City Cinderella

by Catherine George

  After a couple of hours, much as she was enjoying herself in such convivial company, Emily resisted pleas to stay longer and went up early to her room. She sat down at her desk, booted up the laptop, and set to work on her novel. By the time she went to bed she felt tired, but very pleased with herself. Adding Lucas Tennent’s physical assets to the previously bare bones of her central male character had provided her with exactly the charismatic hero she needed for her plot.

  The moment Emily was dressed next morning the twins came knocking on her door. ‘Hi, you two,’ she said affectionately.

  ‘Dad said we mustn’t bother you if you’re busy,’ said Thomas in one breath, then smiled cajolingly. ‘But please come down for coffee. We’ve got to go after lunch.’

  ‘We’ll miss you,’ said Lucy, giving Emily a hug.

  ‘But you’ll be seeing Mummy today, sweetheart, so you won’t need me. I bet she’s missed you a lot,’ said Emily, deliberately cheerful. ‘Give her my love.’

  Lucy’s big blue eyes filled with tears. ‘Emily, will you ask Mummy to be friends with Daddy again?’

  ‘You can’t ask Emily to do that!’ said her twin gruffly.

  Emily went downstairs with the children, wishing she could do something to help. But the Sedleys’ private affairs were none of her business. She’d known them both a long time, it was true, but had no idea what sin Nat had committed that Thea found impossible to forgive. Nor did she want to know. Sorting out her own personal life was more than enough.

  Emily enjoyed a lively half-hour with the twins, but when they were settled in front of Saturday morning television Nat beckoned her into his kitchen and shut the door.

  ‘Why has Lucy been crying?’

  Emily looked at him squarely. ‘She wanted me to ask Thea to be friends with you again, and Tom told her that wasn’t on.’

  His handsome face went blank. ‘Are you going to do that?’

  ‘Do you want me to?’

  Nat was silent for a moment, then gave her a smile just like his son’s. ‘If I thought it would do any good, yes. But it won’t.’ He shivered a little. ‘Forget it, love. Don’t get involved.’

  Emily eyed him with suspicion. ‘Are you all right, Nat? Not coming down with something, too, are you?’

  ‘Too?’

  ‘Like Mark,’ she said hastily.

  He shook his head. ‘I’m just dandy, other than taking my children back to the love of my life, who won’t let me over the doorstep.’ He forced a smile. ‘You’ve had enough upset in your life lately without worrying about me, Emily. Enjoy your weekend.’

  But before getting ready to go out Emily gave in to her prodding conscience and rang Lucas Tennent, who growled a response so hoarse it was obvious he was worse than the day before.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said briskly, ‘this is Emily Warner.’

  ‘Who?’

  She bristled. ‘Your cleaner, Mr Tennent. I wondered how you were feeling today.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ There was a pause. ‘Actually, I feel bloody awful.’

  ‘Have you eaten anything?’

  A spasm of coughing blasted her ear before he spoke again. ‘No,’ he rasped. ‘Not hungry.’

  ‘Is your temperature still high?’

  ‘Probably.’ He gulped audibly. ‘Oh, hell—’

  Emily seethed for a moment after he disconnected, then told herself it was idiotic to feel offended. Even more so to worry about a perfect stranger. Especially one who couldn’t remember who she was.

  Mindful of Ginny, who always looked effortlessly right, Emily took time over her appearance, then went downstairs for a last hug from the twins before she set off for Knightsbridge to meet her friend.

  ‘I say, darling, you look rather gorgeous today,’ exclaimed Ginny Hart, when Emily joined her in the Harvey Nichols coffee shop.

  ‘I like the “today” bit,’ chuckled Emily, shedding the amber wool coat bought in the days when she still had a high-salary job. ‘I try my best every day.’

  ‘A bargain, that coat—matches your eyes,’ commented Ginny, and eyed the clinging black knit dress with approval. ‘Don’t tell me you wear that kind of thing to scrub floors!’

  ‘I don’t scrub floors. My clients provide labour-saving devices. Like mops.’

