‘Really? They want me? That’s amazing.’
‘Better get here soon Guy before I give the slot to one of my other clients. One who doesn’t forget our meetings.’
‘I’m on my way.’
Guy’s hand reached for the ignition as he threw his mobile onto the passenger seat.
Live Lounge would be a great set. A real sign he’d broken away from modelling and been accepted into the music industry, and he had Sonja to thank for it. She might be a bit of a ball ache at times, but she’d earned her salary three times over, and did it without breaking a nail on her perfectly manicured hands.
It was a shame she wasn’t his type, because he was sure she had a thing for him. He could tell by the way she looked at him. It reminded him of a tiger getting ready to pounce. A beautiful redheaded tiger, but a predator none the less.
Maybe she could be his type? He wondered to himself as he accelerated out of the motorway services. He needed to get Juliet out of his head, he decided. And how better than with a good-looking woman?
The memory of Japan flashed in front of his eyes; a warning from his unconscious, Guy thought. The elfin blonde model with pale skin so soft it had filled him with instant desire. And yet something had gone very wrong. He could still hear her callous laugh, just like Juliet’s had been earlier, or Jules, he corrected himself.
It was time to stop looking back. Forget Juliet once and for all, like she’d forgotten him. Forget the model in Japan. One time, that’s all it had been, he reminded himself, moving the Jaguar into the outside lane as he sped home.
Time to get back in the game, Guy told himself, pushing aside the memory of Juliet’s emerald eyes glistening with anger and the feelings it had stirred in him.
Nine
Something was definitely wrong. The thought nagged at Jules like a persistent alarm clock determined to get her out of bed, but in her pre-waking minutes she had no intention of moving from under the weight of the warm duvet, or lifting her head from the squishy cloud-like pillow.
She must be dreaming. At some point soon the alarm on her mobile would start to beep and she would find herself back in the shivering cold of the guesthouse, with the carpet as prickly as pine needles beneath her feet, and a shower so hot it left her skin raw.
If only the thought would stop poking, trying to wake her from the comfort of her dream.
With her eyes still shut, Jules wriggled her foot out of the bed, waiting for the icy air to hit like a shot of caffeine. Nothing happened. Maybe Mrs Beckwith had cranked the heat up for once, she wondered as she drifted back to sleep. Then someone moved next to her and all notions of sleep disappeared.
Jules’ body tensed. In an instant she realised four things: she was in someone else’s bed; that someone lay asleep next to her; she had a throbbing headache, and a mouth that tasted like sour feet.
The person next to her let out a deep sigh, causing a thick stench of manure and raw meat to fill her nose. If she ever had the misfortune to discover a decomposing body, she had a feeling it would smell a lot like the breath of the person next to her.
The person moved again, nudging something wet and warm against the back of her neck.
She had been kidnapped, she realised, as fear gripped her. Drugged and kidnapped. It was the only explanation. And now the kidnapper with the dead body breath and the lovely warm bed had decided to subject her to some kind of unspeakable torture.
‘No,’ Jules cried out as something sloppy flapped into her ear.
Opening her eyes, she shifted position to face her attacker, preparing to fight.
‘Max,’ she sighed, her body relaxing at the sight of the dog lying on top of the duvet next to her.
Shrugging her arms free of the cover, she spread her fingers through Max’s smooth fur.
‘Morning,’ a voice called from the doorway.
Jules’ eyes darted to bedroom door as horror filled her again. ‘Oh.’
She had not been kidnapped. She had not discovered a dead body. But she had slept in someone else’s bed, and that someone stood in the doorway with two steaming mugs and an amused smile. Shit, Jules cursed herself.
‘Good morning,’ Rich said as he crossed the room; stepping over what looked to be her clothes spread across the pale laminate floor.
In a flash, Jules moved under the covers, relieved to feel the fabric of her underwear still intact.
‘Don’t worry, I stopped you before you stripped totally naked,’ he said, reading her wide-eyes and open mouth.
