Not What You Think

by Melissa Hill

  And it just wasn’t there.

  Chapter 10

  NICOLA WAS DISCUSSING the following week’s staffing arrangements with the leisure centre’s assistant manager, when the Mode magazine team approached reception.

  “Fidelma Corrigan looking for Nicola Peters, please,” the woman announced bossily. Nicola looked up. Fidelma looked no older than twenty-two or three, not quite what she had been expecting.

  “I’m Nicola – good to meet you.” She moved out from behind the desk and extended a hand to Fidelma.

  “Oh, I thought . . .” Fidelma was perplexed. “Sorry,” she said, recovering herself, “I was expecting someone – someone older.”

  “That makes two of us then!” Nicola said, smiling brightly at her.

  “Well, this is Sean Kenny, our photographer. Now, if we could just start with a photograph of you at reception . . .”

  It soon became evident that the features writer was a bossy little madam, and Nicola didn’t appreciate being ordered about. It had already been a long day and she just wasn’t up to it, having had a night of broken sleep while wandering in and out of vivid, lucid, dreams – worryingly, Nicola thought, about Dan.

  “Can you turn your head slightly to the left – no, to your other left, that’s it – perfect. Now if your receptionist could again just move out of the way . . . great!”

  Nicola knew that Sally had been desperately disappointed that she wouldn’t be featuring in the article. She couldn’t be consoled when Fidelma informed her that they wanted Nicola only for the photographs and could the receptionist stop ‘popping up and grinning in the background’.

  When the shoot was over, Nicola had a short interview with the journalist in her office.

  “So how long has the centre been in business?” Fidelma asked.

  “Well, after a very encouraging first year, we’re now well into our second year in operation,” Nicola said confidently. She wasn’t going to let the woman know that their first accounting year had been a new lesson in mathematics. Ken had been expecting losses but none quite so heavy as they had experienced. Nicola knew that this year the pressure was on to ensure business improved beyond expectations, and hopefully this article would help do just that.

  “You’ve been living outside of Ireland for some time, I understand?”

  “Yes, in the UK – Fulham actually. I spent some time in a health and fitness centre there, and found that hydrotherapy was most beneficial to clients, and, of course, a huge selling point for any leisure club.” Nicola was anxious to veer the interview more towards the business, rather than the personal side of things. “Ken and I decided that such a treatment would go down well here, and Motiv8 now offers the most diverse range of alternative therapies in the country.”

  Fidelma nodded. “You and Ken Harris, you two go back together quite a bit.”

  “Yes, years ago we worked together at another centre.” Nicola was a little taken aback. The reporter had obviously done her homework, because not all that many people were aware of Nicola and Ken’s previous association. She didn’t want to be drawn on their present association either, and quietly resolved to deflect any questions of that nature, should they be asked.

  After a while, Fidelma leaned forward in her seat. “I have to ask – isn’t it unusual for someone like you to be involved in this type of industry?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you know . . .” Her voice trailed off, as she looked Nicola up and down. “You normally wouldn’t expect someone – like yourself – to be involved in such an obviously ‘active’ business.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, yes,” Fidelma now looked uncomfortable. “Someone who isn’t that, I suppose . . . well, you know . . . active herself.”

  Nicola bristled. She was sick to the teeth of people like Miss Fake-Tanned-Stick-Insect looking down their skinny little noses at her. Why did supposedly intelligent people think they could make instant deductions about others, based simply on appearance? It was so bloody frustrating! She crossed her arms and took a deep breath.

  “Fidelma, if you’re trying to point out that I hardly teach aerobics classes, and that I wouldn’t be much good on a treadmill, let me assure you that my lifestyle doesn’t stop me from doing my job, and doing it well.”

  The other woman at least had the good grace to look embarrassed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any offence. I just thought . . .”

  Nicola shook her head. There was no point in blowing what would be good publicity for Motiv8, by getting into a strop with someone who looked like she was barely out of nappies.

