Swept into the Rich Man's World(13)

He laughed at that. 'To answer your question-I take after my dad. Orla's more like my mum.'

'What was your dad like?'

'Hard-working, loving, supportive. A family man and a good neighbour.  Orla and I were the centre of his world. He worked several part-time  jobs to ensure he was at home when we were. Money was pretty scarce. It  used to worry me, but he would just shrug and say that as long as we had  one another that was all that mattered. When Mum died he was determined  we wouldn't miss out. He even learned how to sew so that he could make  us costumes for school plays.'

A lump formed in her throat at hearing the love for his father in his  words. In a quiet voice she said, 'He sounds like he was a really good  man.'

His eyes met hers for a moment. She felt her breath catch to see the soft gratitude there.

'He was. Each Christmas he would leave us both a memory chest under the  tree, filled with little mementos he had collected for us during the  year: our sporting medals, awful paintings and poems we'd created in  school that only a parent could love, photos of our holidays.'

He paused as a catch formed in his throat. It was a while before he continued.

'In the chests he would also leave a handwritten list with all the reasons why he loved us.'

Her own throat felt pretty tight, but she forced herself to speak. 'What a lovely idea.'

He nodded to that.

They walked beside the urn-lined Medici Fountain and paused where Acis  and Galatea, the lovers from Greek mythology, carved in white marble,  lay reclined in a lovers' embrace. Their embrace was so intimate she had  to look away.

'You said you used to worry about money when you were younger? Is that what motivates you now?' she asked.

'Partially. But it's also the challenge, and knowing that my products  are making a difference in people's lives. Especially in the medical  field, where they can have a huge impact on how services are delivered  to patients. I also like to know that I can provide for others, too.'

She wondered if he meant Orla, but something in the look on his face kept her from asking.

They continued walking, and she said after a while, 'I'm sorry you lost  your mum and dad... Patrick. It must have been very difficult.'

'You just get on with it, don't you? There's no other choice.'

'How old were you when you lost them?'

He inhaled deeply before he spoke. 'Seven with my mum...twenty-two with my dad.'

He'd been so young. To lose your mum at seven... She couldn't even begin  to think about losing her parents, never mind at that age. 'What age  was Orla?'

'She was just a baby with my mum-sixteen when my dad died.'

'Oh, the poor thing.'

He glanced towards her, and then away again quickly, but not before she  saw the pain in his eyes. 'Orla found my dad when she came home from  school one day. He had died from an abdominal aneurysm.'

For a while she was lost for words. What could she say about such a  terrible loss? 'I'm so sorry. It must have been a terrible shock for you  both.'

'It was.'

'I bet you were a great older brother, though, which must have helped her a lot.'

Instantly he stiffened and a coolness entered his voice. 'I tried to  be.' He gave his watch a quick glance. 'We'd better get back. I have a  conference call with Palo Alto in less than an hour.'                       
       
           



       

Thrown by the sudden change in conversation, and knowing instinctively  that he deliberately wanted to end their chat, she looked at her mobile  phone. It was almost eight.

'Do you have to take that call? You never seem to stop working.'

He gave a quick shrug. 'I have a problem with a system roll-out over there.'

'But you must have endless directors. Do you really need to have such a hands-on role?'

They exited the park and walked towards Bernard, who was waiting at the kerb.

Patrick answered. 'I like to be involved.'

As they approached the car she said, 'More like you like being in control.'

He looked at her unhappily. 'It's not that simple.'

About to slip into the car, she asked, 'Are you sure?'

He sat beside her and his rigid jaw and thinned mouth told her he was in no way happy with her comment.

He turned and fixed her with a lancing stare. 'It's my responsibility to  be in control. I will not let down those who are dependent on me-in the  workplace or otherwise. I will not apologise to anyone for doing my  job.'

She was taken aback by the cold fury in his voice, but he had his mobile  out and was speaking rapidly to someone before she could even respond.





CHAPTER SIX

A SET OF preliminary moss-green and off-white designs stared back at her  from the laptop screen, as though willing her to make a decision.

Ever since Patrick had asked her what she was going to do differently  with her business the question had constantly played on her mind. Time  and time again she came back to the one major decision she had to make.  Would she stop designing for the upholstery market in favour of  specialising exclusively in fashion textile design-her true love?

And now she had to decide whether to submit these designs to Dlexa, a  world-renowned upholstery textile manufacturer. Would she be crazy not  to? It was a huge gamble to take. The upholstery business had often seen  her through lean times. But it was also a distraction that ate into  time she could be devoting to the fashion market.

So many times during the past few days she had been tempted to go and  talk it through with Patrick, to get his advice. So much for her resolve  to do this on her own...

Not that she had seen enough of him during the past few days to have  such a conversation anyway. Their paths seldom crossed...and she had a  sneaking suspicion that he had engineered it that way. Yes, they were  both working incredibly long hours. And he was either out at meetings or  locked away in his office at the chateau. Once or twice he had appeared  in the kitchen while she was preparing a meal. But he'd always had an  excuse to leave-something needing his attention elsewhere.

She tried not to let it get to her. Tried not to dwell on the fact that  it was probably because she had said too much the other night. Asked too  many questions. Tried to get to know him a little better.

At times she'd got a glimpse of a different man from the work-obsessed  CEO the world saw. But as quickly as he opened up that fun and playful  side he would shut it down again.

What did she expect, anyway? The man ran countless multimillion-pound  companies. He wasn't going to have time to chat to her over a coffee.

She constantly felt as though she was waiting for him to appear, with a  low-lying nervous anticipation she couldn't dispel. Each night  disappointment sat heavily in her chest as she walked to her bedroom,  knowing that yet another day had gone by without her seeing him for more  than a few minutes. And in the mornings that disappointment was  transformed into equally inexplicable excitement at the prospect of  seeing him.

The designs for Dlexa would take at least another twenty to thirty hours  of work to complete. Would it be worth the investment of her time? Her  gut was telling her to specialise, to follow her dreams. But flashing in  neon lights in her mind's eye was the total sum in her bank account,  which had made her blanch when she'd checked it earlier today.

She needed a coffee.

His housekeeping staff had left for the day, leaving behind, along the  chateau's corridors, the smell of beeswax and the air of contentment  that settled on a newly cleaned and polished space.

In the kitchen she tackled the beast of a coffee machine. It still made  her nervous. There were way too many knobs and buttons for her liking.  But she was slowly getting the hang of it and its temperamental nature.  Thankfully so, because it produced the best coffee she had ever tasted.                       
       
           



       

She was about to head back to the studio when she spotted a parcel on  the kitchen table, wrapped in luxurious cream paper and thick gold  ribbon. The card on top was addressed to her.

Intrigued, she opened the card.

Aideen,

We are sorry the sea ate your shoes. We gathered all our treat money together to buy you a new pair.

Love, Mustard and Mayo

PS: We promise not to chew them when you return to Ashbrooke. We hope you are enjoying Paris.

Inside the parcel, wrapped in individual silk pouches, she found the  most exquisite ivory ankle-strap sandals. High enough to make her feel a  million dollars, low enough for her to actually be able to walk in  them.

They were stunning; if she had seen them in a store she would have  fallen over herself to hold them just for a little while. But she  couldn't accept them. Her pride had already taken a severe dent at the  amount of help she'd had to accept from Patrick. It was humiliating to  take so much and give so little in return.

And, given his remoteness in recent days, she didn't even understand why he was giving them to her.

She needed to go and speak to him-figure out why he was giving them to  her and then somehow explain why she couldn't accept the gift.