Secret Millionaire

by Kitty Alexander

  There was a moment’s silence. Alexia looked down at the table. Over at the fruit machine, Derek had had some luck. Above the metallic sound of his winnings cascading out, Mark said, ‘Well, thank you for telling me, Bert. I appreciate it.’ Then, ‘If you’ll excuse me.’

  Next time Alexia looked up, he was returning to Bosun and his friend, leaving Alexia feeling both humiliated and uncomfortable in her skin. Well, it served her right for going against her principles. She’d never agreed with telling lies, so why had she had to make a start with Mark, of all people? Just because he was a liar, it didn’t mean she had to become one too.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ said Bert, picking up on her mood. ‘Feel as if I’ve done something wrong.’

  Alexia sighed before making a poor attempt at a smile. ‘No, Bert, you haven’t done anything wrong.’ She was glad when, half an hour later, the boys were all ready to go home. It had been a very long day.

  Back at the house, Alexia knew she was too wound up to get to sleep just yet. If she were at home, she would make herself a cup of hot chocolate and read for a while. Either that, or watch some junk TV. But this was a shell of a house without either books or television, and she hadn’t thought to bring anything to read. The boys were probably much better off in their caravan – that had a TV, and it was no doubt warmer than it was in this big, empty house. Not that she felt any desire to be sharing with that lot of course…

  But maybe there was some hot chocolate in the kitchen? Or at least some tea? Yes, there must surely be tea, because she’d seen the workmen drinking it. Alexia went to investigate. Opening a cupboard, she found tea, coffee and…biscuits. Biscuits! Suddenly she fancied a biscuit very much indeed. Tomorrow, she would go shopping and stock up on a few luxuries as well as some basics. But for now, she would help herself to whoever’s biscuits these were and try not to feel too guilty about it.

  Tea made, Alexia sat at the kitchen table with it, looking around. Like everything else in the house, this was a shell of a room. How would Mark restore it? It should have a range and individual units rather than a sleek black and stainless steel fitted kitchen.

  Deep in contemplation, Alexia dunked her biscuit into her tea. At exactly that moment, there was a knock on the back door. Alexia jumped, sending tea sloshing onto the table.

  Mark put his head around the door. ‘Mind if I come in for a minute?’ he asked, but Bosun was already in, pushing past his legs with enthusiasm, and jumping up at her chair.

  ‘It’s your house,’ Alexia said, putting the uneaten half of her biscuit down on the table.

  ‘I’d watch that, if I were you,’ warned Mark, but not quickly enough. With one quick stretch, Bosun had grabbed the biscuit and taken it under the table to polish it off.

  ‘I’m afraid he’s very greedy.’

  ‘All dogs are,’ she said.

  ‘You sound experienced. Have you had many dogs?’

  He was standing over her at the side of the table, making her feel tense. Why was he here? Was it just to gloat because her lie about the planter had been found out? ‘My family always had dogs when I was growing up. I haven’t had one myself because of working full-time. It’s not fair to leave a dog for hours on end.’ Was she trying to antagonise him? Why was she trying to do that?

  Mark sat down opposite her, clasping his hands in front of him. ‘You’re so very quick to try to point out what you consider to be bad behaviour in others, aren’t you?’ he said.

  Something snapped in her head. ‘While I go around telling lies to all and sundry? Is that what you’re getting at?’

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘since you bring the subject up, yes, why did you tell me you broke that planter when it was Bert who did it?’

  ‘It isn’t very nice to be lied to, is it?’ Alexia said angrily, getting to her feet.

  Mark got up too; so quickly, she had no chance to storm from the room the way she had been going to. ‘D’you know what I think, Alexia?’ he said, ‘I think that lie about the planter came very easily to you.’

