Читать книгу The Bridesmaid's Reward - Liz Fielding - Страница 6

‘DODIE? What’s happened? Calm down! Deep breath…’

Dodie Layton, having bombarded her best friend with an almost incoherent appeal for help, took a long, slow breath, as ordered, but her heart continued to race and her legs remained nothing but jelly.

‘Okay now?’

She nodded, although since this was a telephone call Gina wouldn’t be able to see her.

Gina knew her well enough to fill in the gaps, however, and said, ‘Good. Now, tell me all that again. Slowly.’

‘I’ve got six weeks to lose two dress sizes and transform myself from Miss Blobby into Bridesmaid of the Year,’ she said, editing her first garbled rush of information to its essentials.

‘You are not a blob. You’re…’

‘Cuddly?’ Dodie offered while her best friend gamely sought for a kindly euphemism to cover her generous curves, the width of her bottom, thighs that gave cellulite a bad name. ‘That is not a comfort. My sister—the thin, beautiful, young one—’

‘You’ve only got one sister.’

‘—the one who’s been nominated for every film award going in the last twelve months. Star of stage, screen and telly. Loved by everyone—’

‘Listen, I know your sister. I remember her when she had zits and braces on her teeth—’

‘—is getting married.’ Gina, silenced by this stunning piece of gossip, gave her the opportunity to cut to the chase. ‘And I’ve been cast as chief bridesmaid,’ she finished.

‘Oh, wow!’

‘Oh, disaster!’ Dodie wailed, reaching for the toast she’d been buttering when her mother rang with the big news. Along with strict instructions to reduce her dress size pronto and a promise to put details of the very latest diet—guaranteed to work practically overnight—in the post. Since she was far too busy to bring it over. Obviously.

Dodie tucked the telephone beneath her ear while she sloshed on an extra thick layer of marmalade before taking a bite. She’d cut down on the calories later; right now she needed sugar for the shock.

‘I don’t suppose I need to ask who she’s marrying?’ Gina asked, her attention now fully focused on the really important matter of hot gossip. ‘The diary columnists have been salivating for weeks over rumours that the on-screen lovers were doing it for real. When’s the big day?’

‘I can’t tell you the exact date. It’s a state secret, apparently, but early May seems to be favourite.’ She groaned again. ‘I’ve got six weeks, Gina. I need to jog. I need weights. I need aerobics,’ she said, spluttering toast crumbs everywhere as she wondered what had happened to all those resolutions she’d made on New Year’s Day. ‘I’ve got to do all those things I’ve been putting off for ever and—’

‘What you’ve got to do is stop talking with your mouth full and get a grip.’

‘Right,’ she said. She wasn’t about to disagree with the only person in the world who could get her into shape in time. She swallowed the toast. ‘I can do this,’ she said firmly. ‘In fact my heart’s beating so fast with the excitement that I’m losing calories just talking to you.’

‘I’m sorry to disillusion you, but for any loss of weight the raised heartbeat needs to be the result of exercise.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘Oh, well, you know more about this than I do. Which is where you come in.’

‘Oh, right. All becomes clear.’

‘Look, do you want to come to this wedding or not?’ Dodie demanded, stooping to outright bribery. ‘The guest list is going to be a Who’s Who of the film and theatre world. Actor knights. Pop stars. Starlets in wildly unsuitable dresses hoping to make the front page—’

‘Why would your sister ask me to her wedding?’

‘I get to ask someone. As in “and partner”.’

‘Er, isn’t that supposed to be a bloke?’

‘That’s a very un-PC comment, Gina,’ she said primly. ‘This is a showbiz wedding. And anyway, I haven’t got a bloke.’ She was planning to keep it that way. ‘Besides, I wouldn’t want a man along cramping my style. I mean, isn’t the chief bridesmaid supposed to arouse feelings of unrestrained lust in the best man? Traditionally?’

‘I’d heard that rumour, although personally I’ve never seen one worth getting excited about.’ Dodie didn’t say anything. ‘Oh, right. I think I’m beginning to understand the unlikely attraction of wearing some hideous satin, frill-covered concoction. And why you’re even considering getting toned up for the occasion. Come on, give. Who is it?’