  Ginny sniffed. ‘The tyrant who cleans for us demands extraordinary things. A new three-inch paintbrush to dust the skirtings, would you believe?’

  Saturday morning coffee had been a treat enjoyed together in the days of flat-sharing, and a ritual kept to whenever possible since, despite marriage for Ginny and a relationship of a less binding nature for Emily.

  ‘So what’s new?’ asked Ginny, after their order arrived.

  ‘I met the man I clean for at last,’ said Emily, raising her voice slightly.

  ‘The mystery man on the top floor?’ said Ginny, and bent her blonde head nearer. ‘What’s he like? Tall, dark and gorgeous?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Emily, giggling when Ginny’s jaw dropped.

  ‘Really? Not sinister after all, then. Frankly, I always thought it a bit iffy that he took you on without an interview.’

  ‘You know perfectly well he took me on trust because Liz Donaldson gave me such a glowing reference.’

  ‘As well she might,’ Ginny frowned. ‘But you’re not going to do this kind of thing forever, surely?’

  ‘Of course not. But for the time being I’m enjoying it. I work at my own speed in very pleasant surroundings. Especially Lucas Tennent’s loft.’ Emily looked her friend in the eye. ‘Right now the work is good therapy for me.’

  Ginny sniffed. ‘And at least you’re being paid to do it, unlike—’ She held up a hand. ‘All right, I’ll shut up. Tell me about this sexy banker, then, now you’ve finally met up with him.’

  Emily described the meeting in graphic detail, winning peals of laughter from her friend. ‘Actually, he was very nice about it, Ginny. I can’t help thinking about him, to be honest.’

  ‘Because he’s gorgeous?’

  ‘No—because the poor man’s ill with no one to look after him.’

  Ginny ordered more coffee, then turned to Emily with a militant light in her eye. ‘You say this man’s no turnoff in the looks department, probably earns pots of money, and lives in a loft apartment overlooking the Thames. Come on, Em! There must be hordes of females panting to mop his fevered brow.’

  ‘Bound to be. But apparently he’d rather wallow in misery alone.’ Emily stirred her fresh coffee, frowning. ‘Which he’ll have to all weekend. I’m not due at his place again until Monday morning.’

  ‘Good. See you keep it that way.’ Ginny reached to touch Emily’s hand. ‘You’re just beginning to get your life back together, so for pity’s sake stop worrying about a man you hardly know.’

  To change the subject Emily suggested some leisurely window shopping rather than spending another afternoon in the cinema, and as usual the time flew in company with Ginny, with no opportunity for introspection. But later, during the journey on the Tube and the walk to Nat’s house, no matter how hard she tried to block him out, Emily couldn’t help worrying about Lucas Tennent.

  The feeling persisted during the evening. Emily worked for a while on her laptop, but because she’d based her main male character on Lucas Tennent the procedure was a washout as a way to stop thinking about him. At one point she even picked up the phone to ring him. But in the end she put it back without dialling and settled down to work instead. And eventually achieved such fierce concentration it was long after midnight before she closed the laptop and fell into bed.

  Emily woke with a start next morning, hoping Lucas Tennent hadn’t developed pneumonia in the night just because she hadn’t troubled to check. And when he answered the phone she felt totally justified, because he sounded even worse than the time before. Before she could even ask how he was, he gasped something incoherent and rang off.

  A couple of hours later, feeling like Red Riding Hood off to visit the wolf, Emily turned down the c
obbled street towards Lucas Tennent’s building, bag of shopping in hand. Cursing the nagging conscience which had driven her there, she rang his bell first then unlocked the door.

  ‘It’s Emily Warner, Mr Tennent,’ she called. ‘Your cleaner. May I come in?’

  There was silence for so long Emily was sure he must be lying unconscious somewhere. But eventually Lucas Tennent materialised in the doorway to his bedroom. He’d looked ill enough at their first encounter, but now he looked ghastly, his ashen pallor accentuated by streaks of unhealthy colour along his cheekbones. His bloodshot eyes were underscored by marks like bruises, his jaw black with stubble, and his tousled hair lank with sweat.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he grated through chattering teeth, and wrapped his dressing-gown closer.

