How to Get Over Your Ex

by Nikki Logan

  ‘It was. This is a big estate. It was a lot to take on, and Roly had never even lived in the country before. He had no experience and he was frankly terrified. I don’t blame him,’ said George.

  ‘Oh.’ The breeze was pushing in some clouds, I noticed worriedly. It kept blowing my hair around my face and I wished I’d taken the time to plait it. My hair, by the way, is another bane of my life. It is fine and straight and brown and I can’t do anything with it other than let it hang there.

  I pulled away a strand that had plastered itself against my lips, still trying to reconfigure this new information about Lord Whellerby, who was, after all, the client.

  ‘Did you come here at the same time?’ I asked George.

  ‘Not immediately. Roly inherited an estate manager from his great-uncle and the guy was running rings round him. I was...at a loose end, shall we say? Roly invited me up to keep him company for a while, and when the estate manager left he asked if I wanted the job.’ George grinned and spread his hands. ‘I had nothing better to do, so here I am.’

  That rang true. George was exactly the kind of person who would get a job because of who he knew rather than what he knew, I thought darkly.

  ‘Jobs for the boys, in fact?’

  George’s smile was easy. ‘No one else would employ me,’ he said, clearly unfazed by my disapproval.

  I sniffed. ‘I still think you should show your employer some respect and refer to him as Lord Whellerby,’ I said primly.

  ‘Do you call Hugh Mr Morrison?’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He’s not a lord, for a start.’

  George made a big deal of shaking his head and then smacking his ear as if to clear it. ‘Sorry, that was really weird,’ he told her. ‘For a minute there I thought we were in the twenty-first century, but, thank God, we’re back in the nineteenth where we all know our place!’

  ‘Maybe it is old-fashioned of me,’ I conceded, ‘but I happen to think there’s nothing wrong with using a title to show a bit of respect.’

  ‘You call me George.’

  ‘And your point is...?’

  He raised his hands in surrender and smiled. ‘I’d hate to be called Mr Challoner, anyway,’ he said. ‘I’d constantly be looking over my shoulder for my father.’ For a second, his mouth was set and a grimness touched his eyes, but so fleetingly that afterwards I decided that I must have imagined it.

  A moment later, and the blue eyes were full of laughter once more. As they rested on my face I realised just how long I had been standing and talking to him when I should have been overseeing the pouring of the concrete.

  ‘Look, did you want something in particular?’ I said, summoning my best crisp manner. ‘Because I really do need to get on.’

  ‘I’m on my way up to the Hall. I just thought I’d drop by and see how things were going so I can give Roly—excuse me, Lord Whellerby—an update.’

  ‘I’ve done a progress report if he’d like one.’

  ‘Another one?’

  ‘I got the impression Lord Whellerby likes to be kept informed,’ I said stiffly. ‘It’s part of my job to keep the client happy.’

  ‘I must remember to tell Roly that,’ said George with a wink, which I met with a stony look.

  ‘Would he like this report or not?’

  ‘Oh, absolutely.’

  ‘Fine.’ Tucking my clipboard under my arm, I shouted to Frank over the sound of the concrete mixer. ‘Can you carry on, Frank?’ I pointed at the clouds. ‘And keep an eye on those!’

  Frank lifted a hand in acknowledgement and I led the way to the site office. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried it, but there is no way to walk gracefully through mud in a pair of Wellington boots. The mud sucked at my feet and made horrible squelching sounds, and I was horribly aware of George behind me, watching me waddle. I had to resist the urge to tug my safety jacket further down over my rear.

  ‘Boots,’ I said, pointing to George’s feet when we reached the prefabricated building that housed the site office, and he threw a crisp salute. Needless to say, he had made it across the mud as if he were walking across a perfectly mown lawn.

  I ignored him. My boots were so clogged with mud that I struggled to get them off even using the scraper at the bottom of the steps, but after a tussle that George watched with undisguised amusement I managed to replace them with a pair of pumps I kept just inside the door. Tossing my hard hat onto a chair, I stalked across to my computer and pulled up the file, my colour still high.

  George—of course—had no trouble taking off his own boots. He lounged in the doorway in his socks while I bent over the printer and concentrated fiercely on the pages spewing out. I could feel his eyes on me, and I plucked at the collar of the simple blue shirt I was wearing, wishing I could blame the single electric radiator for the warmth climbing into my cheeks.

  Collecting up the pages, I banged them neatly together on the desk and fastened them with a bang of the stapler. ‘There you go.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  But instead of leaving, George threw himself down in the visitor’s chair on the other side of the desk and flicked through the pages. ‘I see you’ve changed the specifications for the storm water drainage system,’ he said, then he glanced up at my face. ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘Nothing. I was just...surprised.’

  ‘What, you thought I couldn’t read a report?’

  ‘Of course not.’ I tugged at my shirt front. The truth was that I had assumed that he was too laid-back to pick up on the details of the report. ‘You don’t strike me as a details person, that’s all.’

  A faint smile curled his mouth. ‘I can pay attention when required,’ he said.

