‘Oh, right. Grand.’
When she’d called I’d been staring at myself, wondering what Stephen would think if he were ever to see me naked. A man with film-star good looks and a wardrobe to suit, removing the worn Indian cottons of a deathly white, slightly baggy girl with what I believed to be a fairly average appearance, aside from her lovely long blonde hair. I’d look like an old white plastic bag next to Stephen and that toned brown skin. And what was I even doing, wondering what he’d think of me naked? He’d been surprisingly welcoming, which was probably standard practice for him, and he’d sent me a couple of late texts – probably from his desk, knowing his schedule – and now he was away, not thinking about me. There couldn’t have been less of a story.
I’d been feeling quite lonely with my crush. Claudine had made clear that she didn’t like the sound of Stephen, so talking to her wasn’t an option, and Lizzy, for all her initial excitement, had cautioned me against getting involved with my boss when I admitted to my little crush. Even Tim had been a bit off when I’d tried to talk to him.
So I told Kate. I told her about every last text message, the hand on the small of my back, and the strange sensation I had that I was coming alive after years in hibernation, and how I was positive that this had everything to do with Stephen.
‘Oh, sure, give him a ride,’ Kate said, when I finished. ‘If he’s not flirting with you, Annie, I’ll eat my hat. Remember, you’re twenty times prettier than you think you are. You know all my boys in Dublin are mad about you.’
I smiled shyly. One of them had asked me out for a drink when he’d come to London recently. I’d made myself say yes but had cancelled three hours before when I’d realized I was having mild palpitations and couldn’t eat. ‘Claudine doesn’t like him.’
‘Oh, Annie, she doesn’t like anyone. Anyone other than that big farty husband of hers. Sweetheart, just go for it. If he asks you out, say yes. What’s the worst that can happen?’
Then, one morning, he was there.
It was eleven o’clock and I was preparing to massage Jamilla. Instead, in wandered Stephen, grey and exhausted. ‘Annie!’ he croaked. ‘Thank God! I’ve just spent fourteen hours on a plane. I’m dying. Only you can heal me.’ He slumped into the armchair in the corner, looking far more like a lovely tired boy in a rumpled suit than a multi-millionaire.
‘Hiya,’ I said casually. ‘Good trip? Did you oust Jamilla from her massage slot? I’m meant to be seeing her next.’ I pretended to do something with my massage oils because my hands were shaking.
‘No.’ Stephen slipped behind the silk screen to change, leaving me slightly wrong-footed. Normally I waited next door while my clients got changed, but the thought of him there, separated from me only by a length of silk … ‘No. Jamilla’s left, actually.’ Whump. His clothes started to hit the floor.
‘Really? Why?’
‘Oh, we had to let her go.’
‘What?’
‘She was trying to do us over. Well, she was helping a competitor try to do us over.’
Whump.
I stared at the silk screen. ‘No! No way!’
Stephen’s head poked over the top. ‘I’m afraid so. She’d been a little erratic for a few weeks, but I just thought she had some stuff going on at home. Then I had some auditing done on a department that has absolutely nothing to do with her … Only it turns out it does. She – Actually, Annie, I shouldn’t be talking about this. Not until the facts are established.’
I couldn’t believe it. ‘Okay … But what? How? I just don’t get it.’
‘Mike and I have a lovely afternoon ahead with the auditors and probably the Fraud Squad working it all out,’ Stephen sighed. ‘Which is not what I need.’
He emerged in a dressing gown. ‘I thought she was great,’ he told me. ‘I’m desperately upset about this. All that wellbeing advice she gave me, as if she cared.’
‘But how? How could she have commited fraud? She was a wellness coach!’
Stephen smiled thinly. ‘A wellness coach with access to everyone and everything. We have you guys on a fairly loose rein, security-wise, but I’m afraid that might have to change.’
I was dumbstruck. Jamilla had always seemed so lovely.
Mildly panicked by this news, I wondered what would happen if they knew I’d been looking Stephen up on the internet. Would that count as snooping? Would I be sacked? Would they be allowed to search my phone and my computer at home? My heart began to race. I had to be careful. Stop being so mad.
