Holiday with a Stranger
Page 18
Even as he piled heavy sarcasm on the word fake he wondered why the hell he was turning this into such a big deal. Why should he care? It had simply been a handy arrangement, nothing more.
‘Because the problem with it being a fake relationship is that it was a pretty damn perfect one,’ she snapped. ‘And so now I need a fake break-up.’
* * *
She outlined her suggestion as they walked down the hall and it sounded so insane that his mind had trouble processing it.
‘You can’t possibly be serious. You want to fake an argument in front of your family so you can make some kind of a righteous point by dumping me?’
‘Exactly! Shouldn’t be too hard. I’ll choose a moment, start picking on you, and then you just play along.’
‘Why can’t you just tell them we broke up? That things didn’t work out?’ He ran an exasperated hand through his hair. ‘Why do I need to be here at all?’
‘Because I’ve spent the last year building you up as Mr Perfect, bigging you up at every opportunity. You’ve no idea what it was like before we started helping each other out. The constant questions about why I was still single, the hassle about my body clock careering towards a standstill, the negativity about my career. Introducing you as my boyfriend stopped all that like magic. They think you’re the son-in-law of their dreams—a rich businessman who adores me, good-looking, charming, not remotely fazed by my mother. They’ll never just take my word for it that we broke up amicably. I’d spend the rest of my days being questioned about what I did to drive you away. You’d be forever name-dropped as the one that got away. No man I bring home would ever live up to your perfect memory.’
‘You don’t think you’re going a bit overboard?’
‘Are you really asking me that? You’ve met my mother. You know what she’s like.’
He had to concede that Emma’s mother was without a doubt the most interfering person he’d ever come across, with an opinion about everything that was never wrong. Her relationship with Emma seemed to bring out the critic in both of them. Mutual exasperated affection was probably the nearest he could get to describing it.
‘This way your fabulous reputation will be ruined, by the time Alistair and I finish our trip to the States you’ll be a distant memory, and they’ll be ready to accept him as my new man.’ She shrugged. ‘Once I’ve...you know...briefed him on what they can be like.’
Trip to the States? His hands felt clammy. He stopped outside the main gallery and pulled her to one side before they could get swept into the room by the crowd.
‘You’re going on holiday?’
She looked at him impatiently.
‘In a few weeks’ time, yes. I’m going to meet some of his friends and family. And then after that I’m going to travel with him in Europe while he covers an international cycling race for American TV. I’m taking a sabbatical from work. I might not even come back.’
‘What?’ His mind reeled. ‘You’re giving up your life as you know it on the strength of a few dates? Are you mad?’
‘That’s exactly it! When do I ever do anything impetuous? It isn’t as if sensible planning has worked out so well for me, is it? I work all hours and I have no social life to speak of beyond filling in for you. What exactly have I got to lose?’
‘What about your family?’
‘I’m hardly going to be missed, am I? My parents are so busy following Adam’s ascent to celebrity status with his art that they’re not going to start showing an interest in my life.’
She leaned in towards him and lowered her voice, treating him to the dizzying scent of her vanilla perfume.
‘One of his pictures went for five figures last month, you know. Some anonymous buyer, apparently. But two words about my work and they start to glaze over.’
She leaned back again and took a small mirror from her clutch bag.
‘And you’ll be fine, of course,’ she went on, opening the mirror and checking her face in it, oblivious to his floundering brain. ‘You must have a whole little black book of girls who’d fall over themselves to step into my shoes. You’re hardly going to be stuck for a date.’
True enough. He might, however, be stuck for a date who made the right kind of impression. Wasn’t that how this whole agreement of theirs had started? He didn’t go in for dating with a serious slant—not any more. Not since Maggie and...
He clenched his fists. Even after all these years thoughts of her and their failed plans occasionally filtered into his mind, despite the effort he put into forgetting them. There was no place for those memories in his life. These days for him it was all about keeping full control. Easy fun, then moving on. Unfortunately the girls who fitted that kind of mould didn’t have the right fit in work circles. Emma had filled that void neatly, meaning he could bed whoever the hell he liked because he had her for the serious stuff—the stuff where impressions counted.
It occurred to him for the first time that she wouldn’t just be across London if he needed her. He felt oddly unsettled as she tugged at his arm and walked towards the main door.
‘You’ve had some mad ideas in your time, but this...’ he said.
* * *
As they entered the main gallery Emma paused to take in the enormity of what her brother had achieved. The vast room had a spectacular landing running above it, from which the buzzing exhibition could be viewed. It had been divided into groupings by display screens, on which Adam’s paintings—some of them taller than her—were picked out in pools of perfect clear lighting. A crowd of murmuring spectators surrounded the nearest one, which depicted an enormous eyeball with tiny cavorting people in the centre of it. His work might not be her cup of tea, but it certainly commanded attention and evoked strong opinions. Just the way he always had done.
She took two crystal flutes of champagne from the silver tray of a pretty blonde attendant, who looked straight through her to smile warmly at Dan. For heaven’s sake, was no woman immune? Emma handed him one of the flutes and he immediately raised it to the blonde girl.
‘Thanks very much...’ He leaned in close so he could read the name tag conveniently pinned next to a cleavage Emma could only ever dream of owning. ‘Hannah...’
He returned the girl’s smile. Emma dragged him away. Why was she even surprised? Didn’t she know him well enough by now? No woman was safe.
Correction: no curvy blonde arm candy was safe.
‘For Pete’s sake, pay attention,’ she said in a stage whisper. ‘You’re meant to be here with me, not eyeing up the staff.’
She linked her arm through his so she could propel him through the crowd to find her parents. It wasn’t difficult. Her mother had for some insane reason chosen to wear a wide flowing scarf wrapped around her head and tied to one side. Emma headed through the crowd, aiming for it—aqua silk with a feather pin stuck in it on one side. As her parents fell into possible earshot she pasted on a smile and talked through her beaming teeth.
‘They’ll never just take my word for it that we’ve just gone our separate ways. Not without a massive inquest. And I can’t be doing with that. Trust me, it’ll work better this way. It’s cleaner. Just go with everything I say.’
She speeded up the end of the sentence as her mother approached.
‘And you don’t need to worry,’ she added from the corner of her mouth. ‘I’ll pay for the dry-cleaning.’
‘You’ll what? What the hell is that supposed to mean?’
He turned his face towards her, a puzzled frown lightly creasing his forehead, and his eyes followed her hand as she raised her flute of champagne, ready to tip the contents over his head. She saw his blue eyes widen in sudden understanding and realised far too late that she’d totally underestimated his reflexes.
Dan’s hand shot out instantly to divert hers, knocking it to one side in a single lightning movem
ent. And instead of providing the explosive beginning to her staged we’re finished argument, the glass jerked sharply sideways and emptied itself in a huge splash down the front of her mother’s aquamarine jumpsuit. She stared in horror as champagne soaked into the fabric, lending it a translucent quality that revealed an undergarment not unlike a parachute harness.
She’d inadvertently turned her mother into Miss Wet T-Shirt, London. And if she’d been a disappointing daughter before, this bumped things up to a whole new level.
Copyright © 2014 by Charlotte Phillips
ISBN-13: 9781460327494
HOLIDAY WITH A STRANGER
Copyright © 2014 by Christy McKellen
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