‘What?’ Red heat crept across her face.
Feeling suddenly exposed, she pulled the duvet up to her chin, struggling to pull a wining Max with her as she shuffled to a sitting position.
‘Here you go.’ Rich handed her a hot mug.
‘Thanks.’
‘How you feeling?’ Rich asked as he moved back to the door, leaning his tall body against the frame.
Like she’d had a fight with a very angry bear swinging a baseball bat and lost, she thought.
‘Not bad’ she lied, running her tongue across the ridge of her mouth. The taste had the fur of a bear’s arse feel to it.
‘Remember much from last night?’ He took a long sip from his mug, keeping the blue of his eyes on her.
‘Most of it, I think.’
Jules willed her mind to uncover the memories of the last twenty-four hours. She remembered finding Guy in her house. She remembered, with a wave of anger, the second newspaper story; and she remembered sitting in Terri’s van. She had a hazy image of entering the pub and drinking several of Rich’s cocktails, but nothing more.
‘Dancing on the bar?’
‘WHAT?’ she cried out, the decibels of her own screech sending another wave of throbbing pain through her head. ‘I did not do that.’
‘Okay, okay, I was joking.’ Rich held up his mug-free hand. ‘You didn’t dance on the bar.’
‘Good.’
‘Just on the floor,’ he added, his face stretching into the same grin she remembered from their first meeting. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen whenever you’re ready, there’s no rush,’ he continued before Jules could question his comment.
‘Rich wait,’ she called after him, trying to ignore another wave of nausea flooding her system.
‘Yeah,’ he turned to face her.
‘Seriously, what happened last night? Between us I mean.’ Another rush of heat crossed her cheeks.
He paused for a minute, a light smile touching his face. ‘Nothing Jules. You were upset about the stories in the paper. Terri asked me to make you one of my specials. Two shots of Gordon’s, ginger ale and orange juice. Well, they are pretty lethal and-’
‘And that’s when you thought you’d invite me back here and take advantage?’
The second she saw Rich’s expression change she knew she’d made a mistake. The amusement fell from his face.
‘No actually. Funnily enough, paralytic women are not my type,’ he shot back. ‘You had a few too many, and if you must know, I didn’t invite you anywhere, you invited yourself. You practically begged me to sleep with you. I stayed in the spare room, okay? Come on Max it’s time for your breakfast.’
He strode away, followed by an obedient Max.
Had she really thrown herself at him? Jules wondered as vague memories of the previous night filtered back. She remember taking off her jumper and the heat of Rich’s body as she’d lent towards him, but what had she said?
To Jules’ horror, she recalled the answer to her question: ‘I really fancy you.’ The memory caused a shudder to take hold of her body. It was all her. She had been the one to instigate whatever had led to her being half-naked in Rich’s bed. What an idiot.
This was all Guy’s fault, Jules fumed. If he hadn’t turned up yesterday, she wouldn’t have felt the need to drink herself stupid, have a total personality malfunction, and woken up in Rich’s bed. She had just managed to ruin any chance of getting to know Rich properly, if that was something she even wanted, she wonde
red.
A few minutes later, moving very slowly, Jules rescued her jeans and jumper from the bedroom floor. Her jacket, shoes and socks appeared to have been flung off at a different point during her mortifying drunkenness, along with her hair band. The waves of her long hair fell over her shoulders, messy and out of control, just like her life, she thought.
Jules closed her eyes as she padded bare feet into a bright yellow hallway, each step sending another throb of pain into her brain.
Suddenly the bold colours she’d chosen for her new house seemed like a bad idea.
Rich’s flat above the pub had the same stripped beams and high ceilings as the pub below. He had kept the old features, but clashed them with modern touches. She had a feeling the bright colours would have made her head pound even without the hangover.
Another agonising rush of nausea hit her as she entered the green and chrome kitchen.
