Mistress To A Millionaire. Helen Brooks

      She had to leave this place in the morning whatever the doctor said. She had asked the nurse earlier that afternoon just how much it was costing Slade Eastwood for her to stay here, and if she hadn’t been lying down she would have fallen down when the woman had told her. And each day was upping the bill by as much money as she could earn in a month. Hot panic caused her to take too deep a breath and pain from her ribs sliced through her.

      ‘Steady, girl, steady.’ She spoke out loud into the tranquil surroundings, the beautiful furnishings and hushed luxury mocking her. Why, oh, why had he insisted she be brought here, instead of allowing her to be taken to a National Health hospital? she asked herself desperately. She would give the world to be in a noisy, utilitarian ward with no frills and fancies right now! But she would leave in the morning—she would—no matter what the medical staff advised.

      The decision brought a measure of comfort and she lay back in the bed with a tired sigh. She could phone Stephanie, she thought suddenly. Her friend had been brilliant over the last sixteen or so months, unswervingly loyal and totally committed to her even though Stephanie’s husband had been Ronald’s best friend, and she had promised the other girl she would let her know how the interview had gone when she had spoken to her three nights ago. Stephanie must be wondering why she hadn’t phoned the following night.

      Stephanie answered on the second ring and on hearing the familiar voice Daisy suddenly had the ridiculous urge to cry. She breathed in slowly and then exhaled, gripping the receiver tightly as she said, her voice bright, ‘It’s me, Steph.’

      ‘Daisy? Oh, Daisy, where’ve you been? I’ve phoned the house several times over the last two days and each time someone different has answered and said there’s no reply from your room. I’ve been so worried,’ Stephanie said plaintively.

      ‘It’s all right.’ Daisy felt immensely cheered by the naked concern in her friend’s voice. ‘I haven’t thrown myself off London Bridge yet.’

      ‘Don’t joke; I’ve had all sorts of crazy thoughts,’ Stephanie said weakly. ‘You’ve gone through so much and been so brave, but everyone has a breaking point. Did you get the job?’ she added as an afterthought. ‘The one you mentioned when we last spoke?’

      ‘Not exactly.’ This bit was going to be difficult; Daisy wouldn’t put it past Stephanie to come hurtling down to London in an effort to persuade her to go back home with her. ‘Now, don’t panic, but I’ve got something to tell you…’

      Stephanie listened in absolute silence while Daisy filled her in on all that had happened, finishing with, ‘But don’t worry because I really am fine. You ought to see this room, Steph. It’s beautiful. I’ve never been so cosseted in my life.’ Daisy glanced about her as she spoke, her eyes rueful.

      ‘Oh, Daisy.’ There was a snuffle and sniff before Stephanie continued, ‘You’re the nicest person I know and for this to happen after everything else that’s gone wrong—it just doesn’t seem fair. And he jolly well should be taking care of things in my opinion!’

      ‘It was my own stupid fault, Steph.’

      There was a long pause and then Steph said, ‘Look, there’s something you should know, Daisy, but I don’t know how to tell you. It’s… Ronald’s back. And…and he’s looking for you. He’s already tried to persuade Malcolm to give him your address.’

      ‘Malcolm didn’t, did he?’ Daisy asked urgently, her heart hammering as she sat up straighter.

      ‘No, course not,’ Stephanie said drily. ‘He values his conjugal rights too much to make a mistake like that! But apparently Ronald’s walked out on Susan; he said to Malcolm that the shock of receiving the decree absolute made him realise what he’s thrown away and he wants to ask you for another chance.’

      Another chance? Daisy felt sick. He thought she could ever forgive him after what he had done? He must be mad.

      ‘I don’t want to see him, Steph,’ she said flatly.

      ‘No, I knew you wouldn’t.’ There was another pause and then Stephanie said, her voice quiet but the sound of howling babies in the background, ‘The twins have woken up; I’ll have to go but I’ll ask Mum to have them for a day or two and come down to see you.’

      ‘Steph, there’s no need, really.’

      ‘I want to.’ And now Stephanie’s voice was even quieter when she added, ‘Malcolm said Ronald is determined to find you. He said he won’t take no for an answer, that he’ll do anything—camp on your doorstep for ever—but he intends to get you back. He really thinks he can persuade you, Daisy.’

      ‘He can’t.’ Daisy’s voice was grim.

      ‘I know.’

      Once the goodbyes had been said and Daisy had put the phone down she lay for some minutes without moving, her head whirling and her stomach sick as Stephanie’s words reverberated in her head.

      Ronald was looking for her. Even now he might be on his way to London. She had only let a few close friends have her new address and hopefully they would have the sense to keep her whereabouts secret if Ronald asked, but she couldn’t be sure about that. She hadn’t stated specifically for him not to be told simply because it hadn’t occurred to her that he would come looking.

      Her stomach turned over again and she felt she needed to get to the bathroom, but as she swung her legs over the side of the bed the room turned into a kaleidoscope of whirling colour and she made a little, ‘Oh,’ of distress.

      She sat quite still for a moment or two and gradually the spinning hues solidified, the room stopped revolving and everything settled into its rightful place.

      Daisy stretched her feet tentatively towards the floor. She felt odd, very odd, but if she rang the bell and asked for the nurse to accompany her into the bathroom it was sure to be reported and it would make it more difficult for her to insist on leaving tomorrow. She would just take it nice and slow and she’d be fine; it was only a few feet to the en suite after all.

      She was halfway across the room when she felt she was going to black out. A part of her brain which was governed by instinct and self-preservation warned her to sit down before she fell down, and she sank on all fours, her knees and hands taking her weight and her head hanging down. Oh, she felt ill. She felt so, so ill. How on earth was she going to get back to bed.

      ‘What the hell…?’

      Daisy hadn’t been aware of the door opening, neither was she conscious of the footsteps across the room, but as strong-muscled arms lifted her up as effortlessly as if she were a child she relaxed into them with a little sigh of helplessness whilst willing herself not to pass out completely.

      And then, as a whiff of delicious and expensive aftershave enhanced by clean, warm male skin invaded her senses it sent a shot of adrenalin straight into her wilting frame, and she opened dazed golden eyes to see Slade’s hard, handsome face just inches from hers. The shock of it made her want to faint again.

      ‘Oh…’ She wriggled feebly, but in the next instant he had reached the bed, whereupon he placed her gently into its welcoming folds before drawing the duvet securely around her.

      She shut her eyes again—this couldn’t be happening; it was a mirage, an awful but frighteningly seductive dream—but when they flickered open it was to see him standing by the side of the bed, his dark face frowning as he rang the bell.

      ‘Don’t…don’t do that,’ she murmured faintly. ‘Leave it.’

      He glanced at her and then in answer rang it again.

      ‘Please… I’m all right now, really.’

      ‘Don’t talk such utter rubbish.’ It was curt and sharp and altogether too much, and to Daisy’s utter horror she felt the prick of tears against the back of her eyes.

      No, she couldn’t cry! Not in front of him, not in front of Slade Eastwood! The thought was there but Daisy was