Читать книгу Cathy Kelly 6-Book Collection: Someone Like You, What She Wants, Just Between Us, Best of Friends, Always and Forever, Past Secrets - Cathy Kelly - Страница 22

Felix had Monday off and persuaded Hannah to do something she had always vowed she’d never do: phone in sick.

‘We could spend the whole day in bed,’ he said, nuzzling her ear as if he was sucking chocolate off an almond. ‘It’s only one day, after all, and I’m working all next weekend.’

Guiltily, Hannah phoned Gillian, lied about recovering from a twenty-four-hour bug, and crawled back under the covers with a delighted Felix.

Saturated with love, exhausted from a weekend of lovemaking, Hannah sauntered into the office on Tuesday. She was an unheard of half an hour late and didn’t care: she felt insulated by love and gloriously weary from sex. Even the dark circles under her eyes couldn’t hide her white-hot radiance of sexuality.

Despite having almost no sleep, Hannah’s face glowed and not even her Visa bill could dim the sleepy smile that lifted the edges of her full mouth so enticingly.

‘Did lover boy come home to roost?’ enquired Donna, as Hannah put her bag beside her chair and sank on to it, crossing long ten-deniered legs and smoothing down the flirty black skirt she’d never before worn into the office.

Hannah laughed throatily. ‘Is it that obvious?’

Smirking, Donna replied: ‘It couldn’t be any plainer if you had a sign over your head that had “This woman has been well bonked” written on it. That man sure is good for your complexion. Can you bottle some of whatever he’s giving you, because my skin could do with an instant boost.’

They both burst out laughing at the thought.

‘Hannah,’ said David James, ‘have you got a moment?’

She sashayed into his office, utterly unable to stop herself glorying in the wonderful feeling of being in love. Her body felt so alive, so vibrant. That was the effect Felix had on her: he was like a drug, a life-enhancing, erotic drug.

‘You look…different,’ David said as Hannah sat down and ran a languorous finger through her curls in a way she never normally did.

Hannah grinned at him. ‘I had a good weekend,’ she said happily. ‘Did you?’

‘Well, yes, all right.’

He didn’t look as if he’d had a good weekend, she decided. He looked a bit peaky really, almost uncomfortable.

‘What I wanted to say…’ he began.

Hannah had to interrupt. She just knew he was going to apologize for saying what he did about Felix, and she was far too happy and full of love to let him embarrass himself by doing it. She was happy, they should let bygones be bygones.

‘David,’ she interrupted, ‘I know what you’re going to say and I’m sorry, too, about Friday. I was upset because Felix and I had had a row and I shouldn’t have said what I did to you. That was unforgivable. And it’s kind of you to look out for me,’ she went on earnestly, ‘but there’s really no need, David. Felix and I are both grown-ups and we can take care of ourselves. I know he’s a friend of yours, but I’d prefer it if we could keep the office and my personal life separate, OK?’

David seemed unable to meet her gaze. ‘So it’s back on, is it?’ he asked gruffly, suddenly interested in opening up the e-mail on his computer.

‘Yes,’ she beamed.

He exhaled slowly, almost painfully. ‘If you ever want a shoulder to lean on,’ he said, ‘mine is available.’

‘David, you are a pal,’ Hannah said fondly.

‘Yes,’ he said grimly, ‘I am a pal.’

She danced out of the office. Life was wonderful.

As November drifted into December, a pattern developed to their days together. Felix would arrive late most Friday nights, sometimes in a taxi from the set; sometimes in a limo with a crowd of actors, all half-drunk and eager for Hannah to climb in with them and head off to a wild party or nightclub. Hannah liked the taxi nights best. Then, Felix was hers alone and after drinking whatever bottle he’d brought with him – usually some variety of champagne, vintage or non-vintage depending on how broke he was – they retired to bed where their noisy lovemaking paid Hannah’s downstairs neighbours back for their constantly over-loud TV. On Saturdays, they spent the mornings in bed, consuming brown toast and honey with the strong Colombian coffee Felix loved. Then in the afternoons, they went to the gym together. Nobody could accuse Felix of having a beautiful body without working at it, Hannah thought, marvelling at how long he could spend on the weights machines, honing each muscle with almost obsessive precision. She’d never met a man who could spend longer working on his body, consumed by making it better and taking care of it. Felix had more body lotions than she did and he was far more assiduous in his application of body scrub than she’d ever been. But, she got used to his vanities.

