She hauled herself to her feet, waited until she felt centered and then slowly maneuvered her way across the room, holding on to pieces of strategically placed furniture. In the house, Fen tried her hardest not to use the crutches. She was determined to walk unaided wherever possible. Small beginnings. The longest journey started with one step, right?
At the window she stared into the wet blackness. Rush hour cars streamed past, sheeting icy water onto the pavements. Fen shivered again and yanked the curtains shut to block out the disturbing scene.
On a similar freezing, sleety night the previous year, she’d been involved in a hit-and- run accident while out jogging. She’d been left for dead. On her blackest days, Fen wondered if she’d have been better off dead rather than living this pain-filled half-life.
Fen abruptly turned away and gritted her teeth against the sharp pain in her left hip. Slowly she let out her breath as the stabbing hurt receded to a dull ache. She eased herself forward, more carefully this time, and headed toward her small kitchen. She’d make a cup of tea and knock up some pasta for dinner, do her exercise routine and then eat. Focus on doing, not thinking. Focus on living, not lying in a streaming gutter half-dead.
While waiting for the kettle to boil, Fen practiced some basic ballet limbering up exercises, gritting her teeth against the pain. Before the accident, she’d been a dancer on the brink of an international career. She’d appeared in the musicals Cats and Queen. Now she was pushed to put one foot in front of the other without falling in a heap or doubling up in agony.
With determination, she finished her quota just as her phone rang. She let the answer phone pick up as she pushed herself to do a few more exercises, mentally counting her bends and breaths.
“Fenella? Lucinda, hi. Got your message. Can’t wait to fix up this McAllister bloke. Is he the McAllister of McAllister Electronics? Hope so. Will let you know how I go. Bye for now.”
Fen grinned and did a couple more knee bends. Lucky McAllister. He was in for a very special treat.
****
James was ticked off as he trudged through acres of offices and miles of silent corridors. Everyone in the multi-story building seemed to have disappeared. He’d even had difficultly rousing security, finding the men huddled around a portable gaslight, drinking takeaway coffee and playing cards. The approaching Christmas holiday was no excuse for staff to grow slack.
As he made his way back to his office, he flicked a glance at his watch. He was running late thanks to the irritating Ms. Grant of Discreet Liaisons. Squinting in the gloom, he rang his secretary at her home. “Where the hell is everyone, Valerie?” he demanded. “Why has the building been evacuated? It’s not Christmas yet, you know.”
“Calm down, James,” said Valerie Lucas peaceably. “We were told the power would be off all day and with no heating or computers. I gave everyone a day off to save them the hassle of going on strike.”
“I see. So you’re telling me I should be grateful?”
“Yes, even if you don’t sound it.”
“I don’t like the office unstaffed during work hours.”
“Neither do I, so I stayed answering the phones until mid afternoon. By then the place was so cold and miserable I was in danger of suffering frostbite. I decided I’d done my bit for Queen, McAllister and country and went home too.”
“Okay, you’re forgiven. That was beyond the call of duty.” James relied on his secretary one hundred percent. She’d been with him since the beginning of his business and often deputized for him while he traveled overseas.
“Thank you. I take it I can have a Christmas bonus?”
“You always do, dear Valerie.” He gave a short laugh and then said, “Do you know anything about Discreet Liaisons?”
“Are you suggesting we have an affair, James? I didn’t know you fancied older women. Or is that my bonus?”
“Discreet Liaisons is a dating agency.” James growled in frustration.
She chuckled. “I know.”
“I see. Joke. I’m really in the mood for them at this precise moment. So, have you used the agency?”
“No, but it has a good reputation. It’s not your call girl type of affair as far as I understand it. Why, are you thinking of signing up? Have you finally run out of women? Dear me, not a good thing to happen with your big four-O birthday and the festive season upon us.” She chuckled again.
James experienced another wave of irritation towards Ms. Grant, who’d started this whole thing. Thank you, Val,” he said with a touch of exasperation. “I’ll deal with you on Monday.”
After ringing off, James hefted up his briefcase and overnight bag and locked the office, leaving it in darkness. Taking a taxi home, he had a lightning quick shower and got into his tux just as his date arrived. Chrissy was a model and a friend of one of his business associates. She looked great and was undemanding, which suited James admirably. But tonight he wasn’t in the mood to be sociable. He just wanted to go to bed and sleep.
As he opened the door and greeted Chrissy with a perfunctory kiss, the phone rang.
“Ignore it, darling,” said Chrissy. “Or we’ll be late.”
“I’m expecting a business call.” James whisked up the receiver and rattled off the number.
“Now that’s what I call one very sexy voice,” said a woman with the low throaty drawl of a serious smoker.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m after James McAllister?”
An awful premonition hit James. “Speaking.”
“I’m Lucinda Burton. Darling Fen told me you’re a real cracker. Can’t wait to meet you.”
“Darling Fen got it all wrong, I’m afraid. Ms. Burton, I’m not in the market for blind dates.”
A husky laugh wafted down the phone and curled around James. “Honey, there’s nothing wrong with my eyesight and I can’t wait to get an eyeful of you. Now don’t be shy. I understand it’s your first time, so I’ll be gentle. How about we meet on neutral territory to make you feel more comfortable?”
James made a choking sound of disbelief. Hadn’t Ms. Grant said this woman was vulnerable? No way! He could hear the sultry confidence oozing down the phone. He’d met the type before: pushy and predatory. He always did his damnedest to avoid them.
“How about the Talisman Club in Tottenham Court Road? Eight tomorrow night suit you?” she breathed.
“You’re wasting your time.”
“Let me be the judge of that, sugar.”
