Читать книгу Peony Place - Jules Wake - Страница 6

I picked up my pace, clutching my travel mug of coffee – there was no way I could start the day without a hit of caffeine – my heels click clicking like runaway castanets as I joined the midweek tide of people pouring along the path with ant-like efficiency, all headed towards Churchstone station and the daily commute to Leeds.

I listened to the sharp, staccato beat of my shoes. To me they said, quick, precise and well-organised. And just because I wore high, sexy designer shoes (Russell and Bromley thank you; who can afford Jimmy Choos?!) I wasn’t like all the bitch bosses in romcoms. They were high but not super high, and made from supple, polished black leather. As sexy shoes, went they were workmanlike but expensive. I think shoes say a lot about you. I wanted people to know that I, Claire Harrison, had got where I was through hard work and intelligence but I still had class and style. Shoes have nuances and with this pair, I’d nailed it. Just like the meeting I was headed to. I’d worked all weekend to get this presentation to within an inch of perfection.

Mentally, I ticked off my list. Presentation done. Boardroom booked. Team briefed. The truth was, I’d been working for weeks on this meeting and had clocked up many a sleepless night. Reorganising the audit team was a huge responsibility and I was just praying I’d got it right and wasn’t creating an opening for a couple of redundancies. My promotion to partner depended on this and surely by now I’d jumped through enough hoops. Unfortunately, they just kept piling more on my plate, as if to test at what point I’d give in. They’d have a long wait.

On the personal front, I’d texted my sister an ambiguous ‘maybe’ in response to repeated pleas to help her this weekend, booked a long-overdue dental appointment and seriously considered phoning the doctor to arrange a smear test. All in all, my to-do list was nicely full of ticks and just as I was congratulating myself, everything came to a sudden halt. With a start, I slapped a hand over the top of my coffee cup and stopped abruptly because an older woman with a dandelion clock of white hair wearing a sunshine-yellow tracksuit, Day-glo pink trainers, and a silver lamé messenger bag slung across her chest darted out of the lane on the right, cutting across the main path only to disappear down the opposite track. Thankfully, despite slopping wildly, my coffee stayed put and hadn’t dripped all over my brand-new kingfisher-blue suit, worn with a crisp white shirt designed to say I’m chic, stylish and extremely competent. Or at least that’s what I hoped it said to my bosses. Phew no spillage. Near disaster averted.

Unfortunately, even as I was congratulating myself, it seemed the woman’s sudden appearance had startled several wood pigeons pecking desultorily on the grass verge and with a cacophony of outraged squawks and a flurry of feathers, they clumsily took flight, heedless of the commuters hell-bent on reaching the station for the seven-twenty train.

The man in front of me stopped dead and then, in order to avoid the pigeons, the stupid idiot took a step back doing a Matrix-style back-bend manoeuvre, sending the tails of his fine wool suit flying. In some sort of slow-motion panic, I registered this as he tried to dodge one of the birds, adding a twist at the last minute that brought him face to face with me, or rather, coffee cup to coffee cup.

The refillable cups collided, a spout of brown liquid shooting up into the air. And what goes up must come down. We both glanced up with quick, horrified fascination and then there was no time to dodge the inevitable downflow of hot, wet coffee.

The splash hit my beautiful white shirt dead centre, right above my cleavage, liquid seeping through and puddling in between my boobs. Brown stains blossomed with inexorable progress, bleeding out over my chest across the front of my white shirt. Shit. Shit. Shit. I did not need this today of all days.

‘Oh my God!’ I cried and glared up at him. ‘You idiot.’ Why the hell hadn’t he had the presence of mind to hang on to his bloody coffee?

He was trying to stroke the coffee away from his own white shirt, completely oblivious to what he’d done, and then he glanced up at me, his eyes zeroing in on my damp chest.

‘Idiot? Me? Why weren’t you looking where you were going?’

‘Me?’ I asked, now rummaging one handed in my shoulder bag. I had some travel tissues in there somewhere.

‘You went into the back of me. In a car, it would be your fault.’

