A Fragile Heart (BBW Billionaire Light Romance) (3 page)

§

The rest of the day passed in a blur, but from time to time someone would comment on the donation and wonder where it had come from. Elena tried to concentrate on her work and waited until she was on her way home before she rang Josh on his mobile.

“Are you in the flat, and are you going out this evening?” she said.

“Yeah, later,” he replied. “I’m seeing Pete around eight. Why?”

“Because I want you to do a bit of detective work on my laptop, tracing a company. You're much better at it than I am. You'll be finished before eight.”

“Boring,” he replied.

“I'll bring home Chinese takeaway,” Elena promised.

“Alright. It's a deal.”

Josh had always been instinctively good with computers.
 
And it took him just a few minutes to discover that Silverton Associates was indeed a company set up by a Guy Silver and Graham Ashton, a merging of their names. They were highly successful with offices in Canary Wharf, London, Montreal and Hong Kong dealing in property, shipping and the leisure industry. Josh continued searching around online and dug up a photo, too.

“Is this your Guy?” he asked.

“He’s not
mine
,” Elena blushed. “But yes, that's him.”

It was a newspaper article and photo taken at a function in some expensive up-market hotel. An awards ceremony for business promotion. There he was, the man from Sunday, looking impossibly suave and handsome in a tuxedo, and next to him a younger man, slim and intense looking with rimless glasses. Silverton Associates. They were flanked by two elegant women, to the left of Graham Ashton a petite blonde with a neat slim figure, in a silver shift dress. And next to Guy, her arm looped through his, stood a tall, stunning brunette in what was obviously a designer dress, black and figure-hugging, her long neck circled with glittering diamonds.

“So, he’s the donor?” Josh said, peering at the screen. “You must have made quite an impression on him.”
 

Elena couldn't drag her eyes away from the woman next to Guy. Of course she must be his wife; someone like him would have to be married to a beautiful woman, and would move in charmed circles, protected by his wealth from the normal world.
 

The donation was probably some form of tax concession
, she decided. But even so, when she thought about the amount, she wondered if she’d given the impression that she was asking for money for the hospice, and hoped that was not the case. She felt that he should be properly thanked, however it had happened, as it was still an extremely generous gift.

“The company will get an email of recognition from the hospice probably,” Josh said when she mentioned this to him.

§

That evening, Josh went out to meet his friend and Elena found herself thinking once more about the large donation.
 

Okay, it was from a prosperous business, and was possibly tax deductible, but even so, she felt somehow responsible. After all, if she hadn't landed on his front step, then the hospice would never have received their five thousand pounds.
 

She wanted somehow to acknowledge his gift. She thought around the possible ways: an email to his office? Too impersonal. A phone call? No number. So, what to do?
 

Then she thought of her mother when they were young, insisting that she and Josh always wrote out thank you notes for their birthday and Christmas presents.
 

A full letter might be too personal, and she wouldn't know how to phrase it, but what about a simple thank you card?
 

With that, Elena had made up her mind. She would buy a card on the way to work, write a brief line or two inside, and post it on her lunch break.

The only problem with this plan was that she didn't actually know his address. The only solution would be to retrace her steps from the park last Sunday and see if she could recognise the house, and hope that she could pop the card through his letterbox unseen. After all, he’d said that he usually worked long hours in the week and enjoyed Sundays off.
 

She stopped at the newsagent's and selected an unfussy thank-you card, then thought long and hard about the correct way to address the envelope and the message to put inside.
 

In the end, she kept it simple:

To Guy Silver, Silverton Associates,

Thank you for your generous gift which was much appreciated,
 

Elena Walsh (Number 56)

§

With her coat collar turned up and a long scarf wound around her neck, Elena walked slowly down the pavement, scrutinising the expensive Regency houses. They all looked similar – brass door knockers and letter boxes, bay trees in lead planters, marble steps. But which one was his?
 

Then she spotted the gate into the park, where she’d crossed the road and stumbled, but had she crossed in a straight line or veered slightly to the right?
 

She felt very conspicuous in the quiet, leafy road and her heart began to race. There would surely be CCTV security cameras all around this area and she could be spotted as a possible burglar or, at the very least, someone acting suspiciously. The card was gripped tightly in her pocket and she began to doubt the sense of what she was attempting ...
 

There it was!
 

She remembered the glossy, dark navy door. It had to be the right one. Taking a deep breath and glancing around to make sure no-one was watching, she ran quickly up the steps and pushed the card through the brass letterbox. Down the steps and back up the road, it was done.
 

She must now put Guy Silver out of her mind. After all some people never even meet a billionaire in their whole lives, let alone have one put frozen peas on their ankle. And in time it would make a good story, the next time she found herself in the wine bar with her friends.
 

However, she must get back to reality and stop day dreaming about him. He lived in another world and was most probably happily married.

Chapter Five

The long winter was hanging on even in the middle of March. It should have been a time for daffodils in the park and a promise of Spring, but the icy wind from the North swept down the streets, creeping into gaps under doors and around windows. People huddled into heavy winter coats, boots and scarves. Elena took pity on a couple of stringy, hungry looking pigeons which tried to land on the window-sill of the flat and started putting out some bread for them; they were obviously feeling the winter chill and foraging for any food they could find.
   

Elena was relieved that Josh had found a regular part-time washing up job in a little Greek restaurant nearby. At least he would be out of the flat during the day instead of running up the heating bills, and they even fed him at the end of his shift.
 

From time to time she thought about having a serious chat with him about his future, but somehow the days slipped past, as they settled into a placid routine around each other.

