The Tycoon's Ultimate Conquest

‘Observant. That’s hardly the point, though.’

‘Boyfriend?’

‘No...not that it’s any of your business, Mr Frank. Arthur. Arturo. Do you usually ask women you’ve only known for five seconds out on a date?’

‘How else am I supposed to get to know them for longer than five seconds if I don’t? So you’re not married, no boyfriend...gay?’

‘No!’

Arturo grinned and Rose was certain she was blushing furiously, her reddened cheeks thoroughly letting the side down. ‘Then where’s the problem?’

‘You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?’ Rose gathered herself and opened her door. It was very hot. A blazing summer afternoon, with the sun still high in the sky and the clouds little more than cotton wool puffs of white idly floating by. The land looked glorious and untouched. It was a short walk to get to the site where the protestors had set up camp. Yes, she could have driven there, but it was easier to park here and a nice day for walking. Except now she would be walking in a state of nervous tension.

‘Is that a crime?’ Arturo had followed her out and he looked at her, still grinning.

‘I’ve never been attracted to men who are too sure of themselves.’

‘Challenging observation...’

‘That’s not my intention! You’re here to...support us! And I won’t be going out with you because... I’m not interested in any sort of relationship at this point in time.’

‘Who’s talking about a relationship?’

‘I don’t do casual sex.’ Rose was staggered that she was having this conversation, but she had yet to meet a man who was open about what he wanted and surely he couldn’t want her because, rich or poor, he had the sort of charisma and good looks that would guarantee him a spot in any woman’s little black book.

So why her?

But heck, was she flattered? It had been a while since her last disastrous relationship, a while since she had felt like a woman. And, if she was honest, even Jack, earnest and brimming over with admirable integrity, hadn’t made her feel like this.

‘I thought I just mentioned having dinner,’ Arturo murmured, which made Rose feel her cheeks flush what was surely an even deeper shade of red.

‘You’re playing with me,’ she said sharply. ‘And I don’t like it.’

Their eyes tangled but Rose refused to be the first to back down even though she wanted to.

* * *

Art was learning what it felt like to be politely but firmly pushed to the kerb.

‘Tell me about the protest,’ he encouraged, changing tack, matching her gait with his and releasing her from the stranglehold of her embarrassment as they continued to walk towards the distant horizon. ‘How many people are there at the site?’

‘Ever been on a protest before?’

‘I can honestly say that I haven’t.’

‘Well, I’m glad that this is of sufficient interest to you to get you motivated into doing more than just sitting on the sidelines and sympathising. So many people have strong views about something and yet they never quite go the distance when it comes to doing something about those views.’

‘What made you choose employment law over something better paid?’

‘Because money isn’t everything! And I’m taking it that you feel the same as I do.’

‘Money can often be the root of all evil,’ Art hedged. ‘It’s also pretty vital when it comes to putting food on our plates.’

‘I like to think that in my job I’m helping other people put food on their plates.’

‘And you’ve always worked for yourself or did you work for a bigger company after you graduated?’

‘You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?’ But she seemed flattered by his interest.

‘It’s the only way to get to know someone.’ Art had the grace to flush. He was here for a purpose though and with him the practical would always take precedence over any unruly conscience. Vast sums of money were at stake and he was only trying to make his point of view known to a group who probably thought that their opinion was the only valid one on the table.

A rich diversity of opinion was a bonus in life. By subtly introducing a different viewpoint to theirs, he would effectively be doing her and all of the protestors there a laudable favour.

‘Nearly twenty-five,’ Rose told him briskly, walking fast, each stride determined and sure-footed.

‘Nearly twenty-five what?’

‘You asked how many protestors there were on the site. Nearly twenty-five and growing by the day.’

‘And what lovely days we’ve been having...’

‘They’d be here come rain or shine,’ Rose informed him tartly and he grinned at her.

‘And quite right too. Nothing worse than a protestor who packs up his placards and heads for his car the minute the skies open.’

‘I can’t tell when you’re joking,’ Rose said, pausing to look at him.

‘Oh, I’m very serious about being here indeed. Make no mistake about that,’ Art said softly.

