Claiming His Shock Heir Page 11

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  On Monday she was back at work, wondering how she was going to convince Scott that he must let them leave. She heard him on the phone to Sir Nigel when she walked into his office with the post. He indicated to her to leave it on his desk, and then motioned to her to stay.

  ‘Oh yes, I’m sure she’s looking forward to seeing you too,’ she heard him say, and then the receiver was replaced, his eyes chips of frozen blue in his hard boned face. ‘That was your erstwhile employer. He and Sheikh Raschid will arrive on Wednesday.’ The phone rang again and Philippa walked back to her own office.

  Hank arrived halfway through the morning. ‘How did you get on with Cara?’ Philippa asked him. He grimaced faintly.

  ‘She’s still one very angry lady, but I think I might get there in the end.’

  She told him about the Sheikh’s visit and he whistled, visibly impressed. ‘Umm. That could prove a better contract than Cara’s father’s. We’ll all just have to keep our fingers crossed.’ He frowned suddenly, touching light fingers to her cheek. ‘You look pale, is.…’

  Scott’s door opened, his voice harsh as he demanded, ‘Hank, I want to see you—always supposing you can make time between making out with my secretary. Bring us some coffee,’ he ordered Philippa, his tone deliberately demeaning.

  Biting down hard on the anger surging up inside her Philippa responded, watching Hank lift his eyebrows behind Scott’s back and mouth, ‘What’s got into him, or shouldn’t I ask?’

  It was after lunch before she saw either of them again. Hank looked tired, and Scott was scowling.

  ‘Phew, he’s in a mood,’ Hank commented when Scott disappeared into his office. ‘What’s biting him? I’ve never seen him like this before.’

  Philippa shook her head. She needed some details from the computer office and asked Hank if he could keep an eye on the phones while she went to get them. When she got back Hank was still lounging by her desk, but the door to Scott’s room was open.

  ‘He’s calling it a day,’ Hank told her, ‘said something about going for a swim. My guess is he wants to work off whatever’s put him into his mood. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?’ His eyes were kind and Philippa felt the tears pricking the backs of her eyes. She tried to blink them back but it was too late and once started she couldn’t seem to stop.

  ‘Oh, baby.… C’mon, cry it all out,’ Hank ordered her. His shoulder felt reassuringly solid and his embrace was brotherly rather than sexual. ‘Want to tell me about it?’

  She shook her head, feeling both foolish and embarrassed by her emotionalism.

  ‘I suppose this wouldn’t have anything to do with young Simon’s rather startling resemblance to a certain person, would it?’ Hank pressed softly.

  Philippa was just about to reply when she heard the click of the outer door. She froze in Hank’s arms, feeling him tense, her body quivering as Scott’s ice-cold tones filled the tense silence. ‘I’m sorry if I’m intruding, but this does happen to be my office.’

  His voice dripped sarcasm, and Philippa longed to be able to turn and face him, but her face was still wet from her tears, and she felt far too vulnerable to expose herself to his probing, lacerating gaze. ‘I came back to ask you to check with Mrs Robinson and make sure that rooms will be ready for Sir Nigel and the Sheikh. And. Hank,’ Philippa felt the muscles of Hank’s arms coil, ‘I’d appreciate it if you’d try to restrict your personal activities to your own time.’

  Not a word to her, Philippa thought shakily, when the door slammed behind him. Not a single word. ‘Sorry about that,’ Hank grimaced.

  ‘I shouldn’t worry about it.’ She sounded tired and dispirited and Hank looked at her enquiringly. ‘It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have given way like that.’

  ‘Umm, if that was a sample of what you’ve been having to put up with I’m surprised you didn’t “give way” sooner.… Want to tell me about it?’

  Philippa shook her head, thankful when Hank accepted without trying to push her into confiding in him. It couldn’t go on. She had to see Scott; to make him see that for all their sakes he must let her go. He was going for a swim Hank had said, and before she could change her mind, Philippa gathered up all her courage and followed him.