  ‘Right.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Well, as you’ve noted, I’m putting in a different kind of underground chamber to store the rainwater run-off. I think this one is a better design.’

  ‘More expensive though,’ George commented, flicking through to the figures.

  ‘It is, but we’re saving money with a better deal on the glass wool cavity insulation slabs. If you look at the last page, you’ll see we’re still on target to stick to the budget.’

  ‘Good. We can’t—’ George broke off as a disembodied voice started shouting:

  HEY, YOUR PHONE IS RINGING! PICK UP THE PHONE! YES, YOU, IT’S YOUR PHONE. DON’T EVEN TRY AND IGNORE IT! PICK IT UP RIGHT NOW!

  He laughed at my expression. ‘Good, isn’t it?’

  Embarrassed at having jumped so obviously, I smoothed back my hair. ‘Hilarious,’ I said, watching as George extracted the still-squawking phone from his pocket. I always leapt to answer my phone, but George only studied the screen in a leisurely manner, apparently able to ignore the noise it was making.

  ‘It’s Roly,’ he said. ‘Wonder what he wants?’

  ANSWER THE PHONE! PICK UP THE PHONE! It wasn’t often that I found myself in agreement with an object.

  ‘Crazy idea, I know, but you could try answering it and find out,’ I suggested acidly.

  George only grinned as he pressed the answer button. ‘Yes, my lord?’ The comment at the other end made him laugh. ‘I understand I’m not showing you enough respect,’ he explained, waggling his eyebrows at me. I tucked in the corners of my mouth and refused to respond.

  Irritably, I began straightening the already immaculately aligned files set out in order of priority. I had phone calls to make of my own, but how could I concentrate when George was leaning back in the chair, tipping back dangerously as he yakked on to Lord Whellerby?

  ‘Who?’ he said suddenly, letting the chair crash forwards in his surprise. ‘You’re kidding! What’s she doing there?’ A pause as he listened, his eyebrows climbing towards his hairline. ‘Yes... Yes, it is... Her what?’

  I shifted uneasily as the blue eyes focused on my face. ‘You’re kidding!’ he said again, looking at me so strangely that I mouthed What? at him. ‘Yes...yes...I’ll tell her. See you in a bit.’

&nb
sp; George snapped the phone back and stared at me.

  ‘What?’ I said out loud.

  ‘You’ve heard of Saffron Taylor?’ he said conversationally, and a dreadful feeling of foreboding stole over me.

  ‘Omigod,’ I said in a sinking voice.

  ‘Adored daughter of charismatic tycoon Kevin Taylor? The ultimate IT girl? Darling of the celebrity circuit?’

  ‘Omigod,’ I said again.

  ‘She’s crying in Roly’s private sitting room.’

  I stared at him, aghast. ‘Omigod!’ It was all I could say.

  ‘And she says she’s your sister.’

  I dropped my head in my hands. ‘Please tell me this is a joke! Saffron can’t be here. She gets disorientated if she leaves Knightsbridge!’

  ‘Saffron Taylor is your sister?’

  ‘OK.’ I lifted my head and set my palms flat on the desk. Drawing a deep breath in through my nose, I exhaled slowly. ‘Random sister in client’s house. No need to panic.’

  ‘She is your sister!’

  ‘Half-sister,’ I said, rummaging in my bag for Audrey’s keys. ‘What in God’s name is she doing at Whellerby Hall?’

  ‘Crying, I think.’

  A thought zoomed in out of nowhere and hit me so hard I almost buckled at the knees. ‘Has something happened to my father?’

  God, what if something had happened to him? My mind spun frantically. What would I do? What would I say? What would I feel?

  ‘I think we’d have heard on the news if something had happened to Kevin Taylor,’ said George in a practical voice and I clutched at the thought.

  ‘Yes, yes, you’re right!’ I said gratefully.

  ‘Roly said something about a wedding, I think,’ he went on. ‘But he was whispering, so I might have got that wrong.’

  I clutched my hair. ‘Please don’t tell me Saffron has come all the way up here because of some wedding crisis!’

  ‘I gather she wanted to talk to you.’

  ‘Then why didn’t she just ring? Oh!’ A horrible thought struck me. Another one. I pulled out my phone and stared at its blank screen. ‘I switched my phone off last night,’ I remembered in a hollow voice.

  ‘I always find it helps to keep my phone on if I want people to get in touch with me,’ said George, but I was in too much of a fret to rise to his smug tone.

  ‘I’ve just had so many phone calls from Saffron about the wedding,’ I said as I switched on the phone. ‘It’s been going on for months already. Which superstar rock band should be flown in to perform? Should she get her dress designed in New York or Paris or London? Castle A will look better in the photos, but castle B has a helipad, so which should she choose? It’s totally out of control!’

  My phone began beeping as message after message came through. Distractedly, I scrolled through the ream of texts. ‘Call me... Call me... Crisis... Where r u?...I need u,’ I read. ‘Good grief, what’s been going on?’

  ‘Perhaps you’d better see her and find out.’

