Roberta Leigh - It All Depends on Love Read online

  Roberta Leigh - It All Depends on Love

  Which of them would compromise?

  Tessa had worked hard to get to the responsible position she held. The last thing she'd consider would be giving up surgery for the joys of love and marriage.

  Patrick was an obsessive workaholic who'd built an empire and now saw the acquisition of children as a natural step to ensure the succession. And he wanted a full-time mother for his family.

  "It would serve you right if you fell madly in love with a successful career woman," Tessa said.

  "I'd prefer to be a bachelor forever in that case," Patrick replied.

  Their battle of wills was inevitable—but would one of them emerge the winner…?

  CHAPTER ONE

  'Go away and rest for three months and don't dare come back earlier,' Sir Denis Denzil told Tessa Redfern, and, though she wanted to plead that a month would be enough, she remained silent. No one argued with the great surgeon, least of all herself, who had been his assistant since qualifying as a doctor five years ago.

  And what a tough five years they had been! She had worked herself into the ground—literally, it now seemed, for last week she had collapsed in the operating theatre, though a battery of tests had shown nothing more sinister than total fatigue.

  'Buy yourself some pretty clothes and go on a cruise,' Sir Denis broke into her thoughts. 'Or hibernate in the country and pick flowers. But, whatever you do, don't pick up a knife!'

  Easy advice to give, but not to follow, Tessa thought gloomily, when your lifelong ambition since you were ten had been to be a surgeon!

  ‘I’ll stay at my godfather's house,' she said, 'Unfortunately he's in New Zealand at the moment, studying the bird life, but his housekeeper will enjoy herself mothering me.'

  Sir Denis studied his registrar's fragile features: wide amber eyes fringed by thick, dark lashes in a beguiling elfin face, milk and roses complexion—more milk than roses at the moment—a delicately shaped mouth, a firm chin, and soft curling red-gold hair.

  For all she was only twenty-seven—and looked nineteen—she was the most brilliant assistant he had had, and a great future lay ahead of her. His mouth twitched humorously as he remembered their first meeting, and her efforts to make herself appear older: hair scraped into a bun, horn-rimmed glasses she didn't need, and voluminous clothes to add bulk to her figure. Thank goodness that phase had only lasted till she'd become sufficiently confident not to hide the fact that she was a pocket-sized Venus who could never aspire to be the Amazon of her dreams!

  'No boyfriends, Tessa?'

  'No one serious,' she said, fleetingly remembering Christopher.

  'Not for want of their trying, I'm sure,' came the paternalistic response.

  'I'm not interested in romantic involvements,' she said firmly. 'Time enough when I've made it to the top.'

  That's foolish thinking, if you don't mind my saying so. Our work requires enormous concentration and physical stamina, as you well know, and if our personal lives are happy, our professional ones are the better for it.’ He pushed aside the notes in front of him and leaned forward, a spare, angular figure. 'Not everyone wants marriage and a family, I grant you that, but I'd be surprised if you didn't.'

  'Of course I do,' she admitted. 'But in the future, not now. Being your assistant doesn't leave time for a personal life, Sir Denis! I'm not complaining,' she added hurriedly, 'simply stating a fact.'

  'Which my wife will endorse!' he smiled. 'But if your husband were a doctor, perhaps, who'd understand… And you do get maternity leave!'

  Tessa laughed. 'Hey, you're jumping the gun!'

  Noon the next day found her driving along a leafy Oxfordshire lane to Greentrees—her godfather's small Queen Anne house which had been her home since she was four. As the imposing entrance gates to Finworth Hall flashed by, she was surprised to note they had been newly painted. So crotchety old Lord Finworth had finally spent something on the place! She was curious to know if he'd renovated the house too, but it was too far down the drive to see. Still, Mrs Benson was sore to know what was going on. Uncle Martin jokingly called her the eyes and ears of the world!

  Greentrees came in sight, elegant and compact in its old-world garden, and as she drew to a stop by the front door she experienced a contented sense of homecoming. If only Uncle Martin were here! He and his wife had been close friends of her parents, and after their death on a mountaineering expedition Uncle Martin and his wife had given her a home and treated her as the child they'd never had. Aunt Ellen had died when Tessa was twelve, since when Mrs Benson had dispensed motherly comfort alongside her delicious cooking.

