Cathy Williams - The Rich Man's Mistress

‘I’m sure my father doesn’t want lengthy explanations from you on how I’m doing,’ Miranda informed him haughtily.

‘So, what have you managed to do? Anything at all?’

‘You never bothered to tell me what your boss meant by renovating. Does he intend to knock walls down? What specifications is he after?’

‘My, my. I take it you’re wearing your technical interior designer hat now?’

‘If you want to sit there and smirk, then why don’t we just forget this?’ Miranda said. ‘You can have your little toy back to do whatever it is you need to do and I can’t imagine what, and I’ll just content myself with one of those detective novels on the bookshelf.’

Luke pulled the computer towards him so that it was partially resting on his lap and looked at what she had done. ‘So, you are capable of using a computer. Accept my humble apologies for implying otherwise…’ When she looked at him, his face was patently lacking in remorse. He was flicking through the rooms she had designed, seemingly interested. ‘There’s no need for a dining room that big,’ he murmured.

‘How do you know? Don’t tell me: you’re so close to this boss of yours that you have insider knowledge into how often he plans to entertain and for how many people. Are you sure this boss is a man and not a woman?’

‘Oh,’ Luke murmured softly, scrolling through her work and using various icons to magnify certain aspects, ‘I’m most emphatically certain on that point.’

‘Well, what does this man want to do with the house?’

‘I gather he intends to move out of London and use it as a base for his work. So, and I’m presuming here, I expect he would want a fairly large working area.’

‘What does this man do?’

‘Something to do with finance, I believe.’

‘You mean he hasn’t bothered to bore you with the details?’ It was Miranda’s turn to smirk and she did so with relish. ‘Perhaps he thought that you weren’t up to understanding the technicalities of his job.’

‘What’s this?’

‘It’s an archway. I’ve bashed through those two rooms and linked them with an archway. On either side you can incorporate stained-glass windows as features to break the monotony of the brick wall.’

‘Very creative. He’ll like that touch, I’m sure. And what’s this?’

‘I haven’t finished with that bit yet.’

‘That’s not what I asked.’

‘Well, that bit, if you can picture it…’

‘Which might be difficult due to the dullness of my brain…’ he murmured, without looking at her, apparently absorbed by her little efforts at the task he had set her with his tongue in his cheek.

‘Is a wrought-iron gate—and he should be able to get an original one—separating the bathroom from the bedroom, so there’s a feeling of tremendous space.’ She could feel two patches of excited colour on her cheeks and remembered that her efforts would be deleted before her enforced stay was over.

‘Very imaginative.’ He closed the screen, shut the lid of the computer and stood up, leaving a void of coldness next to her. He lazily tipped a couple of logs into the fire, so that it sparked up again, hissing, then he glanced over to the bookshelf and selected a book, tossing it lightly to her.

‘What’s this for?’

‘Reading fodder.’

‘And what about my design work?’

‘What about it?’ he asked, perching on the edge of the low bookshelf and inspecting her face coolly.

‘Don’t you want me to continue?’

‘Sure, if you want. Just thought you might want a break, though, after all the hard work.’ He gave her a slow, challenging smile.

‘Meaning…what?’

Luke shrugged his massive shoulders casually. ‘Meaning that you might need to take a little time out, get accustomed to doing something other than thinking about what your next temporary pleasure might be.’

Miranda looked at him with a sudden flare of anger. He didn’t give up, did he? Now that he had grown used to the thought that she might be around for a few days, interrupting his lifestyle, whatever that might be, he had decided to enjoy himself at her expense. The worst of it was that it hurt. His opinions of her shouldn’t matter but for some reason they did. Probably, she thought bitterly, because she was forced to sit them out. She couldn’t run away because there was nowhere to run to.

‘That’s not fair,’ she muttered.

‘Isn’t it? I told your father that this wasn’t a five-star hotel and that I would make sure that you were all right and delivered back to him safe and sound, but that in the process you would be expected to work for the favour. He seemed delighted. He obviously knows you better than you know yourself.’

‘You told my father, what? You have no right to discuss me with my father!’ she found that she was spluttering in outrage. ‘Just who do you think you are?’

Instead of reacting to her tone, he simply raised his eyebrows, and the silence after she had vented her fury stretched between them like a piece of elastic. He went to one of the deep chairs, picked up the computer and opened it, scrupulously ignoring her presence as he quietly examined something on the screen and began typing on the keypad.

‘Will you listen to me when I’m trying to talk to you?’

He didn’t appear to have even heard her protest. He simply continued what he was doing and, in a burst of anger, Miranda stood up. It only took a few seconds for her to hobble to the power point and yank out the plug to his computer which died into blackness.

This time he did notice her.

His blue eyes became slits and she felt a thrill of sudden, nervous terror skitter through her veins like alcohol. Then he was on his feet, grasping her by her arms so tightly that she cried out.

‘Don’t you ever, ever do anything like that again! Do you understand me?’ He shook her slightly and her long hair, which she had made no effort to tie back, swung around her face. She felt like a rag doll at the mercy of a raging bull. ‘I will not tolerate you stamping your feet like a toddler deprived of a treat whenever you fancy no one’s paying you any attention!’

‘I’m sorry,’ Miranda choked out, dismayed at what she had done and embarrassed to be likened to a toddler. ‘You’re hurting me!’

He released her but didn’t step back. He just continued watching her as she rubbed her arms and she knew that he was making an effort to keep his temper in check. When she glanced up, she could see the vein throbbing in his neck.

‘I’m really sorry,’ she repeated, to break the deathly silence and deflect the alarming power of his blue eyes.

‘Sit down.’ The stillness of his voice was as threatening as his roar had been a few minutes ago and Miranda shakily sat back down, leaning forward tensely to accept the brunt of his reprimands. She deserved it. Yanking that plug out of its socket had been the action of a thwarted child and there was no point in trying to use any ham line about acting in retaliation because he hadn’t done anything to her. He had ignored her and his patent indifference had stung and had provoked her into a show of puerile stupidity.

‘This won’t do, Miranda, will it?’ He too was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his thighs, his expression hard. ‘You’re not a child and you must stop behaving like one. Like it or not, you’re here with me and you’re going to act like an adult. That little display of temper will be the last, do you read me loud and clear?’

Miranda nodded miserably. ‘I…’ Oh, God. She could feel her eyes beginning to brim over and she hated herself for the weakness. She couldn’t remember a time when she had cried in front of anyone, except for her father. She had certainly never shed a tear over any of her boyfriends nor had she ever felt provoked enough by any of them to cry either in their presence or out of it. Not even when she had caught Freddie in flagrante delicto. Her pride had been wounded, yes, but her reaction had been one of fury rather than sorrow. Maybe she was going stir crazy because of the isolation.