Secret Millionaire

by Kitty Alexander

  What would Jonathan have made of the situation Mark found himself in now? He would have laughed, no doubt – said something like, ‘Finally! The great Mark Brown finds out what it’s like to want to grovel at a woman’s feet. You’re human after all, mate!’ Then he would have stopped laughing to offer Mark his advice. ‘Speak to her, mate. Apologise. You know and I know that you had good reasons for keeping the truth from her, but apologise anyway. Woman like that.’

  There had been no opportunity to speak to Alexia alone before he’d left for the station. Mark wasn’t sure he would have known what to say to her anyway. She’d been so cool towards him – clearly now she was back with her ex she didn’t want to have anything more to do with him. How this continuing connection between them via his sponsorship of the centre must irk her. But difficult or not, he wished he’d had the chance to speak to her. If he had, he might not be experiencing the niggling sense of unfinished business he was feeling right now. Now, with the taxi driver still banging on about diversions and traffic jams, Mark took out his phone and found her number.

  ‘Call her,’ he knew Jonathan would say if he were here now. It was so vivid, Mark could picture his brother’s expression. Unfortunately he could picture equally vividly the image of Alexia in her ex’s arms her face pressed against his chest. And what had Jonathan known about women anyway? His wife had left him, taking his son with her.

  ‘Here we are, mate.’ The taxi driver was still jovial when they arrived at their destination – a bungalow in a village three miles from Mark’s home.

  Mark put his phone away and paid him. Then he got out, his feet crunching on the gravel as he walked past his car to the front door. From inside, a dog began to bark excitedly, and for the first time in twenty-four hours, Mark smiled a genuine smile. The door opened before he could ring the doorbell, and Bosun, his golden Labrador retriever, darted straight past the smiling woman waiting to greet him to get to Mark.

  ‘I swear he’s known all day you were on your way home,’ the woman said, the hall light making her white hair gleam.

  ‘Very likely,’ smiled Mark, reaching down to pat the warm, ecstatically wriggling body of his dog. ‘How are you, Iris?’

  ‘Fine, fine. He’s fine too. We’ve been on lots of walks, haven’t we, Bosun? Fancy a cup of tea? I’m dying to hear how it all went.’

  Mark straightened, smiling apologetically. ‘Would you think me terribly unsociable if I told you all about it another time, Iris? It’s been a long day. A long week, actually, and I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow.’

  Iris laughed good-naturedly. ‘Of course not. Used to him being unsociable, aren’t we, Bosun? You get away. See you tomorrow when you drop him off.’

  Mark began to walk away, with Bosun trotting happily next to him. ‘Thanks Iris. For everything. I really appreciate it.’

  With Bosun next to him in the passenger seat, Mark headed towards home along the dark country lanes, thinking, not for the first time, how grateful he was to have found Iris. With the long hours he kept, it was the only way he would have been able to keep a dog.

  It felt good to be driving again after a week of public transport and lifts, and Mark resolutely tried to close his mind to Nottingham and Alexia and everything that had happened there, turning his thoughts instead towards home. How far had the builders got while he’d been away? Would he be able to sleep in the house, or would he still be in the mobile home? When he’d first decided to renovate the old farmhouse, it had seemed a good idea. But that had been before the discovery of deathwatch beetle and rising damp.

  Turning off the road onto the dusty track, Mark felt himself relax just a little. Despite the lack of home comforts, it was good to be home. When he brought the car to a halt and let Bosun out, the dog ran straight off towards the belt of trees at the end of the garden. Obviously he was as pleased as Mark was to be back, and wanted to explore his favourite haunts without delay.

  Leaving his bag in the car, Mark headed down towards the trees. The house was several miles from anywhere, with no artificial light to break the darkness. After a week of living in a big city, it felt strange to have to pick his way carefully along the neglected pathway again, feeling for broken paving slabs with the toe of his shoe as he went. He ought to have brought a torch from the car. And he must get this garden cleared up; it was downright dangerous like this.