She also got used to the girls in the gym blatantly chatting him up while she was away working on the stepper. Well, she almost got used to it. Her glutes weren’t the only muscles clenching when some nymphet dawdled around the lateral pull-down machine, chatting earnestly to Felix as his muscles rippled under the show-off T-shirt he deliberately wore.

She once snapped that she wasn’t surprised he was ogled by all and sundry, seeing as how he went in for the type of T-shirt only male strippers wore with the intention of having them ripped off. Felix had laughed loudly and long to that one.

‘Jealous, are you, my pet?’ he said, in unconcern. ‘You’ll have to get used to it. Women chat up actors all the time: fame is a huge lure, you know.’

Conversely, he preferred Hannah to work out in more conservative work-out clothes. Keen on being admired by the opposite sex, he disliked the same thing happening to her. When she’d worn her shiny lycra thong-leotard with the sleek purple leggings and had been chatted up by an earnest body builder who was at least two inches taller even than Felix, he hadn’t been impressed.

‘I don’t like strange men hanging around you,’ he said possessively, before casually adding that he preferred her wearing T-shirts and shorts to the gym instead of her second-skin leotard.

Emma had thought this was odd when Hannah had laughingly told her about it over the phone.

‘What’s sauce for the goose should be sauce for the gander,’ Emma said. ‘I mean, if Felix is allowed to dress to thrill, why can’t you?’

Hannah had immediately wished she’d kept her mouth shut. She’d been trying to explain to Emma – who hadn’t met Felix yet – that he adored her, was crazy about her and couldn’t bear other men to so much as look at her. But Emma had picked it up all wrong and more or less said Felix was possessive.

Emma didn’t understand, Hannah thought impatiently. She didn’t understand that there was a difference between possessiveness and real passion. Anyway, look who was talking: Emma wouldn’t stand up to her father if her life depended on it.

In these halcyon days, the only fly in Hannah’s ointment was David James. For some reason, their relaxed relationship had vanished to be replaced by a stiff-necked formality that had Hannah wondering exactly what had gone wrong.

It wasn’t that David wasn’t polite or friendly to her: on the contrary, he was both. Yet nothing more. They didn’t indulge in their chocolate-chip biscuit passion any more: meetings in his office were brusque and utterly businesslike, and without the distraction of dunking biscuits in coffee.

Hannah tried to convince herself that it was something else bothering him, something that had nothing to do with her. But she couldn’t rid herself of the sneaking suspicion that Donna had been right and that David did like her in a way that had nothing to do with work.

The day Felix rolled up in a borrowed Porsche to collect her didn’t make things any clearer. Abandoning the car in his usual reckless manner right outside the door, Felix sauntered into the office and went bang into David who was leading a client out.

‘Felix, hello,’ said David shortly when his client was gone. The urbane, charming manner he’d displayed for the client was gone. From her desk, Hannah watched the proceedings nervously.

‘Hi, my man,’ said Felix, clapping David on the shoulder, seemingly impervious to the chilly atmosphere. ‘I’m here to collect Hannah.’

‘Sorry, I’m going a bit early this evening,’ Hannah apologized to David, appearing beside her boyfriend. Damn Felix for being early.

David’s frosty face cracked a bit and he managed a smile. ‘That’s fine,’ he said, almost jovially. ‘Look after my top employee,’ he added to Felix.

‘What’s up?’ Felix asked as he opened the car door for her.

‘Nothing, just a bit of a headache,’ lied Hannah. Felix, jealous as he was, could do without being told that Hannah suspected her boss fancied her. Or perhaps he didn’t. David hadn’t appeared lovelorn at the sight of Felix. Hannah shook her head as if to loosen the thought. She really was imagining things.

‘Thank God you’re in.’ For once, Gillian looked delighted to see Hannah.

‘Why? What’s wrong?’ Hannah knew she was late but it was only ten past nine. What disaster could have befallen the office in that twenty-five minutes?

‘Donna’s daughter has had to go into hospital, something to do with an asthma attack,’ Gillian said.

‘Poor Donna, poor Tania,’ Hannah gasped. Donna had often confided in her about seven-year-old Tania and the severity of her asthma attacks. But she hadn’t been in hospital with one since she’d been very young. Donna had been hoping her daughter had out-grown the really vicious attacks. Obviously not.

‘…and she’s got three appointments this morning and nobody else is around to fit them in,’ Gillian was muttering, staring at the appointment book with the horror of the easily flustered.

