Читать книгу The Billionaire's Blind Date (Valentine's Day Short Story) - Jessica Hart - Страница 5

‘COME on, Mum … we’re going to be late!’

‘I’m coming, I’m coming …’ Nell scrabbled feverishly through her bag, checking to see that she had everything she needed. She had been so forgetful recently, and it had all been such a rush this morning that if she wasn’t careful she would have to go to the meeting this afternoon without any make-up on, and that was the last thing her confidence needed right now.

Ah, there was her comb. At least she’d be able to do something about her hair when she got to the office. Now, where was her cosmetic bag? Had she left it in the bathroom after all?

‘Mu-um …’ sighed Clara.

‘I’ve got to get myself a decent bag,’ Nell muttered to herself. ‘I can’t find anything in here … Oh!’

She broke off in consternation as the bag slipped from her grasp and landed with a splat on the doorstep, spilling keys and pens and tissues and lipsticks and the odd coins that always seemed to be lurking in its depths onto the path.

Clara bent to help pick them all up. ‘Mum, what is the matter with you at the moment?’ she asked, ten going on forty-five. Anyone would think that she was the mother, and Nell her awkward child. ‘You’re not usually this muddled.’

‘I’m not that bad, am I?’ asked Nell absently, shoving everything back into her bag. There was that compact mirror she had been looking for everywhere.

‘You lost your keys the other day.’

‘That could happen to anybody,’ Nell protested as they headed down the pavement at last.

‘And when you came to pick me up at Charlotte’s the other day, you went to the wrong house although you’ve been there millions of times.’

‘The doors were the same colour.’ Nell tried to defend herself, but Clara hadn’t finished.

‘And you forgot that Sophie was coming last Saturday.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised before Clara could come up with any more examples of what a bad mother she was.

Her daughter was right, though. She wasn’t usually this vague. ‘There just seems to be a lot to think about at the moment,’ she tried to explain. ‘I’m not really settled into my new job yet.’

It was true that moving jobs had been more stressful than she had imagined, but that wasn’t the real reason she was so unsettled at the moment, was it? Deep down, Nell knew that what had really thrown her was being reminded about P.J. after all these years.

It was all Thea’s fault. Nothing had been the same since she had got in touch with P.J.’s sister on some internet site. There was no need for people to go contacting old school friends, Nell thought crossly as she waited with Clara at the lights. It just made you remember all the things you had tried so hard to forget for the last sixteen years.

P.J. was part of her past. He had gone to the States, she had stayed here. They had both moved on. She hadn’t thought of him for years. Well, not very often, anyway.

Sometimes she didn’t think of him for weeks at a time.

But now he was back.

‘Guess who’s back in town?’ Thea had said, bursting with news, and Nell had been taken aback at the way her heart had clenched at the sound of his name.

‘Janey says he’s been incredibly successful,’ Thea told her. ‘Something to do with electronics. We should have known. He always was a bit geeky, wasn’t he?’

‘He wasn’t geeky,’ Nell objected, annoyed. ‘People just used to say that because he was clever.’ She defended him, just as she had all those years ago.

‘I wish we’d known just how clever,’ said Thea. ‘It’s a pity you didn’t stick with him, Nell. According to Janey, he’s practically a billionaire now.’

P.J., a billionaire? Nell couldn’t get her head round the idea. In her mind he was still the P.J. she had loved, a bit gawky, very young and very lanky, with that thin, intelligent face and the unexpected smile. The thought of him as a thrusting tycoon was vaguely unsettling. It didn’t fit with her image of him at all. She had always pictured him as a scientist rather than a businessman.

But then, she had never imagined that she would become a struggling single mother, either.

‘Janey says that he’s not with anyone at the moment,’ Thea went on, oh so casually. ‘You should get in touch.’

‘That would look subtle, wouldn’t it?’ Nell said sarcastically. ‘Hi, P.J., I haven’t been in touch for sixteen years, but I’ve just heard that you’re incredibly rich, so I wondered if you fancied meeting up?’

‘You could say that you’d just heard that he was back in London,’ Thea suggested. ‘You wouldn’t need to mention the rich bit.’

‘No, and of course P.J. would never guess that I knew that he had all that money, him being so stupid and all!’

Thea sighed. ‘It wouldn’t be like that with P.J. It’s not as if you’d be a remote acquaintance coming out of the woodwork. You were engaged once, after all.’

‘That just makes it worse!’ said Nell, recoiling from the very idea.

Her sister looked at her speculatively. ‘It’s a shame. You two were always good together. Still, maybe Janey will tell him that you’re divorced, and he’ll get in touch with you.’

Nell doubted it very much. P.J. had been nicer about Simon than she deserved, but no one liked being rejected, and presumably now that he had made his millions he had no trouble finding a girlfriend.