  Tessa was searching for her key when the front door was opened by a plump woman in her fifties.

  'Tessa! How lovely to———' Mrs Benson broke off as she was knocked aside by a huge, shaggy bundle of brown and white fur, three quarters sheepdog, one quarter heaven knew what, and wholly lovable, who greeted Tessa with rapturous barks and flailing tail before dashing round the back of the house and out of sight.

  'Drat that dog!' the woman exclaimed. 'There's a gap in the garden wall and he keeps going through it to the Hall.'

  'Lord Finworth will skin him,' Tessa said, remembering the irascible man's dislike of animals.

  'Not any more, my dear. He died five months ago. Didn't Mr Anderson mention it when you saw him in London?'

  'So he did. I'd quite forgotten. Age must be catching up on me!'

  'Pressure of work, more like it,' Mrs Benson grunted, giving her the once-over. 'You're thin as a pin. Thank goodness you're being sensible and taking a holiday.'

  Returning the woman's motherly hug, Tessa heaved her case from the car and entered the house. The familiar smell of lavender polish and home-baked bread assailed her, and, leaving her things in the hall, she followed Mrs Benson into the kitchen for a longed-for cup of tea.

  As she drank the delicious Darjeeling, and ate one of Mrs Benson's incomparable scones, thick with cream and jam, she admitted that Sir Denis was right as always. She was tight as a drum and sorely in need of a rest.

  Scratching on the back door heralded the return of Henry, who bounded over to her and placed two large paws on her shoulders.

  'I never get that,' Mrs Benson grumbled.

  'Not even for a marrowbone?' Tessa ducked her head to avoid Henry's wet tongue.

  'The ones I give him can't compare with those he gets at the Hall. Mr and Mrs Withers spoil him rotten.'

  'Are they the new owners?'

  'Goodness, no. They're Mr Harper's cook and butler.'

  'What are the Harpers like?'

  'It's Harper in the singular,’ Mrs Benson stated. 'He's Lord Finworth's nephew, and he inherited the place. A proper tycoon, he is. Off in his helicopter at the drop of a hat.'

  'And I came here for peace and quiet!'

  'It mostly is quiet,' the housekeeper assured her. 'They're a very well-behaved lot and keep themselves to themselves.'

  'Lot?' Tessa's curiosity stirred further. 'I thought there was only Mr Harper?'

  'And his think-tank.'

  'His what?'

  'Think-tank. He owns Harper Software, and has about a dozen people here, dreaming up programs for him.'

  Tessa's knife, raised to butter her second scone, stopped in mid-air. Harper Software was famous throughout the world for its brilliant software for industry and medicine.

  'I'm surprised he's allowed to use the Hall for business,' she commented.

  'He only has this group here—his factory's in Kent.'

  'One big happy family, then.’

  'They are,' Mrs Benson correctly read Tessa's expression. 'Too busy for fun and games.'
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br />   'Not surprising, with the big boss keeping an eye on them!'

  'He doesn't. According to Mrs Withers, he spends most of his time in the west wing—he's turned it into his private home. You won't recognise the house and garden, love. It's a fair treat.'

  Tessa agreed whole-heartedly when, shortly afterwards, she gazed through her bedroom window past their own compact garden to the sweeping acres of well-tended lawns and carefully trimmed shrubs and trees. Although the imposing frontage of the Hall was hidden by trees, the section she glimpsed showed new paint, careful re-pointing of brickwork, and gleaming windows.

  The soft purr of an arriving car—no helicopter, thankfully—made her curious as to why Mr Harper had chosen to site his boffins in rural splendour rather than with his factory in Kent. Still, many large companies were moving to the country, and as he'd inherited the Hall and was a bachelor like his uncle he had obviously decided to put the house to use.