  The sound of her approach was muffled by his swift progress through the water. He swam well, a fast overarm crawl that sliced through the water, his back brown and tautly muscled, sleek and firm. Her heart lurched and threatened to stop beating. She waited at the bottom end of the pool, as he came towards her. For a moment she thought he intended to ignore her, but then he stopped, grasping the bar, pushing his wet hair back off his forehead, as he looked up at her.

  ‘What’s the matter? Hank not willing to play substitute after all?’ he taunted.

  ‘Scott I want to talk to you about Simon. He’s… he’s becoming too attached to you, and you…’ she made a small noise of mingled anguish and despair in the back of her throat. ‘You do nothing to discourage him. I know you want to hurt me and why, but surely not Simon.

  ‘And he is what you came here to talk to me about is he? Are you sure this wasn’t what you came for?’ He hauled himself out of the pool, his arms binding her. She just had time to grasp the fact that he was totally nude, his body lithely powerful, silk muscles beneath satin skin, and then his mouth clamped fiercely on her own, the heat and damp of his body seeping through her thin clothes, stealing away her resistance, her senses seduced by the proximity of him.

  ‘Scott!’ Somehow she managed to pull free of him, turning blindly towards the door, running towards it when he called after her, panic sending the adrenalin pumping through her veins. Dear God, how could he treat her so contemptuously, using her as though she were some sort of disposable inanimate object? Pain seared every nerve ending, her body quivering with it; with the torment of wanting him, loving him, knowing how easily she could have given way to him, drowning in her need for him, while all he wanted was a moment’s physical satisfaction and the pleasure of baiting her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘WHAT time did Sir Nigel say they would arrive?’ Scott glanced automatically at his watch, the brief gesture revealing the dark fine hair of his forearm, making him oddly vulnerable. Philippa knew how concerned he was that all would go well with this visit; how important it could be for the future of his company.

  ‘Four o’clock,’ she told him. ‘Over an hour yet. You’ll like Sir Nigel, he’s…’

  ‘How do you work that one out? On the premise that we both share a common interest? That we’re both ex-lovers of yours?’

  She tried not to let him see how much his taunts got to her. ‘That isn’t true. Sir Nigel was simply my employer.’

  ‘Do you expect me to believe that?’ he demanded scornfully. ‘You must have telephoned him and asked him to get Sheikh Raschid down here, otherwise why would he be doing this? I suppose you looked upon it as a way of making amends, seeing as it was your son who managed to destroy any chance I had of getting the Laine contract.’

  ‘Not any chance, surely,’ Philippa rejoined nastily, ‘You could always have given Cara what she wanted.… Or was marriage too high a price to pay?’

  His mouth tightened angrily, ‘You…’

  ‘What’s the matter, Scott? Or don’t you like getting back what you’re so fond of dishing out? I didn’t have anything to do with Sir Nigel telling Sheikh Raschid about your new computer.’ How could she explain to him her ex-employer’s intrinsic desire to help his fellow man? Sir Nigel was one of the nicest people she had ever met; almost too nice to be the head of a multi-million pound business empire. ‘He’d read about your computer long before I ever came to work for you.’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘Scott, when are you going to let me go?’ she asked despairingly, suddenly tired of fencing with him. ‘Simon.…’

  ‘I’ll let you go just as soon as I can afford to, Philippa. As secretaries go, you come pretty cheap.’ She flinched under the h
idden barb in his words. ‘And if I don’t get this contract.…’

  ‘But if you do, will you let me go?’

  His eyes flickered over her face, reading and assessing it, probing every feature until she felt he could almost see into her most private thoughts. ‘Why are you so anxious to leave?’ he asked softly. ‘After all what more could you ask? Geoff so close at hand.…’

  ‘You know why I want to leave. I’ve already told you. I’m worried about Simon.’ She gnawed angrily on her lower lip. ‘He’s becoming far too attached to you, Scott, and you… you don’t do anything to discourage him.’

  ‘Meaning that you think I’m actively encouraging him? I like him, Philippa, I feel sorry for him as well. It’s plain that he wants and needs a father.’

  Her fingers curled into her palms in sudden anguish, ‘Who told him who his father is?’ He asked the question quickly, catching her off-guard. ‘I… put his name on Simon’s birth certificate and he found it. Simon knows… that is, he understands.…’

  ‘What? That his mother was just a brief pastime to his father and that he was conceived because of it? Is that what he “knows” and “understands”, Philippa?’

