by Lizzy Grey
“How did they find out?” Marcus asked.
“Jamie texted me. Amanda thought it was you and grabbed the phone from me.”
“Does she know who Jamie is?” he asked and she shook her head, feeling tears coming, and she covered her face with her hands. “Come here.” He took her in his arms and she sobbed into his chest. “I’m not angry.”
“Well, I am. I should have been more careful. I’ve just lost my two best friends.”
“Do you think they will keep quiet?”
“You just threatened to sue them,” she reminded him.
“Even so.”
“I don’t know.”
He nodded. “Would you mind very much if we were to start the divorce now?”
She spluttered a laugh. “No.”
“Good. I’ll ring James, my solicitor, and then your parents. You’d better ring Jamie.”
“Yes. Don’t let my parents bully you.”
“I won’t. That’s why I’m leaving them until last.”
She gave him a grin, picked up her handbag and went upstairs. She rang Jamie straight away but the line was busy again and she rolled her eyes before leaving a rather jumbled message. She ended the call and sat on her bed her head spinning. Two hours ago, she’d gone out to meet her best friends for a coffee and now look. What would she give for a vodka right now. Squeezing her eyes closed, she groaned. Don’t even go there, she told herself, then jumped as she heard Marcus shouting at someone. She slid off the bed and went out onto the landing.
“No, Daniel, I won’t change my mind… I know she said three months, but she shouldn’t have… Yes, I know Freya’s your daughter, but I’m her husband… No, don’t be ridiculous, of course, I won’t be kicking her out onto the street. She will be more than generously provided for… No, apart from some cravings, she is perfectly well. Yes, I have met him… He’s a businessman... I don’t know, you’ll have to speak to Freya about that. Our divorce will be completely amicable, Daniel, please be grateful for that.”
She heard a beep as Marcus ended the call and she went downstairs. “Daddy?” she enquired lightly and he rolled his eyes.
“How could I do this now? Where are you going to live? Are you going to start drinking again? Where did you meet Jamie Watson?”
“Do you want me to move out? It might be easier all round if I did. It’s me – the alcoholic daughter of the Tory Chief Whip – people will be interested in.”
“No, I don’t want you to move out, and if you want to see Jamie, he can come here.”
“You’re not serious?” she gasped.
“I am serious. You can’t possibly meet him in hotel rooms now, even if he is using a false name. You want to fuck – you fuck here.”
“What about you and James?”
Marcus shrugged. “He’s up in Edinburgh, I can’t really call a cab when I want to be with him.”
“I’m sorry.”
“All this will be over soon.” He gave her a little smile. “Whether your parents like it or not.”
She went to her sitting room with her iPhone, hoping Jamie would call soon, and curled up on the sofa. She was jolted awake sometime later, hearing raised voices in the hall. She looked at the clock on her phone, she’d been asleep for two hours, and she climbed off the sofa. Opening the door to the hall, she groaned, hearing her parents’ voices in the drawing room. The drawing room door was flung open and her father came out into the hall.
“There you are, Freya. Come in here, please.”
Still half asleep, she followed him into the drawing room and the door was closed behind her.
“Freya, you promised three months.”
“I know, but—”
“And this Jamie Watson, you do know that he’s a male escort?”
She clapped a hand to her mouth and pulled an exaggeratedly outraged expression. “No?”
“Don’t be insolent,” he snapped.
“Well, whoever your source is for that information is wrong. Jamie isn’t an escort anymore.”
“No, he runs an escort agency now, peddling prostitution. How long have you known him?”
“Over a year,” she replied.
“You seriously cannot think you have a future with this man?”
“His name is Jamie. And, yes, I do. I love him.”
“Freya.” Her mother spoke for the first time. “Think. Think about what you are doing.”
“Mummy, I am. I have been for months. I’m sorry for being such a disappointment.”
“You’re not thinking clearly—”
“I am thinking very clearly,” she retorted. “And, before you ask, no, I am not drinking again. I just happen to have fallen in love with a man who loves me, too. If you met him—”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that because I am not going to stop seeing him. Thank you for coming. Marcus and I would like you to leave now.”
“Freya,” her father began again.
“Now, please,” she added and Marcus went to the door. He opened it, before going out to the hall, and she heard him opening the front door.
“Very well.” Her mother left the room and her father followed.
A couple of moments later, the front door closed and Marcus returned to the drawing room.
“They’re never going to forgive me,” she told him, and sat down on the sofa, watching as her hands and knees began to shake.
“Let me ask for some tea.”
“I don’t want fucking tea,” she roared and he jumped. “I would kill for a vodka right now, but—” She squeezed her eyes closed for a moment. “An orange juice would be nice.”
“Okay.” He went out and returned a couple of minutes later with two glasses and put one down on the small side table nearest to her.
“Well, you’ve got to hand it to me. I’ve managed to lose my two best friends and my parents in the same day.”
“You haven’t lost your parents.”