  Suddenly, he was kissing her, his lips grinding against hers. It was a brutal, angry kiss – it was horrible, and she hated it, wriggling and pushing against his chest, desperate to get away. Then the kiss changed, becoming more sensual and instantly sending a bolt of lightening through her body. It was less than two weeks since they had made such passionate love, and Alexia’s body was remembering those precious hours, fitting itself to his, sending keening sounds of longing from her throat. Beneath her hands, the muscles in his shoulders moved as he pulled her closer. She came off her feet slightly as he lifted her into him, making her aware that he wanted her every bit as much as she wanted him. She felt his hand beneath her top, seeking out her breast. Her own hands slid down from his shoulders to the belt of his jeans.

  ‘Please, Mark,’ she breathed.

  Then all of a sudden, it was over. Mark moved back, letting her go, walking to the door with a pat to his side to summon the dog. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have done that. Forgive me. Come, Bosun.’ And then they were gone.

  Frustration made Alexia want to scream. She couldn’t believe that had just happened – any of it. How dare he kiss her like that, like some kind of punishment? And what had she been thinking, responding the way she had? She hadn’t been thinking that was the problem. She’d wanted him to lay her back on the table – to smash aside her hot chocolate mug so he could make love to her right there and then.

  Pathetic. This wasn’t a scene from some movie – she had to work for this man. How on earth was she going to be able to do that now?

  * * * * *

  In the mobile home, Mark paced up and down. Since when had he started behaving like that? Since when had he become the type of man he despised the most?

  ‘Why do you put up with it, Mum?’ he’d asked his mother once, comforting her after yet another blow up with his father.

  Mark’s father had been an expert at making Mark’s mother feel that any problems in their marriage were her fault, even when confronted with evidence of yet another one of his seemingly constant affairs.

  ‘I love him,’ his mother had answered, as if that explained everything. But Mark had always thought a love like that – full of accusations, shouting and the inevitable passionate making up to paper over the cracks – must be madness. It had never been something he wanted to experience himself.

  He had brought Alexia here. Why had he done that? Because he was addicted to the sight of her, the sound of her voice. God, even the very smell of her hair. But he could and would break that addiction. First thing tomorrow he would drop Bosun off at Iris’s and warn her he wouldn’t be picking him up until late. He would throw himself into work, and if Alexia had any queries about the garden project, Charlotte could field them.

  Clipping on Bosun’s lead to take him out one final time before bed, Mark negotiated the garden path with the help of a torch, still thinking about his mother. She lived in America now, with Mack, her new husband. Jonathan’s death had been awful for her – as it had been for all of them. But she had, at least, had Mack to comfort her. She was happy with him. How long had she had to wait for this happiness though? As a twelve year old, witnessing her pain during the divorce process, Mark and Jonathan had felt so completely helpless, shunted as they were between her house, where she’d given up on life, and their father’s new apartment where he had joyously installed his new girlfriend.

  Bosun was pulling on his lead, anxious to escape to the foxhole again. Mark reined him in. ‘Not tonight,’ he said. ‘Neither of us is getting what we most want tonight.’

  As he turned to head back to the mobile home, he thought about that. Was Alexia what he most wanted? God, yes. That gorgeous, wanton hair around her shoulders, spilling down to her incredible breasts. The soft ivory of her skin. Her plump lips, pressing against his, leaving a trail of fire down his neck…

  Mark groaned out loud, causing Bosun to glance up at him. They said you always moved towards the
main focus of your thoughts. Which was exactly why he was going to bury himself in his work. Work had served him very well all these years. It would do so again.

  A light went on in the top room. Mark froze, watching. Suddenly Alexia came into view. It was too far way for him to be able to see her expression. But he did see her arms go up as she pulled her jumper over her head. Lord in heaven! ‘Come on, Bosun.’ And he tugged at the dog’s lead, urging him towards the safety of the mobile home.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mark’s car had gone by the time Alexia got up the next morning. Good. She didn’t want to see him for a very long time. If things had been awkward before, then they were surely going to be doubly awkward now. But she couldn’t, wouldn’t think about that. She would concentrate on the garden project – get it moving forward to the point where she could name a completion date and have the prospect of escape in view.

  By mid morning, she and the boys had cleared a large area of ground, and, as a result, there was a considerable amount of waste to get rid of. Alexia wasn’t sure where to put it – Normally, she’d have consulted their client, but there was no way she was going to get in touch with Mark about it. Should she ask Charlotte? No – she was the project leader. She’d decide herself. ‘Let’s haul this lot over by the hedge out of the way for now,’ she said.