‘And how long do you plan on staying?’ She began walking again and he fell in beside her.

‘I reckon at least a few days, maybe longer. Perhaps a week or two.’

‘Getting first-hand experience of putting your money where your mouth is.’ Rose smiled. ‘I commend that. The camp’s just up ahead. We’ve managed to get running water and electricity going. It’s been a nightmare but where there’s a will there’s a way and, like I said, there are a lot of people with a lot of talent who have been keen to help us out.’

Art was looking at a collection of makeshift dwellings. Tents rubbed shoulders with slightly more solid constructions. There was an elaborate portable toilet. People were milling around. Children were playing. It was, he had to concede, a wonderful campsite, dissected by a clear, bubbling stream and surrounded by trees and flowers. It was, however, a campsite on his land.

Clearly much loved and admired, the second they were spotted, Rose was surrounded by people, young and old alike. She was part and parcel of the community and Art could see the warmth of the supporters surround her like a blanket, seemingly reaffirming her belief in what they were doing—saving the land for the locals. Several dragged her along to have a look at some new ideas for placards. One old guy involved her in an elaborate discussion about some legal technicality, which she handled with aplomb and a great show of interest, even though he could somehow tell that she was answering his questions automatically.

No one paid the slightest bit of attention to him.

He was introduced, of course, and he, likewise, was shown yet more placards to add to the already healthy supply in evidence.

‘Very artistic,’ he contributed to one of the middle-aged women who had carted him off to one side. ‘I like the...er...’

‘Drawings?’ She delightedly pointed to the illustration of stick figures holding placards showing stick figures holding placards. ‘I’m trying to convey the idea that all of this is a never-ending problem which will just keep recurring until everyone feels as passionately about the countryside as we do.’

‘Very imaginative.’

‘I guess you’ll be helping? Rose says you’re interested in what’s taking place in this little pocket of the world.’

‘Very interested,’ Art said with heartfelt honesty, relieved to be dragged away before he could be quizzed further. The woman struck him as the sort who took no prisoners.

Overhead, the sun continued to beat down with ferocity. He felt hot and sweaty and in need of just a handful of those minor luxuries he took for granted. A nice cool shower, for one thing.

He’d brought the minimum of clothes, stuffed into a holdall which he’d left in the Land Rover. They nestled on top of his computer, because there was no way he intended to be completely out of reach. That would have been unthinkable.

‘So,’ Rose said brightly when she was back at his side, having done the rounds, including squatting on the ground to talk to some of the children, ‘I notice that you didn’t think to bring a tent.’

‘Come again?’

‘I’m getting ahead of myself.’ She drew him to one side. ‘You said that you planned on staying for a few days and you don’t have a tent, but I think it might be possible for you to share one. I know Rob over there has a tent that’s as big as a house and I’m sure he’d be delighted to share his space with a fellow protestor.’

Art tried not to recoil with horror. ‘That,’ he all but choked, ‘won’t do.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I have some savings and I will dip into them to stay somewhere...er...locally...’

‘But why? Honestly, the site is really very comfortable. Everyone enjoys staying there.’

‘And I applaud them, but that’s not for me.’

‘It’s stupid to use your savings to rent somewhere for a week. Or however long you plan on staying. Besides, in case you haven’t noticed, this is an extremely touristy part of the country. Dead in winter but the hotels around here are expensive and almost all of them will be fully booked in summer.’ She stood back and looked at him narrowly.

‘I believe you when you say that you don’t have criminal tendencies.’ She folded her arms and inclined her head to one side.

‘I’m breathing a sigh of relief as I stand here.’

‘And I think it’s ridiculous for you to waste your money trying to find somewhere around here to rent. You’ll be broke by the end of a week. Trust me.’ She said nothing for a few minutes, giving him ample time to try to figure out where this was heading.

But she didn’t expand, instead choosing to begin walking back to the Land Rover, which was a longwinded exercise because she was stopped by someone every couple of steps. On the way she collected an offering of several files, which she promised to look at later.