“Marcus, they are never going to forgive me for the divorce, and they are never going to accept Jamie.” Reaching for the glass, she gulped down the orange juice. “So, yes, I have lost them.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Can we try and stay friends?” she asked rather desperately.
“Of course we can,” he replied softly.
The following morning, she still hadn’t heard from Jamie, and Marcus sighed as he dropped a bundle of newspapers down on the dining room table as she was eating her breakfast.
“We’re not on the front pages, thank God, but on page five of The Daily Herald and on page twelve of The London News.”
“So, no-one gives a toss, really,” she said, putting her coffee cup down.
“Unless your father and his editor friends are keeping it off the front pages.”
“Maybe. Do any of them mention Jamie and James?”
“No, it’s just re-hashes of the statement my solicitor put out.”
They both looked towards the door as it opened and Mrs Smythe, their housekeeper, came in.”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, madam, but there is a Mr Watson at the back door.”
Her heart leapt and she smiled. “Please show him in, Mrs Smythe, thank you.” She got up as an exhausted-looking Jamie came in and kissed her lips.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. The office was raided by the police last night.”
“The police?” Marcus echoed.
“I don’t fucking believe it,” she fumed. “My bloody parents.”
“Freya’s parents were here yesterday to try and talk us out of the divorce,” Marcus told him. “Needless to say, it didn’t go well.”
“I asked them to leave,” she added. “And I won’t be seeing them again. They all but accused you of peddling prostitutes.”
Jamie’s eyebrows rose. “Well, the police had a wasted journey. But I had a sleepless night because of it all. What happened with your friends? Your message was a bit all over the place.”
> “I was having coffee with them when you texted me. Amanda grabbed the phone from me, thinking it was from Marcus, except it wasn’t.”
“They didn’t appreciate being kept in the dark for a second time and things went downhill from there,” Marcus explained. “We had to begin divorce proceedings in case they couldn’t keep quiet. And things went very much downhill from there.”
Jamie gave them a tired but sympathetic smile. “And I thought I’d had a bad day.”
“Would you like some breakfast?” she offered and he shook his head.
“No, thanks. I’m almost out on my feet. I’m going home, and I’m going straight to bed for a few hours.”
“Jamie, before you go,” Marcus spoke. “I was saying to Freya yesterday, that it is far too risky for the two of you to meet in hotels now. So, if you want to meet, then, you can do it here.”
Jamie failed to hide his surprise. “That’s very good of you, Marcus, thank you. There are journalists at the front door, which is why I went around the back. Anyway, I really must go home and get some sleep.”
Freya went with him to the back door. “I’m so sorry. That was a very vindictive thing for my parents to do.”
“It’s done and dusted now. So.” He ran his hands up and down her arms. “When will you be a divorcee?”
“In about four months.”
“So you’ll be free in time for Christmas?”
“I hope so. I don’t want to spend another one in snowy Scotland.”
He smiled. “When I come to ‘visit’ you, do you think Marcus will go out or will he just turn the volume of the television up?”
She pulled a horrified expression. “That’s not funny. Please be careful, who knows what Mummy and Daddy will do now.”
“I’ll be careful. I love you.”
“I love you. Thank you for coming.” She saw him out, returned to the dining room, and went to the window. There were photographers standing on the pavement and she closed the blind, before turning to Marcus. “I hope you’ve lined up some more box sets for us to watch.”
That evening, Marcus knocked at the door of her sitting room. Opening it, he passed her one of London’s evening newspapers.
“Mrs Smythe has just shown me this.”
She glanced at the headline.
ESCORT AGENCY RAIDED BY POLICE
She quickly skimmed through the text. Simon Harrison was mentioned, as was the receptionist, but thankfully Jamie was not.
“My parents want to put him out of business, don’t they?” she murmured.
“Well, they certainly want to make things as difficult for him as possible.”
“So he’ll see me as being too much trouble and dump me.”
“I have an idea,” Marcus began and she put the newspaper down. “It might be a ridiculous idea but hear me out.”
“Okay,” she replied nervously.
“You and Jamie can lie low at Craigmore House for as long as you want.”
“That’s very generous but what about you?”
“I think I’ll go to Edinburgh and visit my mother. You come with me, the press think we’re both there, but you get smuggled out and you travel up to Craigmore to Jamie.”
It was tempting. “But Jamie can’t run the agency from the north of Scotland.”
“Freya, if this continues, he won’t have much of an agency left to run,” he told her gently. “If he’s got any sense, he’ll close the agency for now and re-launch it when we are divorced and there’s nothing more your parents can do.”
“Yes.”
“Talk to him, Freya. Craigmore House is yours for as long as you need it. We both need to get out of London.”
“Will you try and see James?” she asked.
“If I can and it’s not too risky.”
Jamie rang her while she was getting ready for bed and she made him listen as she told him of Marcus’ plan.
“It’s very good of him,” he said, still sounding exhausted. “Cara, my receptionist has resigned, her husband thought she was still working as a nurse. He didn’t appreciate having to collect her from a police station at four in the morning and then reading about her place of work in the newspapers.”