  Emily flushed. ‘You sounded so ill I was worried. I thought you might need—’

  ‘For God’s sake go away. I don’t need anything—’ He gave a frantic gulp and raced off, kicking the bedroom door shut behind him.

  Emily glared at it, incensed. So much for her Good Samaritan act. Seething, she slapped the newspaper down on the chest, added a carton of fresh milk, and was halfway through the door with the rest of her unwanted shopping when a hoarse, repentant voice halted her.

  ‘Miss Warner—Emily. I was bloody rude. My apologies.’

  She turned to look at him. ‘Accepted,’ she said coldly. ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘Don’t go for a minute. Please.’ He leaned in the bedroom doorway, shivering. ‘Though Lord knows you should run like hell, in case you catch this hellish bug. Sorry I snapped.’ His mouth twisted in distaste. ‘I took off because I had to throw up again.’

  Emily thawed slightly and closed the door. ‘In that case please get back into bed.’

  ‘Not a very tempting prospect right now.’

  ‘Did you perspire much overnight?’

  His mouth twisted in distaste. ‘Could we talk about something else?’

  She hesitated, then took the plunge. ‘Look, Mr Tennent, why don’t you have a hot shower while I change your bed?’

  He looked appalled. ‘I can’t possibly let you do that!’

  ‘Why not? I would have done it tomorrow, anyway. It’s one of the things you pay me for.’ She smiled encouragingly. ‘You’ll feel much better afterwards—but don’t get your hair wet.’

  He eyed her in brooding indecision for a moment, then shrugged, went into his bedroom, took a T-shirt and boxers from a drawer, and shut himself in his bathroom. Emily stripped the crumpled linen from the bed, replaced it with fresh, fetched more pillows from the spare room, and did some quick tidying up. When Lucas emerged his face was still haggard, but it was free of stubble and he’d run a comb through his hair.

  When Emily turned back the quilt invitingly Lucas shed his dressing gown and slid into bed to lean back against the stacked pillows with a heartfelt sigh of relief.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ he said formally.

  She smiled in acknowledgement. ‘I’ll dispose of this lot, then I’ll make you something to eat.’

  ‘Please—no food!’ he said with a shudder, eyes closed.

  ‘Just some toast,’ she coaxed, in the tone she used with the twins. ‘How many pills have you taken today?’

  He opened a morose eye. ‘None. With my present problem it seemed a bit pointless.’

  ‘If you eat something you’ll be able to keep them down.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ he said despondently.

  In the kitchen Emily made tea, toasted a slice of bread she’d brought, scraped a minimum of butter on it, cut it in triangles, then put plate and beaker on a tray and took it into the master bedroom.

  ‘If you make friends with the toast I could scramble some eggs,’ she offered.

  ‘I’m not up to that,’ he said with a shudder. He bit into the toast and chewed slowly, then took a second piece and ate it more quickly.

  ‘Steady,’ warned Emily. ‘Not too fast.’

  ‘It’s my first sustenance for days!’ But he ate the rest with more care. ‘Toast never tasted so good,’ he informed her, then inspected the steaming contents of the mug with suspicion. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Weak tea—kinder to your digestion than coffee,’ she said firmly, and took two paracetamol tablets from the packet on his bedside table. ‘Take these with it, and I’ll make you some coffee later.’

  Lucas swallowed the tablets obediently, then sipped the tea, frowning at her over the mug. ‘You know, Miss Warner, this is extraordinarily good of you, but why are you here? You must have better things to do with your time on a Sunday?’

  She shrugged. ‘I had my very first dose of flu fairly recently, so I can appreciate how ghastly you feel. But I had my mother to look after me. I couldn’t help feeling worried about you here on your own.’

  He shook his head in wonder. ‘You’re pretty amazing to worry about a complete stranger. But now you are here, there is something you can do for me.’

  ‘Certainly. What is it?’

  ‘Indulge my curiosity. What made someone like you take to cleaning as a career?’

