Читать книгу From Paris With Love This Christmas - Jules Wake, Jules Wake - Страница 7

Far below, the bends in the river Thames were outlined by the lights of the city, shimmering and winking through the thinning clouds like elusive diamonds. Siena’s fingers clutched the armrest as the knots in her stomach tightened.

‘You OK?’ asked the older woman next to her in a soft drawl of an American accent. ‘Nervous flyer?’

Ever since they’d left Charles de Gaulle airport, Siena had been convinced her next seat neighbour was Mary Steenburgen but it wouldn’t have been cool to initiate conversation with a celebrity if you let on you knew who they were.

‘Nervous,’ Siena laughed, the pitch a little too high. She was absolutely bloody terrified, but it had nothing to do with the flight. ‘No. This is hardly a flight is it?’ She put on her best twinkly, smiley face. ‘Straight up. Straight down.’ She had enough air miles to get to the moon and back. Her third set of Louis Vuitton luggage was looking positively shabby these days.

‘Been to London before?’

That gentle voice. This woman had to be her.

‘Once or twice.’

‘Sorry you’re British. Stupid question. I can tell from your accent. You going home for Christmas?’

Stoopid, as ‘perhaps Mary’ pronounced it, wasn’t so stupid. Officially, Siena was as British as Marmite and Twinings tea which Maman insisted on having for breakfast every day, but she’d lived most of her life in France. She thought she felt French but then how would she know if what she felt was French or English? Sometimes, quite often really, she had no idea what she should feel about a lot of things.

‘No I’m going to stay with my sister. I have to be back in France for Christmas,’ she blurted out. Back at the Chateau for Harry’s sixtieth birthday party on the twenty-third. She looked at her watch and worried at her lip. They’d have missed her by now. The dinner reservation was for eight thirty. Yves, her almost fiancé, would be cross, her mother furious and Harry, her stepfather, disappointed perhaps.

‘How lovely, dear.’ Mary’s face dimpled with a gentle smile. ‘I love spending time with my sister.’

Siena flushed. Mary would think she was a terrible sister. She hadn’t seen Laurie for two years despite the open invitation. Resolutely ignoring that chain of thought, she focused on her possibly celebrity neighbour. Had she read somewhere that Mary Steenburgen had a sister? Siena did know she was married to that guy from Cheers and CSI. There’d been pictures of them out walking their dogs in Hello or Grazia.

‘She older or younger than you?’

‘Sorry? What?’

‘Your sister, older or younger?’

‘Older. Eight years older.’

‘You close?’

Siena swallowed. ‘We text. Facebook a bit.’ That sounded rubbish. With a sigh she added, ‘It’s a bit complicated. A lot complicated actually. My parents split up when we were young. I lived with my mother in France. Laurie stayed with my father in England. I only met her properly for the first time two years ago.’ So no, not close at all.

‘Oh, my!’ America’s perfect mom actress, if it was her, looked horrified. ‘That’s an unusual arrangement.’ Then with a sympathy laden smile she added, ‘How lovely that you’re going to see her. Will you be staying long?’

That was the million dollar question. Siena crossed and uncrossed her legs, staring down at her recent manicure, admiring her Santa Scarlet glossy nails. The text she’d sent Laurie asked if she could stay for the weekend. The note she’d left her mother said she’d be back in a month. Neither was quite true.

‘I don’t know yet. Until I’m ready to go home, I guess. Spur of the moment thing, you know.’

That sounded better. Spontaneous. Fun. Not a desperate and pathetic escape. Sisters hanging out. Spending quality time together. Not arriving completely out of the blue with only five hours’ notice.

‘You gotta stay for Christmas. I love London at this time of year. The stores. Hyde Park. The lights.’ Mary gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘What am I talking about? You come from Paris. Now there’s a city at Christmas.’

Siena closed her eyes at the quick punch to her heart. Galeries Lafayette’s exterior, encrusted with the brilliance of thousands of sparkling lights and of course, the tree. The fir lined Champs-Élysées lit up and glittering, refracting diamond shards of white into the night. That swoosh of skates on ice at the Eiffel Tower and the breathless bump when you hit the sides. Tartiflette, hot and warming, from the Christmas Markets at Notre-Dame and the Trocadéro.

She loved the build-up, but somehow every year when Christmas finally arrived, the sparkle had burnt itself out. The actual holiday itself never seemed that enjoyable.

So why had she stupidly promised in her note to go back in time for Christmas when she could be lonely anywhere?