‘Somebody is bound to,’ Hannah said impatiently. ‘It’s not the end of the world, Gillian. Let me see.’ She stared at the book, rapidly assessing where the other estate agents were and working out who could deal with Donna’s clients. Three minutes on the phone to the other agents solved two of the problems. But nobody could fit in her first client in Killiney at nine forty-five. Hannah knew the house in question: a rather ugly semi owned by a couple who were trying to buy a house in Drumcondra. They desperately needed to sell their home because they couldn’t afford bridging finance and a previous sale had fallen through. If they couldn’t get a sale agreed within a day or so, they’d lose the house in Drumcondra. Donna had liked the couple and hoped this morning’s viewers would make an offer after seeing it again. If it had been any other house, Hannah would have cancelled the viewing but she knew this was important. David James was unavailable so she couldn’t ask his advice.

Briskly, she shut the appointments book. ‘I’m going to take Donna’s nine forty-five myself,’ she told an open-mouthed Gillian.

On the way, she left a message on Donna’s mobile asking if there was anything she could do to help with Tania. ‘I’m so sorry to hear about what’s happened, Donna. Ring me if you need anything,’ she stressed, ‘and don’t worry about work. Concentrate on getting Tania better. We’re all thinking of you.’

A gleaming four-year-old BMW was waiting for her at the house when she drove up. Conscious that her elderly banger wasn’t the ideal vehicle for a thrusting, would-be estate agent, Hannah parked a few doors away, pleased that at least she looked the part even if her car didn’t. The burgundy trouser suit from Wallis worn with her high-heeled boots was perfectly suitable for this unexpected change of job.

The clients were waiting impatiently at the door and the woman looked pointedly at her watch when Hannah walked confidently down the driveway.

Blonde, expertly made-up and dressed in expensive casual clothes, Denise Parker obviously thought she was the last word in yuppie chic and liked to give the impression that her time was very valuable. Her husband Colin, a less impressive looking sandy-haired man in a suit, appeared equally impatient.

‘We are in a rush, you know,’ Denise said, before Hannah had a chance to say hello.

‘Of course,’ Hannah said soothingly. ‘Ms Nelson told me all about you both. I know you’re very busy people.’

She couldn’t actually see how a hairdresser and a computer salesman were any busier than anyone else but realized that flattery would be a balm to this self-important pair.

‘A pleasure to meet you both,’ she said, shaking hands. ‘I’m Hannah Campbell. I don’t normally do viewings,’ she added gravely, ‘but Ms Nelson couldn’t make it and as we wouldn’t dream of cancelling your viewing, I said I’d come.’ She hadn’t actually lied, Hannah knew, just implied that she was far more important than she actually was in the hope that the Parkers would be impressed. They were.

Denise sniffed. ‘Thank you,’ she said graciously.

Inside, the couple strolled speculatively around, Denise rubbing an unimpressed finger along walls to see if the darkened colour was damp or dirt. Colin screwed up his nose at the chipped marble fireplace that no amount of trailing ivies could camouflage and grimaced at the porridge-coloured curtains that were included in the asking price.

Prepared to wait for them to go through the entire house with painstaking slowness, Hannah sat down on a sofa and calmly looked through the list of properties she’d brought with her as if she didn’t have a million things waiting for her back at the office. It was important to look as if you had all the time in the world for your latest clients, explained the psychology bit in her real estate manual.

‘Make them feel special, as if finding the precise home for them is your mission,’ said the book. Hannah tried not to roll her eyes to heaven. Doing anything for this pair of surly customers was a mission, all right. Mission: Impossible.

She remembered talking to Donna about the psychology of showing a house.

‘Some agents praise everything, tell the clients that it’s wonderful and that it’s perfect for them,’ Donna explained. ‘I don’t do it that way. I’m very matter-of-fact about a house, I point out that they’re going to need to spend money on it. They want to know what needs to be done, especially the three most expensive things in a house: wiring, windows and heating. Honesty, that works for me.’

Honesty, Hannah thought, nervously. She could do this.

When the Parkers finally arrived back in the room, Hannah tried her best to look as though she was surprised they’d been so quick.

‘It has buckets of potential, doesn’t it?’ she said in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘I’d rip out the fireplace, naturally. But imagine how good it’d look with a modern black slate one.’

The Parkers looked wonderingly at the fireplace, as if astonished that the estate agent was pointing out a negative feature of the house.