‘Hi,’ she said in a low voice.
Rich kept his back to her, making no sign that he’d heard her meek greeting.
Jules took a breath. ‘Rich I’m sorry. I know you were just looking out for me…’ she trailed off, waiting for him to respond in some way.
‘It’s fine.’ He turned towards her. ‘Grab a stool; I’ll put some toast on. Orange juice?’
Jules’ stomach gave an agonising churn. How many cocktails had she drunk last night?
‘Err no thanks, but I’d murder for some pain killers if you’ve got any please?’
A smile touched his lips. ‘Last cupboard by the sink, help yourself.’
‘Thanks, and I am sorry about what I said. I’m seriously embarrassed, it’s not like me to be so…’ Jules searched for the correct word – drunk, pathetic, needy – ‘Forward.’
‘That’s not what you said last night.’
‘What?’ Jules exclaimed before she saw the creases of Rich’s smiling eyes. ‘Oh ha ha, very funny.’
Rich’s light teasing continued as they shared toast and coffee. In that moment, and even through the haze of her hangover, Jules felt something pass between them. She just had no idea what it was, and more importantly, what she wanted to do about it.
‘Right. Well I’d better take Max out in a minute. Do you want to come? The fresh air might do you good.’
‘Thanks, but I’d better get up to the house and see what’s going on with the ceiling and getting some new glass for the window in the kitchen.’
‘So last night didn’t put you off then?’
‘What about last night?’
‘What they said about your house?’ he prompted.
Jules pushed her mind back through the bottomless pit of broken memories last night had created. It was blank, totally blank.
‘Oh yes that,’ Jules chose her words carefully, she couldn’t let Rich see she’d forgotten everything. ‘No not at all.’
Rich raised his eyebrows.
‘I’d better head off now too. I guess I should check the papers on my way,’ she added, the thought of another story filling her with dread. Surely no one would bother telling the paper about her, it’s not like she had any enemies.
‘Yeah of course.’ Rich opened his mouth to say more, but closed it again.
‘Does everyone know?’ she asked.
‘About you staying here?’
‘About the stories in the paper, why did I throw myself at you downstairs too?’ She didn’t think last night could have been any worse, but she had been wrong.
‘Well they definitely know about the newspaper. You had a pretty good rant about it. A violation of human rights, I think you said.’
Jules slumped her head into her hands, for once grateful for the loose waves of her hair covering her flaming cheeks. Of all the places to share something so personal about her life, why did she have to choose a tiny community she had to live in for the next few months? Please let that be the last of the stories, Jules begged to no one in particular.
‘And as for us, well it’s a small place. It only takes one person to see you leaving here for people to start talking. If they haven’t already. But don’t worry it really is harmless. Everyone is really nice; they take an interest in each other that’s all.
It takes a while to settle into a small community,’ Rich continued, ‘as I’m sure you’ll find out for yourself in a few years.’ He paused for a moment as he took a gulp of orange juice. Perhaps waiting for her to correct him.
She knew now was the time to tell him that she had no plans to be in Cottinghale for more than a few months let alone years, but for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to do it. The house was her dream, but she knew she wouldn’t stay. She liked to keep moving.
‘You make it sound like you’re not a local. How long have you lived here?’ she asked, dragging her sore head back from the table.
‘I moved out from London about five years ago now, I wanted a change of scenery.’
‘A change of scenery? This is more like changing planets. Did you have a bar in London too?’
‘I was a chef actually. Had a crazy notion that this place would make a great country gastro pub.’
‘Wouldn’t it?’
‘I’m sure it would if there were enough people interested. But not many people pass through here. After a while you kind of like it that way.’ Rich ran his hand through the tassels of his hair. Despite being indoors, it still had the same windswept look from the first time they’d met. ‘I do a Sunday lunch once a month and specials on bonfire night, that kind of thing.’
Suddenly, a loud bark pierced the air, sending a new wave of pain ricocheting around Jules’ head.
