Linda Goodnight - New Arrivals - One Secret Child

‘It’s a difficult situation you’re in,’ she quietly acknowledged, ‘and it’s hardly your fault that there’s a recession. The staff—including myself—will all eventually find other jobs, but what will you guys do? The hotel’s been in your family for so long, and you love it…I know you do.’

‘It’s kind of you to be so concerned, love.’ The big shoulders that strained Grant’s suit jacket lifted in a shrug. ‘I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but we’ll be fine. We’ve got each other, and that’s what matters most in the end, isn’t it…? The people you love, I mean.’

Not usually given to expressing his feelings in public, he squeezed Anita’s hand. ‘And we’ll do whatever we can to help you find another flat, Anna. We certainly won’t be walking out this door until we know you and Tia are safely settled somewhere. As for jobs. Well, with all the experience and qualifications you’ve gained these past few years, some grateful hotel will eagerly snap you up. You’re a lovely girl and a complete asset. they’ll quickly learn that.’

‘So you’ll let us all know by the end of the week what you’ve decided?’

‘Perhaps sooner… Anita, Jason and I plan to spend the evening mulling things over. As soon as we’ve decided we’ll let you and the rest of the staff know the decision we’ve reached.’

Getting to his feet, Grant sent Anna a friendly broad smile. ‘It’s five o’clock, and it’s time you were running along to get that little angel of yours from aftercare at kindergarten, isn’t it?’

Glancing down at the slim silver-linked watch on her wrist, Anna shot up from her seat. She hated to be late collecting Tia, and as always ached to see her child and learn about her day. Tonight, when she was in effect in limbo about their future, she would make an extra fuss of her, and hold her even tighter before putting her to bed.

STUDYING the sunlit view of the Thames from his Westminster apartment window, Dante suddenly moved impatiently away, jettisoning his mobile onto the bed. He’d just flown back from a business trip to New York, was feeling fuzzy-headed and tired, and yet the conversation he’d just had with a business friend of his had definitely acted like a triple dose of strong black coffee injected straight into his bloodstream.

The Mirabelle Hotel… It was a name he’d never forgotten. Even after five years. The family who owned it were apparently in dire straits financially, and had been forced to consider a buyout from the commercial hotel chain that his friend Eddie was on the board of. The place was situated in a prime location in central London, and as far as Eddie was concerned it should have been a done deal. But he’d just heard that the owners had quite unbelievably rejected the offer. They had some old-fashioned notion that the business had to stay in the family, come what may.

Eddie had verbalised his astonishment at the number of people who let their hearts rule their head in business. ‘Will they ever learn? How about it, Dante?’ he’d asked. ‘Fancy giving it a shot? I don’t doubt the place is a potential goldmine.’

He had ended the call after agreeing to meet with his friend for a drink later, but Eddie’s parting remark had set Dante’s mind racing. That incredible night he’d stayed at that particular hotel had changed his life. A veritable angel had motivated him to want to do some good in the world instead of just simply taking what he believed his hard work entitled him to. Not only had his aims become less ruthless and driven, but he had discovered a much more exciting avenue, and a way of doing business that far exceeded what he had achieved before in terms of personal satisfaction. It would definitely have had his mother cheering him from the sidelines if she’d lived to see the changes he’d made.

Although he was on the board of several blue chip companies, and still in mergers and acquisitions, Dante had sold off most of his businesses and now specialised in helping family-run concerns make their businesses more viable. He’d also reverted to his mother’s surname, instead of the British one he’d adopted when he’d first started out in business here. Once again he was Dante Romano, and he had to admit it felt good to be much more authentic. Friends like Eddie still called him Dan, but that was okay. It was a fair enough shortening of Dante.

The Mirabelle Hotel…

Dante flopped down onto the king-sized bed with its opulent aubergine counterpane and picked up his phone. What had happened to the titian-haired beauty he’d spent the night with? Anna Bailey. The memory of her slid into his mind like the diaphanous caress of sensuous silk. Closing his eyes, he could almost taste her. He could even recall her perfume…something musky, with hints of orange and patchouli in it. It had been in her long flowing hair, and there had been traces on her milk-and-honey skin too.

His reflection deepening, Dante arrestingly recalled the sumptuously erotic, quivering pink mouth that he’d ached to plunder from almost the first moment he’d encountered it. The experience had been an utter revelation…as though it couldn’t have been more right or perfect. For an endless-seeming moment he’d been dizzy with longing for her—his lovely lady of the night, who’d reached out to rescue him when all he could see ahead was blinding darkness.

His eyelids snapped open. Of all the businesses he could hear about that were in trouble…why the Mirabelle? One thing was certain—he couldn’t let such an uncanny opportunity pass him by without at least checking it out…

She’d had another sleepless night. Duvet and pillow flung in frustration on the floor during the night. Her bed had become a taunting enemy instead of the safe, comforting haven she craved. And when she’d finally got up, Anna had uncharacteristically snapped at Tia as well.

As soon as she’d seen the child’s luminous blue-grey eyes sparkle with tears across from her at the breakfast table, she’d immediately wanted to kick herself. Drawing the little girl urgently onto her lap, she’d kissed and hugged her and told her about a hundred times how sorry she was. Mummy didn’t mean to shout. She was just a little bit stressed, she’d explained.

‘What does distressed mean? ‘ Tia had questioned, absently, playing with a long curling tendril of Anna’s unbound auburn hair.

Perhaps her daughter had unwittingly stumbled upon the truth of what she was feeling? She was distressed.

‘I’ll explain when you come home from school, darling,’ she’d hedged, praying the child would forget to ask. It wasn’t something a four-year-old should be remotely acquainted with, to Anna’s mind. Childhood should be joyful and carefree… even if her own had been a million miles away from such an idyll.

The Cathcarts had told Anna that they’d turned down the offer of a buyout from the big hotel chain. So when she’d entered the office the following morning to discover that her employers were considering a fresh offer—this one from an independent source who had been told about them by one of the delegation from the hotel chain—her insides had mimicked the nail-biting ascent and descent of a frantic rollercoaster ride for the second time. Once more the possibility of losing her job and home loomed worryingly large.

‘Your parents said that an interested investor wants to help them improve profitability and modernise. Can you explain exactly what this means?’ Anna had asked concernedly as she left the owners’ office to walk with Jason to his.

‘Don’t look so worried, Anna. It’s good news. Major investment is just what the Mirabelle needs. What we’re hoping is that this guy will be interested enough to invest a large chunk of his own money in the business to help turn it around. He’ll be the majority shareholder, but he won’t own it outright. I’ve been checking out his record and it’s quite impressive, to put it mildly. His interests are truly international, but his main concern is helping family-run businesses become more profitable. If we accept an offer from him to invest, it means that we stay running the hotel under his guidance and expertise. We’ll have the chance to really take things to another level…even in the recession.’