What? He had to be flipping joking. ‘You reversed into me. Look at the state of my shirt.’ I let out a ‘Grrr’ noise out of sheer frustration. My shirt was absolutely ruined. And why was he glaring at me as if this was my fault.

Wow, he has unusual eyes, a kind of golden green.

Who cares about his effing eyes, Claire? What is the matter with you?

Given the circumstances, that was a completely inappropriate observation. Since when did I go around checking out men’s eyes? I gave up on that sort of thing a long time ago. A girl can only suffer so many disappointments. My career was enough for me; besides, lots of men couldn’t hack it. Couldn’t handle that I was more successful than them.

‘Shit. I’ve got a meeting with the board in an hour’s time. Look what you’ve done.’ I glanced down at my coffee-stained shirt.

He pulled a hanky out of his pocket and began rubbing ineffectually at his chest, which made me bite back a quick smile of amusement. Couldn’t he see that his shirt, like mine, was toast? ‘And I’ve got a meeting with the Vice President of Commercial Banking in an hour’s time,’ he snapped back, those unusual eyes flashing with fury.

‘And I’m presenting to the CEO who is coming up from London,’ I retorted as I shook out a tissue to mop up the worst of the liquid, now cooling and pooling with an uncomfortable tickle between my breasts.

‘Good for him. Are you attempting to play my-job-is-bigger-than-yours? Because I can assure you, my meeting is pretty important.’

‘Just like a man to assume his meeting must be more important than a woman’s.’

Oh God, I’ve been down this road so many times.

‘Not at all.’ His eyes narrowed as he said a touch snootily, ‘I’m just observing that my meeting is very important and that I’m now going to be on the backfoot if I go in looking like this.’ With surprisingly expressive hands, he flicked them downward to make his point.

‘I’ve been preparing for this meeting for weeks,’ I snapped back, my heart starting to thud with the realisation that this really was a disaster. This meeting was supposed to show the big wigs that I was the ultimate professional, totally in control, and knew exactly what I was doing. The swan gliding without effort and not the puddle duck swimming for her life.

For a brief moment, we both stood examining ourselves and each other, surveying the damage, horribly aware of the curious looks of the other commuters and then we both carried on our pre-programmed trajectory towards the station, mopping ourselves as we went. He with a large hanky and me with a succession of tissues.

I winced as we fell into step together. At least I’d got off lightly. Only my shirt was ruined, perhaps thanks to the small shelf of my boobs – useful for once – which had taken the brunt of the coffee downpour. Unfortunately for him, there was a stain right down his crotch. That stain wouldn’t be coming out any time soon. That really was a disaster.

‘Where do you work?’ I asked.

‘What?’ he asked shortly with an angry glance my way, as if to ask what the hell did that have to do with anything.

‘Where do you work?’ I asked again, even more irritated. I was trying to be helpful.

‘Beechwood Harrington,’ he snapped out.

‘No,’ I said a little more gently. ‘I meant the location. Is there a shop near where you work, like an M&S or something?’ I nodded to his trousers. ‘You could buy an emergency…’ My voice trailed off as he looked down and his eyes widened in horror. He muttered an epithet under his breath.

‘This is a six-hundred-pound Armani,’ he snarled. ‘Marks & Spencer doesn’t cut it in my line of work.’ He checked his watch and I could see him doing the same rapid calculation I’d just done. Was there time to go home and change?

‘It’s better than nothing,’ I returned. ‘I was trying to help. Find a solution. Have you got time to go back home and change? Or you could phone someone?’

‘Phone someone?’ He didn’t need to look quite so incredulous.

‘Yes, like in your office. I’m going to phone my PA – she comes in later than me – and ask if I can borrow another shirt or something.’ Ros, my fantastically reliable and awesome assistant, lived in the city and absolutely refused point blank to arrive at work a second before she had to – she had school-aged children that had to be dropped off – but was a trojan for every second she was at work.

‘What?’ He looked at me as if I were completely mad.

‘It’s a solution.’ I was big on solutions; in fact, most of the time that was my job.