‘The best man, do you mean?’ she asked casually, as if this wasn’t the reason her heart was quivering like a greyhound in the slips, throbbing like a Ferrari in pole position at Monaco, pounding like…like the entire drum section of the Royal Marine band at the Edinburgh Tattoo. And for a moment she had to grip the back of a handy chair—this kind of excitement was really too much to deal with over breakfast. ‘The best man is going to be Charles Gray.’

Being human, she took a certain amount of pleasure in the resulting stunned silence that positively vibrated down the telephone line.

‘Charles Gray?’ Gina responded finally, with gratifying awe. ‘Heartthrob and sex god? The man every right-thinking woman wants to find under her tree on Christmas morning wearing nothing but a smile and a condom? That Charles Gray?’

‘Yes. Total fantasy.’ And she sighed. ‘Absolutely perfect, in fact. One day of enchantment without any messy long-term reality to ruin the effect.’

‘You plan on turning back into a pumpkin at twelve o’clock?’

‘On the dot. And I’ll be a lot more careful with my shoes than Cinderella. I mean, let’s be honest, what are the chances that she lived happily ever after with a man fixated on her feet?’

‘I’d never given it any thought,’ Gina admitted. ‘And of course your eagerness for me to wave my magic wand and turn you into a princess for the day has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Martin will see the pictures in Celebrity magazine and realise that he could have been there, rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous? Imagine the caption… Mr Martin Jackson, partner of the bride’s lovely sister, Miss Dodie Layton, chatting to composer and well-known art collector, Sir Thingummy Whatsit…’

Reminding her about Martin didn’t have quite the effect Gina would have wished. Far from being amused, Dodie was only reminded just how undesirable she was. Casting a hopeless look down at herself in her working clothes—barrage balloon jogging pants that had never been jogged and a T-shirt that appeared to have shrunk in the wash—she groaned.

‘I’m just fooling myself, aren’t I? It’ll never happen. I’m going to look like a lumpen fool amongst all those toned, tanned and skinny celebs. As out of place as a lily on dung heap, in fact.’ As the reality of the situation sank in she broke off and grabbed another slice of toast. ‘Charles Gray being the lily.’

‘Nonsense,’ Gina said, with gym mistress briskness. ‘Don’t put yourself down.’ Okay, so she wasn’t a gym mistress, she was the manager of a seriously upmarket health club at the newly opened Lake Spa complex, but she could give a good impression of one when she was feeling bossy. ‘He couldn’t have a more charming companion at a wedding. You’re every bit as pretty as your sister. This may be considered heresy in some circles, but I think her cheekbones are a bit, well, bony. Contrary to popular myth, it is possible to be too thin.’

‘The camera loves bone.’

‘Maybe, but you’re not an actress, and, with or without bone, your smile would light up any occasion.’

Gina meant to be kind, she knew, but that was exactly the reaction Dodie most dreaded. It wouldn’t be so bad if she didn’t constantly have to stand comparison with her incredibly beautiful, incredibly talented, incredibly thin sister. But, having cast about for something complimentary to say, desperate relatives who hadn’t seen her for a while always plumped for the safety of her “lovely smile”.

Well, this time it wouldn’t be enough.

‘Since my “lovely smile” will have to compete with that of the terminally sexy Mr Gray’s, I doubt it will make much impression. I’ll just be that girl wearing a frilly tent and grinning inanely in all the photographs.’ And, groaning again, she abandoned the astringency of the marmalade and opened the fridge door. There was a jar of chocolate spread tucked away at the back that she kept for emergencies such as this.

‘I didn’t mean it about the frills, Dodie. Your sister has far too much good taste to put adult bridesmaids in frills.’