  Anger flared deep inside her at his scorchingly sarcastic and bitter tone. ‘Simon knows that I loved his father,’ she told him furiously.

  ‘Yes? And does he “love” him too, even knowing that he abandoned him?’

  Tears weren’t far away, guilt, fear, resentment and an aching tug of love all mixed up inside her. Scott was so righteously indignant on Simon’s behalf, not knowing that Simon’s father was himself, or that Simon knew most of the circumstances of his birth and yearned for the love and companionship of his father in spite of knowing them. Pride came to her rescue, overriding all other emotions, unconscious hauteur in the tilt of her head as she said quietly, ‘I didn’t know until recently that Simon was aware of the identity of his father. Naturally he wants to know about him, and I’ve answered his questions as honestly as I could. I wouldn’t want any child of mine to believe he or she was conceived in anything other than love. Simon understands that had the circumstances been different his father would have been there to share his childhood, and yes, I think he does love him.’

  ‘Well, he didn’t evince much “love” the other day when he was here. In fact,’ he added shatteringly, ‘an uninformed bystander would probably think the boy was fonder of me than Rivers! Is that why you’re so anxious to get him away from here, Philippa; because you think your son is more attached to me than he is to his natural father? Doesn’t that tell you something? Doesn’t that warn you how much you’ve deprived him of? When you first came here I hated you because of the way you cheated me all those years ago. It never occurred to me that I’d begin to hate you for having another man’s child as well. Simon could have been our son, Philippa.…’

  ‘And if he had been?’ she challenged recklessly, holding her breath, her face pale as his eyes raked her vulnerable features. ‘If he had been, then you can rest assured that he would have known the love and security of growing up with both his parents. I’ve been there remember. I lost my father when I was fifteen and that was bad enough.’ The harsh clamour of the telephone put an abrupt end to their conversation, but it left Philippa feeling unsettled and vaguely anxious. Life was becoming far too complicated. She would feel much happier if only she knew that Scott was Simon’s father. She had seen the way Eve looked at Simon; the affection she gave him; how long would it be before Scott noticed and perhaps questioned it? And then there was Simon himself, so vulnerable, too emotionally responsive to his father already. With a considerable amount of effort she dragged her thoughts back to her work, trying to blot out all her fears and anxieties.

  It was just after four o’clock when Sir Nigel’s silver-grey Rolls slid to a halt outside Garston Hall. Sir Nigel got out, dapper as ever, his eyes warming as he looked over Scott’s shoulder and saw Philippa hovering decorously in the back-ground.

  ‘Garston! Delighted to meet you at last. I’ve been following your progress in the F.T. for some considerable time. Allow me to introduce you to Raschid. Sheikh Raschid, Scott Garston. And Philippa, come and say “hello” to Raschid, my dear.’

  Ignoring the furious look Scott was giving her, Philippa walked forward a little uncertainly to respond to her late employer’s warm greeting and greet the Sheikh. Sir Nigel had drawn Scott into a low-toned conversation, both men with their backs towards the Sheikh and Philippa, so that Scott did not witness the warm smile the Sheikh gave her, as he recognised her. ‘Ah yes, it is Sir Nigel’s charming and beautiful ex-secretary is it not? I noticed his office looked far less decorative without your delightful presence to enhance it.’

  Ignoring his outrageous flattery Philippa responded demurely. She liked the Sheikh, and knew that beneath the cloak of flattery and charm, he possessed an extremely keen and shrewd mind.

  At Scott’s request she showed them to the guest rooms which had been prepared for them, and mentioned the sports facilities available.

  ‘Delightful place he’s got here,’ Sir Nigel told Philippa as he gazed down into the courtyard from the window of his room. ‘Makes me think we ought to move out of London. Find ourselves somewhere in the country. Happy are you up here?’ He was too shrewd not to have noticed her slight loss of weight and the faint shadows under her eyes, but Philippa shrugged his concern aside. ‘Simon is certainly benefiting from it.’

  ‘Mm.… Must say it gave me a shock when you insisted on leaving like that. Thought you were quite happy with us. How is young Simon by the way?’

