Christmas Angel for the Billionaire
Page 17
But it was Annie who mattered.
‘You’re not a copy of anyone,’ he told her fiercely. ‘You encompass the best of both of them. Your father’s noblesse oblige, your mother’s special ability to reach out to those in need, her genuine empathy for people in trouble. You make the front page so often because people reach for it. Your smile lights up their day.’
As it lit up his life.
‘But-’
‘I’ve seen you in action. You’re not acting. That’s all you, straight from the heart, but you have to take charge of your life. Hold onto what’s good. Walk away from the rest.’
‘You make it sound so easy.’
‘Nothing worthwhile is ever easy. I’ve no doubt you’ll meet resistance. The “just leave it to us” response. Like punching marshmallow. It’s easy to get sucked in. I’m a designer, so I hire the best in the business to run my company.’ He smiled, even though she couldn’t see his face. ‘The difference between us is that I can fire anyone who doesn’t do it the way I want it done.’
‘I can’t fire my grandfather.’
‘No. Family you have for life. You told me to talk to my father-actually, you blackmailed me into it. Now I’m going to return the favour. Talk to him, tell him what you want.’
‘Or?’
He shrugged, knowing that he didn’t need to say the words.
‘You’re bluffing again.’
‘You want to bet?’
There was the briefest pause before she said, ‘No.’
‘Good call.’
‘Hungry?’ he asked.
‘Surprisingly, yes,’ she said.
‘Then here comes another new experience for you. The motorway service station.’
‘You’re going to keep the garage open to specialise in vintage cars?’ Annie asked once they were seated with their trays containing pre-wrapped sandwiches and coffee and, because he’d made his point, he was filling her in on his own plans. ‘Will Xandra go for that?’
‘I mentioned it when we were working on the Austin yesterday.’ George stirred sugar into his coffee, smiling at the memory of Xandra forgetting herself enough to fling her arms around him. ‘She knows it’s a good niche market. I’ll start looking for a manager, staff, in the New Year.’
‘So, if you’re not going to live with your parents, where will you live?’
‘I’m not going to move. They are. I’ll buy the farm-’
‘Farm?’
‘There are just over five hundred acres still let to tenants. Not quite an estate, no park gates, but it’s good arable land. I’m going to build a bungalow in the paddock for my parents, something easy to manage.’
‘And you’ll live in the house.’
The way she said that made him look up. ‘It needs some work and I’ll have to find a housekeeper, but that’s the plan.’
‘What about your business?’
‘I’ll have to make regular trips to Chicago, but I’ll turn the barn into an office. Anything I could do in California, I can do here.’
‘Everything in one place. The work-life balance achieved. Your extended family around you.’
‘You like the idea?’
Annie sighed. ‘I’m deeply envious. I totally fell in love with the farmhouse. But won’t you miss your place on the beach?’
‘There’ll be time for that too. Maybe next time you want a break you should give me a call. We could catch up on those motorbike lessons.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m not going to run away again, George.’
‘No?’
She swallowed. ‘No. Open, upfront. The trouble is that when you’ve used publicity you can’t just turn it off, expect the media to back off just because it’s no longer convenient. I come with a lot of baggage.’
He heard what she said. Something more. It was the sound of a woman taking a tentative step away from the past. Coming towards him.
‘You’ll just have to keep your top on when we’re on the beach then,’ he replied casually.
For a moment the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then she replied, ‘And keep the curtains drawn when we’re inside.’
‘Actually, taking photographs through the window would be an invasion of privacy.’
‘You think they’d care?’ she said, faltering.
‘If we were married it wouldn’t be a story.’
‘I never thought of that.’
And suddenly they were talking about a life. The possibility of a future.
‘What about Xandra? You’ve just got your life together.’
‘Nothing worthwhile is ever easy, Annie. I’ve fought for everything I’ve got. Worked hours that would have raised the eyebrows of a Victorian mill owner. Say the word and I’d fight the world for you.’
‘I have to learn to fight my own battles, George.’
His only answer was to take a little white box from his pocket.
‘I was going to give you this before you left. A conversation starter at the Christmas dinner table. Something to make you smile.’ He handed it to her. ‘When you’re ready to try life on Mars, wear them to some dress-up gala and I’ll come and spring you.’
