AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘That’s right.’ She heard a rustle of papers and then a female voice said something in the background that she couldn’t make out. ‘Thanks, Pamela,’ he said, his voice muffled, ‘I’ll be there in five.’ More rustling. ‘Look, I’ve got to dash. There’s a car picking you up in two hours. The flight from Newquay’s at four. And bring some of those silk paintings.’
‘But …’ Why did she feel as if her head were stuffed to bursting with cotton wool?
He chuckled. ‘I’ll see you at my place this evening.’
‘But I …’ the deafening sound of the dialling tone interrupted her question ‘… don’t know where you live,’ she finished, to no one in particular.
She placed the phone in its cradle and dropped into an armchair. Her hands began to tremble so hard she had to clasp them between her knees and squeeze.
Should she go? Wouldn’t she just be prolonging the agony?
She’d barely slept again last night, feeling shaken and confused and desperately unsure of herself. Everything she’d ever believed about herself, about her outlook on life had proved to be wrong and she didn’t know how to make it right again.
But how could she not go? And throw away the one chance to find out whether what she felt for Rye was real?
‘George will escort you up to the penthouse, Miss Westmore.’
Maddy nodded at the uniformed concierge, feeling woefully underdressed in her jeans and second-hand suede jacket. She glanced round the palatial foyer of the Kensington apartment block; the fresh scent of tree sap perfumed the air from the enormous spruce, tastefully decorated with silver bows, taking up one corner of the cavernous space.
When the limo from City Airport had pulled up at the art deco building, she’d thought all the sleek steel and stone made quite a statement amid the rows of quaint Victorian mews cottages. As George, the doorman, walked towards her carrying the battered rucksack he’d lifted out of the limo’s trunk, it occurred to Maddy that the statement was Ludicrously Wealthy.
‘Is Mr King here?’ she asked.
The plump, pretty concierge sent her a polite smile. ‘Mr King’s due back in half an hour. He said to make yourself at home.’
Maddy glanced round the enormous lobby area. Not much chance of that. With its polished teak wall panelling and luxury leather furniture, the place wasn’t exactly homely.
‘Can you contact him for me?’ she asked, trying not to let her annoyance show. She’d rung his mobile about fifty times in the last four hours and got the busy signal and then been given the runaround by his PA, who had insisted he was in meetings all afternoon.
The concierge’s perfectly plucked eyebrows drew together a fraction. ‘I’m afraid I can’t. I could leave a message with Pamela Martin, his PA, if that would be helpful?’
‘That’s okay.’ Pamela Martin already had about twenty messages, none of which had been returned. ‘Please don’t bother.’
What was the point in trying to contact him, anyway? She was here now. But she wasn’t exactly a happy camper.
Having picked herself up off the floor after his call four hours ago, it had taken Maddy a while to get her mind to engage again but, as soon as it had, irritation had started to bubble. Irritation which had swiftly turned to annoyance, during her fruitless attempts to call him back. Annoyance had then turned to aggravation when she’d realised that she didn’t have a choice. He hadn’t given her a choice. Rye King had called the shots and she’d been left trailing in his wake.
Maddy knew she could be too appeasing. Too easy-going. Hence Miss Fixit. Cal had always called it her doormat tendency. But, as she’d stuffed brightly coloured silk into her ratty old rucksack and agonised over what else to pack, her ire, at long last, had been well and truly roused.
And it had stayed that way as she’d sat rigidly in the black Mercedes that had arrived to take her to Newquay Airport and in the sleek First Class cabin as she had flown to City Airport.
Rye had walked out on her without a word eight long days ago. He hadn’t contacted her once. He’d tricked her into falling in love with him. And then he’d had the cheek to ring her up, effectively snap his fingers and expect her to jump to attention without a proper explanation.
The assumption that she would be sharing his bed in London only added fuel to the flames of Maddy’s temper.
Since when did having a casual fling mean that he got to make all the decisions and she was just supposed to step into line? Fortunately, stewing in her own anger and frustration had a hefty fringe benefit. As long as she was concentrating on how mad she was with him, she didn’t have to dwell on the much bigger problem—what on earth she was going to do about the fact that she’d fallen in love with him?
As George directed her into the panelled lift and closed the ornate cage doors with a creak, Maddy tried not to be intimidated. She resolutely refused to be overwhelmed in any way by the trappings of Rye’s wealth. She had more than enough to worry about without letting his snazzy home bother her too.
Then the lift jolted to a stop and George opened the doors onto a marbled lobby area. Maddy’s boot heels clicked on the tiles. Large bunches of red lilies stood in black onyx vases, decorating the lavish space. She stopped and gawped, dropping her head back to see the lights of a passing plane blinking through the domed glass atrium above her head.
Maddy sucked in a breath. Okay, this was more than just snazzy. This was an alternative reality.
Depositing her rucksack on the cool marble floor, George gave a gallant little bow and left.
As the lift doors clanked closed, Maddy ventured into the apartment proper. Thick royal-blue carpets accented off-white walls hung with an array of modern art in the
main hallway. Maddy’s mouth formed an O as she recognised some of the artwork and realised they were originals. She hurried past a series of doors, then stopped dead at the end of the corridor. With a double-height ceiling and one whole wall devoted to a panoramic view of Kensington Gardens, the penthouse’s main living space was breathtaking.