‘Maybe the frills are metaphorical, Gina, but the sniggers will not be—unless you, my dearest, oldest friend, save me from myself. I need the kind of one-on-one help that only someone who’s shared your most intimate secrets since nursery school, who knows your every weakness, can give. Who else would know where I hide the secret supplies of chocolate? Those biscuits I keep for the really bad moments? My addiction to soft, melting Camembert piled onto a Bath Oliver—?’

‘Stop it right now!’

‘I’m a hopeless case,’ she said. ‘In moments of stress you go for a run. I just reach for food. My mother only had to mention the words “instant miracle diet” for me to break out in a sweat. I’m on my knees here, begging you to move in with me for the duration, keep me on the straight and narrow—’

‘I’d do anything for you, Dodie, you know I would, but—’

‘But? Don’t tell me “but”, Gina. I can’t handle “but”…’

‘But,’ she said, ignoring the rising panic in Dodie’s voice, ‘our friendship has always been on a live-and-let-live basis. I’ve tolerated your love affair with the diet from hell. You’ve tolerated my need for the endorphin high of exercise. Ours is a relationship based on mutual respect for our individual no-go areas and I think we should leave it that way. And,’ she went on before Dodie could interrupt, ‘even if I wanted to help I couldn’t. I was just about to call you and ask if there was anything in Los Angeles that would make your life truly wonderful.’

‘Los Angeles?’

‘My company is sending me to the US to check out the latest trends in the health and leisure club scene over there. I leave today.’

‘You’re kidding!’ Dodie forgot her own problems for a moment, excited for her friend. ‘That’s fantastic.’

‘I do feel a bit as if I’ve stepped into a fairytale myself,’ Gina agreed. ‘I was given carte blanche to choose my own team at the health club. And now this. My degree in business management has finally connected with my real life and I’m going places.’

‘Los Angeles, apparently. That’s such good news, Gina. I’m so pleased for you.’ Then, ‘I just wish you were going places some other time. Couldn’t you put it off for a couple of months?’

‘Not even for you, sweetheart. But I’ll offer some sound advice. Ignore your mother’s “instant” diet. There is no such thing.’

‘But—’

‘I mean it. The answer is to cut out the bad stuff—and you know what that is without me telling you—and get some exercise. What I can do,’ she said, cutting off Dodie’s wail of anguish, ‘is sort you out a personal trainer. Someone to put together a programme for you and keep you at it.’

Some stranger who wouldn’t know all her little foibles?

‘I’ll backslide without constant help,’ Dodie said. ‘Right now, for instance, I’m taking a pot of chocolate spread out of the fridge.’ She’d finally found it lurking in the depths of the salad bin, where she’d tucked it away out of temptation. Sadly, all that remained was a slick of chocolate clinging to the sides of the jar. But Gina didn’t know that. ‘I’m going to spread it half an inch deep on this really thick slice of toast,’ she said, fingers crossed as she stretched the truth until it twanged. She did have the toast, however, and, holding it close to the phone, she took a crunchy bite. ‘It’s white bread,’ she warned, mumbling through a mouthful of crumbs.

Gina just laughed. ‘Nice try, Dodie, but it’ll take more than that to stop me from catching my flight. Look, why don’t you forget the diet, relax and just enjoy yourself at the wedding? Wear something low-cut and the starlets won’t get a look in with the photographers, believe me. Besides, Charles Gray is probably bored to death with girls who are little more than skin and bone.’

‘Are you supposed to say things like that? It’s your business to get women down to skin and bone.’

‘It’s my business to get them fit. There’s a big difference. Besides, it’ll probably be a whole new experience for him to dance with a woman-sized woman. An armful of cuddle. A bit of a treat, in fact.’

‘Get real.’

Gina sighed. ‘Martin Jackson didn’t cheat on you because you were a few pounds overweight, Dodie. He did it because he’s a Class A piece of—’

Dodie took another crunchy bite of toast to drown out the word Gina used. She knew what Martin was. It didn’t make what he’d done—or the fact that he’d done it with a girl the size of a stick insect—any easier to bear.

‘I’m more than a few pounds overweight now.’

Gina kindly refrained from pointing out that she’d done that to herself. Instead she went straight to the point, the way she always did.