  “It’s not a problem. But I’d prefer if you concentrate on the Centre. You’re not doing a feature on me after all.”

  “Sure.” Fidelma duly backed off. She then at last began asking some useful questions about the Motiv8 facilities

  “Well, thank you for your time,” Fidelma said eventually. “The article will appear in our next issue and I’ll get the office to send you on a copy.”

  “Thank you,” Nicola said, pleased that Fidelma was finally leaving and she could get some real work done.

  Not long after the journalist’s departure, Ken popped his head around the door of her office. “Nicola, sorry to do this to you, but is there any chance you can cover for Sally at reception? There’s a guy downstairs waiting to become a member, and Kelly’s in the middle of another client’s fitness programme. We don’t really want to leave him waiting for an assessment so . . .”

  “No problem,” she said quickly. “Tell them I’ll be down in a minute.”

  Ken studied her. “What’s up?” he said, coming into the room and closing the door behind him. “Didn’t the interview go well?”

  Nicola shook her head, exasperated. “It was fine, but . . . oh, don’t mind me. I’m just a little out of sorts today.”

  She still hadn’t told him anything about Dan’s new marriage and, the longer it went on, the harder it was to broach the subject. She didn’t want Ken to think she was hiding things from him and she wasn’t really. It was just . . .

  “Will this help?” Ken had come round to her side of the desk and was now gently massaging her shoulders.

  “Mmmm . . . that feels great,” she said, closing her eyes. Ken bent down and planted a kiss on the top of her head. Immediately Nicola began to feel guilty. She should tell him about the Dan situation – it was only fair. She and Ken shared everything, and he knew better than most what Nicola had gone through to get to the stage she was at now. He understood how much things back then with Dan had affected her. So surely he would understand that things felt a little strange for her now.

  “Ken –”

  Just then, the intercom buzzed and Sally’s voice blared over it. “Nicola, sorry to rush you, but Ken said he’d ask if you could cover –”

  “Sorry, Sal, I’m just on my way down.” She reached for Ken’s hand and kissed it softly. “Duty calls, I’m afraid.”

  “Unfortunately. Sorry to do this to you, love. I know you have a lot on your plate at the moment . . .”

  Nicola started. A lot on her plate? How did he know?

  “But I’m already looking into taking on additional staff, and that will free you up a little. I know you hate being called on at the last minute to cover people.” He smiled, obviously thinking Nicola was down and out because of pressure at work.

  “Ken, it’s fine. I don’t mind doing what I have to, to keep this business going. You know that. Listen, why don’t you come over to my place this evening – I’ll cook.”

  He walked with her to the door. “Sounds great but I’m playing squash with Peter Kelly tonight,” he said mournfully. Ken adored her cooking.

  “Oh, I’d forgotten about that.”

  “I’ll hold you to it, though – see you later!” He grinned and headed back towards his office, leaving Nicola unsure whether to feel relieved or upset that the opportunity to talk had gone amiss.

  On her way down in the elevator to f
ree Sally up for her fitness assessment, Nicola tried to remember the last time she had carried out one of those. Most leisure staff hated doing it and Nicola was no exception. She smiled There was one particular time though, when she hadn’t minded at all.

  * * *

  Her appointment had been delayed and Nicola remembered clearly her impatience at having to stay late as a result. She had planned to go out on her mountain bike after work, maybe take a spin up as far as Johnny Fox’s pub – anything that might clear her hangover.

  She was working in Metamorph at the time, and if she remembered correctly, it wasn’t long after that ‘incident’ in town with Laura.

  Apparently, some overly enthusiastic new member – enthusiastic for the first week, if the rest of these business types were anything to go by – had phoned reception first thing that morning and demanded an instant fitness assessment for the same afternoon.

  Nicola couldn’t understand the urgency. After all, if he was unfit today, he’d still be unfit tomorrow, wouldn’t he?