  ‘Bosun! Come here, boy!’ He could hear the dog barking at something now – probably a member of the fox family that lived under one of the beech trees. As he walked, Mark imagined the trees. Before he’d left for Nottingham their leaves had been reddish brown, but there was an autumnal pinch in the air now, and it wouldn’t be long until they changed colour. But thinking about the colour of the copper beech trees in autumn just made him think about the colour of Alexia’s hair. And not just the colour of it, but the feel of it when they’d been in her bed and she’d laid her head on his chest… then he thought again about her ex.

  ‘Bosun!’ he shouted crossly. ‘Come here! Now!’

  The dog came, his face so contrite Mark felt instantly guilty. Until he smelt something dire on the dog’s coat. ‘Oh, Bosun!’ he groaned. ‘You’ve rolled in fox poo again, haven’t you? You’ll have to have a bath. That’s great. That’s absolutely great!’

  The bathroom in the mobile home was tiny – too small for a resisting Labrador retriever who wasn’t keen on getting clean. Besides, if he did have to sleep in there tonight, he didn’t fancy the aroma of fox wafting through to the bedroom. Heading round the side of the house with Bosun at his heels, Mark let himself in through the back door. But when he tried the light switch, nothing happened.

  Stifling another groan, Mark shut the dog in the utility room, rummaged in a kitchen drawer for a torch and went to investigate the fuse box. But when he got to the cupboard under the stairs, it was to find a large notice attached to the door, reading ‘Electrics dangerous – do not use.’

  Cursing under his breath, and followed by the sound of Bosun whining and scratching on the utility room door, Mark went upstairs to the bathroom, his torch picking out loose wires where the light switches should have been. When he’d given Iris a tour of the house shortly after he’d bought it, she’d instantly fallen in love with the huge Victorian bath cast iron bath with its clawed feet. ‘What you need is some good female company and a lot of those tea lights all around the bath,’ she’d told him, and the following week she’d presented him with a bumper pack of the things. So far, Mark hadn’t had an occasion to use them, but they were about to come into their own now. Bosun was going to have the most romantic bath in the history of dog baths, even if the water was cold. And he was not going to think about Alexia’s bathroom at all. But of course, he did.

  It was late by the time Bosun was bathed and dried, and Mark wearily opened his bag to find his wash bag. The wash bag was buried beneath the suit he’d worn to the fashion show. Was it really only two nights ago? It had been a night that would change his life forever.

  Watched by Bosun from his bed, Mark brought the suit jacket to his face and inhaled the scent of Alexia’s perfume. Immediately he was in bed with her – kissing her; caressing the silk of her skin. Pulling the suit jacket away from his face, he stared at it almost as if he could conjure Alexia up by pure willpower. And then he saw a long, auburn hair on the fabric – one of Alexia’s hairs. Picking it up, he held it to the light. It glistened gold, and he sighed. She was always going to be in his mind, with him or not. He may be over forty miles away now, and she may have lied to him about Chris being an ex. But they had unfinished business. He had to see her again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Alexia spent the majority of the weekend on her allotment, tackling the overgrown parcel of land that stretched from behind her shed right down to the belt of trees in front of the new housing development. She hadn’t planned on embarking on this just yet – she had plenty of jobs to do on the land she’d already cultivated. But somehow that weekend she needed to get stuck
into something really heavy duty, and strimming weeds and digging stubborn, impacted earth fitted the bill exactly.

  By Sunday night Alexia was bone weary and every part of her body ached. After a hasty meal and a hot bath, she fell into bed and ended up oversleeping the next morning. ‘Hell!’ As she rushed about, getting ready, she still felt blurred by sleep. What a way to greet Laura back from her maternity leave! And she was going to be hearing Mark’s name every five seconds all day. If only there were somewhere she could go to get him erased from her mind, or some way of going back in time. If she could, she would pull down the shutters at The Heath Centre and play loud music so she and Julia didn’t hear the buzzer that first morning.

  Shrugging on her leather jacket, Alexia picked up her crash helmet and her keys and hurried out to her motorbike. Only to find that it wouldn’t start.

  ‘Oh, no!’ Frustrated, she tried it again. And again. Finally, she had to give up. Taking off her helmet, she placed it on the pavement and reached for her phone to call work, only to find that this too had died – she had forgotten to recharge it.