‘What do you really want, Dodie?’ she asked.

‘I want to be thin, I want to be beautiful, I want heads to turn wherever I go.’ Like her sister. If she was going to dream, she might as well dream big.

After a momentary pause—probably to pick herself up off the floor—Gina said, ‘Oka-a-a-y. Let’s start with the weight—get that right and everything else will fall into place.’

‘I now know why you’re my best friend.’

‘I love you, too. But this is going to be tough love. The first thing you have to do is put the chocolate spread in the bin—with all the other comfort food you’re addicted to.’

‘If it was that easy,’ Dodie said, ‘you’d be out of business.’

‘All right, all right. Don’t fret. Cinderella will go to the ball. I’ll find you someone who’ll keep you at it. Angie. She’s your girl. She’ll not only monitor your progress but clean the junk food out of your cupboards and be a friend on the end of the phone when you’re tempted by a triple cheeseburger with French fries.’

‘At the end of the phone won’t work. She’ll have to be here to forcibly remove them from my fingers.’

‘Angie has a husband and kids of her own to babysit. She can’t babysit you.’

Dodie caught her breath. What on earth was the matter with her? ‘No, no, of course not. I’m sorry. I’m being unreasonable.’

‘No, you’re in a state. In your shoes I’d be in a state, too. But Angie will do everything else I’d do, and if you just listen to her—’

‘You’re a star, Gina.’

‘She can only do so much. The sweat, pain and tears are down to you. And there’ll be plenty of those. If you want to turn heads it’s going to take more than cutting out the comfort food. You’re going to have to exercise.’

‘Cheers.’

‘My pleasure. Present yourself at the health club at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. Angie will take a “before” picture of you to stick on your fridge door as a deterrent against backsliding. To get the “after”, you have to do everything she says. No argument.’

‘That’s all very well, but how am I going to pay for this new life?’

‘Oh, I see. The only reason you want me to supervise your regime is because I’d do for love, is that it?’

‘I’m an artist—’

‘But not a starving one, apparently. You’re far more likely to keep on the straight and narrow if it’s costing you. But,’ she went on quickly, cutting off a squeal of pain from Dodie’s wallet, ‘if you stick to the regime and don’t break the zipper on the two-sizes-smaller dress on the big day, I’ll give you a special deal.’

‘Gina, you’re the best—’

‘A three-month free membership of the health club, use of all the facilities and the services of a personal trainer.’

‘But that’s—’

‘In return, you can design and make a textile hanging for the health club. Something that reflects the spirit of the place. There’s a large empty wall in Reception simply crying out for a Dodie Layton.’

‘Ouch.’

‘I know. Lake Spa is getting the best of the deal. But this is business, and I have to repay the boss-man’s faith in me. Of course, if you don’t shape up, I’ll forget the textile and charge you the going rate. Believe me, you can’t afford it.’

Actually, Dodie realised—given ten seconds to consider the matter—having one of her works on permanent display in a place used by people with high disposable incomes was a win-win situation for her. It gave her a double reason to shape up.

She’d undoubtedly need both of them. She grinned. Gina wasn’t just a whip-slender body. She had motivation down to a fine art.

‘You’ve got a deal. I’ll bring the digital camera with me tomorrow and take some pictures. I can work on some ideas while you’re away.’

‘Excellent.’ Before Dodie could respond, she added, ‘Oh, and make sure that invitation is on my doormat when I return. If Charles Gray isn’t bowled over by your smile, I’m planning on being second in line.’

‘Problem?’

Brad Morgan had been staring out of the window of his penthouse office for the last twenty minutes.

‘What makes you think I’ve got a problem?’ he said, without turning around, as his secretary placed a cup of coffee on his desk.

‘Your body’s here, but it seems to me that just lately your mind’s been somewhere else. Want to talk about it?’

‘No, thanks.’

‘Is it a woman?’ she asked, undeterred.

‘Women aren’t a problem unless you allow them to be.’

‘My mistake. Yours don’t stay around long enough to cause trouble. You change yours with the season, the way some women change their wardrobes.’

