“Ouch.” Alice watched him, charmed by the note of self-deprecation in his voice.
“Wait, it gets better,” Nathan told her, with a rueful grin. “The guys make a hasty exit, leaving me to try and get her dress zipped—when who should show up?”
“Daddy dearest?”
“Yup.” Nathan grimaced: “I was this close to getting ‘disappeared’ to Siberia by his hulking bodyguards when Stefan appears from nowhere with a bottle of twenty-year scotch. We manage to get the man so drunk—he doesn’t even remember, come morning.”
“That’s Stefan,” Alice said, laughing. “You can always rely on him in a crisis.”
“The man should join the UN,” Nathan agreed. “What about you?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as he looked at her. “Are you an artiste like Flora?”
“Oh, no.” Alice shook her head quickly. “I’m a lawyer. I never really had the creative spark.”
“No? Some lawyers are the most creative bastards I know, at least when it comes to their billing,” he added with a grin.
“I wish. I just stick to contracts,” she explained. “I like the order of them, the structure. Everything has to be precise, or the whole thing falls apart.” She stopped, realizing how boring she must sound, but Nathan was nodding.
“It’s all in the details. Still, aren’t you tempted to slip some small print in sometimes?” he asked, “You know, ‘I the undersigned do pledge my soul to Satan…’”
Alice widened her eyes in mock outrage. “Mr. Forrest! Are you implying I’m ever less than scrupulously professional?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Ms. Love.” Nathan dipped his head in polite contrition. “I’m sure you’re the model of good business and decorum.”
They laughed.
“It has crossed my mind sometimes,” Alice confided. “Not to bargain their souls away—my boss takes care of that—but to slip something in. Move a decimal point, maybe, just to see if anyone notices. Most of the time, I wonder if I’m the only one reading the things.”
“A whole decimal point?” Nathan shook his head. “You rebel, you.”
“That’s me,” Alice agreed wryly. “I’m living life on the edge.”
There was another pause, but this time Alice thought she better not linger. “I should…” She pointed vaguely farther into the house.
“Oh, sure.” Nathan gave an easy smile. “I’ll send out a search party if you don’t make it back in, what, an hour?”
“Right.” Alice smiled. “I’ll see you out there, I’m sure.”
She turned but had only taken a few steps further down the hall when he called to her. “Wait, Alice.”
She looked back. Nathan was still there, framed by the afternoon light streaming through the far door.
“I was thinking…” He paused, as if assessing her. Then he reached some decision and asked, “Do you want to get out of here?”
Alice stared, taken aback.
Coming closer, Nathan gave her a mischievous smile. “I’m pretty much ready to leave, so I thought, maybe you’d like to come.”
“Come where?” Alice was still confused.
He shrugged. “Dinner, drinks… I know a great hotel in Paris, if you’re in the mood for a trip.”
“Paris?” Alice laughed, humoring him.
“Sure, cute little place, in the Fifth Arrondissement.” Nathan played along. “We could stare meaningfully at art and have blazing fights in restaurants.”
“Over red wine and macaroons?”
“I’m more a pain au chocolate man myself, but sure, whatever you want.” He grinned, skin crinkling warmly at the edge of his eyes. For a moment, Alice let herself be amused, but then she realized…
“Wait, you’re serious?”
“I never lie about pastries.”
“I mean, Paris?”
Nathan just nodded, utterly at ease. “Why not?” He began to hum, an old Cole Porter song. “I love Paris in the summer, when it sizzles…”
Alice wanted to just laugh it off as an outlandish joke, but he was still watching her, something new in his eyes. A note of challenge.
The proposition suddenly became clear.
“I…I don’t even know you,” she said slowly, surprised to feel a faint thrill.
“What’s to know?” Nathan waited, casual. As if he did this all the time. “It’s what, a two-hour trip on Eurostar? Plenty of time. I’ll start at the beginning, if you want: the toilet-training years. Or, we can skip ahead, to first grade. Miss Kellan, if I remember right…”
Alice smiled, despite herself. “That’s OK,” she stopped him. “I get the picture.”