‘Nothing to do with the land,’ she confided to Art when they were finally back in the muddy four-wheel drive and she was swinging away from the land, back out to the open road. ‘George is having issues with one of his employees. Wants some advice. Normally it’s the other way round for me, but I promised I’d have a look at the file.’

‘Generous of you. I can see how popular you are with everyone there.’

Rose laughed, a musical sound of amusement that did the same thing to Art as her smile did, rousing him in ways that were unexpected and surprisingly intense.

He did know that there were pertinent questions he should be asking to further his understanding of how he could win this war without losing the battle but he couldn’t seem to get his head in the right place to ask the right questions. Instead, he found himself staring at her from under his lashes, vaguely wondering what it was about her that was so compelling.

‘Now that you’ve turned down my dinner invitation,’ he drawled, ‘perhaps you could drive me to the nearest, cheapest B&B. I’m touched at your concern for the level of my savings, but I’ll manage.’

‘There’s no reason why you can’t stay at my place.’

‘Your place?’

Rose laughed, caught his eye sideways and forced a grin out of him. ‘It’s big and you can pay your way doing things around the house while you’re there. Two of the rooms need painting, which is a job I never seem to get round to doing, and there’s a stubborn leak in the tap. A constant drip, drip, drip.’

‘You want me to fix leaks and paint your house?’ DIY and Art had never crossed paths. Paint a room? Fix a leak? He couldn’t have flung himself further out of his comfort zone if he’d tried.

‘In return for free board and lodging. Oh, how good are you at cooking?’

‘It’s something I’ve always tried to avoid.’

‘Do we have a deal?’

‘Why do you live in such a big house if you can’t afford to?’

‘Long story.’

‘I’m a very good listener. There’s nothing I enjoy more than a long story. I guess we can get to that in due course because I would love to accept your generous offer.’ He wondered what other skills she thought he possessed. There was a chance they would both end up in Casualty if he tried his hand at cooking, so he disabused her straight away on that count and she laughed and shrugged and laughed again and told him that it had been worth a shot.

‘I can cook and when I put my mind to it I actually enjoy it, but I’m so busy all of the time that it always feels like a chore.’

‘You might regret asking me to paint a room,’ Art said seriously as she bumped along the narrow lanes, driving past clusters of picturesque houses with neat box hedges before the open fields swallowed them up again, only to disgorge them into yet another picturesque village. ‘I’m very happy to try my hand at it, but one thing I do insist on doing is paying you for my accommodation.’

‘Don’t be stupid.’

‘If you don’t agree to this then you can dump me off right here and I’ll sort myself out, whatever the cost.’

Rose clicked her tongue impatiently.

‘You obviously need the money,’ Art continued almost gently, as the outskirts of the village loomed into view. ‘You rent rooms out and the place, from all accounts, is falling apart at the seams...’

‘Very well.’ She kept her eyes firmly focused on the road ahead. ‘In which case, I’ll accept your dinner invitation on the proviso that I cook dinner for you.’

‘Deal,’ Art drawled, relaxing back into the passenger seat. Could he have hoped for a better outcome than this? No.

He was looking forward to this evening. The thorny business of going undercover to talk some sense into his opposition wasn’t going to be the annoying uphill trek he had originally foreseen after all...

In fact...hand on heart, Art could honestly say that he was looking forward to this little break in his routine.

CHAPTER THREE

BY THE TIME they were back at the house the clatter of people had been replaced by the peace of silence. The gardening club crew had departed, as had whoever else was renting one of the downstairs rooms. Phil popped out and Art watched as he and Rose huddled in a brief discussion.

While they talked in low voices, he took the opportunity to look around him.

It was a big house but crying out for attention. The paint was tired, the carpet on the stairs threadbare and the woodwork, in places, cracked or missing altogether.

He made himself at home peering into the now empty rooms and saw that they were sizeable and cluttered with hastily packed away bits and pieces.

It was impossible to get any real idea of what the house might once have looked like in grander times because every nook and cranny had been put to use. Work desks fitted into spaces where once sofas and chaises longues might have resided, and in the office where she worked books lined the walls from floor to ceiling.

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