  It was a morning of hard, physical work. By lunchtime Alexia was hungry, and well aware that she still hadn’t bought herself any supplies. ‘Guys, I’m just popping out to get a few things from the village shop,’ she told them. ‘Do you need anything?’

  Taking a few orders for cans of beans and milk, she headed off in the van. When she emerged from the shop ten minutes later with her purchases, a grey-haired woman was walking past with a large golden retriever on a lead. With a start of recognition, Alexia realized it was the same woman she’d seen Mark talking to in the pub. And wasn’t that Bosun?

  As she stood, staring, Bosun noticed her and began to pull in her direction across the road. The woman attempted to rein him in. ‘No, Bosun. Heel!’

  To avert disaster, Alexia crossed over to them. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s my fault – he recognised me. Didn’t you, Bosun?’ She reached down to stroke the dog, whose backside was almost wagging off with pleasure. ‘I’m Alexia – I’m working at The Copper Beeches at the moment.’

  The woman’s eyes were lively with interest. ‘Good to meet you, Alexia. I’m Iris. Mark said he was getting the gardens sorted out. You’ve certainly got your work cut out for you there, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Alexia, instinctively warming to Iris. ‘But we’re already making good progress.’

  ‘Good,’ said Iris. ‘And it’s only right for the garden to restored – it was very much loved once.’

  For some completely unaccountable reason, an image of a party dress she’d had at the age of six popped into Alexia’s mind. She’d worn it to a pantomime – Cinderella – with her mother and father, and she’d felt like a princess in it. The memory was so vivid she could almost feel her hands being held as they went up the grand theatre steps; see her father’s smile as he produced a surprise box of chocolates.

  ‘Bosun, down boy!’ A paw landed on her tummy, abruptly ending her reverie and almost knocking her off her feet.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Iris. ‘He doesn’t like to be ignored.’

  Alexia looked down at a large, muddy paw print on her hoodie. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she smiled, reaching down to stroke Bosun again. ‘These are just my old gardening clothes. I should think he’s a bit of a handful for you, isn’t he?’

  ‘Oh, I’m used to dogs, Iris said. ‘And actually, considering the start the poor boy had in life, he does pretty well.’

  Alexia looked up, interested. ‘Oh? Is he a rescue dog?’

  Iris nodded. ‘In a way. He belonged to Mark’s brother until he died. Terrible tragedy, that was. The poor thing had been alone with him for days after he’d passed away…’ Iris broke off, seeming to remember herself. ‘But that isn’t my story to tell really. Suffice to say Bosun was a bit traumatised for a while. But he’s done very well since Mark took him on, and we love our days together, don’t we, Bosun? I look after him while Mark’s at work, you see.’

  So, far from neglecting the dog, Mark seemed to have done his very best for him. And she had all but accused him of neglect. ‘I don’t think you had him the other morning though, did you?’ she felt compelled to say. ‘I managed to let him out, and he went into the trees and – ’

  ‘Rolled in foxes’ mess?’ Iris guessed. ‘Yes, he’s always doing that. I had a last-minute hospital appointment that day – I’ve been waiting ages for it to come through, so I couldn’t refuse it. I hated to let Mark down though. You too of course, boy!’ Reaching down, she gave Bosun a pat.

  ‘Well,’ said Alexia, still cringing inside at the false judgements she had made about Mark and his dog, ‘I’d better get back. It was good to meet you.’

  Iris straightened and smiled at her. ‘Yes, indeed. I hope to see you again while you’re working here. And I very much look forward to seeing the transformations you bring to The Copper Beeches. Come on, Bosun.’

  Oh, God. Walking back to the van, Alexia remembered the closed-off look on Mark’s face. No wonder he’d looked like that – her words had brought back memories of his brother’s death.

