Читать книгу Manolos In Manhattan - Katie Oliver - Страница 25

Chapter Sixteen

Holly’s mobile phone buzzed from the recesses of her handbag, and she reached behind her chair to grab it. “Speaking of Jamie,” she said in apology to Natalie as she glanced at the screen, “he’s calling. Hello?”

“Crikey, Hols, where’ve you been?” he asked testily. “I’ve called three times, and every time I get your voicemail.”

“Sorry, I’ve been busy. I’m having lunch with Nat.” She paused. “Why, what’s up?”

“I wanted to say sorry I couldn’t meet you for lunch. And to let you know I’ll try to get home a bit earlier tonight. Catherine wants to go over the food orders again before we leave to be sure we haven’t forgotten anything.”

“Of course she does.” A world of sarcasm undercut her words.

“Look, Hols – I know we’ve not seen each other much, and I’m sorry, but it’s a lot of work getting the restaurant ready to open. I’m all over the place at the moment. I thought you understood that.”

“I do,” she sighed, instantly regretting her criticism. “I know it’s not your fault.”

“I don’t know what I’d do if it wasn’t for Catherine,” he added. “She’s been a real lifesaver through all of this.”

Any vestiges of sympathy Holly felt for Jamie dried up on the spot and morphed into irritation. “Well, hurrah for her. So glad she’s there to save the day once again. Sorry, Jamie, but we have a bad connection. I have to go,” she said abruptly. “Talk to you later. Bye.” She rang off.

Their plates arrived, and she and Natalie tucked into their respective entrees. Nat made no mention of Holly’s brief but semi-heated conversation with Jamie. Of course she wouldn’t, Holly thought; she was far too polite.

She scowled as she took a roll from the basket and buttered it with savage motions. Catherine spent far more time with her fiancé than she did, and it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair at all, in fact it was driving her absolutely bat-shit crazy—

“Something wrong, Hols?” Natalie inquired gently.

Holly looked up, startled out of her dark thoughts. “No. Why do you ask?”

“Well – you’re buttering your bread. And you never eat bread. Or butter.”

Holly forced her thoughts aside. It wasn’t fair to Nat to scowl and sulk through lunch because of Jamie’s ridiculous culinary infatuation with Catherine. “You’re right. Sorry, just thinking about that flapper and wondering who she is,” she said, and returned her bread to the basket.

Natalie nodded her understanding but said nothing more. She knows I’m lying, Holly thought.

They both knew she was lying.

“I’m done.”

Jamie took off his apron later that evening and sank wearily onto a barstool and glanced around him. Everything was nearly ready for the opening.

“It looks amazing,” Catherine said, reading his thoughts as she rested her hip against the bar. “You’ve done a great job, Jamie.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Not true. You worked your ass off for weeks to get here.”

“It’ll all be worth it when we open the doors. But now–” He stood up. “–I really should go. I might even manage to get home before midnight tonight. I promised Holly I’d try.”

Catherine went behind the bar and retrieved a bottle. “Oh, no,” she said firmly. “Not until you have at least one glass of champagne with me to celebrate. We’ve earned it.”

She popped the cork, laughing as a froth of fizz bubbled out, and filled two glasses. She handed him one. “To us. Cheers.”

“Okay. Why the hell not?” he said as he took the glass. “Cheers,” he echoed, and grinned as he sat back down. “Here’s to you, Catherine – the best damned sous chef in Manhattan.”

There was nothing that a bubble bath couldn’t cure, Natalie reflected that evening as she eased herself into the claw-footed antique tub and leaned her head back in bliss.

It was half-past seven, and Rhys wasn’t home yet. But she didn’t mind. It gave her extra time to linger in the frangipani-scented bath, spray herself with frangipani-scented perfume, and arrange herself seductively in bed to await her husband’s arrival.

Well, she thought ruefully as she rested a hand on the slight swell of her stomach, at least as seductive as one could look in the fourth (nearly fifth) month of pregnancy.

But as she sat propped against the pillows a short time later, reading a murder mystery about a man who escaped from a mental health facility and went on a killing spree in a quiet English village, Natalie wished she’d chosen something a bit more...anodyne to read.

She lifted her head from the book. What was that sound? Had she heard a floorboard creak?

She could still see that figure looming over her in the darkness the other night, and the thought sent a remembered chill down her spine.

But Rhys had searched the apartment quite thoroughly, she reminded herself. And he’d found nothing.

Because no one was here, Natalie reassured herself. And even if someone had been in the apartment, they’d left without taking anything or causing any harm.