He gave a short mirthless laugh. ‘Hmm, I can just see myself in Chas’s suit. I’m a thirty-two waist. He’s at least a forty. Oh, let me see, Gav, he’s five foot ten. Half-mast trousers are all the rage in my office.’

I looked down at his legs, and up and up and up. He must have been at least six two. He had long legs, really long legs, a slim waist, broad chest, and wide shoulders. My mouth went a little dry. If he hadn’t been so grumpy, he’d have been seriously hot. Especially with those gorgeous eyes against his dark skin, which were now studying me with a slight hint of amused condescension. I think I might have been ogling. Feeling a blush streak my cheeks, I hurriedly said, ‘Have you got hand driers in the loos? Maybe you could rinse your shirt out… dry it off in the gents.’

With a glower he shook his head. ‘Any more bright suggestions?’

‘I’m only trying to help,’ I said with an indifferent shrug. It was his problem after all.

‘It would have helped a lot more if you’d been looking where you were going.’

God, he was like a dog with a bone. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous. You’re being childish. What’s the point of going over old ground? What’s done is done and now you need to find a solution. If you’re not interested in my very sensible suggestions, that’s your loss.’

I was pleased to see my words shut him up rather neatly. As we hit the edge of the park and the familiar station sign loomed into view on the other side of the road, I pulled out my phone.

‘Hi Ros, it’s Claire. Sorry to bother you so early. Yes. I’m on my way. Can I ask a huge favour? I’ve had a bit of disaster. A spillage… yes… coffee everywhere. Please can I borrow a clean shirt? White?’ I asked with more hope than belief. ‘Okay. I didn’t think you would.’ I laughed out loud at the very thought of it. ‘Do you have a colour that anyone might describe as pale?’ Ros favoured patterns and bright colours. ‘I know,’ I responded to Ros’s snort and observation that her impressive double-D accommodating shirts would drown me. I’m a comfortably average thirty-four B. ‘But I’m desperate.’

‘Thank you, I owe you… not that much.’ I laughed at her suggestion that she was given the rest of the week off. Ros was nothing if not forthright and ballsy.

‘Handy to have such an accommodating PA,’ observed the man rolling his eyes.

‘Jealous?’ I asked sweetly, now that salvation was at hand. He ought to be; Ros was worth her weight in gold, and the rest. She was a diamond among PAs and my absolute rock.

‘It’s just a question of hiring the right sort of people.’

The man snorted rudely. I shrugged again. For God’s sake, I’d tried to help him but if he was just going to be sarcastic he could sort himself out.

‘I have an excellent PA,’ he retorted, ‘but I don’t think my legs will do justice to one of her Reiss skirts.’

We flashed our travel passes and headed down to the platform in perfect synchronicity, my quick strides matching those long legs.

As usual at that time, it was crowded. He came to a stop in the one clear area and I was buggered if he was going to have it all to himself, so I stopped there too. There was room for us both despite his scowl at my proximity. Ignoring him, I began to scroll through my messages on my phone.

Damn, my sister wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Don’t give me that I’m working crap. It’s Saturday. Even Wonder Woman gets a day off. Tell me you’ve got something better to do.

My sister Alice was not one for subtlety. I sighed. I was knackered. The last thing I wanted to do was spend a Saturday trimming her sodding hedge. It was horribly overgrown, took up two sides of her garden and I really needed to go into the office. Maybe I could fob her off to the following Saturday. I was so behind, having been given yet another project to sort out. That was the by-product of being good at your job and good at finding those pesky solutions. You ended up with everyone else’s problems and had to solve them when someone else threw in the towel with the deadline imminent. Going into the office at the weekend meant I could get loads done. Gritting my teeth, I wondered if I ought to offer her the money to pay for a man to come in but I’d already paid for my nieces’ school dinners and their summer uniforms this month. Not that I minded, but every now and then Alice would get on her high horse and accuse me of throwing my money around to ‘buy people’.