She looked up at him, then opened the box. Nestling in cotton wool were a pair of earrings that matched the mistletoe headband. She removed the studs from her ears and replaced them with the earrings. Clicked the tiny switch to set the lights twinkling.
‘Are they working?’ she asked.
By way of reply, he leaned forward, took her chin in his hand and kissed her, hard. Then he switched them off.
‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘Next time I do that it’s for keeps.’
He drove, without haste but sooner, rather than the later he would have wished for, they reached the village of Lacey Parva. Annie directed him to the entrance to her grandfather’s estate but as they cleared a bend there were dozens of cars, vans, even a TV truck parked along the side of the road.
‘Don’t stop,’ she said, ducking down as he slowed in the narrow lane and everyone turned to look. ‘Drive on,’ she muttered, scrabbling in her bag for her cellphone.
She switched it on, scrolled the news channels. Used that word she’d learned.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘Lydia’s missing,’ she said, desperately checking her texts. Her voicemail. ‘The world thinks I’ve been kidnapped.’
‘Have you?’
She shook her head. ‘No. She’s left a message to say that there’s nothing to worry about.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. So, is there another way into the estate?’
‘A dozen, but they’ll have them all staked out. Just keep going. I’ll show you where you can drop me off. I’ll walk to the house.’
‘Drop…You expect me to leave you by the side of the road?’
‘It’s all going to come out, George. If I can get to the house, the PR team can cobble together some story. There’s no need for you to be involved.’
‘That’s it? One setback and you’re going to run for cover?’
‘You don’t understand-’
‘I understand,’ he replied, his jaw so rigid that he thought it might break. Mars? Who did he think he’d been kidding? He was so far out on a limb here that Pluto was out of sight. ‘But you don’t actually have a say in the matter. I’m taking you home through the front gates,’ he said, swinging into a lay-by and turning back in the direction of the house. ‘It’s not open to negotiation, so if being seen with me is going to be difficult, then buckle up. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.’
‘Stop!’ she demanded. ‘Stop right here.’
And that, apparently, was all it took. ‘Damn you, Annie,’ he said as he brought the car to a halt, eyes front, his hands gripping the steering wheel. ‘I thought for a minute that we had something. A future.’
‘So did I. So what just happened?’ she demanded.
She was angry with him?
He risked a glance at her, felt a surge of hope, but this wasn’t the
time to pussyfoot around, it was time for plain speaking.
‘Reality? Life?’ he offered. ‘I’m an ordinary man, Annie, from ordinary people. Yeoman stock. Farmers. Mechanics. Why would you want a Saxon when you should have a prince?’
‘Ordinary,’ she repeated. ‘It wasn’t dukes or barons that made this country great. It was hard-working, purposeful, good people like your family. Extraordinary, every one of you.’
She reached out, took his hand from the wheel, held it in hers.
‘I love you, George Saxon, and I would be the proudest woman in Britain to be seen on every front page in the world with you, but this is going to be a media feeding frenzy. I simply wanted to protect you, protect your family from the fallout of my pathetic lack of courage. I should have talked to my grandfather years ago. I won’t let another night pass without telling him what I want.’
‘What do you want, Annie?’
‘You. A house filled with little Saxons. Xandra. Your parents. You…’
‘You’ve got me, angel. The rest comes included.’ And he lifted the hand holding his, kissed it. ‘As for the hounds at the gate, maybe the answer is to give them a bigger story than you disappearing for a week.’
‘Oh? What story did you have in mind?’
He smiled. ‘Switch those earrings on and I’ll show you.’
They could have spent the entire evening parked up in the wood but there were people to call, explanations to be made and they spent the next fifteen minutes making phone calls.
‘What did your family say?’ Annie asked.
‘My mother is thrilled. My father said I don’t deserve you. Xandra said, “Cool”. Yours?’
‘My grandfather is so relieved that I could have announced I was marrying a Martian,’ she said.
‘Then all we have to do is tell the world. Ready?’
‘Ready.’
He kissed her once more, then drove slowly up to the gates of King’s Lacey.