Good luck to him, she thought. He deserved his success, but his life and hers were worlds apart now. It was nice to know that he was well and successful, but there was no point in thinking about him anymore, she decided. She would put him out of her mind completely.

Absorbed in her thoughts, Nell didn’t realise that the green man was beeping at the lights until Clara dug her in the ribs. ‘Wake up, Mum!’

Nell started, and let her daughter bustle her across the road. Really, she must pull herself together. She was supposed to be looking after Clara, not the other way round.

Clara was eyeing her thoughtfully as they turned down a side street. They had walked to school so many times now that they followed the route automatically. Nell was sure that she could do it in her sleep.

‘Are you nervous about your date tonight?’

Nell sighed. She had been so busy thinking about P.J. that she had forgotten all about her blind date. ‘I wish I’d never agreed to go,’ she grumbled. ‘I don’t know why I let you and Thea bully me into these things!’

‘It would be nice for you to have a boyfriend.’

‘Clara, I’m thirty-seven! I’m too old for boyfriends.’

‘You’re not,’ said Clara loyally. ‘You’re not much older than Thea, and she’s just got married.’

That was unarguable. Her sister had been thirty-four when she’d met Rhys, and ready to give up on ever finding the right man for her.

‘Sometimes you just have to wait for fate to put the right person your way,’ said Nell, thinking that fate had done the best it could twenty-one years ago. It wasn’t fate’s fault that she had been too young and too silly to recognise the right person for her.

Not for the first time she wished that her daughter weren’t quite so interested in adult relationships. It was hard to explain some of the complexities to a ten-year-old, but from a very small child Clara had been fascinated by people and why they behaved the way they did.

She had been hardly more than a baby when her father had left, and took having divorced parents in her stride, but Nell really wanted to give her the example of a loving relationship, so that she could see that it was possible for adults to live together and be happy. That was the main reason why she had let Thea talk her into making an effort to meet men again, but so far her blind dates had not been a success, to say the least.

There had been Neil, who had, according to his own confession, thrived on a double life, Nick with the appalling table manners, Paul who had talked about himself all evening, and Lawrie, the latest disaster, who had spent the entire date describing his red sports car, apparently believing that it would be enough to make any woman fall at his feet. Thea had assured her that tonight would be different, but Nell wasn’t convinced.

‘I never really had boyfriends even when I was young,’ she told Clara now. ‘I married your father when I was twenty-one and before that there was only—’

She stopped. Somehow she had ended up back at P.J. It was uncanny the way all her thoughts seemed to lead back to him, in spite of the fact that she had decided so utterly and definitely that she absolutely was not, no way, going to think about him anymore.

‘Oh, look at that puppy,’ she said quickly as a scatty Labrador with huge paws and an eager expression gambolled along the pavement towards them, towing its owner in its wake.

‘Ah-h-h … cute …’ Clara cooed and let the puppy slurp at her fingers, quivering in ecstasy at all the attention, but the moment it had been dragged on its way she fixed a beady look on her mother, who had just begun to hope that she had been successfully distracted.

‘Only who?’

‘Only who what?’ Nell prevaricated. Clara was a darling, but sometimes she could be just a little too perceptive and persistent for comfort.

‘You said you’d only had one boyfriend before Dad,’ Clara reminded her.

‘Oh, yes, that’s right,’ she said as carelessly as she could. ‘Just a boy I knew at school.’

‘What was his name?’

‘P.J.,’ she admitted reluctantly.

‘What, like in pyjamas?’ said Clara, unimpressed.

‘Yes.’ Nell was conscious of a slightly defensive tinge to her voice. She had thought of P.J. as P.J. for so long that the initials no longer seemed odd to her.

‘Why was he called that?’

‘His real name was Peter John Smith,’ she explained. ‘He used to say that using his initials was the only way he could make himself sound interesting.’

Clara looked puzzled. ‘Was he really boring, then?’

‘No, he wasn’t boring.’ Nell couldn’t help smiling as she shook her head. P.J. had been a lot of things, but never boring.

His image rose before her, long and lanky, with that humorous, beaky face and eyes that were blue and very alert. P.J. would never have made it as a model, that was for sure, but he had been kind and clever and funny, and everybody had liked him.

‘He was … nice,’ she told Clara. ‘He was very easy to talk to. We had good fun together.’

The other girls had mooned over the better-looking boys in the year above, but P.J. had been much more fun. And it wasn’t as if he had been exactly ugly. He had had a stubborn jaw and laughing eyes and an unexpected, slightly lopsided smile that would suddenly make him seem much more attractive than he actually was.

Without meaning to, Nell sighed. If only she couldn’t remember him quite so vividly.