  Recollecting Sir Denis's order that she start thinking of a personal life, she debated whether to invite the 'think-tank' over for an informal 'getting to know the neighbours' party. Of course, she'd check with Mr Harper first. If he was a curmudgeon like his uncle, he might not want his employees to fraternise with the locals in case it deflected them from their work.

  Turning from the window, she unpacked, washed, and went to put in a call to her godfather. He was delighted to hear she was taking a three-month sabbatical, and asked if she would care to join him.

  'Some rest I'd have,' she teased. 'You'd have me up all hours watching your beloved birds! No, thanks, Nunc,' she used her favourite word for bun, 'I'm happy to remain here.'

  'Then you'll be able to take care of Henry while Mrs Benson's on holiday. But see you don't spoil him.'

  'I won't,' she promised, though she knew Henry would make it hard for her not to.

  Returning to her room for a book, she glanced through the window and saw him wriggle his large body through a gap in the stone wall, then gambol over the grass to the back door. How infuriating it must be for the people at the Hall to have an oversized hound drooling over them when they were trying to work! First thing tomorrow she'd see about mending the gap. Come to think of it, she was too tired even to read. Stepping out of her dress, she relaxed under the duvet, unable to believe she wasn't on call at the hospital, one ear alert to her bleeper. What bliss having nothing to do except please herself…

  Dusk was casting its purple net over the landscape when a gentle touch on her shoulder brought her instantly to her feet, ready to run to a patient.

  'Sorry to wake you,' Mrs Benson apologised, 'but I didn't want you sleeping through the night and missing dinner. Shall I bring it up to you on a tray?'

  Thanks a million for the offer,' Tessa yawned, 'but no. I know I've worked myself into the ground, but I'm not an invalid. What time is it, anyway?'

  'Nearly rune.'

  'Heavens! You should have woken me earlier.'

  'Why? You came here to rest, didn't you?'

  There's a difference between resting and being slothful! Give me ten minutes and I'll be down.'

  Padding into the bathroom, Tessa undressed and stepped under the shower, enjoying the force of the jets plastering her red-gold curls to her head, and forming rivulets upon her small, tip-tilted breasts, flat stomach and shapely legs.

  She found it strange to be suddenly conscious Of her body. It was as if she had been so busy cutting into other people's these past few years that she hadn't realised she had one of her own! All she'd had time for was throwing on her clothes, bolting down her meals, and rushing between home and hospital.

  Stepping from the shower, she rubbed the steam from the mirrored wall and stared at her face as if for the first time too. What a wreck! Her amber eyes were shadowed with fatigue, and were enormous in her hollow-cheeked face. She blinked the water from her lashes, wishing they were longer, and knowing she should be content that they were several shades darker than her hair and thick as a brush. But she wasn't displeased with her nose, which was small and faintly retrousse, and she quite liked her mouth, with its full upper lip. If she were six inches taller she'd be worth a whistle! She smiled as she recalled the times Uncle Martin had reminded her that good things often came in small packages!

  Donning a housecoat, she went down to dinner and, an hour later, replete with shepherd's pie and a Charentais melon, Tessa sank into a puffy brown velvet armchair in the living-room.

  She glanced affectionately at Henry, sprawled on a rug in front of the unlit fire. With his black nose hidden between his paws, and his back legs splayed straight out behind him, it was a challenge to guess which was the back and front of him! How-lucky I was to grow up here, she mused, eyes ranging over the much-loved paintings, books and Chinese jade figures that filled the shelves. Not only had she had the love of an erudite, kindly man, but she had also been encouraged to share his many interests.

  A marvellous man, she mused lovingly. If she could find a thirty-years-younger version of him, she'd have no problem taking Sir Denis's advice to marry. But this was highly unlikely, for Uncle Martin was a one-off, and she would do better to concentrate on her career and forget about marriage.

  CHAPTER TWO

  That night Tessa dreamed she was with her godfather at Mount Bruce Bird Sanctuary in New Zealand, lying in a hide-out by a lake, waiting for dawn and the birds to awaken.

  And it was bird-song which brought her back to consciousness, though Henry's barking reminded her where she was. She stretched and yawned, luxuriating in the knowledge that she had nothing to do all day except do nothing!