“So what’s the holdup?” Nathan began to back away, beckoning. “We should say our good-byes before your sister starts that croquet game. She was saying something about pink sashes for team uniforms…”
He really meant it.
Alice’s mouth dropped open as she finally realized the truth. For all his joking and easy charm, this man really meant for them to leave for some foreign tryst together. Now. She felt herself blush, aware of his presence in an entirely different way. The smile that had been so casual took on new meaning; the friendly banter between them was suddenly loaded and reckless. Alice was suddenly self-conscious in a way she hadn’t felt in a long while, a delicious sense of possibility shivering down her spine. For a brief, tantalizing moment, she imagined it just as he suggested: the charming little hotel, the romantic restaurant, strolling arm in arm down the Champs-Élysées…
But just soon enough, her brain snapped back to life.
“I can’t,” Alice said, flustered. “I mean, you’re a complete stranger!”
Her voice came out louder than she intended, ringing with disapproval. Straight away, Nathan gave a shrug. “Hey, no problem. It was only a thought.”
Alice didn’t know what to say. She thought she should feel offended—this wasn’t a drunk, lurching pass, this was…polite. Almost daring. “Well…thank you?” She managed at last.
His lips twitched with amusement. “You’re welcome.”
“Enjoy, um, the rest of your evening.”
She backed away, and then turned, wandering down the hallway in a daze. After making a couple of blind turns, Alice found herself in the kitchen, drifting in the middle of a sea of polished granite countertops.
Do you want to get out of here?
His words repeated, full of promise. A cute little hotel in Paris? She found herself blushing at the idea. She wasn’t the most spontaneous person, even Alice would admit that, but taking off with a complete stranger to, what, have rampant sex at some undisclosed location? No, it was ridiculous, not to mention irresponsible and quite possibly dangerous too, she told herself sternly. He clearly didn’t know her at all.
Alice reached to a tray of cupcakes and bit into the sweet frosting.
Completely ridiculous.
Chapter Three
Monday arrived too soon, and by the time Alice was settled at her desk, surveying the stack of work awaiting her, it felt as if she’d never left. The blue skies that had blazed all weekend were gone, and now her windows rattled with a dull, gray drizzle; summer, it seemed, was still a long way away. She delayed the inevitable for a while, watering her plants, setting her radio to one of Chopin’s particularly mournful waltzes, but soon there was no avoiding it. Alice braced herself and reached for the first contract in the pile.
Remind me never to go on a blind date. EVER. A chat window from Ella appeared on the screen.
Bad? Alice typed, gladly turning away from her inbox.
He was writing a graphic novel. About a time-traveling gnome.
Alice spluttered on her chamomile tea. This I’ve got to hear.
Ella’s reply came straight away. Tonight? I scored tickets to the Liberty Reigns premiere—our client has product placement in every bloody scene.
Ooh, I wanted to see that, but Tyrell snatched our client freebies.
Leicester Square @ 7?
See you
then!
Alice had barely finished typing when she heard footsteps on the stairs. She minimized the window and quickly reached for the nearest papers, guilty.
“Hiya!” Saskia burst in with an armful of post. Alice relaxed.
“Morning.” She gave her a smile, reaching to take the mail. Saskia dumped it on the nearest surface instead, sending a neat stack scattering to the floor. “Whoops!” she exclaimed. “Let me help you with—”
“No!” Alice yelped, as she reached toward a painstakingly sorted pile of contracts. “I mean, it’s fine. I have it all under control.”
“OK.” Saskia gave her a saccharine smile. “Oh, I need the administrator passwords. Vi wants me to do some resetting stuff.”
Alice paused. What kind of havoc could she wreak with those? “If you’re sure…” She found the master list in her top drawer and reluctantly scribbled down the codes. “Be careful with them,” she warned. “They can access all our payroll details.”
