Secret Millionaire

by Kitty Alexander

  There was a piece of missed pondweed on the back of her wrist. She picked it off, using it as an opportunity to avoid looking at him. ‘No, that sounds fine to me.’

  ‘Good. I’ll get my personnel department to draft a contract of employment for Bert.’ He was moving his keys around to pull out his car key, anxious to get away from her.

  ‘Great, thanks.’

  ‘Okay, I’d better get off then. Unless there’s anything else?’

  This was Mark Brown the entrepreneur. Mark Brown the man was lost to her forever. She looked up, keeping all feeling from her face. ‘No,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing else.’

  Well, it was true, wasn’t it? There was nothing else. In less than a week, she would return home, leaving Bert in charge here. After that, she would probably see Mark again from time to time, when he came to visit The Heath Centre. But she would do her very best to be busy with a farmer’s market or something if she knew he was coming. And, no doubt, his interest in the project would dwindle over time. He would provide the financial support he’d promised, but other business interests would claim his attention.

  Now, getting ready for the party, Alexia stretched her lips into a smile to dab off the excess lipstick from her mouth. She wished Mark had never come to The Heath Centre. She’d built a happy, successful life in Nottingham with her work and her friends from the allotments and her dance classes. Why had he had to ruin all that by making her aware of everything her life lacked? She didn’t want to be the kind of woman who craved a relationship and family to the point of being miserable. So many of her single female friends were like that, talking about how to meet someone, or how to get their boyfriend to settle down with them. It had never been what she wanted; at least, not since Chris.

  Chris. He would be at the party tonight. Not that she had any intention of talking to him much. She looked at her watch. Half-past six. She’d need to leave soon; it would take a while to get there. Restlessly, Alexia crossed to the window. The lights were on in Mark’s mobile home. What sort of millionaire would choose to live in such basic circumstances while their home was being renovated? Surely, most would choose the luxury of a hotel suite? Abruptly, she turned away from the window, slipping her feet into her shoes and reaching for her keys, jacket and bag, pushing away the unwanted feeling of empathy for someone who chose not to waste money in that way. It was easier to think Mark was weird – that there was something wrong with him. A lot easier than not thinking about him at all, which was what she really must try to do.

  But when she opened the front door. Mark was just coming out of the mobile home with Bosun. For one, long second, their eyes made contact. Then Mark lifted his hand to her and walked on down the garden path towards the fields.

  Making her way to the van, she wondered what Mark was doing this evening. Was he staying in, with Bosun? What she wouldn’t give for things to be different; to be sitting next to Mark in the mobile home with Bosun’s warm body between them. Or even for Mark to be going with her tonight, his presence giving her real confidence instead of the affected sort which was all she had to take with her. No, she told herself. Don’t do that. Forget him. That’s never going to happen. That was never going to happen.

  * * * * *

  Alexia had looked incredible – a vision of gold and burnished copper. Ought he to have told her he was going to the party too? They could have driven there together. No. The journey would have been torture. Besides, she hadn’t made herself look that good for him – he must remember that. It was for all for her so-called ex. He needed his head examining, going tonight. It was madness. It must have been guilt that had caused her to run off the way she had the other night.

  But somehow his brain just couldn’t work out how he’d managed to be so wrong about her. Right from the start, she’d seemed so open and direct, telling him in no uncertain terms to take greater care of peoples’ feelings. How ironic that seemed now.

  Back at the mobile home, Mark’s evening suit was hanging up ready for him to put on. Bosun, fed and walked, settled down to sleep. Mark suddenly missed his brother so much it physically hurt. God, he wished he were still here to talk to, even if the Jonathan he needed was the Jonathan Mark had known before his decline into alcoholism. He might have laughed at first – his untouchable big brother, humbled by love at long last. But then he would have listened and offered his advice and support.

  On impulse, Mark picked up his phone and began to search through his contacts list. He ought to be getting ready for the party now, if he didn’t want to be late, but this was too important.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, Helen, it’s Mark.’