Thankfully, the arrival of the train dispelled my thoughts on the best solution for Alice’s hedge and I realised that my new friend and I had boarded the same carriage, snagging the last available seats which were, as bad fortune would have it, bang opposite each other. He plugged himself into his phone and I pulled out the sheets of my presentation to go over my points one last time, making sure I had committed all the figures to memory, absently tugging at my clammy shirt to pull it away from my chest. Damn. It was guaranteed that my best M&S Rosie for Autograph bra was ruined and, to add insult to injury, I’d bought four pairs of matching knickers, at a ridiculously expensive price.

With a shake and a rattle, the train pulled out of the traditional Victorian station with its painted white wrought-iron and pretty hanging baskets, sliding away from the view of industrial yards and workshops into open countryside in a matter of minutes.

I sneaked a few glances at the man across the way. If he weren’t such an arrogant git and didn’t have such a pissed-off expression on his face, I might have thought him quite good looking with his almost golden skin and the unusual coloured eyes, which were heavily fringed with lashes most girls would envy. The severe haircut didn’t suit his thick black glossy hair but I liked those dark heavy eyebrows that framed a very attractive face with a square, almost movie-star, chiselled jawline.

As if he felt the silent study, he glanced up and glared at me. I dropped my eyes to his crotch; that dark stain across the waistband and down his mid-grey trousers really was quite unfortunate. I shot him a small smirk. Okay, so I wasn’t being very nice but all my attempts to be helpful earlier had been rudely rebuffed.

His lips hardened and he stared at me. A hard stare. Shades of Paddington. Well, two could play at that game. I would stare back at him until he dropped his gaze. Unfortunately, he was made of sterner stuff and held my gaze without a trace of self-consciousness or any sign of backing down. I stiffened and sat a little taller, which made his lips curve very slightly with a touch of derision, as if this were some small sign of weakness. I took this as a direct challenge and lifted my chin. I raised an eyebrow, which gave me what I knew was a haughty air. Ros had told me off on more than one occasion for using this, saying it made me appear horribly superior, which I thought wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

He raised one of his eyebrows as if to say, is that the best you’ve got? It was almost cute. He was almost cute. A little ping of recognition went off in my chest. I very nearly caved and smiled at his sheer arrogance and self-confidence. He was gorgeous and he knew it, but… no; I forced my mouth to firm into a straight, uncompromising line. He really did have the most amazing eyes and at the moment I had carte blanche to study them. It was rather liberating. The colour was almost sea green but with a touch of whisky. Now his cockiness had been replaced with sheer determination. Again, I nearly crumbled. I could almost see the testosterone boiling up. He was hell bent on winning this challenge. Well, so was I. I quirked my lips in an answering satisfied smirk, as if I knew something he didn’t. As I did, I was aware of the older man sitting next to him putting down his paper and tuning in to the show. It was like a domino effect, and now, in my peripheral vision, I could see the other commuters one by one turning to watch the silent battle of wills.

Oh dear God. What have we started?

There was a heavy, charged atmosphere in the carriage and my skin prickled in awareness of the glances flicking back and forth between me and this random stranger. I felt the flush heating my cheeks which made the cocky git smile, his wide mouth curving up to reveal a flash of white teeth. Nice mouth.

Oh yes, go the whole hog Claire. Imagine what it would be like to kiss him because that’s really going to help.

Yes, very nice mouth. His lower lip is full, sort of biteable…

Seriously. I’d really said that in my head. I was really thinking that. I sank my teeth into my own lips, imaging it a little too vividly.

From the sudden flicker of his eyes, I must have given myself away. He was a hunter. The sort that thrived on the chase. My heart fluttered, an honest-to-God flutter, and almost as if he sensed it, his eyes narrowed.

Oh heck, what is he thinking now? Does he know?

Does he know that I’m imagining bad things, inappropriate things? Wholly-inappropriate-on-a-packed-train things. Like taking that white shirt off.

I sat up smartly. This was not train behaviour. It wasn’t normal behaviour. Certainly not my normal. Despite all this weird stuff going on in my brain, I held his gaze.

It hadn’t been too difficult at all at the beginning to see exactly what he was thinking.

