Persuading Annie Read Online Free PDF Page A

Fifty-odd years on this earth had not diminished the joy he found in looking at his own features. In fact, if anything, they had served only to deepen the love he had for them.
    Looking at his reflection was George’s favourite hobby: it didn’t stretch his attention span and it confirmed his long-held belief that the aesthetic was superior to the functional. It was his face that had got him almost everything in this world.
    He smiled warmly at himself in the mirror. The ink-black of his pupils visibly swelled, reducing the liquid brown irises to a crescent-fine outline. His heart – such as it was – expanded. What style, what balance, what symmetry! He allowed himself one last wide smile – didn’t want to give himself lines – before adopting his usual serene expression.
    Once ready for work, George padded through his apartment. He opened his front door and breathed in the heady scent of jasmine before crunching down the gravel drive to where his limousine waited for him at the kerb. Excellentexercise, walking. George insisted on it every morning if the weather was fine. One last deep breath and then into the car, which, alligator-like, darted silently away from the kerb and sped off. Twenty cocooned minutes later, George was at his London office in Mayfair.
    The glass door of Markhams’ PR breathed open for George and he strode through the front office, nodding curtly at the blonde heads of his young staff, to the lift. Large gilt-framed posters of successful clients from the company’s heyday bordered the office: a phenomenally popular novelty game that had lost its novelty within months, one of the first-ever whitening toothpastes, a Radio 1 disc jockey.
    Inside the moving mirrored coffin, George brushed the top button with his index finger and, while gliding up to his penthouse office, glanced at his reflection to check that his tie and teeth were straight. They always were.
    The door slid silently open.
    ‘Good morning, Mr Markham,’ greeted his secretary, Shirley, smiling warmly. ‘Your coffee’s on the table.’
    ‘Ah well then,’ he greeted her back. ‘All’s right with the world.’
    Shirley smiled, turned and walked as coquettishly as possible out of the room, which was not easy considering she was wearing a pleated A-line skirt and had size eighteen arthritic hips.
    George eyed Shirley’s retreating figure, as he did every morning. Marvellous secretary, he thought. Marvellous. Made coffee that woke you up faster than a pretty gal touching your personals.
    George took his coffee, as usual, standing at his full-length window, overlooking London’s hallowed streets. But todayhe was unable to prevent a few rather unsightly frown lines to pucker his perfectly proportioned brow.
    He had a meeting at 11am with his solicitor, Mr Cavendish, and even George knew things were going to get ugly. Which meant that his finance director – and trusted friend – Susannah Brooke should be here any minute. He glanced down at his Patek Philippe watch and noted the elegance of the long outstretched hand lying upwards like the neck of a dying swan. Extraordinarily beautiful. He looked up and breathed in deeply. Ah, life was good.
    He looked down again to see what time it was.
    His eldest daughter, Katherine, should make it in time for the meeting, though she’d been partying till late the night before. Took after her father, that one, he reflected proudly. Might even have got herself into a glossy again, he thought with a triumphant glow. He hoped to God that this time she’d remembered to stay sober till after the photographer had gone.
    There was a gentle knock at the door.
    ‘Mrs Brooke to see you.’
    Ah, Susannah! He turned to greet his old friend.
    ‘George,’ greeted Susannah warmly, walking towards him.
    ‘My dear,’ greeted George, allowing her to kiss him on both cheeks. They sat down, feeling safe in the knowledge that they entirely concurred with each other on every matter.
    Today, however, was a