‘At least I’m consistent.’

‘Right. They’re all tall, thin and looking for a man to show them off in all the right places,’ she said dismissively. ‘And you’re tall, rich and obliging. Temporarily. Is it Lake Spa?’ she persisted. ‘Is that why you’re going down there for the next few weeks?’

‘No, Lake Spa is already outperforming expectations, but new buildings inevitably have teething problems and someone needs to be on the spot while Gina’s away.’

‘You?’ She didn’t bother to conceal her disbelief.

‘Yes, all right, you’ve seen right through me as usual. I want to take a close look at the staff she’s chosen.’ He swung his chair around to face her. ‘They’ll tell me a lot about the woman. And if what they tell me is as good as I think it will be, I want to see who performs above expectations, looks like a natural successor.’

‘To Gina? But I thought she was a real find.’

‘She is. I’m considering promoting her to take overall charge of the health club division within the year.’ He glanced up at her. ‘Why don’t you take a break and come down for a day or two? See what you think of the hotel now it’s finished. Swim, have a sauna, an aromatherapy massage. A complete makeover in the salon. Whatever you like.’

She pulled a face. ‘No, thanks. I made myself a promise that I’d never take my clothes off during working hours and it’s served me very well for the last thirty years. Why don’t you take one of those women who don’t give you any trouble? I’m sure they’d queue up for the chance.’

‘Like you, Penny, I never mix business with pleasure.’ And health and leisure were big business these days. Of course, it helped that he’d applied the same single-minded determination to building his business empire that he’d put into his glorious, if short-lived, career on the rugby field. Expanding fast enough was the only problem there.

‘Okay, I give up. Not business. Not women. When was the last time you took a holiday?’

‘I hate holidays. There’s nothing wrong, okay?’ he said, noticing her raised eyebrows. ‘It’s always the same when a new project reaches completion. A sudden gaping hole in the working day. A what-was-I-doing-before-I-did-that? emptiness.’ Lake Spa had been bigger than anything he’d done before. The low was correspondingly deeper, that was all.

‘You need a new project. A new challenge.’

‘Do I?’ How many new challenges were there in his business? The Lake Spa project had been a new direction, combining hotel, health club and conference centre. So what was left?

He’d reached the pinnacle in his sport for one dazzling moment of fame and glory before his career had been cut short by injury. He’d never had a chance to get bored, to reach the been-there, done-that stage when repetition was all he could hope for. And the journalists watched for signs of him passing his peak.

Not that it had seemed like a plus at the time. He’d had to pull himself back from the edge of despair and start again, this time in business. But now his leisure company had reached a point where all he could do was add another new health club to the chain, another new hotel, another new conference centre. Or another spa.

The prospect of repetition yawned before him. Been there. Done that.

‘You definitely need a holiday,’ Penny said. ‘Something to recharge the batteries. Inspire you.’

What he needed was a challenge that wouldn’t leave him empty when it was done. Something that would continue to grow. Keep him focused.

‘Inspiration can’t be found lying on a beach,’ he said. Or staring out of his office window. ‘But, if there’s nothing needing my attention, I might as well go home.’

Maybe a couple of weeks at the Lake, at the sharp end of his empire, would give him some new ideas.

Dodie resisted the urge to dip her finger in the jar of chocolate spread and instead tossed it into the bin. ‘I will be good,’ she said out loud to no one in particular, avoiding her reflection as she passed the mirror on her way out to her studio. ‘Honest.’

She switched on her computer and, as she waited for it to boot up, tied her hair back in a scrunchie to keep it out of her face. Working at home had a lot of pluses. That she didn’t have to wear a suit or tights came top of the list. No need for serious work on her hair first thing in the morning was good, too.

No distractions in the way of sexily helpless men who didn’t know how to boil a kettle, or any of the hundred and one other things that a woman will do for a man who says he loves her.

But—and what a nasty word that was—there was always a downside to everything.