Saskia rolled her eyes. “Of course!” She turned to go. “Oh, there were some messages for you.”
“Really?” Alice straightened.
“Just a couple of clients. About tax stuff?” Saskia shrugged. “I can email them up.”
“Oh.” Alice sat back again. “Thanks.”
As Saskia bounded back down the stairs, Alice felt a small pang of disappointment. It was foolish, she knew, but she’d spent Sunday hoping that Nathan would call. It would be easy enough for him to get her number, and although she’d been thrown by the proposition, Alice couldn’t help but feel that thrill of possibility. It had been so long since she’d met anyone interesting, let alone someone who seemed to like her too—enough to invite her on a scandalous weekend abroad, at least. Alice idly toyed with her pen as she remembered his expression and the flash of interest in his eyes. Perhaps he would invite her to dinner, or drinks, or—and—
Alice stopped herself. What was she even thinking? She didn’t waste time pining over men; she’d learned that lesson years ago. If they were interested, they would do something about it, and if they didn’t—well, then they clearly didn’t care enough to waste her time wondering over them. It was simple, far simpler than any books or magazines or even her friends would admit. Believing otherwise, she knew, would only leave her feeling an ache every night, absence like a physical form in the empty bed beside her.
Alice turned the music a little louder and went back to work.
***
She had almost untangled the mess of an option clause a producer had tried to slip through when her business line lit up. Alice reached for it absently, still scribbling in the margins when she heard her stepsister gush, “Sweetie, hi!”
“Flora?” she stopped, surprised. “Is everything OK?”
“Hmm? Oh, I’m fine.” Her voice was light. “How are you?”
“I’m…good.” Alice frowned. She and Flora usually kept up with brief, infrequent emails, and she had only seen her a couple of days ago. “It was a lovely party, really beautiful.”
“Thanks!” Flora exclaimed. “It was pretty, wasn’t it? Ginny asked for the decorator’s number, and oh, those éclairs! You were right about them,” she giggled. “I found the tray of uneaten ones and couldn’t help myself. I think I ate at least five!”
“Oh, dear,” Alice murmured.
“It was awful,” Flora chatted away merrily. “I woke up feeling like such a pig. But Sascha sent me over details of a great detox. You consult with a nutritionist and get rid of all processed sugars and carbs.”
“That’s…nice.”
“Stefan’s working round the clock again!” Flora chirped. “But he’s promised me a holiday soon, somewhere with sparkling white beaches and no phone lines at all.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Alice’s gaze drifted back to her desk. Now, if she could just change the section on intellectual property rights…
“The Caribbean, maybe, or somewhere in South America. I don’t know about hurricanes, but Nathan talked about this little place—”
“Nathan?” Alice snapped back to the conversation. “What did he say? I mean”—she forced herself to sound more casual—“we chatted for a while, I think. He’s the American, isn’t he?”
Flora wasn’t fooled. She let out a squeal of excitement. “Ooh! Do you like him? Do you want me to fix you up? I could put a dinner party together, or talk to him for you, or—”
“No!” Alice yelped. She had a sudden flash of Flora running around, gossiping to Stefan, or worse still, to Nathan. Her stomach lurched. “I mean it, Flora,” she said quickly. “We only talked for a minute; you’re getting carried away.”
Flora sighed. “But—”
“No,” Alice said sternly. “Promise me?”
“Promise,” Flora muttered. “But we should still have dinner, the two of us. Or lunch sometime. Or drinks!”
“That sounds, nice,” Alice replied slowly. “Why don’t you email me over the date? I’m on my way out for lunch now, but I’ll let you know.”
“OK!” Flora sounded far too excited. “Will do!”
Hanging up, Alice pulled on her jacket and hurried down the stairs, as if leaving right away would make her excuse to Flora less of a lie. Their office was tucked away just off Carnaby Street, and as Alice fell into step with the rest of the tourists and midday shoppers, she tried to shake off a slight sense of unease at Flora’s sudden avalanche of invitations.