In the meantime she had a few weeks’ grace to give herself time to breathe and work things out. Everything seemed to have crowded in on her recently, until she couldn’t think straight anymore. Surely her mother would understand.

With the change of air pressure in the cabin, her ears popped. The captain announced they were due to land in ten minutes and the flight was on time. She glanced back down the aisle still fearful a hand might clamp down on her shoulder and someone utter the words, ‘You need to come with me, mademoiselle.’

She looked at her watch. It might take a while to get through passport control, it always did at Heathrow but at least she didn’t have to wait for baggage. The potential disaster of only having two pairs of boots and a capsule wardrobe was more than outweighed by being able to make a speedy getaway from the airport. Once out of there she’d be home free.

With that consoling thought she gave the American, who probably wasn’t Mary at all, a smile and turned back to the copy of Hello spread out on her lap. A picture caught her eye and she couldn’t help a tut escaping.

‘Big mistake,’ she shook her head. What had the young movie star been thinking?

‘Sorry dear?’

Siena showed her neighbour the double page spread in the magazine.

‘I mean seriously, would you? Off the shoulder, one side only. Seriously passé. Although the Dolce & Gabbana shoes are nice, almost save the outfit, even if they are last season’s.’

The woman studied the picture with a thoughtful serious gaze.

‘Sometimes, dear, you don’t get any choice in the matter. There’s so much that goes on behind the scenes. Agents. Publicists. Poor girl, her life is probably not her own. Imagine dancing to someone else’s tune, all the time.’

Siena didn’t need to do any imagining.

‘Especially when you’re so young. She should be out having a good time. It gets easier when you get older and you can tell them to go hoot.’

Bonté divine, Siena hoped so.

Just as she’d finally decided to ask the woman if she was Mary, the sudden roar of the plane’s engines signalled their descent and despite her stockpile of air miles, Siena couldn’t help clutching the seat rest, again. In no time at all, the wheels touched down with a bump and a hiss. They’d arrived.

England.

Siena closed her eyes. Here she was. The captain’s voice welcomed them to London, announcing that it was eleven o’clock in the evening local time.

Eleven o’clock. Was that all? It seemed a lifetime ago since she’d tiptoed out of the Chateau like a thief in the night clutching her hastily thrown together cabin bag.

Despite the lateness of the hour, Heathrow was rammed. All around, voices jabbered in a multitude of languages.

Her phone beeped. Another text from Orange mobile welcoming her to England, the third since she’d got off the plane. Nothing from Laurie. Then again, it always took a while for your mobile to sync with a new network. Siena might not know her sister that well, but one thing she did know – Laurie was one hundred percent reliable. She’d be here.

In the last two years she’d kept in touch, like she’d promised. During two fleeting days, when they’d met as adults for the first time, Laurie had made the incredibly generous promise that there would always be a room for Siena in her house. Now, Siena was counting on it.

Flicking through the touch screen on her phone, she brought up her favourite picture. The first one Laurie had sent to her. It had been a talisman in recent weeks.

She enlarged the picture with two fingers on the touch screen, bringing the small double bed framed by a brass bedstead into focus. Its pure white duvet looked as soft as a mound of freshly fallen snow, dotted with a pastel palate of scatter cushions in lilac, pale blue and silver grey. Behind the bedhead, the wall had been papered with a pretty toile wallpaper. White painted tables flanked the bed each with a bedside light.

If this picture had been a photograph, it would have been worn thin where she’d touched it, marvelling at the thoughtfulness of the sister she barely knew. She smiled as she looked at the digital image, reducing it in size as if tucking it carefully away. Tonight she’d be sleeping in that bed. Safe. In her own room. If it hadn’t been so sad, Siena could have laughed at the fanciful direction of her thoughts. She was hardly little orphan Annie. She had her own room in several houses in France, one in Mustique and one in New York.

This one was different. Her sister hadn’t had to do that for her. Laurie owed her nothing, not really, despite what Maman always said.

‘Passport, miss,’ snapped the uniformed man in the little booth. ‘Please put your phone away.’

‘Sorry.’ She gave him a brilliant smile which surprisingly had no effect at all. Miserable little man. Still smiling, determined to win him over, she pushed her passport under the glass toward him and shoved her phone in her bag.

No point phoning Laurie now, when she’d see her in a few minutes.

With a bored glance, the terse passport officer stared at her, back at her photo and then pushed the passport through a barcode reader. He studied something on the screen for a longer moment. For a brief second, Siena’s heart beat faster. Surely nothing would have been flagged up; not this quickly?