  Having visited most of Dublin’s city centre hotspots with Helen the previous evening, Nicola certainly wasn’t in the mood for another stuffy forty-something hoping to do something about his love handles, while still insisting that he had the fitness level of a twenty-year-old. She had once recommended a mild programme for the head of a well-known Dublin stockbroking firm, and he had been highly insulted when Nicola suggested that he might try some light weights to begin with.

  “Light weights?” he had said scornfully. “Nothing about Jim Courtney is lightweight.”

  Nicola had to bite her tongue when days later the same man put his back out after a particularly disastrous session with a pair of heavy dumbbells. But it was the always the same, and the men were the worst. They joined the gym simply for the status that Metamorph membership would bring them, but when it came to their wellbeing, instantly disregarded the advice of trained professionals.

  This guy would probably be just the same.

  Just before six, the regular after-office crowd began to appear, and there was such a flurry of activity that Nicola failed to notice a tall man standing patiently alongside the counter, waiting for her to finish the signing-in.

  “Hello again,” Dan Hunt said in a friendly tone. “Sorry I’m late. I had an appointment for a fitness assessment at five thirty but I rang earlier to say I’d be delayed.”

  To say that Nicola was taken aback at the sight of him would be a gross understatement.

  “You!” she accused. “But the appointment book says . . .” She studied the name again, wondering why it hadn’t hit her earlier.

  “It should say me,” Dan grinned.

  So it does, Nicola thought, mind racing. The name had stirred a slight recognition earlier, and now she knew why. The cute guy from the traffic jam. But what was he doing here?

  “How did you know I worked here?” she asked, thinking that he must have sought her out to make a further complaint.

  “I didn’t know, actually,” he answered innocently. “I’m just here for a fitness assessment.”

  Nicola was thrown off balance. This was way too much of a coincidence for her liking.

  “So will you be my fitness assessor then?” he asked, a smile playing about his lips.

  “I suppose.” She gathered her things and motioned him towards the gym.

  “Just in here, please,” she said, trying to sound professional, but as he passed her the faint scent of his aftershave set off an army of butterflies in her stomach. This wasn’t like her. She was normally the epitome of cool, calm, and collected where men were concerned. What the hell was this guy doing to her?

  She shook her head and tried to think of him as a client, nothing more.

  However, it was soon obvious to both of them that Dan Hunt wasn’t here just as a client.

  “Right, where do we start?” he said eagerly, that megawatt smile lighting up her insides.

  Nicola put a hand on her hip. Try and gain some control here, she told herself, try not to let him affect you. “Well, first of all I’ll need to measure your height and your weight.”

  She glanced at his lean, well-defined torso as he removed his fleece top. He was well-built, but in a natural, effortless-looking way. Of course, Nicola was well used to seeing well-defined torsos and the like, but this was different.

  This was very different.

  She saw a faint smile cross Dan’s features, and realised that she was staring. She managed to alter her features into what she hoped was a concerned-looking frown. “Have you used weights before?” she asked.

  Dan nodded. “Not at a gym, mostly at home – whenever I get a chance. Why, does it look as though they are having some kind of effect?” he added innocently.

  “Not really,” Nicola said, intently studying the chart she held, his double entendre plainly evident. “You need to work a lot harder than you do at the moment to have any real effect.”

  “Oh.” Dan feigned a disappointed tone. “I had hoped I might be getting somewhere.”

  “Sorry, still a lot of work to do.” Nicola bit back a smile. “Now, first I’ll measure your height and then if you could just hop up on the scales there, so I can take a weight measurement.”

  Dan obliged, and neither spoke for a while as Nicola entered his details onto the chart.

  Age?”

  “Thirty, heterosexual, single.”

  Nicola raised an eyebrow and tried to keep a straight face. “The latter information has absolutely no bearing on your fitness, Mr Hunt.”

  He shrugged nonchalantly, those cool blue eyes fixed on her face. “Just thought it might be helpful.”