Cameramen surged forward as a policeman came to the window.
‘Lady Roseanne Napier,’ he said. ‘George Saxon. We’re expected.’
He peered in. ‘Lady Rose! You’re a sight for sore eyes. We’ve all been worried sick.’
‘Just a misunderstanding, Michael. We’ll make a statement for the press and then, hopefully, you can go home.’
‘No rush, madam,’ he said, opening the door for her, waving the press back. ‘The overtime comes in handy at this time of year.’
There was a volley of flashes as she stepped from the car. ‘Lady Rose! Who was the man in Bab el Sama, Lady Rose?’
‘I’m afraid I’ve no idea,’ she said, holding out a hand as George joined her. ‘I haven’t left England all week. And this is the only man in my life,’ she said, turning to him. Smiling only for him. ‘George Saxon. The man I love. The man I’m going to marry.’
For a moment they could have heard a pin drop. Then they lit up the night with their cameras as George lifted her hand to kiss it.
It was a photograph that went around the world.
Daily Chronicle, 10th June
FAMILY WEDDING FOR LADY ROSE
Lady Roseanne Napier was married yesterday to billionaire businessman, Mr George Saxon, in the private chapel on her grandfather’s estate at King’s Lacey.
Miss Alexandra Saxon, the groom’s daughter by an earlier marriage, attended the bride, along with children from her grandfather’s estate.
The wedding and reception were a quiet family affair, despite a bidding war from gossip magazines who offered a million pounds to charity for the privilege of covering the affair.
The groom made a counter bid, pledging five million to charity if the media left them in peace to enjoy their special day with their family and friends, something we were happy to do.
This photograph of the couple, released to the press by the happy couple, is copyrighted to Susanne House and that charity will benefit from its publication.
We understand that the couple will honeymoon in the United States.
A CHRISTMAS TRADITION
Some years ago, when I’d taken my Christmas cards to the post and felt slightly sick when I realised just how much money I’d spent mailing greetings to every corner of the world, I made a decision that in the future I would send my greetings via the Internet and give the money saved to charity; a far greener, and much more lasting way of wishing the world a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.
Since then, Third World communities have benefited from, amongst other things, a camel, a trained midwife and a goat, but cards are a hard habit to give up. There are always some truly special people you want to reach out to. Some very senior aunts. Faraway friends. People who have done something special for you during the year whom you want to thank with a special wish. For those two or three dozen people we make our own cards.
This isn’t one of those ‘craft’ things. We don’t sit down with paper and ribbons and glue-no one would thank me for anything I made like that. Instead my husband and I go through the photographs taken on trips throughout the year and pick out some moment we really want to share with friends and family.
A mist-shrouded castle, autumn woods, a favourite beach.
Last year we went to Bruges, and whilst there John took a photograph of Michelangelo’s beautiful ‘Madonna and Child’ in the Church of Our Lady. As we looked through the photographs we’d taken through the year the image leapt out as the perfect subject for our card.
It’s not just a question of printing a few cards, though. We spend a lot of time together choosing a card that works best with the image-gloss, silk, matt. Then there’s the font style and colour, the words. It’s truly a joint effort until that point, but once all the details have been decided I leave it to John to work his magic with the computer. My job is to write the envelopes, stick on the stamps, walk across to the box to post them.
It has, in a very short time, become a special Christmas tradition. One that sits happily alongside the cards I post on my website and blog. And beside the Oxfam catalogue from which I choose my Christmas card to the world.
A joyful Christmas and a peaceful New Year to you all.
Liz
Liz Fielding
Liz Fielding was born with itchy feet. She made it to Zambia before her twenty-first birthday and, gathering her own special hero and a couple of children on the way, lived in Botswana, Kenya and Bahrain-with pauses for sightseeing pretty much everywhere in between. She finally came to a full stop in a tiny Welsh village cradled by misty hills, and these days she mostly leaves her pen to do the traveling. When she’s not sorting out the lives and loves of her characters she potters in the garden, reads her favourite authors and spends a lot of time wondering “What if…?” For news of upcoming books-and to sign up for her occasional newsletter-visit Liz’s Web site at www.lizfielding.com.
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