  The delicious aroma of frying bacon provided her with the impetus to get dressed, and, curls abounce from the vigorous brush strokes she hadn't treated them to in months, she ran downstairs—a child of a woman in faded jeans and sweater.

  'Nothing like a good night's rest to bring the roses into your cheeks,' Mrs Benson remarked, setting a plate of steaming oatmeal before her.

  'Plus spoiling and good food,' Tessa smiled, tucking into the porridge.

  'It's such a beautiful day,' the housekeeper went on. 'I've put the cushions on the hammock for you.'

  'First, I'm going to see about that gap in the wall.'

  Breakfast over, she collected the local paper from the front doorstep, tucked it under her arm to read later, and set off down the garden to examine Henry's escape route.

  How could anyone choose to live in a city? she wondered, absorbing the glorious stillness around her and drawing in deep breaths of flower-scented air. London rarely had skies as blue as this. Her eyes ranged the immaculately kept lawns, ablaze with flowers and shrubs, to the grey stone wall that divided Greentrees from the Hall. What on earth had dislodged the centuries-old stones?

  Close up she was none the wiser, and, hoping the other side might offer an explanation, she bent and crawled through the breach.

  Immediately she had her answer. A tall cypress some yards away had spread its roots under the foundation and weakened it. Her eyes glinted. Putting it to rights was Mr Harper's responsibility—unless he didn't object to Henry pestering him!

  'Practising to be an ostrich?' a terse male voice questioned behind her.

  Startled, Tessa remained motionless. Ostrich? Then, realising that bending had put her in a less than dignified position, she hurriedly straightened and turned, raising her eyes to introduce herself to the man. And how far she had to raise them! He was well over six feet, and the handsomest male she had ever met. She took in the glossy chestnut hair atop a narrow, fine-boned face, eyes the blue of sapphires, marked by thick, winging eyebrows, a strong nose and a wide, curling mouth: top lip well defined, lower one full and sensual.

  Tessa had seen many handsome men in her time—-as a surgeon she had frequently had the opportunity of appraising them at leisure!—but never had she encountered one whose impact on her was so specific and profound. Not only did he make her aware of every part of his body—slim, yet wide-shouldered, with well-muscled arms taper
ing to beautifully shaped hands, and firm thighs descending to strong, sinewy legs—but also intensely aware of her own.

  Though his survey of her was general, she was conscious of her breasts tingling as though he had stroked them, and her stomach tightening with a desire that spread lower and grew stronger as it did. This was insane! But, insane or not, warmth permeated every cell and fibre of her being, and she experienced a sense of excitement totally new to her.

  Snap out of it, she ordered herself. You're simply tired and a prey to your imagination. If you'd met him three months ago, you wouldn't have given him a second glance. Yet as she tried to reassure herself she knew he'd have had the same impact on her whenever they had met. Call it fate, luck or chemistry, the end result amounted to the same: for the first time in her life she was physically overwhelmed by a man.

  'Finished?' he asked, frowning at her with those incredibly blue eyes of his.

  'Finished?'

  'Looking me over. If there's any looking to be done, I'm the one to be doing it.'

  'Oh, really?'

  'It's quite usual,' he stated. 'I've no intention of buying a pig in a poke.'

  She blinked. Was he mad? She'd play along with him anyway. 'I'm not selling a pig in a poke.'

  'But you're selling yourself, aren't you? And I've had so many loonies applying, I intend making sure I pick the right one.'

  'Applying for what?' Tessa questioned.

  A well-shod foot nudged the newspaper she had dropped to the ground when examining the wall. 'The advertisement, of course. I assume you're here in answer to it?'

  'Advertisement?'

  'Dammit! Are you a parrot as well as an ostrich?'

  'There's no need to be rude,' Tessa said spiritedly, and was about to walk away when the truth of the situation dawned on her. This man had put an advert in the local paper, and had mistaken her for an applicant! Though why she should then start examining a garden wall… Still, he had said a few loonies had applied, and he obviously thought her another!

  I'm afraid you're mistaken, Mr—er——-'

  'Patrick Harper.'