‘Well,’ Hannah added with a casual shrug of her shoulders, ‘some people would probably like that fireplace; they’d leave it here, in fact. But anyone with an eye for interior design would see it has to go. I could see you hated it.’ She allowed herself a small smile. ‘But not everyone has your taste.’

Denise looked pleased. ‘No, you’re right. I was just saying to Colin that the fireplace was the first thing I’d rip out.’

Hannah nodded approvingly. ‘And change the bathroom suite. Navy is so eighties.’

‘Lord, yes,’ rushed Denise. ‘That’s just what we said.’

Hannah began organizing her papers. ‘I’d love to see what you two could do to this house,’ she said conversationally. ‘I’d say you’ve great ideas and it’s a nice area.’

‘Isn’t it,’ agreed Colin, looking much less po-faced.

‘I’ll just check all the windows upstairs are closed,’ Hannah said, escaping to give them a moment alone. When she came back down the stairs, they were waiting for her in the hall with smiles on their faces.

‘We’ll take it,’ Denise said triumphantly. ‘I can just see that living room done in greys and greens with a slate fireplace. We’ve got to have it.’

‘That sounds fantastic,’ lied Hannah before congratulating them and asking for a deposit cheque.

Ten minutes later, the BMW sped off down the quiet road and Hannah allowed herself to squeal with delight.

She was good at this! Bloody good! The Parkers were the sort of people who expected to be bullied into doing things and their instinctive belligerence meant they were always poised to fight back. She’d taken them totally by surprise by pointing out the bad features of the house, treating them as if they were naturally more intelligent than your average client, and so they’d never had the chance to be aggressive.

The only sour point was that poor Donna’s misfortune was the reason she’d been given this wonderful chance. She switched on the mobile she’d taken from the office and rang Gillian, anxious to see if Donna had phoned in with an update on poor little Tania’s condition.

‘No,’ said Gillian, sounding put out. ‘Mr James rang in and he said to tell you it was a great idea to take over Donna’s client yourself.’

Hannah grinned at the little sniff with which Gillian finished this sentence. Obviously Gillian had delighted in telling the boss that Hannah had stepped out of line, hoping Hannah would get her knuckles rapped. How irritating for Gillian to have her plan backfire.

‘Thank you for telling him what I was doing, Gillian,’ she said calmly. ‘That was efficient of you. I’ll be back shortly.’

Hannah knew it would only have taken her fifteen minutes to get back to the office, but the sense of achievement inside her was so heady that she felt she needed to sit back and enjoy it.

She made a detour to a small coffee shop, bought a takeaway cappuccino and sat on a bollard on Dun Laog-haire pier, watching the hustle and bustle of the busy port. She loved looking at the sea. Back home in Connemara, the sea wasn’t too far from her parents’ house, although the rocky shore leading down to the tumultuous Atlantic Ocean was a million miles away from the Victorian splendour of Dun Laoghaire’s harbour where order seemed to reign. The elegant hotels behind her looked as if ladies in tea gowns holding parasols could emerge at any moment, while the pretty yachts moored side by side along the marina could have come from another era if you narrowed your eyes and ignored the modern innovations like radio aerials.

The two giant arms of the pier encircling the harbour like a lover’s embrace made the sea look safe and comfortably tame. At home, Hannah always felt the sense of dangerous nature prevailed. Small boats were tied up firmly against ancient stone jetties and when the waves lunged violently over the sea walls making the boats rattle, Hannah remembered thinking she would never get in a boat as long as she lived. The sea was much safer here, she decided, sipping her cappuccino pleasurably.

‘It was wonderful today,’ she told Felix that night when he rang her. He still hadn’t taken his mobile phone to get it fixed so it was a rare treat for him to call her during the week. ‘Donna couldn’t believe I’d sold the house to that pair. She rang in to say Tania’s getting out tomorrow and she was delighted –’

‘That’s great, darling,’ Felix interrupted. ‘I’ve only got a minute to talk. I’m on Leon’s phone. I was just ringing to say I won’t be up this weekend as we’re moving the set to Waterford for the final two weeks before we break for Christmas and we’re on slave duty.’

‘Oh.’ She couldn’t hide the disappointment in her voice: she’d planned a special lunch with Leonie, Emma and Pete. The girls were dying to meet the delectable Felix they’d heard so much about and Emma had been promising to bring Pete along for months.

‘We’ll do that another time,’ he said impatiently.

When he’d hung up, Hannah gazed at the phone despondently. Being in love with an actor was like being in love with a married man, she thought despairingly. You could never make plans.