Prada and Prejudice (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 1) (32 page)

She regarded Hannah a moment longer, then turned and bellowed, “Jago! Get your arse up! You’ve a visitor.”

She disappeared back inside, leaving Hannah in the hallway. After a moment Jago appeared, pulling a T-shirt over his rumpled hair and skinning it down over his chest. He looked like he’d just got out of bed.

Surprise chased by confusion crossed his face. “Hannah! What are you doing here?” he asked, and pulled the door to behind him as he stepped into the hallway.

“I…I need a place to stay.” She fiddled with the duffel bag strap, wondering if she’d been wrong to come here. “I had a row with dad, and I wondered if…I might stay here for a bit.”

Jago shifted on his feet – they were bare – and tugged at his ear. He looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Sorry, but it’s not a good idea, Hannah, really—”

“I won’t be a bother,” she said quickly, “I promise. I can sleep on the sofa.” She added, “I’ll pay my share of the rent—”

“The thing is—” he hesitated, and glanced back over his shoulder at the closed door “—your dad wouldn’t like you being here. And Belle wouldn’t, either.”

She stared at him. “Belle? Is she your girlfriend? You never said. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I told you we were just mates, you and I,” he pointed out. “I did tell you that.”

“I know. But you…but I thought—” Her throat constricted and closed, and she couldn’t speak.
You kissed me
, she wanted to accuse him,
in the chip shop, you kissed me in front of everyone, like I really
meant
something to you
…

“I’m sorry,” he said, his expression miserable. “I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea. I like you, Han. You’re a good kid. But you can’t stay. It’s Belle’s flat, not mine.”

“You
like
me? I’m a good
kid
?” she echoed. “I thought I meant a bit more to you than that, Jago.”

“What’s going on?” Belle called out as she came to stand beside Jago. She glared at Hannah. “What is it you want?”

“Nothing,” Hannah mumbled. “I don’t want anything.”

Belle rounded on Jago. “Have you been seeing her, then?”

“No! For God’s sake, leave us, Belle,” Jago snapped. “We’ll talk later, you and I. Just let me take care of this.”

Hannah clutched the duffle bag strap. Jago lived with Belle. He’d neglected to mention this crucial bit of information, and it changed everything.

At any rate, he was right. She couldn’t stay here.

Numbly, she turned to go. “Sorry I bothered you.” She wouldn’t cry in front of him, or even worse, in front of Belle, she bloody well wouldn’t…

“Hannah, wait.” Jago stepped out into the hall and touched her arm. “I can take you home, if you need a ride—”

“No, I don’t need a
ride
.” She glared at him and shook his hand off. “I have to go.”
I need someone I can depend on, she thought, someone who won’t lie to me, or let me down when I need them most
.

She suddenly, desperately wanted to be home. Mum would make her a mug of hot cocoa with real chocolate, not one of those powdery mixes, and cinnamon toast, and she’d kiss the top of Hannah’s head and tell her it was all going to work out, and they’d watch old episodes of
Dr. Who
or
Midsomer Murders
with their legs tucked up under them on the sofa.

That, more than anything, was what Hannah wanted.

Chapter 41

At noon, Sir Richard summoned Rhys to his office. Rhys nodded to Mabel, the elderly man’s secretary, and knocked on the door. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, come in, please. Close the door.”

He complied and approached Sir Richard’s desk. “I’ve a lot to do today, I haven’t much time—”

“This won’t take long. Sit down.”

Tamping down his irritation, Rhys sat on the edge of one of the leather wingchairs angled before his desk and waited.

Sir Richard’s eyebrows were knitted in a scowl. “I’ll come straight out with it. What are your intentions towards my granddaughter?”

“Natalie?”
Bloody hell
. “That’s something I intend to discuss with her, when the time is right.”

“I see.” Sir Richard leaned back in his chair. “Another question, then. What are your intentions towards this company?”

“I have no ‘intentions,” Rhys said. “My job here is nearly done. I’m leaving after the re-launch.”

“I know that’s what we agreed to when you took on this task. But things have changed. I’m unwilling – and frankly, unable – to continue the day-to-day management of Dashwood and James any longer. Alastair and I hoped you might be persuaded to stay on.” He paused. “Permanently.”

Rhys’s expression was neutral. “I see. What are the terms?”