  ‘Oh, hello, Mark.’ Jonathan’s ex-wife’s tone was unenthusiastic. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Mark’s fingers found the reassuring silkiness of Bosun’s head. ‘I just wanted to make contact; to find out how you and little Oliver are,’ he said.

  ‘We’re fine. About to move to France actually. I’m remarrying.’

  The baldly stated facts shocked him. It was only six months since Jonathan had died. ‘How does Oliver feel about that?’ he managed.

  ‘Oliver adores Michel, my fiancé. He’s known him for quite a while.’ There was something defiant about Helen’s tone of voice, and Mark knew suddenly that this was not a recently formed relationship.

  ‘Did Jonathan know?’ he asked bitterly, and Helen paused.

  When she spoke again, she sounded impatient. ‘Yes. But don’t be so quick to judge me, Mark. If Jonathan hadn’t been in the state he was in, then I wouldn’t have needed to reach out to anybody else, would I? So don’t try and fix the blame for his death on me.’

  He hadn’t been going to do that. He’d never blamed Helen. He could only imagine what sort of hell it had been, living with his brother towards the end.

  ‘Jonathan’s gone, Mark,’ she said more gently. ‘You need to accept it and move on. Look, I’ll send you our new address, okay? We’ll keep in touch.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Mark sadly. ‘Say hi to Oliver for me.’

  * * * * *

  She was almost there. The van was travelling along familiar streets now; past her old school, a school friend’s house, the salon where she’d once gone to have her hair cut off, emerging defiant and filled with regret. Her mother had burst into tears when she’d seen her. As for her father, he never said one word about her changed appearance. It had been as if she was invisible.

  How would he react when he saw her tonight? Would he pretend her presence was unremarkable? Behave as if she’d just come home after a little shopping expedition instead of five years of estrangement? One thing was for sure, she’d soon find out. Because she’d arrived.

  Alexia parked the van and got out. Someone had put lights in the trees that lined the drive – trees that had grown considerably since she’d been here last. Well, why wouldn’t they? Time hadn’t stood still.

  Outside the front door, Alexia hesitated for a moment. Should she knock? No, the door was open. Entering the house, there was only time for her to receive a blurred impression of groups of people standing talking before Chris pounced on her. ‘You came!’ he said in a loud, triumphant voice. ‘Penelope, look who’s here!’

  Those standing nearest to Alexia instantly fell silent, staring at her – it was a bit like walking out onto a spotlit stage, and the very last way she would have chosen to have made her entrance after all this time.

  Someone unfolded herself from the crowd and walked silently to take Alexia in her arms – her mother. ‘Hi, Mum,’ she said.

  ‘Alexia. You came! And you look so beautiful. Oh, darling, that dress! It was made for you. Now, come in, come in. Let’s put your jacket away and get you something to drink. Your father’s around somewhere.’ Penelope laughed. ‘At least, I hope he is! This is his party, after all.’

  Alexia shrugged out of her jacket, and then, gently but firmly, speaking all the while about the caterers and the new pale-coloured carpet in the sitting room, her mo
ther pulled her along – guiding her towards her father.

  She could hear his voice now – that same authoritative Yorkshire tone expounding about something. Illness didn’t seem to have caused him to develop a lack of opinions then. Alexia stopped, her heart suddenly slamming against her chest. Penelope smiled, reaching out to stroke her hair. ‘It will be all right,’ she said reassuringly, and then suddenly, through the open door to his office, she saw him – her dad.

  Time seemed to stand still. The sound of voices and conversations swam in her ears. He was pale. Did he look pale? His hair was almost completely grey and his widow’s peak was more pronounced. The lines on his face had deepened. But those dark, glittering eyes were the same – eyes that had always seen everything and given nothing away. Just like now. Whereas Alexia knew her own eyes would be large, green pools of vulnerability, revealing the very workings of her soul. There wasn’t a lot she could do about that. She, after all, was human.

  Her mother led the way into the office. Alexia followed. ‘Happy birthday,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you.’ There was an awkward pause, where neither of them stepped forward to kiss the other, and then her mother spoke quietly.