  ‘Someone like me?’ she said, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘I’m damned sure you haven’t always been a cleaner, so why do you do it?’

  ‘I enjoy it,’ she said simply.

  ‘Fair enough.’ He put the empty cup down and slid further under the covers. ‘But what did you do before that?’

  ‘Office work.’ She got up. ‘Right. I’ll take those things. Try to sleep if you can. I’ll stay for a while to see how you get on, then I must get back.’

  ‘No laptop today?’

  ‘Certainly not. Friday was a one-off, Mr Tennent.’ She picked up the tray. ‘Try to sleep.’

  ‘Thanks, I will,’ he murmured drowsily. ‘What can I do for you in return?’

  ‘Get better, please.’

  Back in the kitchen Emily emptied the carton of soup she’d bought into a mug and put it in the microwave. She left the loaf in a prominent place on a board, placed the breadknife beside it and a dish of butter close at hand, then made herself some tea and sat on one of the smart stools at the bar, yawning. The late night was catching up on her. From now on, definitely no more writing after midnight.

  She wrote instructions on the memo pad about the food she’d left ready, and after a moment’s hesitation added her new, unlisted phone number. She tiptoed in with her note to find that Lucas Tennent, obviously feeling the effect of his disturbed nights, was out for the count. But he looked a lot better than the wild-eyed apparition of earlier on.

  The house in Spitalfields was ablaze with lights in Nat’s ground-floor section when Emily got back. Not brave enough to ask how things had gone with the trip to Chastlecombe, she let herself in and toiled up the two flights of steep stairs to her room, then put on speed when she heard her phone ringing. She unlocked her door and made a dash across the room, worried it was Lucas feeling worse. Then she stopped dead, every hackle erect, when a different, all too familiar voice began leaving a message.

  ‘Pick up, Emily. I know you’re there. We need to talk. Pick up.’ There was a pause, then a soft chuckle. ‘Don’t be childish. Ring me.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  EMILY glared at the machine. The mere sound of Miles Denny’s voice still tied her stomach in knots. But with cold animosity now. Once upon a time she’d been attracted to the sexy drawl he cultivated. Just as, according to Miles, her own husky voice had been an instant turn-on for him. But that had been in the beginning when he’d been moving heaven and earth to get her to live with him. Emily clenched her fists. With hindsight she found it hard to believe she could have been such a fool.

  She had been working in a firm of commercial property consultants when Miles joined the company, and almost from the day they met he’d pursued her relentlessly. Firmly against inter-office relationships, Emily had held him off at first. But his persistence had been flattering, she’d been lonely without Ginny, and eventually, after wearing her
down with months of persuasion, he’d won. But, once they were actually sharing a home, Miles’ contribution to the running of it was minimal. In the evenings, while Emily cooked their meal and dealt with housework and laundry, he spent his time on the sofa, recharging his batteries in front of the television. Her only break had been on Friday nights, when Miles took her out for a meal.

  How could she have been so stupid? she thought in disgust. Living together had soon shown her how little they had in common, and when Miles had taken to spending regular time with male friends after work Emily had thoroughly enjoyed the evenings with no dinner to cook and the television firmly turned off. Early to bed with a book had meant she was always asleep, or pretending to be, by the time Miles came home.

  When it had become obvious that a good night’s sleep was infinitely preferable to the lovemaking she’d found so disappointing with Miles, Emily had known it was time to move on. Deciding to tell him straight away, she’d waited up until he got home from one of his men-only evenings. And discovered why Miles had always been so meticulous about showering before sharing their bed. He’d reeked of musky, alien perfume and other scents Emily had identified with furious distaste.

  The phone rang, bringing her back to the present with a bump. She tensed, eyeing the phone belligerently, but this time the message was from Lucas Tennent.

  Emily seized the receiver. ‘I’m here,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Is something wrong? How do you feel?’

  ‘Not marvellous, but thanks to you, Miss Warner, there’s an outside chance I’ll live. Now I can string two words together without barking like a hound, I’m ringing to thank you.’

  ‘Only too happy to help,’ she assured him, eyebrows raised at the change in his attitude.