He looked at her face, then back at the passport. When he looked at her face again, she tried to keep her face utterly impassive, just like her photo. Her heart thumped uncomfortably hard. Yves’ family had contacts throughout the French legal system. Did they extend here?

After the longest thirty seconds in history, the passport was finally pushed back under the glass. Siena almost sagged with relief as she tucked it into her bag and strode without looking back through the Nothing to Declare channel.

Done. Through this point and she was home and dry. Officially in England.

As she neared the double doors, she slowed. Would Laurie look the same? Was her hair any different? Inside her chest, Siena’s heart did a little squiggly jump and she pushed through the doors, another smile already lighting up her face as she scanned the waiting faces. A blur of faces peered back at her, eyes anxious and hopeful.

She quickly smoothed her hands down her denim-clad thighs, the palms ever so slightly damp. In her hurried departure, there’d been no time to visit the hairdressers or have a facial. Although her jeans were 7 For All Mankind and her top was Stella McCartney, it was a going shopping outfit rather than a stepping off a first class flight into the international arrival hall at Terminal 4. Thankfully she hadn’t seen anyone she knew on the flight and it didn’t look as if there were any paparazzi here.

Siena’s gaze flitted backwards and forwards with the eagerness of a spectator at the Roland-Garros tennis final. Where was Laurie? It was difficult to see everyone. There were quite a few smartly dressed men, holding up signs with names handwritten in misshapen capitals. How much nicer was it, being met by family? Someone to hug and kiss like they always did in the films. Usually when she arrived anywhere with her parents, they’d have a driver waiting.

Again she scanned the faces. Had she missed Laurie? She looked back.

Maybe her sister was late. Just parking the car. Nearly quarter to twelve. Traffic should be good now, although perhaps not. The Arc de Triomphe at this time on a Saturday night was bedlam. She checked her texts again. Had she given her the right time of the flight landing? Maybe in her rush she’d told Laurie the plane left at eleven instead of landing at eleven. Nope, there it was, the last text she’d sent earlier this afternoon.

Hey Laurie. You know you’ve been inviting me to come stay, forever, and how I was welcome any time and that you’d come pick me up? Don’t faint. I’m coming. My plane lands at 11.00pm tonight. Heathrow. Air France. Flight 1080. Can you pick me up? Can’t wait to see you and to finally get to stay in my room.

Where was Laurie?

Even if the number of people hadn’t thinned in the last half hour, she would have noticed him straight away. Anger and irritation rolled off him in waves. Like an angry Moses, his strides ate up the floor, people melting out of his path. From the inside pocket of his black leather jacket he pulled out a white piece of paper and held it up, then slumped against a pillar.

Siena almost laughed out loud. This guy needed to learn a thing or two about customer service. His eyebrows had merged into one angry slash across his forehead. With a scowl like that he’d scare his passengers back onto their plane.

His face now held a look of bored resignation, the sheet dangling from his hand as if it was too much trouble to even lift it to chest height like the other drivers did.

She checked her phone again. Still no word from Laurie. It was now ten past twelve.

Siena shifted her bag and her weight from foot to foot.

The movement caught the attention of the dark-haired guy at the barrier as he briefly turned around. How could a grown man pout like that and still look attractive? He should have looked ridiculous but that fuller lower lip was really rather cute. She sneaked another look at his face and he swung around properly to give her a baleful glare. As he did, she caught sight of the name on the sheet he held.

Ah merde!

He’d spelt her name wrongly but then most people did, so she could hardly hold that against him. Flashing her best million kilowatt smile, she took a step forward, her head inclining towards her name. He looked down at the name and then back at her, not saying a word. His face didn’t warm one iota, if anything he looked even more forbidding.

Like a Mexican standoff, both of them stood waiting for the other to break and say the first word. They stood there as the seconds ticked away, neither saying anything. Clenching her hands to her sides, the tiredness she’d been fighting won. ‘I’m Siena. Just one ‘n’.’

‘How do you know I’m not here to pick up Sienna, two ‘n’s?’ he grumbled.

Damn, that hadn’t occurred to her. She shrugged, ‘Sorry, my mistake.’

She’d only taken two strides when a hand grabbed her arm.

‘I’m guessing you are Laurie’s sister?’

‘Yes.’ Siena observed him with curious eyes. Piercing blue eyes bored into her, the wide mouth with its full lower lip had flattened into a mutinous line. Gorgeous and grumpy, without an ounce of charm.