‘So now I have no wellbeing coach, until we’ve replaced her,’ Stephen was saying. ‘You, Annie Mulholland, must fix the Leader of the People. Bad luck.’ He chuckled. ‘Very bad luck. I’ve been really naughty and my body’s all messed up.’
‘Naughty? In what way?’ I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
‘As in working too hard and not sleeping enough,’ Stephen replied, sitting on the edge of the massage table. He looked wrecked, the poor thing.
Thank God.
And: Get a bloody grip, Annie.
‘God, you’re good.’ He yawned as I finished. ‘I got off the plane this morning dying of tiredness, then found out about Jamilla and felt really depressed. But now I feel as strong as a … a LION!’ He gave a sleepy little roar.
‘I’m glad you’re getting so much from these massages,’ I said. ‘That makes me happy.’
‘It’s one of the lovely things about you,’ said Stephen the Lion. His mane was all messed up and I didn’t remember having fancied anyone so much in my life. ‘You really want to make other people happy. You’re very nice, you know.’
I forced myself next door into my office so he could change. It wasn’t the first time he’d told me I was a nice person. Was he actually right?
Then there was a snort of laughter. ‘Um, Annie.’
‘Yes?’
‘Come here, please.’
I went through to the massage room. Stephen was holding his phone. ‘I just picked this up from the side because I thought it was mine. Only it must be yours because a picture of me popped up when I pressed the home button.’
Oh, God. Oh, no. I prayed it wouldn’t be the picture I’d Googled that morning before he’d arrived.
It was the picture of Stephen I’d Googled that morning before he’d arrived.
‘Care to explain? Do I have a little stalker on my hands?’
And there was nothing – nothing – I could say.
‘My friend wanted to know who you were,’ I said hopelessly. ‘She works in media, thought she might have come across you …’
I had never been so utterly mortified. Not once in my whole life. How could I have left the phone there? And what was I doing, Google-imaging my boss?
Oh, for sudden death.
‘It’s fine.’ He grinned. Then he peered at me. ‘Seriously, Annie, it’s fine. I don’t really think you’re stalking me. Please don’t be embarrassed!’ A pause. ‘Please.’
Outside the sun had just punched through some clouds and someone had started playing a piano in the music lounge next door. Stephen sang along under his breath as he read something on his phone. He’s already forgotten about it, I told myself. You’re okay. Just stop stalking him.
‘Right,’ Stephen said, putting his phone away. ‘I’ve just decided I’m going to take myself out for a coffee before going back to the coalface. Would you care to accompany me?’
‘Um, I’ve got clients until midday,’ I began, but Stephen interrupted. ‘I’ll have Tash sort it. I have a proposition I’d like to discuss with you, Annie Mulholland.’
‘Okay!’ I heard myself say. ‘Sounds lovely.’
Stephen took me to a cool little coffee place round the corner, a little cubbyhole with old wooden benches and workmen’s lights. Heads turned as we came through the door and I glowed, like a stupid great Belisha beacon. Stephen must surely be the best-looking man in London, and I was here in this café with him. Although the fact that I was in a café with any man was quite impressive.
> ‘Oh dear,’ he said, as we approached the counter. ‘I bet you don’t do caffeine …’
‘I need a coffee after that.’
The police had arrived just as we’d left the building. ‘Fraud Squad,’ Stephen had said grimly. He’d wavered, knowing he would probably be needed, then shrugged. ‘Bugger it,’ he said. ‘Mike’s the best corporate lawyer in the world. If he can’t deal with it I’m sacking him.
‘Annie, I’m joking,’ he’d said, catching sight of my face.
So off we’d gone, me wondering what on earth must have gone so badly wrong in Jamilla’s life that she’d felt the need to do whatever it was she’d done. I’d felt sick at the thought of her held in a room with policemen and lawyers. It was almost inconceivable.
We sat and waited on a bench inside a big open window, watching sunny Clerkenwell flitting around us. ‘You’re quite right,’ I told him. ‘I don’t drink coffee, except I totally do. I did some reiki training in Melbourne once, about ten years ago, and had my first ever proper flat white there.’
Stephen smiled. ‘I bet it was a revelation.’