The two of them had never been close. The year her father met Jasmine, Alice left for university, and having spent her adolescence making sure he surfaced from his current historical obsession long enough to eat and occasionally sleep, it was a relief to hand responsibility to someone else. That is, until it became clear that the wafting, temperamental artiste and her wide-eyed thirteen-year-old had as tenuous a grasp on domesticity as he did. But by then Alice was a safe hundred miles away from their ramshackle cottage and returned only occasionally after that, to check Jasmine hadn’t burned the house down with her incense or that her father wasn’t wasting away on a diet of wild nettle soup and organic oatcakes.
No, Alice thought, as she reached the deli and swiftly browsed the chilled cases. Flora had always remained something of a stranger to her, a needy, emotional girl who would burst into tears during soap operas, and sit watching birds in the garden with curious concentration. Now, as adults, the space between them was something more than their age difference, but Alice was content with their usual rhythm of warm detachment. After all, they had never conspired together against their parents, whispered secrets, or fought angrily the way other siblings did; there was no shared childhood or fierce intimacy to bind them together now they were grown.
Except now Flora was reaching out, clearly hopeful, and Alice didn’t know why.
It wasn’t until she reached the head of the lunchtime queue to pay for her salad that Alice remembered the problem with her debit card.
“Sorry, sorry.” Fumbling hopelessly for change, she resorted to grabbing at crisps and useless snack bars to meet the credit card minimum. The crowd behind her shifted impatiently while she went through the routine of swipe and scribble, already resigning herself to another afternoon on hold. But to her surprise, back at the office, her call was answered almost immediately, by a bored-sounding Scottish woman named Laura.
“If you could give me the sixteen-digit number, and expiration, please.” Laura rattled off the demand in a blank monotone. Alice recited the details obediently, cocking her head to trap the phone against her shoulder as she peeled off the lid of her salad and carefully drizzled a tiny amount of dressing over the leaves.
“If you’ll just bear with me…”
There was a light tap at the door, and Saskia poked her head around. “I’ve got some papers,” she whispered loudly. Alice waved her in.
“Miss Love?”
“Yes, sorry.” Alice turned back to the phone.
“Can you confirm your mother’s maiden name?”
“Scott.” She scribbled her
signature on three pages in quick succession. “Her maiden name was Scott, and my postcode is N1 OHD.” Putting her hand over the phone, she told Saskia, “Take those too, by the door, I need another five copies of each.”
Saskia nodded, retreating just as Laura seemed to make some kind of breakthrough. “Ah, I see,” she said, the monotone rising ever so slightly. “For your convenience, it’s now our policy to cancel cards after dispatching a replacement. You need to switch to the new one.”
Alice sighed. “But I haven’t got the new one yet.” She stabbed at a slice of carrot in frustration.
“But it says here it was dispatched last month, on the twenty-fifth.”
“Well, I never got it.” Sinking lower in her seat, Alice wondered why so many hugely inconvenient things were done in the name of her convenience. Tube maintenance on the weekends, self-service checkout aisles; calling something by a word long enough did not make it so.
“That’s funny, it says here the new card has been active for two weeks.”
Alice sat up with a jolt. “What?”
“I’m going to have to transfer you to an agent in our fraud unit,” Laura trilled.
“No, wait,” Alice tried to stop her. “What do you mean, ‘active’?”
“Please hold.”
While an instrumental version of an old boyband hit played, Alice flipped to the back page of her organizer and used the details there to log on to her bank website, anxiety building with every passing second. She didn’t normally access it at work, suspicious that the network wasn’t as secure as the tech people liked to believe, but this was an emergency. As her account slowly loaded, she tried to remember the last time she’d seen a statement. Not for at least a week, and she hardly ever checked the balance at the ATM.
Her balance flashed up on the screen. Two thousand six hundred seventy pounds overdrawn.
Overdrawn!
The Liberation of Alice Love Page 3