  Muttering under her breath, Alexia put the bike on its stand, picked up her helmet and went back to the house. As she put the key in the lock, she noticed that all the flowers in her window boxes were drooping. Poor things! She hadn’t watered them all weekend. God, her life was really falling apart.

  Hurrying into the house, she used the landline to phone in to say she was running late. Then, without much hope that they would revive, she watered the plants and headed off to catch a bus. It was only when she was at the bus stop that she realized she was still carrying her crash helmet.

  ‘Have a good night last night or something?’ Julia asked as Alexia finally arrived, forty-five minutes late.

  Alexia thought of her microwave curry and the dull hospital soap she had watched on TV. ‘Not really,’ she replied, stowing the unwanted bike helmet away and heading towards the door again. ‘I’m making a coffee. Do you want one?’

  ‘You haven’t got time for a coffee,’ Julia told her. ‘Laura wants to see you straight away. She’s in the computer suite.’

  Her spirits slumping even further, Alexia made her way there.

  ‘Alexia. Finally.’

  ‘Sorry, Laura, I just –’

  But Laura flapped her hand, too impatient to hear about it. She had, Alexia thought wearily, the air of a child kept waiting to open her presents on Christmas morning. ‘Never mind, you’re here now. I’ve found a really good deal online for computer equipment. I wanted to run it past you, make sure you don’t think it’s too good to be true. Oh, and you’ll never guess what, Mark phoned this morning. He’s got a major gardening project he wants you and some of the trainees to get involved in. Isn’t that fantastic?’

  It was already turning out to be the Monday morning of Alexia’s worst nightmares, and it was only nine-thirty a.m.

  ‘He left a number for you to call and arrange everything. I put it on your desk. We fixed a tentative date of next Thursday for you to go up there to get a feel for what’s involved. You can take Bert with you.’

  ‘Bert’s interview is next Thursday…’

  Was that the only objection she could come up with? How about, I’m having major dental work done? Donating a kidney? There aren’t enough wild horses on the planet to drag me there?

  Laura shrugged. ‘Oh, well, go on your own then. Book into a local hotel if you think it will be too much for one day. Mark’s being more than generous with funding.’

  Why? That was the question. Had he been so impressed with the gardens at The Heath Centre he thought that Alexia and her team were the only ones for the job? Or was it just that he was a canny businessman and thought that, since he was investing money in the Centre, he may as well get something out of it for himself? It couldn’t be anything to do with wanting to see her again, or he wouldn’t have cleared off home so quickly. And he would have made sure he kept their date.

  Suddenly Alexia was back in her bedroom, lying in the flickering tea light glow, her body expectant as it anticipated the pleasure of Mark’s touch. Then later, desire snuffed out like the tea lights, when it became clear he wasn’t going to come.

  ‘Are you all right, Lex?’

  Alexia came to, realising that Laura must have seen some of that remembered pain on her face.

  Say it. Tell her that the thought of seeing Mark ever again is like torture. You can’t do it – she’ll have to get someone else to liaise with him.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. I’ll make the call when we’ve finished up here. Now, what about a scanner? D’you think we need one of those?’

  Laura bent her head over her catalogue. ‘Yes, probably. Good thinking.’

  Alexia waited until Julia was on her lunch break to make the call. Her heart was suddenly racing. Was it worth it? Should she just look for another job so she didn’t have to deal with Mark again? No. She loved this job; she was needed here, and she made a difference. For five long years she’d kept the secret of the total humiliation Chris had subjected her to. She’d moved to Nottingham and managed to build a new life. People viewed her as confident and successful – a good trainer and mentor. If she could do that, she could do anything. And why should she blow all of that because of the actions of a ruthless businessman?

  Alexia dialled the number, then took a series of deep breaths while she waited for her call to be answered.

  ‘Charlotte Kent, how may I help you?’

  ‘Oh.’ Alexia was momentarily thrown by the efficient-sounding woman on the end of the line. Idiot; of course Mark would have a PA. ‘Can I speak to Mark Brown please? It’s Alexia Bright from The Heath Centre in Nottingham.’