‘What happened?’ asked Clara. ‘Did you have a fight?’

‘No.’ Nell hesitated. It was hard to explain what had happened when she couldn’t even explain it to herself now. ‘We’d been going out since I was sixteen and he was seventeen. We’d been away to different universities and … well, I suppose we’d started to grow apart.’

They had been so young, too, she thought. She had been just twenty-one, and desperate to get married and have a family, while P.J. had wanted to wait. It had begun to seem as if they were just staying together out of force of habit.

‘And then I met your father …’

She trailed off, remembering how glamorous Simon had seemed at the time. A few years older, he had had all the swagger and sophistication that P.J. had lacked, while she had been too naive to realise that kindness was worth so much more than sophistication, or that good looks and self-confidence counted for little compared to someone you could rely on absolutely.

Like P.J., in fact.

‘Your dad swept me off my feet,’ she told Clara.

And he had. Simon had promised her everything she had ever wanted … and then spent the next eight years crushing her bright hopes one by one.

Clara swung her bag thoughtfully. ‘Do you wish you’d married P.J. instead of Dad?’

‘Of course not.’ Nell stopped dead in the middle of the pavement, and gave her daughter a hug. ‘If I hadn’t married Dad, I wouldn’t have you. How could I possibly be sorry about that?’

She couldn’t let Clara think that she ever regretted the choice she had made. Her marriage to Simon hadn’t been a success, but they had had Clara, and she was worth everything.

‘It’s all a long time ago,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t think P.J. even remembers me now.’

Somehow it was a depressing thought. Nell made herself push it away and squared her shoulders mentally. It was ridiculous the way she had let thoughts of P.J. unsettle her recently. She had been fine when she’d thought he was in the States, but, really, what difference did it make if he was back in London or not? It wasn’t as if she mixed with a wealthy crowd, let alone with billionaires, so she was hardly any more likely to bump into him.

So she might as well put him out of her mind. Again.

The trouble was, her life just wasn’t big enough at the moment. That was the only reason P.J. suddenly seemed so important. Thea was right, she needed to get out there and meet someone new, or failing that take up a hobby. Basket-weaving, or train spotting or something … There must be some interest out there for her. There was no use hankering after what-might-have-beens.

They crossed the last road and turned into the busy street where Clara went to school. There was still a cluster of parents and children at the gate, so they weren’t too late, thank goodness.

Nell glanced at her watch. She might get the earlier tube after all. It would give her time to pick up her suit from the dry-cleaner’s and get changed and made up before she had to face her boss. Eve was always banging on about the importance of professional image, and she wouldn’t think much of Nell in old track-suit pants, faded sweatshirt and trainers, with a naked face and hair all over the place. This would be the morning she had slept through her alarm.

This was better, thinking about work instead of about P.J., Nell congratulated herself. A motorised wheelchair was buzzing busily towards her along the pavement, and, her mind still on not thinking about P.J., Nell stepped automatically out of the way.

Only to misjudge the kerb and stumble into the road, right into the path of a passing car. There was a glancing blow on her arm and a squeal of brakes, but all Nell could see was her daughter’s white, horrified face.

‘Mum!’

The car practically stood on its nose and Nell reeled away from it, feeling sick with shock at the narrowness of her escape.

‘It’s OK … I’m OK …’ she said as Clara flung herself at her, and she hugged the little girl tightly to reassure her.

A car door slammed and quick footsteps came towards them. ‘Are you all right?’ a male voice asked, sharp with concern. ‘I didn’t hit you, did I?’

Clara pulled herself away from her mother and turned on him furiously, venting her fright in shrill anger. ‘You should be more careful! You could have knocked her over!’

Nell braced herself for a mouthful of abuse. A lot of drivers would react aggressively in a near accident, and it had been her fault, after all. Fortunately, this man seemed to take in Clara’s distress and was calm enough not to take out his own fright on a little girl.

‘Yes, I could,’ he said to Clara, sounding almost as shaken as Nell felt. ‘I’m really sorry. I wasn’t expecting your mother to step out into the road like that, but that’s no excuse, I know.’ He turned to Nell, who was rubbing her arm. ‘Did I hurt you?’

‘No, I … I …’ She trailed off in disbelief.

He looked just like P.J.

Older, tougher, more solid, but yes, exactly like P.J. He looked like him, he even sounded like him, but clearly he couldn’t be P.J. That would be too weird. Coincidences like that just didn’t happen. It was just that she’d been thinking about him.

Nell shook her head slightly to clear it. Perhaps she had been knocked over after all and was having some bizarre out-of-body experience? But he was staring back at her and the blue eyes that were uncannily like P.J.’s widened with incredulous recognition.

‘Nell?’ he asked in a tentative voice.

‘Hello, P.J.,’ she said weakly.