  She was still thinking about it that night as she lay in bed, trying fruitlessly to get to sleep. She hadn’t seen Mark at all that day, so there had been no opportunity to apologise. And in any case, what would she have said? It was better to just leave it. She didn’t want to get Iris into trouble for gossiping.

  Finally, after an hour or so, she must have drifted into an uneasy sleep, because when somebody began to bang loudly on the front door, it jolted her awake. Who could it be? Not Mark, surely? He had a key to his own house – he wouldn’t knock like that.

  ‘Alexia!’ shouted a voice from down below. It was Peter. ‘Come quickly. It’s Bert!’

  Bert? What on earth had happened? ‘Coming!’ she shouted, but it took an age to find her trainers, put her dressing gown on and climb down the ladder. By the time she opened the front door, Mark was already in the porch, speaking to Peter.

  ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ she asked.

  Mark looked at her. ‘It’s Bert. Peter says he’s been drinking.’

  Alexia couldn’t believe it. ‘Drinking? Bert hasn’t had a drink in years!’

  ‘Well, he has now,’ said Peter. ‘He’s completely off his head in the caravan. Been really down lately, he has, what with not getting that job.’

  Alexia’s heart slumped right down to her trainers. Bert may not have managed to get a job, but he was still one of the Centre’s success stories. Off the drink for a good five years, he’d shown a real skill for gardening work. She depended on him on a day-to-day basis. Why hadn’t she seen this coming? She ought to have tried harder to get him to talk to her.

  * * * * *

  The man was a complete mess – staggering about the place, knocking things over, singing … Mark wished he could tell Alexia to go back to the house, but Bert was her employee and her responsibility, so he couldn’t do that. On the outside, she was very calm, and he admired her professionalism as she reassured Peter and Derek. Only Mark seemed to realise how distressed she was beneath the surface.

  Bert had been sick on his bed, and the caravan stank. Mark sent Peter to get cleaning materials from the house, and while he and Derek were clearing up, Mark spoke to Alexia. ‘Let’s get Bert to my mobile home,’ he suggested. ‘I’ve got a spare bed, and I can keep an eye on him.’

  ‘But it’s not your problem,’ she objected, but the look of gratitude he caught on Peter’s face was enough to make him insist.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ he said. ‘I’d rather know he was all right. And Peter and Derek need a good night’s sleep – I know you’re going to work them hard tomorrow.’

  Derek seized on his attempt at levity. ‘
Sure thing. You should see how much we got cleared today!’

  Mark pretended to smile. ‘I’m very glad to hear it, Derek. Come on, give me a hand with Bert, and then you two can get to bed.’

  Between them, he and Derek managed to get Bert round the front of the house and into his mobile home. Bosun was an excited obstacle when they opened the door, and Alexia called to him, bending to stroke him and providing an effective distraction. Bert was only just conscious, shouting out bleary obscenities. But the minute they laid him on the child-width bunk, he fell asleep.

  ‘Thanks, Derek,’ said Mark, and Derek went on his way. Then it was only him, Alexia and Bosun, with his excited whimpers. And Bert of course, snoring with his mouth open.

  Was it his imagination, or was Alexia hesitating? He’d expected her to leave as soon as possible, but she was still here, bending to stroke Bosun. ‘Do you want a cup of tea? That must have been a bit distressing for you.’

  It was the wrong thing to say – instantly her eyes filled with tears. He saw her blink rapidly, as if willing them away, so he turned his back, busying himself with the kettle. ‘It’s no trouble, I was just going to make one myself.’

  ‘Then, yes,’ she said. ‘Thanks. I will have one.’

  ‘Take a seat.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Looking round, he saw that Bosun had joined her on the bench, but since he could also tell she didn’t mind, he didn’t order the dog down. ‘Do you take milk and sugar?’

  ‘Milk, no sugar thanks. And quite weak please.’

  He turned to smile at her. ‘I’d have put you down as a drinker of strong tea,’ he quipped, then cursed himself silently, as he saw her mouth grow wobbly again.

  ‘There’s nothing strong about me,’ she said. ‘I’m pathetic. How could I be so stupid as to take Bert to a pub when he’d just had that disappointment about not getting the council job?’