  ‘All right, you two,’ she said. ‘Say what you have to say to each other. And remember, this is a party, so no shouting.’

  Alexia turned, as if to beg her mother to stay, but it was too late. With a final encouraging smile Penelope left, and the door closed, muffling the sound of the party. Then they were alone.

  There was a painting on the wall behind him – a picture of a boat on a stormy sea. It had hung there ever since she could remember, and had always been a source of fascination for her as a child. ‘Will the boat sink, Daddy?’ she’d asked. ‘Will anyone come to save the people?’

  ‘Alexia,’ he said. ‘It’s good to see you.’

  If this were a film, he might hold his arms out to her, and she might run into them with a sob. She’d cling to him and he’d cling to her, and everything would be all right again. But this was no film, and the last time she’d seen him, he’d smashed her life to bits.

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m getting old,’ he said with a little smile. ‘Hence the retirement.’

  ‘I never thought you would retire,’ she said, and he laughed.

  ‘My decision took lots of people by surprise, I’m sure. But when it hits you that you have a limited amount of time left, it focuses the mind somewhat. And how are you? Your mother tells me you work for a charity?’

  ‘Yes.’ She didn’t want to tell him anything about her job and her new life. They were hers. ‘Chris tells me you’re ill,’ she said instead, refocusing her mind on the purpose of her visit.

  ‘Yes,’ said her father, ‘I expected that he would.’

  Alexia’s head suddenly began to throb. He was smiling at her. Surely that couldn’t be right? He ought to look sad, or to show some reaction rather than that rather self-satisfaction. Unless… ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Do you mean you’re not ill at all? That you lied to Chris?’

  He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. ‘I do need an operation,’ he said. ‘The old heart’s not what it used to be. But it’s no big deal. These days these things are pretty standard.’ He shrugged. ‘So no, I didn’t exactly lie to Chris, as you put it. Let’s just say I exaggerated things slightly.’

  Her mouth was dry with disbelief. ‘Why would you do that?’ she asked, and he looked at her.

  ‘I wanted you to come tonight. And you have.’

  Alexia felt like screaming. Nothing had changed. Nothing. He was still like one of the Ancient Gods in an old movie she’d seen once, cynically directing the lives of helpless mortals on earth. What sort of man would deliberately give his daughter the impression he was dying when he wasn’t?

  ‘Well, good for you!’ she said angrily. ‘You got what you wanted. Here I am.’

  He sighed. ‘Why do you always have to be so damn difficult?’ he asked.

  ‘Why do you always have to be so damn manipulative?’ she chucked right back.

  ‘You didn’t exactly give me much choice, did you?’ he said. ‘If I’d just sent you an invitation, would you have come tonight?’

  No way.

  ‘Exactly. Look, Alexia… Do I have to spell it out? I may not be going to die imminently, God willing, but I am getting older, and I don’t want to live the rest of my life estranged from you.’

  Oh, God. She would not lose it. She would not! Hot tears were filling her throat, making it impossible to speak. But why should she speak anyway? He was the one who’d summoned her here; he was the one who had to do the talking, not her.

  ‘Look, I know you think what I did to you was unforgivable, but believe me; I had my reasons. I hope you will be able to forgive me.’

  He stopped speaking, and for a while there was silence. Alexia couldn’t believe it. ‘Is that it?’ she said. ‘Is that all the explanation I’m going to get? I’m just supposed to say “Of course I’ll forgive you, Dad,” and then we move on? I don’t think so!’

  A muscle moved in his cheek, and suddenly the tears were back, threatening to make her lose face in front of him. ‘Why did you do it, Dad?’ she blurted out suddenly. ‘Why were you always so against me and Chris being together?’

  He didn’t answer straight away, and then finally, he sighed. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘You deserve to know. Look, come and sit down.’ When he led the way to a leather sofa in the bay window, she followed reluctantly, arms wrapped around herself, sitting as far away from him as possible.

  ‘I was very close to Edward, Chris’ father, as you know,’ he said. ‘But what you may not know, is that I was also very close to Mary, Edward’s wife.’

