Marrying Winterborne (The Ravenels #2) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,49
the owner’s name. Severin knows better than to expect me to buy property without knowing who’s selling it.”
“I would have thought it was legally required for the owner’s name to be listed.”
“There are ways around it.” Rhys nodded toward the file in Fernsby’s hands. “The mortgage wasn’t financed by a bank, but through a loan from a cooperative building society. According to the deed, the property is owned by a private investment company. I’d bet a hundred pounds that it’s being held in trust for an unnamed party.”
“Why would someone go to such trouble instead of buying it in his own name?”
“In the past, I’ve bought property anonymously to keep the asking price from going through the roof when they hear my name. And I have business adversaries who would enjoy putting me in my place now and then, by denying me something I want. Likely this man’s reasons are similar. But I want his name.”
“Would Mr. Severin be willing to tell you, if you asked him directly?”
Rhys shook his head. “He would have told me already. I suspect he knows it would ruin the deal if I found out.”
“Shall I give this information to the same man we hired to research the canning factory purchase?”
“Aye, he’ll do.”
“I’ll take care of it right away. Also, Doctor Havelock is waiting to have a word with you.”
Rhys rolled his eyes impatiently. “Tell him my shoulder is as good as—”
“I don’t give a tinker’s damn about your shoulder,” came a gravelly voice from the threshold. “I’ve come about a more important matter.”
The speaker was Dr. William Havelock, formerly the private physician to a handful of privileged London families. He had also been a medical journalist with progressive views, writing about poor-law medicine and public health issues. Eventually his wealthy patients had been irked by the political debates he had stirred up, and had turned to other, less controversial practitioners.
Rhys had hired Havelock ten years ago, ever since the store had first broken ground on Cork Street. It had made sense to hire a permanent staff doctor to take care of his employees, keeping them healthy and productive.
The middle-aged widower was a fit, sturdy man with a lionesque head, a shock of snow-white hair, and eyes that had seen humanity at its highest and lowest. His craggy face was routinely set in truculent lines, but when he was with his patients, his features softened with a grandfatherly kindness that immediately earned their trust.
“Dr. Havelock,” Mrs. Fernsby said with a touch of annoyance, “I asked you to wait in the visitors’ foyer.”
“Winterborne doesn’t mind interfering with my schedule,” he said testily, “so I’ve decided to interfere with his.”
They exchanged narrow-eyed glances.
More than a few employees had speculated that beneath the habitual antagonism between Havelock and Mrs. Fernsby, the two were secretly attracted to each other. Seeing the pair at this moment, Rhys was inclined to believe the rumor.
“Good morning, Havelock,” Rhys said. “How have I interfered with your schedule?”
“By foisting an unexpected visitor on me during a day when I have at least a dozen patients to attend to.”
Rhys sent Mrs. Fernsby a questioning glance.
“He’s referring to Dr. Gibson,” she told him. “I interviewed her as you asked. Having found her both qualified and agreeable, I sent her to Dr. Havelock.”
Havelock asked brusquely, “How can you judge her qualifications, Fernsby?”
“She has a medical degree with honors and top prizes,” Mrs. Fernsby retorted.
“From France,” Havelock said with a slight sneer.
“Considering how English doctors failed to save my poor husband,” Mrs. Fernsby snapped, “I would take a French doctor any day.”
Before the argument could develop into a full-fledged brawl, Rhys interceded quickly. “Come in, Havelock, and we’ll discuss Dr. Gibson.”
The physician entered the office, saying pointedly as he passed the secretary, “I would like some tea, Fernsby.”
“That’s Mrs. Fernsby to you. And you may find all the tea you want at the staff canteen.”
Pausing, Havelock turned to give her an offended glance. “Why can he call you Fernsby?”
“Because he is Mr. Winterborne, and you are not.” Mrs. Fernsby focused her attention on Rhys. “Sir, would you care for some tea? If so, I suppose I could place an extra cup on the tray for Dr. Havelock.”
Rhys struggled to conceal his amusement before replying blandly, “I believe I would. Thank you, Fernsby.”
After the secretary had left the office, Rhys said to Havelock, “I made it clear to Dr. Gibson that her hiring was subject to your approval.”
A scowl divided the older man’s forehead into a ladder of ridges.