  ‘I would if I could just find my car key!’ I went back to scrabbling in the depths of my bag. ‘I know it’s in here!’

  George got to his feet. ‘I’ll give you a lift, if you like. I’m going up to the Hall anyway.’

  He was really enjoying the fact that I was so flustered, I could tell. The moment I knew Saffron was all right, I was going to kill her, I thought vengefully.

  ‘There’s really no need—ah!’ My fingers closed around the car key at last and I pulled it triumphantly out of my bag. ‘Here it is. I’ll be fine, thanks.’

  I hurried down the steps and hop-skip-jumped my way around the puddles to Audrey while George was putting on his boots.

  ‘I’ll tell Frank you’ll be a while, shall I?’

  Oh, God, I’d forgotten about the foundations! I dithered desperately as I hung onto the driver’s door. I needed to be on site, but I couldn’t leave my sister weeping all over my client. I hated being beholden to George Challoner, but I didn’t have time to explain to Frank now.

  ‘Er, yes...thank you,’ I said. ‘If you wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘Sure.’

  He strolled over to the foundations while I flung myself into Audrey and shoved the key in the ignition.

  Audrey wheezed, coughed, managed a splutter and then died.

  I made myself breathe slowly. My sister was having hysterics over the client who was key to the success of Hugh’s business. I mustn’t panic. I would deal with it the way I dealt with everything else, firmly and capably. All I had to do was to apologise to Lord Whellerby and remove Saffron.

  No problem.

  Except that Audrey had chosen now not to cooperate. I tried to start the engine again, but got only more wheezing, feebler this time.

  More deep breaths. I counted to ten and then turned the ignition key once more.

  ‘Please, Audrey,’ I muttered, jaw clenched. I was acutely aware of George Challoner, who had delivered the message to Frank and was now watching me from behind the wheel of the Land Rover. ‘Don’t let me down,’ I begged Audrey. ‘Not when he’s watching.’

  But Audrey did.

  One last turn of the ignition key, and not even a wheeze in return.

  I resisted the urge to bang my head against the steering wheel. Just.

  I couldn’t sit there any longer. I knew what Saffron was like when she got in a state, and if Lord Whellerby was anything like every other man I had known, he would be terrified. He was probably already Googling for another design and build company to complete his conference centre, I thought bitterly.

  How was I going to explain that to Hugh?

  I know this was the big contract to ensure the future of your company, but, see, Saffron was having a bit of a crisis and now we’ve lost the contract? I’d be lucky if Hugh didn’t have another heart attack.

  Barely two weeks on the job, and what would I have to show for it? Hugh back in hospital, out of a job, my best chance for site experience blown. My plan would be in tatters, my career would be over before it had really begun.

  I pulled myself up short. Good grief, I was getting as bad as Saffron! There was no point in overreacting until I knew what the situation was, and to do that I had to get to Whellerby Hall.

  My eyes flickered to George, and then away.

  I could walk to the Hall, but it would take too long to cross the estate.

  There was only one thing to be done.

  Sucking in a breath, I got out of Audrey, closed the door, walked deliberately around the bonnet of the Land Rover and got in next to George without a word.

  For a moment I sat there, looking straight through the windscreen, my lips pressed so firmly together they almost disappeared.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said at last, forcing the words out. ‘I’d be very glad of a lift.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ said George.

  To my annoyance, his engine leapt into life without so much as a murmur of protest. I cast a reproachful look at Audrey as George reversed out behind her, and changed gear.

  ‘You know, you could invest in a reliable car,’ he said, a ghost of amusement in his voice.

  ‘I couldn’t get rid of Audrey,’ I said, instantly on the defensive. ‘She’s a great car. It’s just that she can be a little...temperamental.’

  Or downright contrary, at times.

  George raised an eyebrow. Have you ever met anyone who could actually do that? Raise one brow? George could.

  ‘Audrey?’ he said.

  ‘She’s named after Audrey Hepburn. Because she’s so glamorous,’ I added when George seemed unable to make the connection.

  ‘Right.’ He glanced at me and then away, shaking his head a little, but I could see the curl at the corner of his mouth.

  I pushed my seat belt into place with a firm click. ‘She’s got style,’ I said defiantly. Vintage, perhaps, but definitely style.

  ‘Lime green is an interesting choice of colour,’ George commented.

  ‘It’s not everyone’s first choice,
I know,’ I said, ‘but she was the only car I could afford when I bought her. I washed dishes for three years to pay for a car of my own,’ I told George. ‘Audrey’s a symbol as much as a car.’

  George swung the Land Rover out of the site gates and onto one of the narrow lanes that criss-crossed the Whellerby estate. ‘I’m surprised to hear Kevin Taylor’s daughter had to buy her own car,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t your father buy you one? It’s not like he can’t afford it.’

  My face closed down the way it always did when I had to talk about my father. I hugged my arms together and looked out of the window. I hadn’t taken a penny from him since I left school, and I wasn’t about to start now.

  ‘I pay my own way,’ I said. ‘I always have, and I always will.’

  ISBN: 9781460303764

  Copyright © 2013 by Nikki Logan

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