“A full partnership, of course. You’ll have a seat on the board, as well as the last word on all business decisions, provisional on my final approval. Alastair’s in complete agreement. And of course you’ll have a share in the profits.”

“What percentage?”

“Twenty.”

“Thirty.”

“Twenty-five,” Sir Richard said shortly, “and that’s as high as I’m willing to go. That’s a very generous offer, Mr. Gordon. And it won’t be on the table for long.”

“Yes, it’s quite generous.” Rhys’s expression was hard. “Which begs the question, Sir Richard…what’s the catch? What is it you expect in return?”

“I expect you to do right by my granddaughter.”

“There’s never been a question of that,” Rhys said abruptly, and stood up. “I don’t like the suggestion of
quid pro quo
. It’s unnecessary. And frankly, it’s beneath you.”

“Sit down!” Sir Richard barked. He leaned forward as Rhys glared at him, and his own eyes flashed ire. “You misread me.”

Rhys resumed his seat. “Then please enlighten me. Because if you’re suggesting I need to be persuaded to marry Natalie, with a partnership thrown in to sweeten the deal, you insult me. And you insult Natalie.”

“I’d like nothing better than for you to marry Natalie and take over my half of this company, Mr. Gordon. But your partnership is not contingent on marriage to my granddaughter.”

“Indeed?” Rhys remained unconvinced. “You’re willing to give over a quarter of your company to me, an outsider, in return for…what?” He leaned back in the chair. “You’re not a fool, Sir Richard, nor am I. Tell me what’s really going on.”

The elderly man sighed. “Very well, Mr. Gordon, I shall speak plainly. You’ve taken Dashwood and James and turned it back into profitability. You and I both know that if you leave, the store will slide into the red again. Alastair hasn’t the backbone or the tenacity to run the business on his own. But with Roger gone, I’ve no one else to take over.

“Put simply, Gordon, I need you. Dashwood and James need you. And most of all, Natalie needs you. You make her happy. And you give her the ballast she so desperately requires.”

“I’m honoured, Sir Richard,” Rhys said after a moment. “I care very deeply for Natalie. But staying on? It’s impossible. I’ve already agreed to take on another project.”

“Well, cancel it.”

“That’s impossible—”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Sir Richard said firmly, “the matter’s settled. I’ll have my lawyers draw up the paperwork.”

Rhys eyed him with grudging respect. “You’re a very stubborn man. You won’t take no for an answer, will you?”

“No.” He looked at Rhys thoughtfully. “Do you know what it was that changed my initial opinion of you, Mr. Gordon?”

“I’ve no doubt it was the profit margin.”

Sir Richard smiled briefly. “No, my opinion changed when Natalie told me about the night you took her home, after Alastair’s anniversary party. She behaved deplorably that night – getting inebriated, flinging her wine on you, flinging
herself
at you—!” His expression registered disapproval. “You could have taken advantage of the situation. But you didn’t. That showed character, Rhys. And ethics…something lacking in most young men these days.”

“I was attracted to Natalie from that very first night,” Rhys admitted. “She was unlike anyone I’d ever met.”

Sir Richard looked at him with a distinct twinkle in his eye. “Perhaps Natalie should be your next project.”

“That’s one project I’d have no success with, I’m afraid.”

Sir Richard chuckled. “I fear you’re right. But who knows? If you stay here at Dashwood and James, you’ll have a lifetime to work on it.” He pushed back his chair and stood.

Rhys stood as well. “Thank you, Sir Richard.” He gripped the man’s hand firmly in his own. “Draw up the papers and we’ll talk again. Now, I really must go.”

“Are we ready for the re-launch?” Sir Richard questioned.

Rhys paused in the doorway. “Yes,” he said. “If Dominic Heath isn’t booed off the stage by his fans, if there aren’t hordes of human rights protesters, and if Natalie hasn’t left anything to chance, tomorrow should turn things around for Dashwood and James in a big way.”

As least, Rhys reflected as he returned to his office, he bloody well hoped so.

It was twelve-fifteen when Cherie finished putting the groceries away. The reporters were gone, off to chase a bigger story, no doubt. She glimpsed Neil’s Range Rover turning into the driveway. She paused, a bag of pasta in hand, and watched him come up the walk. He really was a handsome man. She could so easily have fallen in love with him.

After all, she nearly had.