‘I had to pick you up. Laurie isn’t around at the moment.’

‘Oh.’ Siena felt a bit put out. ‘Where is she?’

He raised an eyebrow. She hated it when people could do that. ‘Where is she? You’re asking that?’

‘It wasn’t a trick question.’

‘Seriously? You text at six in the evening. Expect her to drop everything. Pick you up and then you ask, ‘Where is she?’’

‘I don’t see what it’s got to do with you.’ Whoever this man was, he had a cheek.

He stood and considered her for a moment, she felt like a model being sized up to see if the designer’s clothes would fit.

‘No, I guess you don’t. You’re right, it has nothing to do with me.’ Despite agreeing with her, he still managed to make it sound like an insult. ‘She’s up in Yorkshire.’

‘Yorkshire!’ Siena felt a bit stupid echoing his words but she didn’t actually know what or where Yorkshire was or why it was up. That sounded decidedly odd, as if it were in space or something, which she was pretty sure she would have heard of, if any part of the world had colonised space.

‘Norah had a fall, Laurie’s been at the hospital for most of the day. She asked me to pick you up. She can’t get a great phone signal there, so couldn’t contact you to let you know she wasn’t around. I’m to take you back to the house for tonight. Laurie will speak to you in the morning.’ He bit out each sentence as if he had a mouthful of tacks he was scared of losing.

Siena vaguely remembered the mention of a Norah from some of Laurie’s recent emails.

‘I thought Norah worked for Uncle Miles. Wasn’t she the housekeeper?’ mused Siena out loud which was stupid because the driver was hardly going to know.

Could a scowl get any deeper? ‘She still is. He’s dead obviously but she’s still the housekeeper at the house.’

‘OK,’ said Siena still doing her best to keep her smile up despite his quelling expression and the confusing information.

Siena felt she’d strayed into very dangerous territory but had no idea what had tipped it over into a fully operational minefield. Any minute now, this rather scary but gorgeous man, might blow. It unnerved her. People were usually nice to her. Most people. It seemed safest to keep smiling and not irritate him further by saying anything. Although her smiles didn’t seem to be having much effect on his mood. The silence stretched out between them until eventually with an exasperated huff, he spoke.

‘Norah is eighty-six,’ he said it slowly followed by a laboured pause, ‘Laurie said she couldn’t just abandon her.’

‘Yes, of course not.’ Siena’s cheeks were starting to hurt but she persevered.

‘So she asked me to pick you up.’

‘Ok, well … Hi, I’m – you know who I am. Laurie’s sister.’

‘I know exactly who you are,’ he replied dryly.

Did he have to make it sound as if she were so unsavoury? She was house trained.

‘Is that your luggage?’ He pointed to her cabin bag and the bulging duty free bag.

She nodded. The cabin bag did look a bit sad on its own but there’d been no time to pack properly. Luckily she’d been able to stock up on all the essentials in duty free.

‘Yes, it’s not much but I need to buy my spring wardrobe soon anyway, so I figured I might as well do it while I’m here. So, yes that’s it, I’m afraid.’

He gave her a dirty look. ‘It’s not a problem, I promise you.’ Without another word he set off, deliberately walking at speed as if to keep a healthy distance between them.

‘Er, excuse me?’ she called after him. He turned. ‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ He might be a poor excuse for a driver but he should still do the basics. ‘My bags?’

Blue eyes burned bright with indignation and he shook his head, muttering under his breath. He snatched the bags up and marched off. No tip for him then. Oh hell, they used sterling in England didn’t they? There were only euros in her purse.

Following, she tried to keep up with his long-legged stride.

Maybe this had been a terrible idea. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she snatched it up. Laurie? No, Maman. Her diaphragm tensed and for a minute she couldn’t breathe. Flash. Flash. Flash. Like a lighthouse, the beam on her iPhone pulsed with urgency. She stopped and stared down, her finger hovering over the screen.

Ahead of her the man had stopped and turned.

‘Going to get that? Or just stare at it all night. Some of us have places to be in the morning.’

She sighed and caught up with him. Once they got to the car, he would be driving and she could get in the back and sleep until they got to Laurie’s house in Leighton Buzzard. She had no idea what part of London that was or how long it would take to get there but it felt easier not to ask him.

Siena skidded to a halt but didn’t dare open her mouth. He had to be kidding. What sort of Mickey Mouse outfit did this guy work for?