‘I couldn’t believe coffee tasted that good! When Antipodean coffee finally made it to London I almost wept. Don’t tell my nutritional therapist, though. I don’t drink caffeine. Or alcohol. And I don’t eat sugar. Or wheat. Or dairy.’
‘Ha-ha! You are such a funny little thing, Annabel Mulholland.’
I tried not to let my face split in two. People like Kate Brady were funny. Not me!
‘I had my first proper coffee in Sydney,’ Stephen was recalling. ‘Artisan flat white is all I’ll drink now.’ He grinned. ‘What a pair of twats.’
The coffee arrived and we drifted off, somehow, into tales of childhood holidays. It turned out that we’d gone to the same little beach in Wales and had even stayed at the same caravan site. ‘I used to love those waffles they sold at the little post office,’ Stephen was recalling. ‘Do you remember the ones? Those round things? Oh, God …’
‘Yes! I used to bully Dad into buying them for us!’ I was probably a bit red-faced and shouty, but I was astonished. I’d never met anyone who’d heard of Tresaith before, let alone run around naked on its beach as a child! And the waffles! The waffles!
‘Oh, the waffles, Annie Mulholland.’ Stephen sipped his coffee, watching me. ‘I couldn’t help noticing that you’ve mentioned your father a few times, but not your mother. Is she evil?’
My smile faded. ‘No …’ I felt my heart skip a beat, as it always did when someone asked me about Mum. ‘She died when I was little.’
Stephen’s face fell. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. I … Oh dear, I’m so very sorry.’
‘It’s okay.’ I clasped my hands together for strength. ‘It was my seventh birthday, the day she died. Very occasionally I can still picture her face. Her real face, I mean, rather than photos. So at least I have that.’
Stephen looked anguished. ‘Oh, God, you poor girl.’ Without warning, he put his hand on mine. Warmth fireballed up my arm and I felt confused, then ashamed. I shouldn’t be feeling like that while I was talking about Mum. Although wouldn’t Mum have liked him? Once she’d got over the whole corporate thing?
I looked timidly at Stephen’s face, over which a long shadow seemed to have fallen.
‘I lost my own mum just after Christmas,’ he said, to my surprise. ‘She had Hodgkin’s lymphoma. And I know that however “fine” it is, it isn’t. Not really.’
‘Oh, no,’ I said, appalled.
‘Oh, yes, sadly.’ Stephen’s face didn’t change but I knew his pain: still blade-sharp and unhealed.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I whispered. Imagine going through all that agony and having to be a big brave leader to thousands of people. I’d just crawl into a little hole.
His phone went off – for perhaps the fourth time since we’d been there – and he snapped. ‘Fuck off,’ he hissed. ‘Fucking fuck off.’
I flinched. It didn’t matter how justified anger was, I never felt comfortable near it.
‘Sorry,’ he said, turning his phone off.
‘It’s, er, fine. Goodness, I had no idea. No wonder you’ve been feeling so rotten.’
Prince’s ‘Raspberry Beret’ came on the radio, and I thought about Dad and his funny stories of dancing with Mum. She was mad about dancing, he said, danced in the kitchen, the garden, the fields … ‘She even insisted on dragging me to the little disco in Bakewell when she was pregnant with you,’ he’d smile. He liked to act like he’d thought she was mad, but his face always betrayed him. He’d thought she was the most wonderful woman on earth. ‘When that “Raspberry Beret” song came on, she twirled around like a teenager,’ he had once said. ‘Whirling and swirling with you tucked away inside her. The locals always loved it. Thought she was absolutely batty.’
On a whim, I shared the memory with Stephen.
‘She sounds brilliant.’ He paused. ‘Was it cancer that got her too?’
I checked his face. Did he know? Sometimes people would work out who I was but they’d pretend not to know. I hated that.
Stephen, as far as I could see, hadn’t the faintest idea.
But I couldn’t tell him. I opened my mouth to speak and nothing came out.
‘It’s okay,’ he said, seeing my distress. ‘It’s really okay – I shouldn’t have asked you.’ He sighed. ‘Bereavement gives you a slight edge, doesn’t it? A slight sense that the world is altered, and that your place in it has changed. Like you’re part of a different race that you never knew about or wanted to join.’