Occasionally, she thought that perhaps she should contact an employment agency herself and see if there were any jobs going which were better paid, so that she might be able to afford a larger apartment, but she put this off, too. She was happy working where she was and where the staff were friendly as she still felt a bit of a new-comer in London. She might well be able to earn more money, but she also didn't feel ready for any lifestyle changes, quite at the moment …
 

§

The working day had reached its end. Elena switched off her computer and took her tea mug to rinse it out in the kitchen. She found Yvonne there, putting the remainder of the milk into the small fridge.

“Any plans tonight?” she enquired.

“Not really,” Elena replied. “Just looking forward to a night in front of the TV, I think. It's too cold to go out.”

Yvonne nodded, saying they should all go to the wine bar over the road on Friday after work, just to chill out for an hour or two.

Elena pulled on her long black coat and wound a striped scarf around her neck. She noticed that her leather boots were looking rather worn. She really must watch out for the sales in the Spring and see if she could get some new ones, ready for next Winter.
 

Next Winter
, she thought.
What will I be doing then? Still working here probably and worrying about Josh.
 

She closed the door to the open plan office and stepped through into the little lobby which acted as reception. There was someone waiting, leaning on the counter, his back to her.

“I'm afraid we’re closed now,” she called out, walking towards the door.

“It's you I came to see.”

Elena turned round, sure she knew that voice. The man from Sunday stood there — Guy Silver, expensively dressed in a charcoal grey cashmere overcoat, a deep purple scarf loosely knotted at the neck, his slightly long, dark hair curling over his collar, his steely eyes fixed on hers. She stood still, frozen in shock, unable to gather her thoughts.

“I noticed a wine bar across the road,” he said. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Elena managed to nod, pulling her coat closer, her mind racing.
 

Here she was, dressed in her heavy black winter coat, which must be at least five years old, scruffy boots, looking a bit frazzled at the end of a long working day, gazing at the unexpected sight of this unpredictable, fabulous man.

Guy moved forward and held the door open for her. And in a daze she followed him across the busy street and into the brightly lit wine bar. It was practically empty in the early evening and he moved confidently to a small table in the window, pulling out a seat for her.

“Red or white?” he asked with a gentle smile.

“Red please, but just a small one,” Elena said, aware of her empty stomach.
 

She’d been trying to cut down a little on her lunch at work, but one wholemeal sandwich and an apple didn't really last until evening and she was feeling pretty hungry.

Guy returned with two glasses of red wine and sat down opposite her.

“I wanted to thank you for the trouble you took sending that thank you card,” he said, his steely grey eyes flashing at hers once again, his perfectly-manicured hands folded in front of him on the table.

“Oh, that's okay,” she replied. “We just needed to say a proper thanks for the donation.”

“The Company does give to some of the large charities,” Guy continued. “But I can't think of any time they’ve bothered to send
 
hand written thanks. Maybe it’s better to concentrate on the smaller organisations.”

“It's a small hospice. I just felt you needed to know it was appreciated” Elena replied. And then, before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “How did you find me?”

“I pay my P.A. a very good salary to do things like that,” Guy his handsome face lighting up in a warm smile.
 

And Elena began to feel slightly overwhelmed by the situation, wondering what she could say next.

“The other thing is,” he continued, “I felt that maybe we got off to a bad start the other Sunday. You see, I'm a bit of a workaholic, six days a week until quite late, so Sunday, my day off, I like to just get the papers in, make coffee, loaf around undisturbed. I may have been a little rude.”

"Oh no, at least you provided the frozen peas," Elena replied.

She gulped down the rest of her wine, which seemed to be going straight to her head. And common sense told her that she should get away, go home; this man was far too devastating, she was amazed that she was even here drinking with him.

“You've finished your glass,” he said, making to rise from his seat. “Shall I get us a bottle?”

“No, really. I shouldn't have any more, not without food. It makes me feel a bit dizzy ...”

Guy grinned. “Well, we couldn't have that now could we? Know anywhere nearby that does good food? I haven't eaten yet, either.”
 

Chapter Six

The Golden Lion was an old London pub that had managed to escape modernisation. There were wooden floors, mismatched oak tables and chairs, and black and white photos on the walls of London back in the swinging Sixties; almost an atmosphere of times gone by. But a log fire blazed in the open hearth and the food was all home cooked, and it was a place Elena and her friends from work liked to visit when they’d been paid at the end of the month.
 

“Grab a table,” Guy said, “and I'll get us a bottle. Red still okay?”

Elena nodded. And as she found a table for two just near the cozy roaring fire, she still felt it was difficult to believe that she was actually
here
with Guy. But this was the first place she’d thought of, and she certainly hadn't wanted to go anywhere too smart.

Guy returned with the wine bottle and two glasses. He remained standing while he poured out the wine, then said, “I'll go and get the menu.”

Elena smiled and shook her head. “There isn't a menu,” she explained, “just a blackboard behind the bar. I'll have the beef casserole.”

“How do you know it's on?” he asked, his right eyebrow raising quizzically.

“Speciality of the house. It's always on.”

Trying not to be too obvious, she watched Guy at the bar — the athletic broadness of his shoulders beneath his immaculately-tailored midnight blue suit — his whole personality so confident and self-assured, chatting to Fred the barman as though he was an old friend. The pub was quickly filling up, office workers and regulars popping in for a drink or meal at the end of the working day. It was lucky they’d got here early, another half hour and the pub would be packed.
 

For a moment Elena wondered if anyone she knew might come in, then tried to tell herself to live in the moment, to stop thinking about who might come in or what might happen next, and just take the evening as it came ...

When Guy returned to the table he was carrying a plate of French bread and a small dish of butter.