‘Okay mate we haven’t forgotten about you.’ Rich stood. ‘You good to go?’ he asked.
‘Yeah sure, but I can’t find my jacket or shoes,’ she answered with a shake of her head. Deciding not to add the missing socks into the conversation.
‘Try the stairs,’ he laughed.
‘Really?’
‘Hey, it was your seduction routine not mine.’
‘Oh no. I am so sorry.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said, collecting a blue lead from the back of the kitchen door, which caused a fit of excitement to attack Max as he danced around them.
‘I’m always looking for someone to try new recipes out on if you…’ The rest of his words disappeared behind Max’s excited barking as Rich led him down the stairs.
‘Sure, sounds good.’ she replied, following behind.
She didn’t need to hear the rest of Rich’s sentence to know that he’d invited her for dinner. After the way she’d behaved, she would be glad to show him that she wasn’t a deranged alcoholic.
‘Great. Saturday night okay for you? Stan helps out behind the bar at the weekends so I get a chance to take a break.’
‘This Saturday?’ Jules stuttered, suddenly feeling claustrophobic on the narrow staircase as she forced her feet into her cold pumps, and choosing to ignore the still missing socks.
A meal with Rich at some point in the future sounded good, but now, with her life already such a mess, it didn’t feel right.
‘Yeah, why not?’ Rich called out, unleashing a rush of cold air as he opened door at the bottom of the staircase.
‘Um...okay,’ Jules replied, her head too sore to think of an excuse.
It wasn’t a date anyway, she reasoned. Not after her drunken antics last night. Rich was probably just trying to make her feel welcome, she decided, unable to decide if it was disappointment or relief that her assurances stirred.
An easterly wind fell from the bleak grey clouds and forced its way down the wiry branches of the bare woodland. As its icy touch hit the scattered stone houses of Cottinghale it split, howling into the soot-filled chimneys and lashing through the twisting lanes of the hamlet.
It smacked Jules like a cold hand striking her cheek as she stepped from the back door of the pub. For a moment, her eyes saw nothing but brown. The thick streams of her hair relishing the freedom from an elastic bobble as the wind wh
ipped it across her face.
By the time her hands had swept it aside and she’d regained her sight, Rich and Max had disappeared along a footpath to the east and out into the open farmland.
She stared after them for a moment, but the fierce wind caught hold of her again; its wispy talons pushing their way through to her bare skin. Suddenly the idea of Mrs Beckwith’s scolding shower didn’t sound so bad, especially for her sockless feet, which had already started to feel numb.
Jules stepped as fast as the thumping in her head would allow up the deserted street in the direction of Mrs Beckwith’s guesthouse and the Cottinghale farm shop.
It was the first time she’d seen the hamlet surrounded by looming storm clouds above the tall grey homes and manicured shrubs that followed the curve of the lane perfectly.
The dark skies suited Cottinghale, as if the little place suddenly had secrets and mystery beyond the quaint stone walls.
In between the houses to her left, she could see an almost black skyline laying low and heavy above deserted fields, still in the midst of their winters rest.
To her right, as she struggled to keep her watery eyes open against the harsh wind, she could see that the rain had already fallen in the distance. Past the gloom of the woodland and up over the valley, she could just make out a hint of brightness.
She just hoped her own problems would disappear at the same rate as the dark clouds moving above her.
Guy had to be wrong. He had to lying to her about more stories, she decided. If he wanted her to give an interview, then it had to be helping his career in some way. Once upon a time she would have done anything to help Guy, but those days were long gone. She had no intention of helping him now.
Jules felt a pang as she recalled their argument.
Seeing him again had done something to her. She didn’t feel herself around him. He had achieved what they’d always dreamt about, but now the reality of him back in her life filled her with an indistinguishable mesh of emotions. The very thought of him made her want to crawl into bed and hide forever.
The Reluctant Celebrity Page 6