  ‘He’s at school at the moment. He should be back shortly.’

  ‘Mmm. Y’know it’s a strange thing, but as soon as I set eyes on young Garston, I couldn’t help thinking how like him your Simon is.’

  It was too late to hide her shock. Philippa knew that her face was parchment pale, her eyes rounding with distressed pain. ‘Sir Nigel, I.…’

  ‘No need to say another word,’ he assured her. ‘Shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.’

  Philippa knew that her old employer would have let the matter go at that, but she shouldn’t allow it to drop without talking to him. ‘Scott doesn’t know… about Simon,’ she told him awkwardly. ‘I.…’

  ‘Shan’t say a word my dear, I give you my promise. Care to talk to me about it?’

  She outlined the story briefly to him, thinking tiredly that the whole situation was developing along the lines of a farce. If matters continued like this for much longer the only person who wouldn’t know he was Simon’s father would be Scott himself. Her thoughts were reinforced when Sir Nigel said ruminatively, ‘Mmm… well, I can see why you don’t want to say anything, but shouldn’t think you’ll be able to keep it a secret for much longer. Plain as the nose on your face that the boy’s his. I spotted the resemblance straight off. Garston must be blind.’

  ‘I think it’s more a case of seeing only what he wants to see,’ Philippa said quietly. ‘It would be very embarrassing for us both if the truth were to come out now. Scott would feel a moral responsibility for Simon I know, but no blame can or should attach to him for Simon’s illegitimacy. If he had known.…’

  ‘Well there’s always a job for you with us. If you want to come back, Philippa.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’d better go and see how Raschid is getting on. Will we see you at dinner?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Scott hadn’t said anything to her about joining them for dinner, and as his secretary in the ordinary course of events she would not have expected to be included. However, the situation was complicated by the fact that she was living in his home. Hank was joining the party and so was Eve. Perhaps the fact that Scott had said nothing to her about it spoke for itself, she decided. The best thing to do would be to go and see Mrs Robinson and ask if she and Simon could have a light supper either in the kitchen or in her room.

  She bumped into Simon as he hurried up the stairs, on her way to her room after s
eeing Mrs Robinson, his hair tousled, his skin tanned, he looked very different from the pale, almost listless boy who had accompanied her to Garston less than a month ago. His ‘Hi, Mum’ was cheerfully perfunct, but his carefully nonchalant, ‘Seen Scott?’ halted her, her forehead pleating in a worried frown.

  ‘Mr Garston has business guests, Simon,’ she told him quietly, ‘and please try to remember that you and I are here only because I’m working for him.’ He was looking sulkily rebellious and she could almost see the words tumbling from his lips, ‘Please, Simon,’ she begged, suddenly unutterably weary. ‘Why don’t.…’

  She broke off as she saw the pleasure dawning in Simon’s eyes, and turned her head just in time to see Scott approaching along the landing. ‘Hello, son, how did school go today?’

  Lean fingers ruffled Simon’s already untidy hair, the glowing face her son turned up towards his father making her insides melt with love and fear. Dear God, could Scott honestly not see that Simon was his? With every bit of casual affection and attention he gave Simon he was making it harder for them both to leave. One half of her mind registered Simon’s breathless chatter, the other trying to find a way of resolving her ever-present dilemma.

  ‘No, it’s your mother I’ve come to see,’ she heard Scott saying, the words focusing her attention on him. ‘It seems that Sheikh Raschid would be very disappointed if you don’t join us for dinner.…’

  ‘But, but I’m only your secretary.…’ Why was she insisting on hurting herself like this? What did she want him to say? That he would never willingly choose to include her among his dinner guests?

  ‘So you are,’ he agreed in a mocking drawl, ‘but the Sheikh is our honoured guest and a potential customer, so.…’ He shrugged and Philippa felt her nerves tighten in a tense spiral of mingled pain and despair. Did he expect her simply to acquiesce, knowing how little he wanted her there? Couldn’t he see that each small confrontation between them was tearing her apart, or could he see it all too clearly? That suspicion froze the blood in her veins. Would he never forget his apparent craving for revenge?