The Pregnant Tycoon

‘Isn’t it?’ he said, and made to walk on, but one of them stopped him with a hand on his arm.

‘Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?’

He sighed and gave a rather polite smile that made Izzy want to laugh.

‘Sorry, ladies. Mrs Jones, Mrs Willis, this is Isabel Brooke.’

Mrs Willis nodded sagely, smiling at Izzy in a way that made her instincts prickle. ‘Of course. You’ve been busy since you left here—the papers don’t think much of you, do they, dear?’

Izzy smiled sweetly in reply. ‘Don’t they? I wouldn’t know—I have better things to do than read the gutter press.’

The woman sucked in her breath, but any reply she might have made was drowned out by Will, coughing suddenly and turning away, and Izzy had to fight the urge to laugh.

‘Sorry—choked—need a drink,’ he gasped, and, grabbing her elbow, he steered her towards the café.

As they made their escape, Mrs Willis got her breath back. ‘Well, really!’ she muttered.

‘Of course, they used to run around together—if you ask me, he had a narrow escape,’ Mrs Jones chipped in. ‘Julia was a lovely girl.’

Here we go, she thought. They’re going to start on my mythical conquests in a minute.

A minute? They didn’t wait that long.

‘That one’s a nasty piece of work,’ Mrs Willis went on. ‘Supposed to have a revolving door on her bedroom.’

‘Oh, I believe it, and it isn’t hard to work out what she’s after now,’ Mrs Jones said spitefully, her voice carrying clearly across the farmyard, and Will gave an exasperated sigh and shot Izzy an apologetic look.

‘Hell, Izzy, I’m sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I didn’t imagine even those two would be quite so harsh.’

She shrugged. ‘Don’t worry. I’m used to it. I’ve heard the revolving door joke so many times I’m immune,’ she lied. And yet, even though she heard it every day, even though she was constantly sniped at by thwarted business rivals and the press took endless potshots at her reputation, still, to hear it up here in what had always seemed like the ultimate sanctuary—that hurt.

It wouldn’t be so bad, she thought, if there was any truth in it. If she had even one per cent of the fun she was supposed to have, she wouldn’t feel so hard done by—and maybe that was the trouble.

‘Come on, we’ll get you a nice cup of coffee and a menu to look at, and you can say hello to Mum. She’ll be pleased to see you.’

‘Is she expecting me?’

‘I told her I was bringing a friend in. I didn’t tell her who, but the rest of them seem to have found out.’

‘Won’t the children have said something anyway?’