‘Come on,’ he growled over his shoulder as he unlocked the boot of the mud-covered Land Rover. ‘It’s already after midnight.’

‘Seriously?’ She stared at the dirty green paintwork, unconsciously echoing his earlier phrase. ‘This is your car?’

‘Seriously yes. It’s my car. But don’t worry, there is an alternative.’

‘Thank goodness for that.’ She looked around the car park and spotted a pristine black Mercedes parked two bays along. ‘Where?’

He looked down, his eyes travelling the length of her legs to the floor. She followed his gaze.

‘What?’

‘You’re looking at them.’

She flushed. Tossing her head she crossed to the door of the car, with as much froideur as she could manage, opened it and hauled herself in. It was a long way up. Half way, she realised her mistake.

He stood by the door grinning holding a set of keys. ‘Missing something.’

She slid back out, refusing to look at him, keeping her face totally impassive and walked around the back of the car to the passenger seat. So, she was used to left hand drive cars, he didn’t need to be mean about it.

This horrible thing looked Spartan and uncomfortable. Unlikely she’d be taking a nap. Even climbing up was ungainly and her tight jeans protested, cutting sharply into her thighs. Immediately her feet were buried ankle deep in white paper bags, Coke cans and disposable coffee cups.

A pervading scent of manure and sweaty socks filled the vehicle. You couldn’t call it a car; it wasn’t civilised enough.

Years of being instilled with impeccable manners didn’t prevent her involuntary shudder. His eyes sharpened for a moment and she thought she’d offended him again. Although he seemed pretty easily offended.

‘Sorry about the mess. I wasn’t expecting passengers today.’

‘Were you ever?’ The words slipped out before she could stop them.

His head shot round and his dark eyes flashed with the closest thing to approval she’d yet seen. He gave her a rueful smile. ‘You got me there. No, this is my work horse.’ He patted the dashboard affectionately as he glanced down at her feet which she’d used to push the mass of litter to one side. There was a rustle as a couple of Coke cans tumbled together.

‘Ugh,’ she clutched her knees in her hand lifting her feet above the mess, ‘you haven’t got rats in here have you?’

A mischievous glint danced in his eyes and his face lit up with a sudden cheerful smile. ‘It’s a distinct possibility.’ And with that he started the engine, which coughed into life with a noisy, diesel fuelled rumble.

Siena sneaked a surreptitious look at his profile as he concentrated on manoeuvring the beast out of the car park. Now they were in the car his temper seemed to have abated. He seemed a tiny bit more human and, she had to admit, very good-looking in an unpolished way. Not that he was her kind of man. Too scruffy and masculine. Butch. Far too butch. Dark stubble shaded his chin and cheeks, emphasising the strong lines of his face and heavy jawline. Put him in a decent suit and he’d brush up nicely, although his arms and legs seemed rather muscular. Powerful. She tucked her hands under her legs and shrank into her seat.

Yves had a completely different build; slim and slender and of course, much older.

She checked out his clothes. Double denim. A fashion fiasco. She suspected he wouldn’t care if she pointed out that some people believed it was an unpardonable offence to wear jeans and a denim jacket unless you were a member of Status Quo.

Clean hair; nice and silky even though it might as well have been cut by a near-sighted trainee with a pair of blunt hedge clippers. Breathing in, she took in his scent, slightly earthy but not unclean. Siena could bet he didn’t do aftershave.

‘There isn’t an exam you know.’

Siena started and blushed. What was wrong with her? This man had caught her sniffing him, or as good as. Her face burned. At home she would have apologised profusely. It was rude to stare and plainly even ruder to overtly smell people but for some reason, maybe being away from home gave her tongue licence to say what she really thought for a change, she said, ‘Just checking out my surroundings and getting my orientation.’

‘I’m Jason. I’m twenty-nine. That do you?’

‘And are you always this fache?’ she shrugged as she grasped for the proper word. (Cross, that was it.) And then very nearly spoilt things by gasping at her own boldness. She never said things like that to people and she’d certainly learned not to with Yves. That sort of thing did make him cross.

‘No, only when I’ve been up since half past five this morning and I have to be up again in five hours.’ He slipped a silver foil packet out of his pocket, easing out a tablet with one hand and popping it into his mouth.

‘I guess you’re a bit tired then.’ No wonder he was knocking back the energy tablets or whatever they were.

He shot her an incredulous look. ‘No shit Sherlock.’

