His Defiant Mistress: The Millionaire's Rebellious Mistress / The Venetian's Midnight Mistress / The Billionaire's Virgin Mistress

CHAPTER SIX

OLIVER ASKED the driver to wait for a few minutes when they arrived at Medlar House, and followed Sarah into her flat. ‘So, then, Sarah. How do you feel after your first success in the property world?’

‘A bit flat,’ she confessed. ‘And a bit headachy, too, after two glasses of champagne at this time of day. Not,’ she added with a grin, ‘that it normally features in my life at any time of day.’

‘You can well afford the odd bottle now, darling, if you fancy it,’ he reminded her, then smiled lovingly. ‘Sit down, darling. There’s something I want to say.’

Sarah eyed him in trepidation as she went to her windowseat. ‘Is something wrong, Oliver?’

‘Not wrong, exactly.’ He stood looking out at the view. ‘I need to put something right. Your father asked me to keep it from you, but I think it’s time you knew that he was asked to stay on as manager of SC Construction when the Merrick Group bought it from him.’

Sarah stared at him for a moment, then shook her head vehemently. ‘That’s not true. He would have told me—’

‘Sam didn’t tell you because he just didn’t want the job. As long as you had security from the sale of the company, plus the value of the house, he was satisfied. He asked me to take care of you. Not that he needed to ask.’ Oliver bent to take her hand. ‘Sam’s heart was giving out on him. Unknown to me, or obviously to you, he’d been taking medication for years, but when he told me he had very little time left, my darling—’

‘But why didn’t he tell me?’ Sarah jumped to her feet. ‘He shouldn’t have kept it from me. If I’d known I would have taken more care of him.’

‘You couldn’t have taken better care of him than you did, Sarah.’ Oliver took her in his arms and held her gently for a moment or two, then let her go and turned her face up to his. ‘Sam made me promise not to tell you, but I have no compunction in breaking that promise because I believe you deserve the truth. Don’t be sad. Enjoy your triumph, darling.’

Sarah nodded dumbly as she blinked tears away.

‘Good girl.’ Oliver bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Now, I’d better not keep Alex’s driver waiting any longer. Keep me in the picture with the barn conversion scheme.’

‘Of course.’ She hugged him hard. ‘Thank you so much for coming today.’

‘Least I could do, dear child.’ He patted her back. ‘And now I shall repair to my hotel room and sleep off the effects of lunch, before attacking the brief I brought with me.’

Sarah released him, looking at him steadily. ‘And thank you for telling me the truth, Oliver.’

He smiled ruefully. ‘I just hope I haven’t ruined your day.’

‘No. I’m glad I know. I also know how busy you are. It was wonderful to have your support today. Goodbye, Oliver. I’ll ring you.’

Sarah put her suit away, washed her face, then took a long bath, her brain revolving in circles as it tried to come to terms with Oliver’s revelation. At least, she thought eventually, it scotched any last remnants of guilt she’d felt about selling out to the Merrick Group. But when she’d flung her accusation at Alex Merrick why hadn’t he told her the truth? But if he had would she have believed him? Probably not, she decided honestly. Believing anything good of the Merricks would have been difficult after years of looking on them as the villains of her particular piece. Yet in some ways she was relieved, because no matter how much she’d tried not to she liked Alex. And she was pretty sure her father would have liked him just as much as Oliver did.

Later, feeling a lot better with that thought in mind, she decided to pass the rest of the day doing girl things for once. As a start she gave her feet a rare pedicure, painting her toenails candy-pink, and then neatened her sorely tried fingernails with an emery board and painted them to match. Afterwards, with an eye on the sunlight filtering through the blinds, she hunted out a white halter top and a thin rose-print cotton skirt she hardly ever wore. Then, armed with a cup of strong coffee to chase away the last lingering effects of the champagne, she made for her usual perch on the windowseat to ring Harry.

‘Hi, it’s Sarah. Guess what? I’ve sold the entire row of cottages to the Merrick Group, so Westhope Farm here we come! Will your brother-in-law be available if we pop over there in the morning?’

Harry gave a hoot of laughter. ‘No doubt about that, boss. Congratulations! What time shall I pick you up?’

Sarah smiled as she disconnected. The people who thought of Harry Sollers as a gruff old curmudgeon didn’t know him as well as she did. Dedicated bachelor he might be, but he felt paternal where she was concerned. And she was grateful for it. But right now she needed to switch off for a while. Tomorrow, she promised herself, stretching, she would think about permits and building inspections and checks on footings and the usual run-up to a job. But tonight she would just chill for a while, savour her first success while she took a walk in the early evening sun round the Medlar House grounds. Afterwards she would watch something mindless on television, or read her book, or even just sit and do nothing at all for once in her life.

Heartily sick of the entire programme by late evening, Sarah was delighted to hear her phone ring—even when she found her caller was Alex Merrick. Or maybe, she decided honestly, because it was Alex Merrick.

