Free His Convenient Mistress by Cathy Williams Page B

and so he cleverly evaded the question.
    â€˜This is our heritage,’ he told her truthfully enough. ‘And I would never sell it. It belongs to the Dalgleish family as it always will.’ No lie there. His intentions weren’t to sell the family home, merely convert it into something else, something that would do justice to its grandeur. ‘Now, let’s go inside.’ He lightly placed his hand on her elbow and so engrossed was she in her surroundings that she barely noticed.
    â€˜Can I see the trains as soon as we get inside?’ Simon asked hopefully.
    â€˜I hope he’ll be OK—he’s pretty much better now—buthe has been so ill with that chest infection—’ Sara looked worriedly at James.
    â€˜I have my mobile phone. You can be contacted and be back here within half an hour. Surely this is what happened when you went out in London?’
    â€˜It was different there,’ Sara said quickly. ‘Lizzie knew him from birth, knew what to do if he got sick.’ She had had to, Sara thought regretfully. Working long hours had necessitated that and long hours were what she had had to do to pay for the mortgage because Phillip’s idea of maintenance had only ever been the very occasional flamboyant present for his son. And in the past two years, not even that.
    As far as Phillip had been concerned, she had chosen to have the baby and so she could damn well take care of him financially herself. He was over-committed as it was with his apartment in London and a house in Portugal. When he had had the nerve to imply that she might have got herself pregnant as a passport to a wedding ring, Sara had ceased to talk about maintenance and done everything within her power to make sure that she took care of herself and her son to the best of her ability.
    â€˜Lizzie?’
    â€˜His nanny.’
    â€˜You had a nanny?’
    â€˜I had to work. There are such things as a mortgage, bills, food, clothes. Little things that usually have price tags attached to them.’ She knew that she was being ridiculously defensive as all her old guilt rose to the surface and not for the first time. Guilt at having got pregnant in the first place, guilt at having to work, guilt at the hours she worked because being a top commodities trader had never been a nine-to-five job. So much guilt that she could drown under it if she let herself.
    She was relieved when they were inside the house and Maria was with them, clucking over Simon, warmly asking Sara questions about what she thought of their town and tartly telling her son that his choice of colours did nothing for him, that he should have worn something a little less severe, considering they would be going to a casual little barbecue, some nice little checked shirt that didn’t make him look as if he was taking a few hours’ break from work.
    â€˜I don’t have any checked shirts.’
    Sara slid a sidelong glance at him and her mouth twitched at the cornered expression on his face.
    â€˜I look fine,’ he muttered, looking pointedly at his watch.
    â€˜And do you agree?’
    Sara found two pairs of eyes focused on her, one dark, the other navy blue and a lot more disconcerting. She chose to meet the dark pair.
    â€˜He looks all right,’ she conceded.
    â€˜All right?’ He couldn’t help it. He did not consider himself by any means vain, but he was used to being seen as somewhat more than all right. All right was a pedestrian description to be applied to a pedestrian man and he struggled to contain a ludicrous feeling of pique in the face of those green eyes which were now doing a more detailed inventory of him.
    â€˜The shirt is a little on the sombre side, colour-wise,’ Sara elaborated, unable to resist having a go, even if it was a very small one. It was just so satisfying to dent that massive ego of his. ‘Not very summery, if you know what I mean, but I guess not