Bedded at the Billionaire's Convenience(8)

Naturally not in Devon where he and his mother maintained an uneasy but superficially smooth relationship. He visited her when his hectic schedule allowed and paid lip-service to his duties as a son.

But, hell, had she once ever congratulated him on his achievements? Even when he had paid off every penny of debt incurred by his father? And installed her in a cottage, of her choosing, with an allowance that wildly surpassed what she could possibly hope to spend in a lifetime?

Of course not.
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Still. He couldn’t believe what he was now hearing. Seriously involved with this crazy blonde? A teeth-grindingly irritating woman whose greatest talent was rubbing him up the wrong way?

‘I’m not going to humour you by listening to this nonsense.’

‘Pierre, Didi’s really depressed.’

‘Everyone gets depressed from time to time,’ he snapped impatiently. ‘It’s rarely a matter for concern.’

‘Didi isn’t the sort of person who gets depressed.’ Lord knew why she had bothered with this idea, which had seemed so good at the time but which, now, in the face of Pierre’s icy scrutiny, was fast beginning to appear ill conceived and frankly insane. ‘Yes, she’s recovered and her health should be good, but over the past few months she’s stopped doing all the stuff she usually does. She no longer goes to her bridge club twice a week. To start with, she told me that she physically wasn’t up to it, but I began to worry when she stopped altogether. Then, she’s given away her ducks to the children’s farm—’

‘And about time too.’

‘She’s had them for four years, Pierre!’ She was leaning forward, trying to impart some of her urgency, although she didn’t seem to be making much headway. ‘She still does some of her charity work but several times this month I’ve been to see her in the morning before I head out to school and she’s still been in bed—’

‘What time do you head out to school?’

‘Eight-fifteen.’

‘I rest my case. My mother is no longer a spring chicken. Maybe she just feels that at her age she deserves the occasional lie-in.’

‘It’s not like her.’

‘People change when they get older,’ Pierre said shortly.

‘I know you’ve probably got lots of important things to do, Pierre, but I’ve come here from home to talk to you and I’m not going to leave until you’ve heard me out.’

‘I might be mistaken, but isn’t it my choice as to whether I listen to what you have to say? And as far as I’m concerned, I’ve frankly heard enough.’

‘I wouldn’t be here if it didn’t concern your own mother. Do you think being shouted at and insulted is my dream way of passing the time?’

She wondered what she would do if he decided to just get up and leave. Run after him tugging at his shirt sleeves and scrabbling in his wake? Anyone would think that he would want to hear what she had to say, but then again he had never had the same level of love and affection for his own flesh and blood as she had had for them.

Their parents had been great friends and when both of hers had died in a car accident when she was still a teenager, Pierre’s parents had taken her under their wing and virtually adopted her as their own. Pierre, at that point, was already beginning his meteoric rise through the world of serious finance and she had, she suspected, filled his vacant shoes. Not that she hadn’t been close to them before, and not that they had loved him any the less, but he just hadn’t been around.

If he had resented that then he certainly hadn’t shown it. He had visited and treated her with the condescending politeness of someone who considered himself out of her league.

Pierre shook his head and stood up and Georgie could see her most dire imaginary scenarios of shirt-sleeve clutching begin to take shape but actually he just said, abruptly, ‘I have to be somewhere tonight so if you want to talk, and believe me I’m only doing this through some semblance of politeness, you’re going to have to come with me to my flat and talk while I get dressed. It’s the best I can offer.’ He didn’t wait for her to reply but instead picked up his sports bag and began heading for the exit with Georgie trailing frustratedly in his wake.#p#分页标题#e##p#分页标题#e#

Normally he got his driver to take him to the gym, but on this occasion he had driven himself, and his Bentley, gleaming and black, was waiting in the car park.

Georgie bit back the temptation to say something flippant about how the other half lived. Somehow she suspected that any jokey remarks would go down like the proverbial lead balloon.