully. How could her mother have been so careless? How could she? she wailed inside.

  ‘So, tell me, talk to me.’

  ‘No, I can’t.’ She tried to take her hand away but he wouldn’t let her. ‘If I can’t talk about…about her with my family why should I talk about her with you?’

  ‘Because I agree with your mother,’ he said evenly. ‘I feel this Jenny holds the key to why you are so locked up within yourself it’s like you’re encased in steel.’

  ‘I’m not.’ Oh, God, please, God, if You are up there please help me at this minute, she prayed silently. I swear I’ll never ask You for anything else in the whole of my life but get me out of this. I just want to walk out of his life with some dignity.

  ‘You are and you know it. There’s a layer inches thick and I’ve had enough,’ he said calmly. ‘If I have to sit here for the rest of my life I’ll do it. I want an answer, Daisy, and I shall know if you are lying.’

  He meant it. She closed her eyes for a moment, sick panic engulfing her. He wasn’t going to let up on this one.

  ‘I know the sort of person you are and after last night you can’t tell me you don’t love me, Daisy,’ he continued quietly, ‘because that particular line won’t wash. You love me and I love you but something is there like a great damn divide, stopping us getting together, and if it’s this Jenny—’

  ‘Don’t talk about her like that!’ It was out before she could help herself but the agonised cry stopped him in his tracks. ‘Don’t you dare.’ And she burst into hot, desperate tears.

  He took her in his arms but she fought him until she had no more strength left, and then, as he held her close against his chest without saying a word, she began to talk.

  ‘Jenny was my daughter,’ she whispered chokingly. She felt him stiffen, the hands that had been stroking her back in a warm, comforting caress stopping momentarily before they resumed their steady movement. And she told him it all, from the first numbing shock of seeing the photographs as she pulled them out of the envelope, to the searing, bitter time of the funeral when she had thought she would go mad. Perhaps she had for a time. Perhaps she was still mad.

  ‘Oh, my darling.’ He had been silent as she had talked, letting her pour out the misery as he had held her tight, but now he moved her and looked down into her face and she saw his eyes were dark with a compassion so intense she could feel it. ‘I don’t know what to say except I love you. I love you so much. I can’t make it all right, I know that, but I’ll spend the rest of my life loving you and there can be other babies if you want that—’

  ‘No!’ She shrank away from him, anguish tearing through her. ‘No, please don’t. I can’t… I let her down, don’t you see? I should have been strong for her, I was all she had, and I let her die. I let her die and I was her mother.’

  ‘You let her die?’ He stared at her and she saw his face was wet too. ‘Daisy, you couldn’t have stopped her dying; it was out of your hands. You have to believe that; you have to. I don’t begin to understand why you had to go through that but I do know you would have given your life for her without a moment’s thought if it could have saved her. You didn’t do anything wrong; you were brave and courageous but these things happen and perhaps we’ll never know why in this world—’

  ‘No.’ She wrenched herself free, panting like a distressed animal. ‘They said it was stress that had caused the miscarriage and I let myself feel that way. I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have, don’t you see? It was me; in the last resort it was me.’

  ‘What I see is that you are punishing yourself for something that was never in your power to change,’ Slade said softly. He looked into her tragic face, at the pain she had been hiding for so long, and never had he wanted to hurt someone the way he did Ronald McTavish. ‘I don’t know if what happened to Jenny was because of what your husband did to you; it might have happened anyway, it might have been her time to die. We’ll never know. But if there was any blame anywhere it’s all his, Daisy. All of it. You can’t lock yourself away and refuse to come out into the sunlight to punish yourself for the rest of your life. In any tragedy there is always the sense of what if. What if the child who was knocked down by a bus had been ten minutes earlier or later leaving home? That’s what the parents ask. Or what if the college student had gone to a different university? Would they now be dead from a drugs overdose? How many grieving parents ask themselves that?’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ she whispered brokenly.

  ‘Or what if the wife and child had been picked up by the
husband instead of him allowing her to drive herself? Would she be dead and the child badly injured?’

  ‘Oh, Slade.’ She realised what she had said and she closed her eyes, horrified at her insensitivity. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…’

  ‘And when the husband had never loved the wife, not really, he could drive himself crazy with guilt and remorse,’ Slade finished softly. ‘I’ve been there, Daisy; I do understand. It was a long, hard climb out of the pit but I made it and you can make it too. But not by yourself, and not by not talking about it. It wasn’t your fault—if it takes me the rest of my life I’ll convince you it wasn’t your fault—but you’ve got to talk to me, let it all out, scream, shout, whatever. Do you understand me? Whatever time of the day or night and for however long it takes.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she whispered, the tears streaming down her cheeks again. ‘I can’t, Slade.’

  ‘You can.’ He lifted her chin gently, and she wondered how she could ever have considered his eyes cold or hard. ‘You are telling yourself that for you to feel any happiness or to go on with your life, to have other children, is a betrayal of Jenny. You think you have to do penance for the rest of your life for what you see as your mistake, but you did not cause her death. You were innocent. Totally, utterly innocent—as innocent as she was. If you had had counselling when it happened or been able to talk it through with someone you would have understood that by now, but instead of that it has grown bigger and bigger in your mind.’

  She wanted to believe him, more than anything else in the whole of her life she wanted it, but how could she? The image of a tiny sweet face swam in front of her and new sobs came unchecked, her cries heart-rending.

  Slade let her cry some more until she became calmer, and then, as she continued to shudder with grief, he put her from him a little and wiped her face with his handkerchief before saying, his voice very firm and very soft, ‘I’m not going to let you ruin both our lives, Daisy, and Francesco’s, by running away. And it would be running away. We are going to see this through together.’ He touched her lips with the tip of a finger tenderly.