Still, she decided uneasily as she got out of bed, it wouldn’t hurt to throw the deadbolt on the front door until Rhys got home and check the apartment again, just to be sure. She’d left a lamp on in the living room and on the hallway table, unwilling to face a dark, shadowy room while she was alone.

Her mobile phone rang, and she started. She glanced at the screen. Rhys. “Are you on your way home?” she asked shakily.

“Yes. I got us takeaway from Madame Wu’s.” He paused. “What’s wrong? You sound upset. Has something happened?”

“Everything’s fine,” she said. “I’m reading one of those English murder mysteries and scaring myself a bit, that’s all.”

“Darling, why do you do that?” he scolded her. “Never mind, I’m nearly there. I’ll see you in about ten minutes.”

“I can’t wait.” Feeling immediately better, Natalie returned to the bedroom and drew on a robe, and went in the kitchen to wait for Rhys.

As she polished off a second spring roll twenty minutes later, Nat licked her fingers. “This is really scrummy.”

Takeway containers and packets of plum sauce and Chinese mustard littered the kitchen table as she and Rhys dined on sticky chicken and dan dan noodles.

Rhys dipped a spoon in his sweet and sour soup. “We have Chaz to thank. He’s the one who told me about Madame Wu’s.”

“Of course.” Nat resisted rolling her eyes – only just – as she reached for a fortune cookie.

“He knows all of the best places to go. He even typed up a list for me.”

“How thoughtful.” She unwrapped her fortune cookie and read aloud, “‘You will meet a tall, dark stranger.’” She tossed it aside. “How original.”

“No, darling, sorry to say there’s no tall, dark stranger in your future,” Rhys said. “Unless,” he added with a gleam in his eye, “we count your intruder the other night.”

She regarded him indignantly. “I’m glad you find it so amusing, Rhys. I did see someone in the apartment. And anything might have happened if I hadn’t screamed.”

“Yes. I might’ve gotten a decent night’s sleep.”

She didn’t dignify that with a response.

Rhys sighed. “I’ll see what I can do. Perhaps I can have additional security measures put in place. Chaz can look into it.”

Chaz again, Nat thought irritably. “Whatever would you do without him?”

“I honestly don’t know,” he said, completely missing her sarcasm as he leaned back in his chair. “We’ve been so busy, and there’s still so much to do – I’d never have accomplished half of what I have if it weren’t for Chaz. He’s incredibly organized. I’m really very lucky to have him on board.”

Natalie dug out the last of her sticky chicken from the carton with her chopsticks and plopped it on her plate.

I used to dress fashionably, she thought morosely. I used to have Rhys’s eye, and his undivided attention. Now all he can talk about is his personal assistant, and I’m just a...an afterthought. A fat afterthought.

“Natalie,” Rhys said gently as he took the chopsticks from her hand and laid them aside, “what’s wrong? You look like your last credit card was just turned down.”

“Yes, well, you’d know about that, wouldn’t you?” she retorted.

He blinked. “What?”

She stood and carried her plate to the sink and set it down with a clatter. “You hate to see me spend money. You’re always on at me about exercising restraint and thinking before I buy. It gets tiresome. I want to buy things for the baby, and I’ll need new clothes soon. I can barely fit in the old ones.”

“Then of course you should buy whatever you need. But you already have enough baby clothes to stock Piccolini—”

“Most of those were presents,” she said defensively. “And you have to admit, their ‘I Heart NY’ T-shirts and jim-jams are beyond adorable.”

“The problem is, Natalie, you think everything is ‘beyond adorable.’ And then you buy it.”

“It’s our first baby, Rhys! A baby requires a lot of...things. And I did offer to work with you,” she added, “to help out and earn a bit of extra money. I haven’t very much to do these days. But you s-said you don’t need my h-help.”

Then she erupted into tears.

Rhys stood and pulled her to her feet and into his arms. “My darling Nat,” he said into her hair, “you’re being ridiculous. I need you...and I always will. You’re my wife, my everything. And you’re having our child. So there’s no need for you to work at Dashwood and James, or anywhere. Unless you want to, of course.”

“It isn’t about having a job, Rhys. I just want to feel...needed. I feel like an afterthought where you’re concerned, like I have no place in your life.”

He took his finger and tilted her tear-blotched face up to his. “You have the first place in my life,” he told her, his words at once gruff and firm. “And you always will.”

She sniffled and blinked her tear-matted lashes. “Really?”

“Really.” He kissed her and draped his arm around her shoulders. “Now that’s settled, I’m knackered. Let’s go to bed.”