  “Right, flexibility test next,” she said. “Sit down on that mat, and try to touch your toes.”

  “I can assure you that I’m very flexible.” He winked as he sat down, then leaned forward and touched his toes with little effort.

  She smiled. “I’m impressed.”

  “Good.”

  “Now let’s try your peak flow.” She opened a nearby cabinet, and produced a strange-looking piece of plastic apparatus.

  “My what?” All of a sudden he looked nervous.

  “Your peak flow.” Nicola was enjoying his petrified look. “Just blow into this so that I can measure your lung capacity.”

  “Oh.”

  “Not bad.” Nicola entered another set of figures onto her chart. “Now grip.”

  “Grip?”

  “Grip strength. I need you to grip this piece of equipment as tightly as you can and then I’ll measure how long you can sustain it.” She couldn’t resist adding, “I trust that you have some staying-power?”

  Dan met her gaze full on. “That depends on what I’m doing.”

  “Right.” This time there was no mistaking the flirtation, and despite herself Nicola felt her stomach do a little flip. Stop it, she warned herself. Stay in control.

  “OK, now do twenty minutes on the exercise bike over there,” she said sternly.

  “Twenty? Bit of a slave-driver, aren’t you?”

  “I thought you were here for a fitness assessment, Mr Hunt?”

  “I am.”

  “Well, your body’s reaction to intense aerobic exercise is essential to an evaluation of your overall fitness.”

  Dan grinned. “You make it sound very serious indeed, Ms Peters.”

  “I’m very serious about my work.”

  “As serious as you are about your driving?”

  Nicola smiled. “I wondered when you’d bring that up.”

  “Sorry.” He didn’t look the slightest bit sorry.

  “What happened that day wasn’t my fault,” she said.

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “And did the Gardai see it that way?” he grinned.

  “Not quite.”

  She had been about to drive away when a member of the Garda Siochana had pulled up beside her on his motorbike, and promptly issued three consecutive tickets: illegal parking, obstructing traf
fic, and threatening conduct towards fellow motorists. Nicola had objected profusely to the latter, and it was only when the guard suggested that he might just charge her with aggressive behaviour towards a member of the Gardai that she shut up and drove off fuming.

  “It was all right for him whizzing around on his motorbike,” she said, her irritation returning at the thought of it all. “He didn’t have to sit in traffic for the best part of two hours.”

  Dan didn’t answer, because he was trying his very best to maintain a consistent rate of pedalling. Minutes later, Nicola noticed that he was really struggling. She smiled.

  “You’re doing well there, Mr Hunt – hardly breaking a sweat.” She checked her watch. “But, in order to accurately measure your aerobic fitness level, I think I’ll have to order another twenty minutes on this.”

  Dan gasped and slowed his pedalling considerably. “What? Are you some kind of sadist or something? I’ll die!”

  The expression on his face made Nicola want to laugh out loud. “Not at all. You’re here for a fitness assessment, aren’t you?” She tried to be flippant. “And obviously I can’t assess your fitness until I have all the necessary information. Now another twenty minutes on this, and then we’ll put you on some weights to get an idea of your upper-body strength.”

  He finally stopped pedalling. “OK, OK, I give up!” he gasped. “I don’t care about the bloody fitness assessment. That was a bloody cover. I only came here because I wanted to see you again.”

  Nicola’s expression betrayed nothing. “Oh? How did you know where to find me?”

  “I was stuck behind your car for almost an hour that day, remember? I couldn’t fail to notice the Metamorph sticker on the rear window, so I reckoned you were either a member, or you were staff. There was nothing else to look at, not until you did your disappearing act at any rate. So,” he added, his voice still breathless after his exertions, “are you going to let me take you out to dinner, or what?”

  Chapter 11

  A FROWN SULLIED Chloe’s usually attractive features as she studied Dan in the mirror. He was acting very strangely these days. There he was, sitting on the bed, his mind obviously a thousand miles away.