Read Online Mad About the Boy? by Dolores Gordon-Smith - Free Book Online Page A

worth two of that,’ said Sir Philip. He strode on and knocked sharply on the door. ‘Hey! Lyvenden! What’s going on in there?’
    The door was flung open by Lord Lyvenden who, when he saw them, nearly collapsed in relief. ‘Rivers, my dear chap. Thank God you’re here.’ He stepped back to let them enter.
    A dark, thickset man with a seamed face and a wisp of beard was standing by the french windows. Well, thought Haldean, it’s not the same bloke as last night, but he’s a nasty piece of work, all the same. Unconsciously his hands curled into fists.
    The Russian was smoking a thin black cigar and, as they entered, turned to look at them with raised eyebrows. ‘So,
my lord.
’ There was a wealth of sarcasm in the title. ‘These are your friends, are they?’
    â€˜Don’t you take that tone of voice with me,’ said Sir Philip pugnaciously. ‘Who the devil are you?’
    The man smiled, revealing yellowing teeth. ‘A business associate of the lordship here. We were just discussing matters. Private matters.’ He put his head to one side, looking at Lyvenden. ‘And the business has just been concluded, yes?’
    â€˜I . . . I think so,’ said Lord Lyvenden, weakly. ‘You really shouldn’t have come down, my good man. I would much prefer all this to be settled in Town. Look, for God’s sake, will you go!’
    The Russian casually dropped his cigar on the rug and ground it out with his heel.
    Sir Philip looked at the rug, looked at the Russian and, with eyes blazing, stalked across to him. ‘Out! Now!’
    The man spread his hands wide. ‘I am going. I do not wish to spend more time here than I have to.’
    Haldean dropped a hand on his uncle’s arm. If Uncle Philip really lost his temper, the Russian looked as if he could be vicious. Who on earth was this chap? That could wait. The main thing was to get him out of here, before Uncle Phil got hurt. ‘The door’s this way,’ he said pleasantly. ‘After you.’
    They walked out of the room together, Sir Philip pausing only to jerk his head at his guest. ‘Lyvenden! I’d like a word with you.’
    Their progress back to the hall was punctuated by Lyvenden’s attempts at an apology. He scurried after them, his flabby face pale and working with emotion. ‘Terribly sorry . . . wouldn’t have had it happen for worlds . . . just a little matter of business . . . most unfortunate . . . very sorry for this unfortunate incident . . .’ The Russian stopped dead and turned to glare at Lyvenden, who cringed like a kicked dog.
    â€˜Come on,’ growled Sir Philip, putting his hand on the man’s shoulders. ‘The sooner you’re out of here the better.’
    The Russian threw off Sir Philip’s hand with a contemptuous shrug and strode into the hall. Here curiosity had evidently been too much for everyone, for no one had left. The Russian glanced round at the silent group in obvious disdain before striding to the door, his feet ringing in the silence on the marble floor. Egerton opened the door in his stiffest manner, waiting for the unwelcome visitor to go.
    Haldean breathed a sigh of relief. That bloke could have been very nasty indeed. He looked swiftly at Alfred Charnock, pleased if rather surprised that Charnock hadn’t started something. His pleasure was short-lived.
    Charnock unpropped himself from the pillar of the door where he had been leaning and said, ‘Just a minute, old sport. I can’t possibly let you pop off without any sort of explanation. What are you doing here?’ His tone was deliberately offensive.
    The Russian didn’t answer, but stood with his arms folded across his chest. Charnock stuck his hands in his pockets and lounged back against the pillar.
    The two men were oddly alike, trading arrogant stare for arrogant stare. Charnock laughed. ‘Well?’
    â€˜This is a