Читать книгу The Little Book Café - Georgia Hill - Страница 19

‘I’m not sure I know you anymore.’ Adrian shoved the Porsche into third and accelerated loudly up the hill out of town.

‘Oh Ade, it was only a bit of fun.’

After he’d sneaked up on them, Adrian had coldly introduced himself to Kit and had then grabbed Tash by the arm so tightly she knew she’d have bruises later. He’d marched her through the street to where he’d parked the car and ordered her to get in.

‘You’re drunk!’

‘I was at a party. I was having a good time. Or I was until you did your gorilla act.’ She rubbed her arm. ‘You hurt me, Adrian.’

‘That got through. I’m sorry.’ He turned into the entrance to the estate. ‘I am sorry, Natasha. You make me get jealous. You don’t laugh like that with me.’

‘Maybe it’s because you’re always banging on about babies and me giving up work,’ Tash grumbled.

Adrian pulled onto the drive of their house and killed the engine. He eased round to face her, which was difficult in the confined space of the sports car. ‘I love you Natasha. I love you very much. Perhaps too much.’ He put a finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose and frowned. ‘When I saw you flirting with that hulk, the red mist descended. I’m sorry if you think I was heavy-handed but there were people at the party who are influential in this town. Dennis Hall and Arthur Roulestone to name but two. I couldn’t have you making a fool of yourself.’

‘Why? Because you’d lose a building contract? Come off it, Adrian.’

‘Because you have standing in this town, Natasha. I thought you said your career was everything to you? That you wanted your own agency? Do you think people are going to take you seriously as a businesswoman if they see you falling over drunk?’ He got out and slammed the car door.

Tash stumbled after him. Had she really been that drunk? She hadn’t thought so. Just mildly tipsy, like most of the other guests. And did it even matter all that much? She followed Adrian into the hall. The bright light bouncing off the white walls and huge silver-framed mirror blinded her for a second and she staggered.

‘Some coffee, I think,’ Adrian said coldly.

Tash went into the kitchen and perched on a bar stool. ‘You’ve been drunk lots of times at works dos. Who gives a shit?’

‘Language, Natasha,’ Adrian said automatically. ‘Who indeed? Probably the Morrisons who were staring at you with outright disapproval.’

Tash hooted. ‘The Morrisons? Oh, come on Ade, they’re not serious about moving. They ask us in to value their grotty old bungalow out of habit.’

Adrian paused in the act of filling the kettle. He turned to her. ‘Really? You hadn’t heard then, that their daughter is ill and they need to move to be nearer her?’

Tash stared at him. She hadn’t heard that. As its only resident estate agent, she needed to be on top of Berecombe’s news and gossip and it wasn’t usually difficult. The town was a small place. Gossip quite often led to business and business meant commission. She usually knew who was getting married, who was getting divorced,, who had died, got a new job, was expecting another child. All triggers to putting a house on the market. Her mouth fell open. Had she slipped up? She’d sent Emma in to value the Morrisons’ home but she hadn’t checked to see if Em had bothered to follow up. And, as the manager, it was her responsibility.

Adrian clicked on the kettle. ‘I doubt very much if they’ll bother to give Hughes and Widrow their business having seen the exhibition you made of yourself tonight.’

Tash screwed up her face with the effort of remembering what awful things she’d done. Had a giggle with Millie, drunk a few cocktails. Had a laugh with Kit. There was nothing else, was there?

‘You’re obviously having trouble remembering spilling your drink all over Marti Cavendish, knocking over a tray of glasses and reading aloud passages from the more erotic section of the bookshelves.’

‘I didn’t do any of that.’

‘I think you’ll find you did, Natasha.’

She felt suddenly very sick. The cocktails had been strong and she’d drunk on a practically empty stomach but she was certain she hadn’t done any of those things. ‘Why are you making things up about me?’

‘I’m not, Natasha. And if you really can’t remember the evening you must be more inebriated than I thought. Perhaps you should go to bed. I’ll bring you up your coffee and some water.’ He turned his back to her and Tash could see rigid disapproval in every muscle. ‘I’ll sleep in the spare room tonight.’

Tash fled. She staggered upstairs wondering what was going on in her head. Had she thrown her drink over Marti? The woman had bumped into her in the crush, that much was true. And a tray of glasses had been knocked over, that was why Millie had been called away but Tash had been nowhere near it. Or she didn’t think she had. Her memories of the night had been eclipsed by the joy she’d felt when flirting with Kit – and made fuzzy by the cocktails. She flopped down onto the bed. And she didn’t think she’d read any erotica out loud although, out of everything Adrian had mentioned, it was the one thing she would be most likely to do. She shook her head to clear it. Had she really behaved like that? She was pretty sure she hadn’t. But if she hadn’t, why would Adrian make it all up? Why would he want to lie?