Читать книгу The Business Arrangement - NATASHA OAKLEY, Natasha Oakley - Страница 8

AMY was quietly pleased. Two wolf whistles and one improper suggestion and she’d only been in London for a couple of hours. But then that was London’s tube network for you. That, plus a great haircut and some new clothes. This kind of feeling could become addictive. It didn’t matter that the weather was humid and the heat was bouncing back off the city pavements.

She crossed the road and peered at the piece of paper in her hand. This was it. Hugh’s house. She was no expert but the façade looked to be Georgian with a grand, symmetrical arrangement of windows. It was gorgeous. Hugh could have looked like the back end of a bus and you’d be tempted for a place like this.

Fitting the key in the lock, she felt a vague sense of surprise when the door opened. This really was going to be her home for the next couple of weeks. The inner sanctum of the spider’s lair. Amazing. ‘Hugh? Hugh, are you here?’ she called tentatively into the echoey silence of a cavernous hall.

There was no answer. Amy pulled her bag into the hallway and closed the door behind her. ‘Hugh?’

Still silence, except for the sound of her heels on the hardwood floor. Gingerly she pushed open the door immediately to her left and took in the muted colours and antique furniture. She let out a low whistle. Classy. It put his mother’s words into a whole new perspective.

‘I do hope he’ll look after you properly, Amy,’ she’d said the previous afternoon over a cup of tea and some home-made cupcakes. ‘He lives in a strange old place right near a busy road and he’s scarcely got a stick of furniture. Nothing to make it homely.’

Amy smiled gently to herself. Hugh’s mother would hate this restrained elegance, with every piece of furniture chosen to make an impact. Not a floral Austrian blind in sight. It was simply a million miles away from his mother’s taste for frilly, soft furnishings and accumulation of clutter. She quietly shut the door behind her.

He’d told her she’d find her room ‘up the stairs and the first door on the left’. Picking up her bag, she followed his instructions and found a note stuck on the door. ‘Hi. I’ve put some towels on the bed. Help yourself to the wine in the fridge,’ she read, smiling as she pulled the note off the creamy-white woodwork. Trust Hugh to think of wine when any sensible woman would be dying for a cup of tea.

Her room was light and fresh with a feel of Pride and Prejudice about it and, as he’d said, fresh towels were temptingly piled on the bed. It was just fantastic. Nothing like she’d imagined. She thought he’d have gone for a modernistic bachelor pad but this was totally ‘Hugh’ too. The antique furniture gleamed and smelt of beeswax. Compared with the house she had shared while at university, this was pure fantasy land. In fact everything about the whole situation was like something lifted out of a novel.

Amy shook her hair in the mirror, still fascinated by the way it framed her face and made her eyes suddenly appear enormous. Maybe the scissor-wielding genius was right and her eyes were her best feature. At any rate he’d squeezed her in on a Saturday morning and had done all he’d promised and more.

What would Hugh make of her new image? It would be nice to think he’d take one look at her and be staggered by her transformation. Perhaps he’d even fall at her feet and swear undying love on account of her beauty.

Of course, if he did that would make him very shallow. She plonked down her bag and grabbed one of the white towels before heading towards the en suite. But then he was shallow, wasn’t he? Even so, it wasn’t likely she was going to suddenly become the object of his desire. Which was good, she reminded herself.

Anyway, Hugh didn’t swear undying love. It wasn’t in his make-up. The best he’d ever offer would be an affair for as long as it felt good. Getting involved with Hugh would be like hitting a self-destruct button. And she wasn’t that stupid.

But she was in London. She did have new clothes. Life was going to get better, she thought buoyantly, before needing to concentrate on how Hugh’s up-to-the-minute design-statement shower head actually worked.

Later, fantastically cool with wet hair bundled up turban style in a towel, she padded back to the bedroom to answer the persistent bleep of her mobile. ‘Hello.’

‘Amy?’

‘Yep.’ She sat down on the edge of the bed feeling strangely breathless, as if she’d been caught somewhere she’d no right to be. It was so strange being in Hugh’s house. Touching his things.

‘You sound guilty. What are you up to?’ Hugh’s warm voice teased. ‘Are you on your way?’

‘No, I’m here.’ She heard her voice quaver and bit her lip. ‘Just had a shower to cool off and am dripping on your rug.’

‘You managed the tube okay?’

Amy curled up more comfortably on the bed. ‘I’m not a complete country bumpkin. I did experience momentary panic when the ticket thing ate my card, but it spat it out straight after. On the whole I managed fine.’

‘Have you found everything you need?’ he asked, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

‘Yep. I love your house. It’s gorgeous.’