  Something flickered across his face – something that looked a lot like shame. And all at once, she knew the truth.

  Chapter Twenty

  You’re here for business, Mark reminded himself as he walked up the drive towards the house. Business and closure. You’ll charm the right people, help the deal along, and you’ll see Alexia with him and then you’ll be able to draw a line under that chapter of your life.

  The moon was out, huge and golden as it sometimes was at this time of year – a harvest moon. The same colour as Alexia’s dress as she’d stood, framed in the doorway of his house, slipping on her shoes. She’d looked completely stunning. Would she always be with him? Like some copper-gold ghost? Would he be able to live comfortably in his house after it was finished, without feeling she was always there, haunting it?

  The sounds of conversations and laughter reached Mark from inside the house. He wanted to turn and go back to the car, but he was braver than that, so he pressed the doorbell. The door opened straight away. Mark went inside, smiling and talking automatically, his eyes hungrily searching for Alexia. She was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Mr Brown!’ said a tall man, coming over to shake his hand. ‘How good of you to come. I’m Tony O’Donnell – I’ve been having meetings with David Higgins about the transport deal. I was so sorry to hear about his wife. How’s she getting on?’

  Mark shook Tony’s hand. ‘It’s Mark, please,’ he said. ‘And the news is good, I’m very glad to say. She’s off the ventilator now. It’s going to be a long haul, but she’ll be all right.’

  ‘That’s great news. I do like David. I’ve been very impressed by everything he’s outlined so far.’

  Someone was staring at him from across the room. The man from the fashion show – Chris. Alexia’s so-called ex. Automatically, Mark looked again for Alexia, but there was still no sign of her.

  ‘Good,’ he replied to Tony, speaking on autopilot. ‘I’m glad things are progressing well.’

  Chris was still staring at him. It was beyond disconcerting. Tony was saying something, Mark had no idea what. He turned his body slightly to block Chris from view. ‘Sorry,’ he said to Tony, ‘what was that?’

  ‘I was asking you about Eastern Europe,’ said Tony. ‘I underst
and you’re expanding that way?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mark, dragging his thoughts back to business with an effort. ‘That’s right. In fact –’

  ‘Hello,’ someone said, interrupting.

  When Mark turned, it was no surprise to see Chris standing there.

  Tony seemed to know him. ‘Oh, hello, Chris,’ he was saying, sounding slightly surprised. ‘How are you? This is Mark Brown of MB Logistics. Mark’s company is going to – ’

  ‘We’ve already met,’ Chris interrupted again. ‘Although we weren’t properly introduced on that occasion.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Tony, sounding slightly thrown. ‘Well, in that case, I’d better do the honours, hadn’t I? Mark, this is Chris Adamson, Kenneth Bright’s…’ He broke off then, with an embarrassed laugh. ‘Sorry, Chris, I’m not sure how to classify you. Friend of the family?’

  Chris gave an abrupt nod. ‘Friend of the family, business partner, suitor of his only daughter…’ All the time he spoke, Chris’ eyes never left Mark’s, his expression cold and challenging. Beside him, Mark could sense Tony’s embarrassment growing.

  ‘Suitor, eh?’ he laughed nervously. ‘It’s a long time since I’ve heard that word! But, er… congratulations. I had no idea that you and Alexia were – ’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Chris said.

  The man seemed to have a compulsion to interrupt people. There was aggression and challenge in every line of his body. Mark could feel his own hands clenched into fists at his sides, and he sincerely wished it were possible to throw all conventions aside and punch his lights out.

  ‘Alexia’s with her dad at the moment, actually,’ he said. ‘I imagine she’s telling him about our plans to marry.’

  ‘Well!’ said Tony, sounding surprised. ‘Congratulations!’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Sickened, Mark watched Tony shake his hand. Alexia was going to marry this fool? It was inconceivable. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, somehow managing to smile at Tony, ‘I must just go and speak to… our hostess. If I can find her! Can we talk again later, Tony?’