Читать книгу It Started With... Collection - Miranda Lee - Страница 51

RYAN glanced at the digital clock on the dash as he neared the street where Laura lived. Only a quarter to one; he was a little early. Not a good idea to be too early; he pulled over to the kerb to let a few minutes pass before proceeding.

Time ticked slowly by, during which his thoughts inevitably returned to what had happened when he’d rung Erica last night and told her his revised plans for this weekend.

Ryan shook his head at the memory of her reaction. Laura had been so right; maybe he didn’t know women as well as he thought he did. Because Erica had not been happy. Not only that, she’d been decidedly jealous!

Being on the end of jealousy was something which brought out the worst in Ryan. When Erica started accusing him of also having fancied Laura and that this was just a ploy to sleep with her, Ryan had told her in no uncertain terms that if that was what she thought then it was time they went their separate ways. After which he had hung up.

The fact that Erica subsequently sent him several grovel-ling—then abusive—text messages over the next hour had only confirmed his opinion that he’d done the right thing in breaking up with her. But the episode had bothered him all the same. He’d turned his phone off in the end, but he suspected that more messages would be there if and when he turned it back on again. Though what she had left to say he had no idea. He’d already been called every derogatory name in the dictionary from a filthy louse to a ‘something’ libertine.

He hadn’t been quite sure what a libertine was, so he’d looked it up and discovered that a libertine was a licentious and lascivious man who did as he pleased—which he thought was a bit harsh, though not entirely inaccurate. He did do as he pleased in the main. And it pleased him not to continue a relationship with a female who was hypocritical as well as foul-mouthed. It also pleased him to pretend to be Laura’s Mr Right this weekend and make an old lady’s last days happy.

The clock on the dash showed it was now twelve-fifty-three.

Time to arrive.

The house at the address Laura had given him came as a surprise. Not because it was grand, or large—it had possibly only three bedrooms. Federation cottages in good condition, however, were still worth a mint, especially when positioned high on a hill overlooking Manly Beach. He wondered if she owned it or was just renting.

It seemed an odd choice for a rental, he decided as he climbed out from behind the wheel and made his way through the front gate and up the flagged front path. The garden on either side was well tended, he noted, and the green paintwork around the front windows looked freshly done.

Not a rental, he concluded by the time he stepped up onto the ivy-covered front patio and rang the polished brass doorbell. Laura owned this lovely little house. He was sure of it.

Ryan was about to ring the bell again when the front door was swept open and Laura stood there, looking a darned sight better than she usually did. Gone was the funereal black suit; in its place were nicely fitted dark-blue jeans, black ankle-boots and a crisp white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and a turned-up collar. Her hair was swept back up into a ponytail and she’d put on some pink lipstick. All in all she looked five years younger than she had yesterday, and a good deal more fanciable.

Not that he fancied her. Not really; Erica was quite wrong about that. He would never have put himself in this position with a woman he seriously fancied. He was not that much of a fool.

‘You’re early,’ she said, almost accusingly.

Some things, Ryan realised, could not be changed as easily as appearances. She should have been grateful, not irritated. He always liked it when people were on time.

Except at three on a Friday afternoon …

Now why did he have to think of that?

Ryan shrugged in an effort to rid himself of the annoying thought that something was eluding him here. ‘Only five minutes. You’re looking good,’ he complimented her.

‘Thank you. So do you,’ she returned, if a little grudgingly.

‘We aim to please,’ he said with a smile.

She didn’t smile back, though something flickered in her eyes. He wasn’t sure what—more irritation, probably. Man, but he had his work cut out for him this weekend. It wasn’t going to be easy pretending to be in love with Miss Prickly.

‘I won’t be long,’ she said, whirling and walking quickly back down the hallway. ‘The bathroom’s in there,’ she said over her shoulder, indicating a door halfway up the hall on the right. ‘That’s if you want to go before we leave.’

‘I’m fine,’ he called back.

She was as quick as she said she would be, dragging a small black travel-case in one hand and carrying a plastic suit-cover in the other. Ryan stepped forward to take the bag, leaving her with the coat hanger.

‘I presume that’s a dress you’ve got in there,’ he said as they made their way out onto the front porch.

‘Yes,’ came her brusque reply. ‘Here. Hold it while I lock up.’

He was standing there, both hands full, when a cat suddenly curled around his right ankle, a sleek brown-coated feline who had ‘show cat’ written all over him. Until it peered up at Ryan.

‘Good God!’ he exclaimed in shock. ‘Is this your cat?’

‘What? Oh yes.’

‘He’s only got one eye!’

‘Hmm, yes,’ Laura agreed dryly. ‘I had noticed that, Ryan.’

‘What happened to him? Was he in a fight?’

‘No. He had a run-in with a car about a year ago. Didn’t you, sweetie?’ she said, her voice turning soft as she scooped the cat up into her arms. ‘Cost me a small fortune at the vet. Over three-thousand dollars.’

Ryan just stared at her. Over three-thousand dollars on a cat?

‘Yes, I know,’ she said, back to her droll tone. ‘Not what you might have expected from hard-hearted Laura.’

‘You’re certainly proving to be more sentimental than I imagined.’

‘Sorry to disappoint you.’

‘I’m not at all disappointed. You should never apologise for having a softer side, Laura. It’s what makes a woman a woman.’

‘It’s what makes fools of them,’ she retorted sharply. ‘Especially where men are concerned.’

‘I can’t see any man making a fool of you.’

‘As I said last night, Ryan, you don’t know women as well as you think you do. Which reminds me, what did your girlfriend say about your pretending to be my boyfriend for this weekend? Or didn’t you tell her?’

Ryan realised straight away that the truth would complicate things unnecessarily. Far better Laura not know how badly Erica had reacted, or that they were no longer a couple.

‘Of course I told her,’ he lied. ‘And she was fine with it.’

Laura shook her head. ‘Amazing.’ She bent down to drop the cat gently at her feet. ‘Be a good boy, Rambo, and don’t go on the road whilst I’m away.’

‘He’ll be fine being home alone?’ Ryan asked as they made their way out to the car.

‘It’s only for one night. He has plenty of food and water and his own cat slap. I’ve asked one of the neighbours to keep an eye on him as well.’

‘What breed is he?’ Ryan asked as he laid the suit-cover down on the back seat then placed the bag alongside his in the boot.

‘Abyssinian.’

‘Ah. I thought he was a pedigree cat. Have you had him long?’

She shot him one of her impatient looks. ‘What is this, twenty questions?’

Ryan decided to ignore her stroppiness. ‘I’m just collecting some basic facts about you. After all, a genuine boyfriend would know about your cat, wouldn’t he?’

Laura sighed. ‘I suppose so. In that case, his name is Rambo and he’s almost five. I bought him after I …’ She broke off abruptly, her mouth tightening.

‘After you what?’

‘After I broke up with Mario,’ she went on at last, her voice as bleak as her face.

‘I see,’ he said, wondering what exactly dear old Mario had done to turn Laura into such a man-hater. Had she caught him with another woman? Or was it the classic deceit of his having been a married man? His behaviour must have been pretty bad to devastate Laura the way it obviously had. Most women would have moved on by now. Five years ago, she’d said. Wow. Did that mean she’d gone without sex for the last five years? Ryan couldn’t imagine a life without regular sex. It was as necessary to him as eating and drinking. Still, he supposed women were different to men in that regard. At least, some obviously were.

‘Enough of the third degree for now,’ he went on, deciding to forget the awkward questions for a while. ‘So, what do you think of my car? Impressive enough for you?’