He laughed. ‘Make yourself at home. I should be back in about twenty minutes. Maybe less.’

‘Twenty minutes?’ She looked down at her towel-wrapped body.

‘Put the kettle on,’ he said just before the soft click ended the connection.

Twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes was no time at all. Impossible to even attempt putting back together the transformed image she’d arrived with. The lady in the shop had been very encouraging, but she doubted the aubergine eyeliner was as easy to apply as she’d made it sound.

With a sense of urgency she pulled on a pair of jeans and a simple T-shirt. There was no time to find a hair-dryer so she made do with twisting her hair out of the way and holding it in place with a plastic clip. It was scarcely the fairy-tale transformation she’d played out in her imagination, but maybe this was better. Just play it cool.

Bare-footed, she ventured downstairs in plenty of time to be waiting to meet him as he opened the front door.

‘Did you have a good day at the office, darling? You really shouldn’t be working on a Sunday you know.’

Hugh’s face crinkled with amusement. ‘It was important. Hell, it’s hot out there,’ he said, loosening his tie. ‘What time did you arrive?’

‘About three,’ she said, offering a cheek for him to kiss. Dressed in a sharp city suit, he looked like a stranger, but the scent of his aftershave was reassuringly Hugh. ‘It was easy to find. I walked around with my A-Z like a tourist and managed beautifully.’

He laughed. ‘Have you had time for a drink?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Come on,’ he said, leading her down the corridor, pausing only to throw his jacket over the banister rail, ‘I need something now. My throat’s parched.’

The kitchen was square with a slate floor and pale maple units. ‘I love the granite,’ she said, running her finger along the cold worktop. ‘Very nice.’

Hugh looked in the fridge. ‘What do you want? Fresh orange? Tea? Coffee?’ he asked, turning to look at her. She had her hands pushed down into her jeans’ back pockets and the pale pink T-shirt pulled tight across a bra-less chest, nipples clearly showing through the fabric. Unbelievably he felt a sudden urge to rub his thumb across each protruding nub. Wondered what it would feel like to let his hand wander up beneath her top and feel the soft, shower-cooled skin beneath.

‘Orange, I think.’

‘Right,’ he said, turning back to the fridge. Stunned. This was Amy. What was he thinking of?

He poured the orange into a glass and handed it across, but he hadn’t been mistaken. Beneath the baggy, shapeless clothes he’d always seen her in was something infinitely more interesting. His eyes helplessly returned to those nipples. He felt like some adolescent schoolboy suddenly caught looking at something he had no right to. ‘Do you want to find some shade in the garden?’

‘Whatever.’

He poured himself a glass of orange and turned to open the doors into the garden. ‘There’s some shade at the end.’

Amy peered curiously out. It was a small town garden but had obviously been designed in such a way as to give distinct areas. In the far corner there was a seat beneath a pergola dripping with clematis. ‘Are you coming?’ she asked, looking back at him.

‘Lead the way.’

Inevitably his eyes followed the way her hips swung, followed the firm, rounded curve of her buttocks. Something about the heat must be getting to him. Amy was almost an honorary kid sister. It felt like a betrayal to be thinking about her in this way—particularly when she was only here to do him a favour. He sat down on the wooden seat and shifted uncomfortably. ‘Have you bought yourself any clothes yet?’

‘Can’t you tell? This T-shirt is new.’

The pride in her voice only made him feel worse. ‘It’s great.’ It was more than great. It was a simple T-shirt and it was single-handedly changing all his preconceptions about her.

‘I may have overspent, Hugh,’ she said, sipping her orange. ‘I was doing fine until I caught sight of a suede suit I had to have. If it’s too much I’ll pay you for it once I’m paid, but don’t make me take it back.’

He laughed and forced his equilibrium to settle. ‘I don’t think that’s likely. A few outfits aren’t going to ruin me and I’m too grateful you’re here to complain.’

‘How grateful?’ she asked over the rim of her tumbler. ‘There were some shoes…’

‘Witch! I never had you down as a clothes woman.’

‘Never had the opportunity.’

‘I still don’t get that,’ he said, forcing his mind back to something he could genuinely feel disgust about. ‘Surely your dad doesn’t keep you as short of money as all that? Not now.’

‘He doesn’t see it like that. He sees it as “making my own way”.’ He went to speak, but she forestalled him. ‘Leave it, Hugh. Let’s talk about something else.’ She drained the last of her orange. ‘I hope I don’t let you down. I’m a bit nervous about tomorrow.’

‘There’s no need to be.’

‘I know you, Hugh. You’ll go ballistic at the first mistake I make.’