Siena snapped her mouth shut. She’d been about to add, that she was grateful for him coming out. These people worked incredibly hard. Was it any wonder he was cranky with those hours? Although it was probably a hazard of the job, early morning airport runs were probably the most lucrative. She wrinkled her nose.

‘You know,’ she smiled to show she was being helpful rather than rude, ‘you might get more customers if you cleaned up in here. Maybe got a better car.’

‘I can’t see how.’

‘You mean your customers don’t mind?’

‘None of them have complained so far.’

Siena pulled a face to herself in the dark. Maybe British people were less fussy about their taxis.

With an ungainly swerve, the car rocked at speed around a bend taking the slip road. Alain, the family chauffeur, would have been appalled.

Weren’t they now going in the opposite direction to the signposts for London? Her stomach followed suit and nausea churned in the pit of her stomach.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, rather proud that her voice sounded normal. She should have asked this Jason man for some kind of identification. Thierry Deneuve’s seventeen-year-old daughter had been kidnapped in Italy last June. Everyone knew he’d paid a hefty ransom demand to get her back, even though the police warned them not to.

‘Home?’

‘What, your home?’ Siena sat up straighter, clutching her bag closer to her chest and eyed the passing lights outside. They were going by pretty quickly now. She probably looked ridiculous but if she had to make a run for it, she had everything she needed in there.

Jason turned his head and gave her a funny look. ‘Strictly speaking, I guess it’s Laurie’s house.’

‘I might have just stepped off the plane but I can read.’

‘Good for you.’

Did he think she was stupid? ‘So why are we headed in the opposite direction?’

Occasionally taxi drivers in Paris took her on a circular route if they heard her speaking English, making the assumption she was a tourist.

‘We’re not.’

‘So why did it say London that way?’ She pointed back up the motorway.

‘Because. It. Is.’

‘So why are we going this way towards Slew?’ She pointed to the overhead blue sign, which had handily appeared at exactly that moment. He didn’t need to know she didn’t have a clue where Slough was.

Jason snorted and said in a strangled voice, ‘Where?’

‘Slew,’ she said her eyes narrowing. Wait ‘til she spoke to Laurie; she’d tell her to not to use this cab company again.

Despite his bone-deep tiredness, Jason shook with laughter.

‘Oops.’ He wrenched the wheel and they veered off the M4 onto the slip road towards the signs for M25 Gatwick and M25 Watford.

‘Nearly missed it,’ he said still chuckling to himself. How in hell’s name was this spoilt brat related in any way to Laurie? It wasn’t possible.

‘So,’ he snorted again, ‘where,’ another snigger, ‘where do you th-think Laurie lives? Not Slew obviously.’ He wheezed and started slapping the steering wheel trying to regain some equilibrium.

‘Leighton Buzzard.’ Siena folded her arms across her chest and stuck her chin in the air.

‘Good,’ he wheezed again, ‘because that’s where we’re headed. And it’s pronounced Slough as in bough.’

‘I think it’s very rude to laugh. How was I supposed to know that? If you were in France, I wouldn’t laugh at your pronunciation.’

He gave her a dry look. ‘But I’m not French. So why would you? You’re English.’

With a pout she folded her arms.

He gave her a closer look. She looked damn good, if you liked that sort of thing. A babe but too high maintenance. Skyscraper, Fifth Avenue, Mayfair type maintenance. He knew the type. Knew them well. Trust fund babies who expected the world to drop everything at their bidding. Incapable of doing anything for themselves. Been there, done that and he wasn’t going to be anyone’s gravy train again. Stacey, his ex, had boarded that ride and then left him the minute he chose a new route.

And yet, despite all his best intentions, here he was again, knight to the rescue. At six o’clock this morning he’d been in Glasgow. If anyone else had asked him to race to Heathrow he’d have told them where to stick it but he owed Laurie. She let him rent her house at a ridiculously low rate and as she was shacked up with one of his best mates, she couldn’t be all bad. Cam had very high standards when it came to women.

‘So you thought you’d pop over to see your sister,’ he asked, still cross on Laurie’s behalf.

‘Yes. Fancied spending some time together.’ The cheery, shallow smile made him grit his teeth. He wasn’t about to enlighten her. Laurie had been quite specific in her instructions. If anyone from her family enquired, he wasn’t to mention she’d gone to live in the house she’d inherited from her Uncle Miles. Apparently her mother was very unhappy about the terms of the will. And Jason would not betray Laurie’s confidence … especially for his spoiled, snobby – and rather hot – passenger.