That was exactly how it felt, although for me there was also the awful sense of hyper-visibility that I’d fought so hard. The knowledge that, as soon as I said my name, people’s faces would scrunch up as they tried to remember where they knew it from. And then the awkwardness – the awfulness – when they remembered.
‘Well, Tim seemed like a good bloke,’ Stephen said softly. ‘I’m sure he looks after you. I certainly hope so.’ He fiddled with his coffee glass, rolling it around the table in front of him.
‘Tim? Yes, he’s a good friend to me.’
‘Are you sure that’s all? You two seemed so … so in tune!’
‘Quite sure.’
‘Oh.’ Stephen looked pleased.
‘Me and Tim … We’re just very good friends. We go back a long way.’
He actually smiled. ‘Well, that’s nice. There’s something awful about being single, then bumping into happy couples on a Saturday morning. You think you’re happy pootling around on your own and then … Oh. Right. There’s what happy looks like.’
I felt a bit crazy. ‘But you’re not single,’ I said desperately. ‘You’ve got a kid!’
Stephen seemed confused. ‘Not the last time I checked. What do you mean?’
My heart was in my mouth. The talk of Mum, and now this. Too much. I felt my shutters trying to close but they seemed jammed: I was still there, still exposed.
‘Oh, the picture on your office wall,’ I muttered. ‘Of the child. And, er, there’s one in your wallet I just noticed at the till …’
Stephen laughed. ‘You are stalking me! You’re a proper stalker!’
‘Oh, no, no, I just thought … you know, the pictures, the Paris trip …’
‘I don’t have a wife, or even a girlfriend, and I was actually going to Paris on my own that weekend, to take photos. No child either, I’m afraid. But I do have a damnably handsome little nephew, Barnaby.’
‘I really wasn’t stalking you, Stephen. I –’
‘Sure about that?’ His eyes were twinkling.
‘Positive.’ My face was boiling.
‘Oh, Annie, I’m joking! Please, you look terrified! I’m sure you have far better things to do than stalk me.’
I couldn’t say anything. I just hated myself. Hated being this mad and complicated.
‘Look, I wanted to ask you,’ Stephen continued – perhaps trying to rescue me, ‘if you might be able to
join my senior management team in the South of France next month. We’re having an Out of Office at a château near St Émilion and the gang are all clamouring for you to come and do massages. We need something lovely in our midst, Annie. Otherwise it’ll just be wine and cigars and chat about penis-extension cars. Please come!’
I was dumbstruck.
He leaned back to appraise me, smiling at me with those extraordinary eyes. ‘I’d love you to come,’ he said simply. ‘Never mind what my team want. I want you there. I like you. You’re a breath of fresh air around here.’
‘I … What about my other clients?’ I managed to say.
Stephen merely laughed. ‘Oh, come on. Are you really going to argue with me?’ He locked his eyes on mine. ‘Well, Annie?’
‘I have my two best friends’ birthdays,’ I mumbled. Tim and Claudine had been born on the same day. Le Cloob had a tacit agreement that nobody went away during this double celebration. But my heart was hammering and I knew I was going to say yes. Not because I loved France with a passion and the thought of walking through soft green vineyards on a summer evening filled me with joy. Not even because I’d be able to eat all of the cheese east of the English Channel. But because, even though it was beyond ridiculous, patently absurd, completely inexplicable, I saw in his eyes that Stephen Flint was planning to seduce me. And I knew that, for whatever reason, I was finally – finally – ready to be seduced.
Chapter Ten
Kate
The first thing I noticed, when Mark’s truck growled into the lorry park at Badminton, was that everyone looked like members of a secret army. There was a sizeable regiment of attractive women driving enormous horseboxes with absolute confidence, their hair in messy buns, all slim arms and sleeveless shirts. Theirs was matched by a regiment of tall, slim, ruddy men, with names like Harry, Horatio and Hugo. And bringing up the rear was a great sea of middle-aged women in felt fedoras, upturned collars and pearl earrings, striding around with cups of coffee and surprisingly obedient dogs.
It wasn’t the poshness I found strange, I decided, as Mark flashed his parking permit at the security stewards. These had to be some of the hardest-working people on earth; they could be as wealthy or well schooled as they damned well liked. No, it was just the sense of having entered a parallel universe.
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