‘If you’re not busy,’ he said, after the formalities were over, ‘I’d like a word.’

‘By all means.’ She laughed a little. ‘Please don’t say you want your money back.’

‘Not much chance of that, with your heavy legal guns trained on this morning’s proceedings! I’ll be with you in a few minutes,’ he added, surprising her.

‘Oh—right.’ Sarah’s eyebrows rose as she snapped her phone shut. She’d assumed he meant a word on the phone. Now their business dealings were over the last thing she’d expected was another visit from Alex Merrick.

A quick phone call was exactly what Alex had intended, but at the sound of Sarah’s voice he’d felt a sudden urge to see her, talk to her face to face. Now the deal was sorted, there was no reason why they couldn’t be friends. He was thoughtful as he took the road for Medlar House. The idea of Sarah Carver as a friend was actually very appealing. His old schoolfriends, and others of both sexes he’d made in his Cambridge days, were either married or working in all four corners of the globe. Except for Stephen Hicks. And none of them had as much in common with him as Sarah from a career point of view.

When he pressed her bell Sarah buzzed him in and stood barefoot at her open door. She smiled as Alex crossed the hall towards her, unaware that she was backlit by the light streaming through her thin skirt, giving him an X-ray view of legs and curving hips that struck him dumb. ‘Hi. Do come in.’

‘Thank you for seeing me,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘I thought you might be out celebrating.’

‘Not twice in one day,’ she assured him as she closed the door. ‘Besides, Oliver wouldn’t have risked driving here again.’

‘You could have been celebrating with someone other than your godfather.’ Like Dan Mason, perish the thought.

‘True, but as you see I’m not, so can I offer you a glass of wine?’

Alex eyed her hopefully. ‘I don’t suppose you’d have a beer?’

‘Sorry. The only other thing on offer is coffee.’

‘Good as yours is, I’ll take the wine on an evening like this.’ He badly needed something to lubricate the mouth that had dried at the sight of her in silhouette. ‘But only if you’ll join me.’

Knowing she could depend on the quality of the wine Oliver sometimes brought her to keep in her fridge, Sarah filled two of her mother’s best glasses and handed one to Alex. ‘Do sit down,’ she invited.

He waited for her to take her usual perch on the windowseat, then sat on the sofa, trying not to stare at her pink toenails. Her untidy curls framed a face bare of even lipstick, he noted with amusement. As usual she’d made no attempt to tidy herself up to meet him. But, polished and perfect though she’d been for their meeting this morning, he liked the barefoot dishevelled look far more. So much more it was taking all his will-power to stay on the sofa instead of snatching her up in his arms to kiss her senseless. Whoa! Where had that come from? He swallowed some wine hastily. The first step, Merrick, is to get her used to the idea of you as a friend.

Sarah waited patiently for Alex to speak. His lean, clever face looked very brown in the light above his open white collar, and for once she considered him solely on the merit of his looks—which, she had to admit, were considerable. She had always been attracted to brains rather than muscles, but Alex had both. He had a degree, so he obviously had brains, and if the muscles came from playing cricket rather than hard, physical work, at least he had some.

‘What did you want to discuss?’ she asked, after an interval where he seemed inclined just to sit and look at her rather than talk.

With effort, Alex removed his gaze from the hair curling on her bare shoulders. ‘Have you forgotten about the furniture, Sarah?’

Not Miss Carver any more, then. She frowned. ‘What furniture?’

‘The first Medlar Farm cottage in the row is full of your belongings,’ he reminded her.

Sarah’s eyes widened. ‘Good heavens!’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘I can’t believe I’d forgotten that. No more champagne at lunchtime for me!’

He shook his head. ‘You were merely enjoying your first triumph too much to remember.’

‘Which is pretty stupid of me, because it’s my mother’s furniture!’

‘You think of it as hers rather than belonging to both your parents?’ Alex gave her the benefit of his crooked smile. ‘Forgive my curiosity.’

Sarah was pretty sure most people forgave him anything when he smiled like that. But she wasn’t most people. ‘I was speaking literally. It actually was my mother’s. She inherited it from her parents, along with the house—but I mustn’t bore you with my life history.’

‘It wouldn’t bore me—quite the opposite. I’d really like to hear it. Unless you find it painful to talk about your parents?’ he added quickly.

To her surprise, she found she wanted to talk about them. ‘My mother was a landscape gardener. She was working in the grounds of a big property when my father arrived with his crew to do restoration work on the house. One look and that was it—for both of them.’ Sarah smiled wryly. ‘Dad said her parents were not exactly thrilled when their only child told them she’d fallen in love with a builder brought up in a children’s home. But when they met him they liked him. So much so that eventually they suggested he moved into their home with Louise after their marriage, instead of taking her away from it. Dad told me that he was only too happy to be part of a family at last, and from then on he did all the maintenance work on their sizeable North London home as a way of showing his gratitude.’