But she’d realised, when Alastair called her out of the blue to say he missed her, that Neil could never be what Alastair was – father to her children, her champion, her lover, her best friend. She wouldn’t jeopardise thirty years of marriage or risk her family for a couple of hours of pleasure with Neil Hadley.

Her marriage deserved more than that.

If circumstances were different, she might have married Neil. But she’d married Alastair. He was a good and true man, who worked hard to provide for his family, and who’d always loved her unconditionally. He wasn’t to blame for the current state of affairs at Dashwood and James; she saw that now. And she was an idiot for not appreciating the true depth of his love for her, and his family.

Cherie felt remarkably clear-eyed as she met Neil at the door. She’d been lonely, and Neil had eased the emptiness she’d felt with his charm and attention. And she’d needed that. But despite the problems in her marriage, she loved Alastair. She always had, always would. It was as simple as that.

Neil would just have to understand.

The bus ride home was endless. Hannah, her forehead pressed to the window, stared out dully at the passing cars and the houses and rows of shops as tears tracked silently down her face. She couldn’t seem to stop crying.

How stupid was she? How could she have thought that someone like Jago could care anything for her? He must’ve had a laugh with Belle. They must think her a complete knob.

By the time she got off the bus and walked back to Cavendish Avenue, Hannah’s feet dragged. All she wanted was to go upstairs, burrow under the covers, and stay there forever.

She went through the front gate and trudged up the walk. The news vans were gone. Her mum’s Fiat was in the driveway, and a dark green Range Rover was parked behind it. She frowned. What was Mr. Hadley’s car doing here? She hoped Duncan wasn’t here; he was the last person she wanted to see. Hannah scrubbed at her teary eyes with one fist.

Get yourself together
, she told herself fiercely.

She decided to slip in through the kitchen. With any luck, her mother was in the sitting room with Duncan’s dad, and she could sneak upstairs and avoid them altogether. Hopefully mum hadn’t realised that Hannah wasn’t still upstairs in bed.

She dug out her key and inserted it carefully in the lock. The kitchen door swung open and she slipped inside. As she came round the corner, she froze, and the duffel bag strap slipped down her shoulder. “Mum—?”

Duncan’s father stood in the kitchen with his arms wrapped around her mother. They broke apart and turned to face her with twin expressions of guilt and shock.

“Hannah!” Cherie exclaimed. Her hand rose to her throat. “My God, you gave me a fright! What are you doing there? I thought you were upstairs sleeping!”

“Mum…how could you?” Hannah demanded, her face distorted with mingled shock and rage. The duffel bag slid from her shoulder to the floor. “It’s bad enough, you cheating on dad…but with Duncan’s
father
?”

“Hannah, there’s nothing going on,” Neil Hadley said, and stepped forward. “There never was. You’ve got it wrong. Listen to me—”

“I won’t listen to you. And I haven’t got it wrong, have I? You’re having it off with my mother!”

Blinded by tears, she whirled around, fumbled with the doorknob, and ran back out of the kitchen. Blood pounded in her ears. She heard her mother call after her, but she didn’t stop.

“It’s not what you think!” Cherie cried, pushing past Neil as she rushed after her daughter. “Hannah, for heaven’s sake – stop being so bloody dramatic! Please, wait—”

It’s not what you think
. No, nothing was, Hannah thought disjointedly, that was the problem. Duncan, Jago, even mum – they’d all let her down, disappointed her, lied to her, in one way or another. How ironic that her father – whom she’d been so furious with – had been right about so many things…about Jago, in particular. Why hadn’t she listened?

Lost in her misery, desperate to get away from her mother and Duncan’s father and their lies and excuses and treachery, Hannah stepped off the kerb and ran behind the Number 113 bus to Edgware, re-emerging straight into the path of an oncoming motorcycle.

There was a shriek of brakes and the acrid smell of burning rubber as the motorcycle skewed sideways, skidding the last hundred yards on the tarmac before it hit Hannah, sending her hurtling up and onto the grass embankment.

Chapter 42

Late Friday afternoon, Ian turned the Audi A8 onto the gated drive of their house – oh, who was he kidding, it was
Alexa’s
bloody house – and drove up to the front door. At least she’d had the foresight to leave the gates open.

The front door was unlocked. “Alexa?” he called out from the foyer.