Rags To Riches: At Home With The Boss: The Secret Sinclair / The Nanny's Secret / A Home for the M.D.
wondered that he could have been disingenuous enough to imagine his perfectly reasonable proposition that they take what they had and run with it might be met with enthusiasm. Sarah would never settle for anything less than a full-time relationship. And would that even be with him? he wondered uneasily. It was true that the sexual chemistry between them was electrifying, but it certainly wouldn’t be the tipping point for her.
‘Let’s just talk about the practicalities,’ she continued firmly. ‘If you give me a definite date as to when we need to be out of here … I haven’t given notice to the landlord,’ she said suddenly. ‘I need to give three months’ notice …’
‘I’ll take care of that.’
‘And I suppose we should discuss what days suit you to come and see Oliver. Or should we wait until we’re settled in the new place? Then you can see how easy it is for you to get to where we are. Public transport can be a little unreliable. Oops, sorry—I forgot that you wouldn’t be taking public transport …’
Raoul was acidly wondering whether she was eager to get her diary in order, so that she knew in advance when she would be able to slot in her exciting single life. What the hell was going on here? He was jealous!
He stood up, and Sarah hastily followed suit, bemused by the fact that he seemed to be leaving pretty much as fast as he had arrived. Not only that, but he had somehow managed to make her feel like a cheap tart. Although she knew that he had no right to pass sweeping judgements on what she wore or where she went, she still had to fight the temptation to make peace by just telling him the truth.
‘The house will be ready by the middle of next week.’
‘But what about my things?’
‘I’ll arrange to have them brought over. If all this furniture is staying, then I can’t imagine that what’s left will amount to much.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ she said in a small voice, perversely inclined to dither now that he was on his way out.
Raoul hesitated. ‘It’s going to be fine,’ he said roughly.
‘The house will be entirely in your name. You won’t have to be afraid that you could lose the roof over your head, and really, it’s just a change of location.’
‘It’ll be great!’ She tried a bright smile on for size. ‘I know Mum and Dad are really thrilled about it. They haven’t been too impressed with our rented house, what with the busy street so close to the front door and not much back garden for Oliver.’
‘Which brings me to something I haven’t yet mentioned. Your parents.’
‘What about them?’
‘I want to meet them.’
‘Whatever for?’ Sarah asked, dismayed. Try as she had, she couldn’t stop feeling deeply suspicious that neither of them had really believed her when she had told them that Raoul was back on the scene but that it was absolutely fine because she had discovered that she felt nothing for him.
‘Because Oliver’s my son and it makes sense for me to know his grandparents. There will be occasions when they visit us in London and vice versa.’
‘Yes, but …’
‘I also don’t want to spend the rest of my life with your parents harbouring misconceptions about the kind of man I am.’
‘They don’t have misconceptions,’ Sarah admitted grudgingly. ‘I told them how much time you’d spent with Oliver, and also about the house.’
‘I’d still like to meet them, so you’ll have to arrange that and give me a few days’ advance notice.’
‘Well, maybe when they’re next in London …’
‘No. Maybe within the next fortnight.’
With the house move a heartbeat away, and a date set in the diary for the three of them to visit her parents in Devon, Sarah had never felt more like someone chucked onto a rollercoaster and managing to hang on only by the skin of her teeth.
Her possessions, once she had packed them all up, amounted to a few cardboard boxes, which seemed a sad indictment of the time she had spent in the rented house. Nor could she say, with her hand on her heart, that there was very much that she would miss about where she’d lived. The neighbours were pleasant enough, although she knew them only in passing, but the place was wrapped up in so many memories of hardship and trying to make ends meet that she found herself barely glancing back as the chauffeur-driven car that had been sent for them arrived to collect her promptly on Wednesday morning.
Oliver could barely contain his excitement. The back of the opulent car was strewn with his toys. Of course Raoul’s driver knew who they were, because from the start Raoul had flatly informed her that he couldn’t care less what other people thought of his private life, but she could see that the man was curious, and amused at Oliver’s high spirits. Sarah wondered whether he was trying to marry the image of his boss with that of a man who wouldn’t mind a four-year-old child treating his mega-expensive car with cavalier disrespect.
Sarah was charmed afresh at the peaceful, tree-lined road that led up to the house, which was in a large corner plot. Anyone could have been forgiven for thinking that London was a million miles away. It was as far removed from their small rented terraced house on the busy road as chalk was from cheese. Whatever her doubts and anxieties, she couldn’t deny that Raoul had rescued them both from a great deal of financial hardship and discomfort.
Hard on the heels of that private admission she felt a lump in her throat at the thought of them being friends. She had been so offended by his suggestion that they become lovers for no other reason than they were still attracted to one another, and so hurt that he only wanted her in his bed as a way of exorcising old ghosts … She had positively done the right thing in telling him just where he could take that selfish, arrogant proposal, and yet …
Had she reacted too hastily?
Sarah hurriedly sidelined that sign of weakness and scooped Oliver’s toys onto her lap as the car finally slowed down and then swept up the picturesque drive to the house.
Raoul was waiting for her inside.
‘I would have brought you here,’ he said, picking up Oliver, who demanded to be put down so that he could explore, ‘but I’ve come straight from work.’
‘That’s okay.’ Sarah stepped inside and her mouth fell open—because it bore little resemblance to the house she had last seen.
Flagstone tiles made the hallway warm and colourful, and everywhere else rich, deep wood lent a rustic, cosy charm. She walked from room to room, taking in the décor which was exactly as she would have wanted it to be, from the velvet drapes in the sitting room to the restored Victorian tiles around the fireplace.
Raoul made a show of pointing out the bottle-green Aga which took pride of place in the kitchen, and the old-fashioned dresser which he had had specifically sourced from one of the house magazines which had littered her house.
‘You had a crease in the page,’ he informed her, ‘so I took it to mean that this was the kind of thing you liked.’
Oliver had positioned himself by the French doors that led from the small conservatory by the kitchen into the garden, and was staring at the swing set outside with eyes as round as saucers.
‘Okay,’ Sarah said on a laugh, holding his hand, ‘let’s have a look outside, shall we?’
‘I don’t remember the garden being this well planted,’ she said, looking around her at the shrubs and foliage that framed the long lawn. There was even a rustic table and chairs on the paved patio, behind which a trellis promised a riot of colour when in season.
‘I had it landscaped. Feel free to change anything you want. Why don’t we have a look upstairs? I can get my driver to keep an eye on Oliver,’ he added drily. ‘We might have a fight on our hands if we try and prise him off