I’m going to win. I’m going to beat you. I’m going to grind you to dust under my superior staring skills.

Now he was warier and – I was pleased to see – a little bit impressed.

Yeah, sunshine. Not so arrogant now, are you?

He does have lovely eyes though…

The train pulled in to the next station and new people crowded into the carriage. One man was even grabbed and held back by a passenger to prevent him standing in front of us. Everyone was watching us, craning their necks to keep us in their eyeline. Oh God, we were the star attraction on board. There was no way either of us could give way now.

And the cockiness was back – he’d also realised that we were the centre of attention. I was conscious of the bated breaths around us against the backdrop of the noisy rattle of the train.

God, he’s sure of himself.

His eyes bored into mine and there it was again, the tiny trip in my pulse. This was quite sexy. A power of wills. I parted my lips and just touched my upper lip with the tip of my tongue. I saw the answering glimmer in his eyes, a fractional movement of his muscles. He’d noticed all right. I shot him a sultry smile which did more harm than good because his eyes widened ever so slightly, and if I hadn’t been staring so intently at him I wouldn’t have seen it.

Bad move.

This man was not backing down from a challenge and now I’d ramped it up. No, he wasn’t going to give way, not now I’d added sex into the mix. His brows rose again and he gave me a mocking smile, with enough kilowatts of sexiness to knock me back into my seat.

Whoops, big mistake. Huge.

But a thrill of adrenaline burst through me; I felt edgy and alive. Aware of my body. Aware of the sexual buzz that thrummed through my veins.

With a sudden jolt, the train came to an abrupt halt, sending the people hanging onto the rails pitching forward. A woman in a lightweight pale blue mac lost her handhold and tumbled forward, almost landing in his lap. Instinctively he glanced her way, his hands moving to steady her.

Ha! He’d lost. He looked away first. When he turned back to me, I gave him a small grin of triumph and with a lift of my brows, shuffled my papers and made much of going back to my presentation as if he was no longer worthy of my time. I was dying to sneak a peek at him but the challenge had been won. There wasn’t going to be a rematch. I ignored the voice in my head, all for being fair and honest, arguing the case that my victory was by default.

A few minutes later, after the train lurched forward again, it slowed into Leeds City station. Standing up, startled a little by a burst of regret, I waited until he raised his head and met my eyes.

‘Good luck with your meeting,’ I said with a victor’s smile and sauntered off the train.

I’d never noticed him before on my morning commute in the last six months of walking across the park to the station. Churchstone was a relatively small place, with a population I was sure I’d read somewhere of only thirteen thousand people – a hell of a lot smaller than I was used to, given the nearly half a million that lived in Leeds, where I’d spent the previous six years.

Part of me wanted to turn back and see where he was but I resisted. Would I ever bump into him again? Although, I could do without the ‘bump’ part. I glanced down at my coffee-stained chest and groaned inwardly.

Halfway down the platform, I felt a prickling down my back and a second later he pulled level. My heart leaped at the sight of his dark, handsome face.

‘I’d have won if it hadn’t been for the interruption,’ he said.

‘Ha, you’d like to think so.’ I felt a burst of pleasure. ‘Only losers look for excuses.’

‘Excuses?’ he all but spluttered. ‘She fell into my lap.’

I shrugged, biting back a grin, as if to say, not my problem.

‘Are you always this contrary?’ he asked as we mounted the stairs.

‘I’m not contrary,’ I said indignantly. ‘Most people think I’m lovely.’

Surprising me, his mouth curved into a sudden grin which did the whole clichéd transform-his-face thing, but it really did. Those eyes really were something and he had the most perfect teeth, except the bottom ones crossed each other very slightly.

‘Okay, prove it.’

‘How am I supposed to do that?’ I asked.

Like a magician with a quick sleight of hand, he produced a business card between his fingers and pushed it into the top pocket of my suit with an arrogant grin, that did something to my insides. Either there were fledgling butterflies in there or I’d got a bad case of indigestion.

‘Come out for a drink with me. A week on Friday. Here’s my card. Text me.’