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‘It’s a small village near, er, Sunningdale. Er, shall I read you the details? It’s just on the market. Today, in fact. Thank goodness for estate agents who remember we exist...’
Leo thought that most estate agents would remember any client for whom money was no object. ‘I’ll check that out now.’ He was already halfway back to London but he manoeuvred his car off the motorway and back out. ‘Cancel my five o’clock meeting.’
‘You’ve already cancelled Sir Hawkes twice.’
‘In that case, let Reynolds cover. He’s paid enough; a little delegation in his direction will do him the world of good.’
He made it to the small village in good time and, the very second he saw the picture-postcard cottage with the sprawling garden in the back and the white picket fence at the front, he knew he had hit the jackpot.
He didn’t bother with an offer. He would pay the full asking price and came with cash in hand. The estate agent couldn’t believe his luck. Leo waved aside the man’s ingratiating and frankly irritating bowing and scraping and elicited all the pertinent details he needed for an immediate purchase.
‘And if the occupants need time to find somewhere else, you can tell them that they’ll be generously compensated over and beyond what they want for the house to leave immediately.’ He named a figure and the estate agent practically swooned. ‘Here’s my card. Call me in an hour and we’ll get the ball rolling. Oh, and I’ll be bringing someone round tomorrow, if not sooner, to look at it. Make sure it’s available.’ He was at his car and the rotund estate agent was dithering behind him, clutching the business card as though it were a gold ingot.
‘What if...?’ He cleared his throat anxiously as he was forced to contemplate a possible hitch in clinching his commission. ‘What if the sellers want to wait and see if a better offer comes along?’
About to slide into the driving seat, Leo paused and looked at the much shorter man with a wry expression. ‘Oh, trust me, that won’t be happening.’
‘Sir...’
‘Call me——and I’ll be expecting a conversation that I want to hear.’ He left the man staring at him red-faced, perspiring and doubtless contemplating the sickening prospect of sellers who might prove too greedy to accept the quick sale.
Leo knew better. They simply wouldn’t be able to believe their luck.
He could easily have made it back to the office to catch the tail end of the meeting he had cancelled at the last minute. Instead, he headed directly to Brianna’s house, which was an effortless drive off the motorway and into London suburbia.
Brianna heard the low growl of the Ferrari as it pulled up outside the house. It seemed her ears were attuned to the sound. She immediately schooled her expression into one of polite aloofness. In the kitchen Bridget was making them both a cup of tea, fussing as she always seemed to do now, clucking around her like a mother hen because she was pregnant, even though Brianna constantly told her that pregnancy wasn’t an illness and that Bridget was the one in need of looking after.
‘He’s early this evening!’ Bridget exclaimed with pleasure. ‘I wonder why? I think I’ll give you two a little time together and have a nice, long bath. The doctor says that I should take it easy. You know that.’
Brianna raised her eyebrows wryly and stood up. ‘I don’t think chatting counts as not taking it easy,’ she pointed out. ‘Besides, you know Leo enjoys seeing you when he gets here.’ Every time she saw them together, she felt a lump of emotion gather at the back of her throat. However cut-throat and ruthless he might be, and however much of a lying bastard he had been, he was always gentle with Bridget. He didn’t call her ‘Mum’ but he treated her with the respect and consideration any mother would expect from her child. And they spoke of all the inconsequential things that happened on a daily basis. Perhaps they had explored the past already and neither wanted to revisit it.
At any rate, Bridget was a changed person. She looked healthier, more vibrant. The sort of woman who was actually only middle-aged, who could easily get out there and find herself another guy but who seemed perfectly content to age gracefully by herself.
She quelled the urge to insist to Bridget that she stay put as the older woman began heading to her bedroom on the ground floor—a timely coincidence because the owners of the house from whom they were renting had had to cater for an ageing relative of their own.
Her stomach clenched as she heard the key being inserted into the front door.
She still wondered how he had managed to talk her into moving to London, a city she hated because it was too fast, too crowded and too noisy for her tastes.