She might be able to work her own hours, wear what she wanted, not have to bother with make-up except when she was meeting a client, and never, never have to walk to work in the rain.

But there was no doubt that walking away from Martin, along with her post as tutor at Melchester University’s Art Department, hadn’t helped the constant struggle to keep her weight down.

Her freelance work had increased a little now that she had all the time in the world to concentrate on it, with no students, no man to distract her. But so had her need for comfort food.

Without the brisk daily walk to counter the effect of sitting at her computer and workbench—with exercise an optional extra that she never opted for—the effect on her backside had been disastrous.

Natasha’s wedding, she decided, had come just in time to get her back on the rails and maybe even into her favourite black dress. The one that now gaped unattractively over her bust.

The prospect of following her newly wed sister down the aisle on the arm of the thoroughly gorgeous Charles Gray had to be incentive enough for even the most ordinary woman, the most slothful food junkie, to get back into shape.

That and, of course, the opportunity to show Martin just how big a mistake he’d made.

Lake Spa blended perfectly into its surroundings. A series of low-rise stone buildings, each guest room with its own private deck built out over the water, it was set along the edge of an artificial lake which had been created by long-abandoned gravel workings.

Serene, peaceful now, colonised by wild duck and swans, it was light years from the local authority evening classes in aerobics run by Gina before she’d finally married her day job to her passion.

Dodie parked her ancient van—the battered exterior disguised by her own vivid artwork and hideously out of place amongst the top-of-the-range motors that filled the car park—and walked across to a small dock with a little flotilla of sailing dinghies, seeking inspiration for her part of the bargain. She spent far too long taking photographs of the hotel lodge, the conference arena, the health club and lake with her digital camera. Putting off the moment of no return for as long as possible.

Finally, however, she crossed to the entrance, trying not to feel completely overawed by the healthy creatures who, having been for an early-morning swim or session in the gym, were now vibrating with energy as they bounded off to start their day’s work.

Overawed by the glossy receptionists, busy with the phones and new arrivals. By the tanned, terrifyingly fit staff, in their health club uniform of dark red tracksuits and perfect smiles.

She came to an abrupt halt in the middle of Reception. She couldn’t do this. It had been a serious mistake to think she could. This was not her kind of place. She began to back towards the door before she was pounced on by Angie, chained to some terrifying machine and exercised without mercy until she was fit and thin, too.

She’d stick to the diet her mother had somehow found time in her busy schedule to deliver personally—doubtless to avoid any lame excuses from her ugly duckling daughter that it hadn’t arrived—along with a pair of scales and a gallon of cabbage soup to get her started. And a lecture on how important this was for Natasha. How kind she was being when she could have chosen anyone—and for ‘anyone’ Dodie read anyone thin, beautiful and equally famous—to be her bridesmaid. But she’d insisted on having her sister.

So, she’d stick to the diet. Walk to the shops. Fast. Throw away the monster-size bag of mints that lived in her desk drawer, she promised herself guiltily. She could do it. She knew she had the will-power. Somewhere. If she could only remember where she’d left it…

And then, as her feet became entangled with the straps of a sports bag set down momentarily while its owner tightened his shoelaces, she stopped worrying about losing weight, impressing Charles Gray or making Martin wish he’d taken the longer view. She had a more immediate problem.

Staying on her feet.

She flailed wildly with her arms in an attempt to keep her balance, but even as she bowed to the inevitable, accepting that nothing could save her, she crashed into a pair of strong hands. They gripped and held her as she collided with what seemed like a brick wall.

The guy whose designer bag she’d fallen over picked it up, brushed it off and glared at her before walking off without a word.

‘Sorry,’ she called after him. ‘I hope I didn’t damage your lovely bag. Bruise it or anything.’ Then, as the door closed behind him, ‘Poser.’

‘Possibly.’ The owner of the hands said coolly, and set her back on her feet as if she weighed nothing at all, keeping hold of her while her bones remembered what they were for. ‘But perhaps if you’d been looking where you were going—’

Oh, great. Now she was going to get a lecture on pedestrian safety.