  ‘Oh, hello, Ms Bright. I’m Mark’s PA; I was expecting you to call. I’m afraid Mark’s in meetings all this week, but he’s given me the file so I can arrange everything for you. Was Thursday a convenient day for you to visit? I’ve diaried myself out for the day so I can drive you over to The Copper Beeches.’

  The Copper Beeches. Mark’s home was called The Copper Beeches. When she saw it for the first time, he wouldn’t be there. But that was a good thing, wasn’t it? It could be purely a business trip. No need for awkward conversations or having to keep a firm grip on either her emotions or her temper.

  ‘Thank you. Yes, Thursday is fine for me. I’ll look up the trains and let you know when I’ll be arriving.’

  ‘No need. Mark mentioned you only had a small motorbike, so I assumed you’d be travelling by train.’

  Did you indeed? Suddenly Alexia wanted to stuff a few belongings into a backpack and force her small bike through the traffic to Sheffield on Thursday. Then she remembered her bike wasn’t working.

  ‘The trains arrive on the hour, every hour. Would the eleven o’clock suit you?’

  Alexia gritted her teeth. ‘Yes, that will be fine.’

  ‘Good. I’ll meet you on the concourse at eleven on Thursday then. Is there anything else you need to know in the meantime?’

  ‘No, thank you. I look forward to meeting you on Thursday.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. Goodbye, Ms Bright.’

  Charlotte Kent ended the call. Alexia wanted to fling the phone across the room, but was grateful she hadn’t when Laura came in. ‘This rain looks set in. I think you’ll have to find an indoor activity for the trainees this morning,’ she said.

  Alexia looked out of the window. The rain was indeed lashing down. Damn. She couldn’t even take her feelings out on some hard, unyielding ground. ‘I’ll do some interview role-play with them. If they all have to do it, Bert won’t think I’m singling him out.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Laura began to leave, then turned to look at her. ‘Are you all right? Everything okay for Thursday?’

  Sometimes it wasn’t great having a good friend as a boss; Laura noticed too much. Alexia busied herself at the filing cabinet, searching for the Interview Resources file. ‘Of course, everything’s fine.’

  How would she even recognise Charlotte K
ent? Alexia wondered as the train pulled into Sheffield Station on Thursday morning. Maybe the woman wasn’t quite so efficient as she liked to think, if she hadn’t addressed that little problem.

  But Alexia was no sooner through the ticket barrier than a skirt-suited woman with a shiny bell of hair approached her.

  ‘Ms Bright?’ The vision of efficiency approached her, extending her hand. ‘I’m Charlotte Kent.’

  Alexia transferred her bag to her shoulder to shake the proffered hand, uncomfortably aware of the jeans she was wearing – jeans she had somehow not had time to iron. How had the woman managed to pick her out from the crowd so quickly?

  Charlotte was smiling at her. ‘Mark gave me a very accurate description of your hair,’ she explained. ‘Shall we go? My car’s just outside. I hope you had a good journey?’

  Damn. Charlotte was nice. Alexia didn’t want her to be nice, she had no idea why. And what exactly had Mark said about her hair? There was no way to ask.

  By the time they had left the station behind them, Alexia realized she had barely spoken a word to the other woman. She was here against her will, but that was hardly Charlotte’s fault. She was here to work; she had to be professional.

  ‘Is it very far to The Copper Beeches?’

  Charlotte’s perfect hair swung as she shook her head. ‘No, only eight miles or so. Have you been up here before?’

  ‘Only to go walking in The Peak District.’ Alexia thought of the windswept moorland with its purple heather and outcrops of rock from which you could see for miles around you.

  ‘You have something in common with Mark then,’ Charlotte told her pleasantly. ‘He likes nothing better than a good hike in the Peaks with his dog. When he can find the time.’

  A dog? Mark had a dog?

  ‘I must admit,’ Charlotte continued, ‘I was quite surprised when Mark told me he was organising this project for the garden. I knew he would do something with it eventually, of course, but I thought it would be much further down the list since the house itself needs so much work. The builders will be on site today; I hope that won’t prove too disruptive for you.’