“Well, you’re talking to her replacement, tell me what I have to do.”
“Freya, it’s impossible for you to work for me at the moment. Go to Edinburgh with Marcus and try and lie low there for a bit. There’s bound to be some new story to take interest from you soon.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to be hundreds of miles away.”
“Freya, I need to try and save the agency. Go to Edinburgh for a bit.”
“I can ring you, though.”
He gave a tired little laugh. “I’d be bloody annoyed if you didn’t.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice wobbling.
“What for?”
“That you’re having to go through all this because of me.”
“Because of your parents,” he clarified. “Do you think they’ll go looking for you in Scotland?”
“I honestly don’t know. Marcus is going to put them off for as long as he can.”
“Good old Marcus. Is he seeing James while he’s up there?”
“He says yes if it isn’t too risky.”
“Okay, I love you, and I’ll be in touch.”
Chapter Twelve
Freya and Marcus flew up to Edinburgh the following morning and by lunchtime she was sitting in an exclusive hair salon, watching as her hair was cut into a short at the back and longer at the front style. Some of it would hang over her face and she hoped it wouldn’t drive her nuts. It was then dyed black and she smiled. It looked fantastic. In a beauty salon, she had her eyelashes tinted and her eyebrows shaped and tinted, then she went shopping. She bought herself two pairs of black jeans, two black blouses, and a black leather blazer. They would make her look a bit like a Goth but she didn’t care. As long as she didn’t look like the Marchioness of Craigmore, it was okay.
Returning to the Edinburgh townhouse, she noted three journalists hanging around outside, so she asked the cab driver to take her around the back.
“Freya?” Marcus’ eyes almost popped out of his head when he met her on the first-floor landing. “Bloody hell, I almost didn’t recognise you.”
“Good. Marcus, I’m going back to London.”
“Why?” He frowned.
“I need to start making preparations for my life after the divorce and I have a plan I want to work on.”
“Well.” He sounded doubtful. “If you’re sure. Be careful, Freya.”
“I will. Now, if my parents do contact you…”
“…You and I are staying at Craigmore House, I know.”
“Thank you for all this.” She kissed his cheek. “You have my mobile phone number?”
“I do.”
“Okay, I’m off.”
She travelled to London by overnight train, hoping to avoid the press that way, and rang Mrs Smythe to warn the housekeeper that she was coming back. From the station, she took a cab to the rear of the townhouse.
“Goodness.” Mrs Smythe was astonished when Freya met her in the hall.
“I need a bit of a disguise for a while.” Freya smiled. “I hope this will work.”
“Well, I hardly recognised you.”
“Good.”
“Some breakfast?” the housekeeper offered.
“I would love some tea and toast, thank you.”
Freya brought her suitcase upstairs, showered and changed into more of her new clothes, then went back downstairs to her sitting room and surveyed the room critically. Could she set up and run a business from here? She grimaced. She’d have to. Marcus and the staff rarely came in there, so it was fairly safe.
After breakfast, she went into the library and, using Marcus’ laptop, bought one for herself, plus a printer and a telephone with answering machine. She also bought and registered a domain name www.s&sagency.com and set up an e-mail account and arranged for a sep
arate telephone line to be installed. Checking the London Introductions website, she went to the website designer’s own website and made a note of their address. That done, she slipped out of the house by the back door and went to order some business cards. Arranging to collect them the following day, she went to have a cup of coffee.
Well, that was the basics sorted out. Now came the hard part. Finding escorts and advertising them. She had met ‘Sam’ in Perfect Strangers, so maybe she could meet him there again. In the meantime, she needed to buy some suitable clothes for a businesswoman.
She bought a black trouser suit and ankle boots then went home, had something to eat, and got changed. Applying black eyeliner and the purple lip gloss she loved, she smiled at herself in the bathroom mirror. She looked terrific, every inch the owner of an escort agency. Reaching for her smartphone instead of her iPhone, and ordering a cab to come to the mews behind the townhouse, she travelled to Perfect Strangers and walked into the still-empty nightclub.
“You’re new?” A voice from behind made her jump as she slid onto a bar stool and ordered an orange juice.
Turning, her heart lurched. It was the bastard sleazeball who had tried to recruit her and who Jamie was supposed to have put out of business. Would he recognise her?
“Yes, I am.”
“Working tonight?”
“Working?”
He smiled, infuriating her. “Looking for company, I mean.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I might be.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Someone like you needs company. Want a vodka in that?” he asked as her orange juice was placed in front of her.
“No, thank you. I like to keep a clear head.”
“Quite right. Look,” he reached into a pocket and produced a business card. “Take this. And if you fancy being well paid for being good company, give me a call.”
“Do you…” She accepted the card, her mind racing. “Do you have someone who could keep me company for an hour or two?”
He grinned at her. “Man or woman?”
“Man. A friend of mine was with a guy called ‘Sam’ a while back. Do you know of a ‘Sam’”
“I could do. You like them hung like a donkey, do you?”
“Not much point otherwise, is there?”