‘You’re right,’ she said, in an attempt to forestall it. ‘I’m a complete idiot. It’s a good job I’ve no intention of applying for permanent membership here or I’d be rejected as a danger to designer label leather goods.’ And, having got that off her chest, she remembered her manners and turned to thank him. She’d undoubtedly have bruises on the fleshy part of her arm where his fingers had gripped her, but that had to be better than the alternative. ‘Thank you for catching me,’ she said politely.

‘Any time,’ he said, with just the possibility of a smile.

‘I think we’ll leave it at just the once, thanks all the same.’ Although now she was over the shock, and had had a chance to look more closely at the man who’d stopped her from making a total prat of herself, she was prepared to reconsider.

He was tall, rangy, built for speed rather than heavily muscled, although anyone who could catch her mid-fall and, more importantly, hold on to her, had to be strong. He was certainly a lot more substantial than the young men who, with their slicked-back hair and Armani suits, bounded up the stairs to the restaurant for a healthy breakfast after their early-morning keep-fit sessions.

Maybe that was because he wasn’t young. He was well into his thirties, at a guess, and there was a maturity about his body, about his entire bearing, that made them look like callow youths.

His face had a seriously lived-in look that added character by the bucket-load, along with a sprinkling of grey to leaven his thick dark hair.

Not that he wouldn’t give the younger men a run for their money in the body department. His suits wouldn’t need any skilful padding to make his shoulders look impressive. In a washed-thin T-shirt that left his sinewy arms bare and clung to his shoulders and torso, outlining his form, she could see that they were impressive…

‘This is your first visit?’ he asked, cutting off this unexpected direction to her thoughts. Of course she was an artist. She appreciated…um…form. He’d make a wonderful subject for a life class. The blue eyes were a plus, too. ‘Don’t let one bad experience put you off joining. We’re not all posers.’ He didn’t wait for her to agree with him, but said, ‘Do you need some help? Someone to show you around?’

‘Oh, no,’ she said. Then, realising that she was letting him walk away, ‘At least…’

‘Yes?’ he offered, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

‘Nothing,’ she snapped. Then, ‘I’m sorry. I’m nervous. I’m not used to this kind of thing.’ She made a gesture that took in a couple of long-legged girls as they crossed the reception area and headed for the exit, dark glossy hair swinging, make-up perfect.

Big mistake.

Her own mousy-coloured hair was tied back in the first scrunchie that had come to hand—one adorned with a cartoon tiger. Cute—she hadn’t been able to resist it when she’d seen it in the supermarket—but not particularly grown-up she realised belatedly.

She hadn’t thought to apply more than moisturiser to her face either: it was far too early to get actively involved in anything as physical as thinking, and wearing make-up to a workout had to be a mistake, surely?

But as his eyes followed the girls, too, and lingered, she had plenty of time to regret her laissez faire approach to grooming. He was looking at them the way she’d been hoping Charles Gray might look at her—just long enough for the photographer to get a shot of them both, anyway. With interest.

She clearly needed a lot of work if that was to happen, and if those girls were anything to judge by this was the right place to get it. Pulling herself together, she said, ‘I’d better go and tell the receptionist I’m here.’

‘I’ll leave you to it, then. And relax. This is supposed to be fun.’

‘Is it? Really?’

‘Really.’ He nodded and turned away, and she saw that despite the honed physique he was favouring his right leg.

‘Oh!’

He stopped, looked back. ‘Yes?’

‘Did I hurt you when I crashed into you?’ Her and her big mouth, making sarcastic comments about that idiot and his precious bag instead of making sure she’d done no worse damage. ‘I’m so sorry—’

The muscles in his jaw tightened briefly. ‘It’s an old injury,’ he said. ‘Nothing to do with you.’

‘Well, thank goodness for that!’ Then, as she realised how that sounded, ‘No! I didn’t mean…’

But he hadn’t waited for her to drivel embarrassingly on.

He’d pushed open the doors that cut off the luxury of the carpeted reception area from the polished wood flooring of the business part of the health club and disappeared.