“I won’t be there.”
“Fen said you’d need plenty of coaxing and, honey, I’m the one to coax a man. I’ll see you at eight. Don’t disappoint me now.” The phone clicked off.
James stared in disbelief at the phone. “She can’t be serious.”
“Who?” said Chrissy.
“Lucinda. And that Grant woman.” James snatched up the telephone directory and began flicking through the yellow pages. He’d give Fenella Grant a piece of his mind. He refused to be steamrolled into this dating game.
“James, we’re already late.” The young woman pouted and tugged at the sleeve of his jacket.
James glanced at his watch. Chrissy was right. They’d be lucky to make it for the first act. He ripped the relevant pages from the directory and stuffed them into his jacket pocket. He’d scan the numbers later and ring her from the theatre. He would not be beaten.
Fifteen minutes in, the play failed to hold James’ interest. The yellow pages were burning a hole in his pocket. He was twitching to find Fenella Grant’s number and give her a blast. No way would he meet this Lucinda Burton. He was not someone to go on blind dates with man-eaters. Quietly as possible, he withdrew the paper from his jacket.
Chrissy frowned at him.
James unfolded the pages with a crackle.
Chrissy’s frown deepened.
James, obsessed with finding the number so he could ring it as soon as intermission arrived, tried to straighten out the sheets and angle them so he could read them in the half-light o
f the stage. Darn it, Discreet Liaisons wasn’t listed. Sighing in frustration, he scrunched up the paper into a tight ball, which won him another rash of furious stares from the surrounding patrons.
That was it. He was out of here. He couldn’t concentrate on the play. Even without the mental irritation of Ms. Grant, the drama was too modern and arty for his liking. “I’ll see you in the bar,” he whispered to Chrissy and escaped the auditorium before she could stop him.
From the public booth in the bar, James rang directory inquires and got the agency’s number. He dialed and the phone rang for a while. He fully expected an answering service to kick in. No matter if it did. The need to vent his spleen churned his stomach. He was ready to record some pretty pithy remarks to Ms. Grant, but the phone kept ringing.
James was just about to hang up when a woman’s breathless voice answered. He’d been primed to blast his outrage but she sounded as if someone had already given her a physical battering.
Her breaths were coming in short, sharp, pain-filled gasps that rasped down the phone line.
“Ms. Grant? Fenella? Are you okay?” Stupid question. Her ragged sigh sounded as if she was in agony.
“Yes.”
“You don’t sound okay. Shall I call a doctor? An ambulance? Tell me where you are and I’ll come and help.” He felt useless, stuck here at the theater, when she was in such need.
“It’s nothing I can’t handle. Who is this?” she whispered.
“James McAllister.”
Silence.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes. What do you want?” Her voice lacked the brisk bounciness of her earlier call.
“Get Lucinda Burton off my back.” His words came out without fire, his anger evaporating at the pitiful sound of her suffering.
“Okay, whatever. Consider it done.”
He found her frailty disturbing. James much preferred her perky teasing, however annoying it had been initially.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” He expected her to laugh, to challenge him to see the date through to the end. Her lack of fight unnerved him. What was wrong with the woman? “Have you been attacked?”
“No.”
The catch in her voice shafted him in the gut. “Then what?” he asked, but her reply was lost in the rush and din of people crowding into the bar after the first act. “Sorry, I didn’t hear that. What did you say?”
“There’s a lot of noise at your end.”
“I’m at the theater. It’s the interval. I’ll call you back in a few minutes when it’s quieter.”
“No! Please! Not tonight.”
She sounded desperate, the panicked edge to her voice slicing through him and causing his stomach to clench. “Tomorrow morning, then. Ring me if you need me before that. Promise me that you will, whatever the time.” He gave her his mobile phone number, repeating it three times to make sure she’d written it down correctly before he rang off. He didn’t like breaking the connection. She sounded much too vulnerable. But what else could he do?
He tugged at his collar and then ran a distracted hand through his hair. For the first time in years James was at a loss. He slammed his hand against the phone booth in frustration, but it did nothing to alleviate his sense of inadequacy.
Chapter Two
Fen stared at the phone long and hard. Now what was that all about? Why had McAllister The Arrogant suddenly come on as Sir Caring Knight in shining armor, wanting to gallop to her supposed rescue? He’d been ready to string her up on the gallows earlier in the day. Had she really sounded so bad he’d thought she’d been attacked? So much for her brilliant telephone manner. It needed some good, sound polishing.
She flicked on the answering machine. She expected her mother to call, but the machine could pick it up. Fen would ring her back tomorrow, when she felt more rested. Leaning heavily on her crutches, Fen slowly limped her way to the bedroom. It was only a matter of time before the painkillers kicked in and then she’d be able to sleep. Well, that was the theory, anyway. Some nights they worked and some nights they didn’t.
She maneuvered her way into bed, plumping up the pillows into strategic places to give her maximum support and then cuddled under her duvet. As the aching throb eased, she began to relax her limbs. Soon she floated on to dreamland.
A dull thumping thud, thud, thudded in her brain. Fen squished her sleepy eyes shut. That’s all she needed, a crashing migraine to add to all her other aches and pains. She’d really overdone the exercises the previous night—all James McAllister’s fault. She’d felt so buoyant after setting him up with Lucinda she’d pushed herself too hard.
Thud, thud, thud.
Hang on? The noise was coming from outside her head. Lord, it was the front door. Who the heck? Fen squinted at her bedside clock. Nine. Not that late. But not that early either.
The doorbell pealed for far longer than was pleasant. Whoever it was must want to see her urgently. She struggled to her feet and, grabbing hold of doorjambs and furniture, made it to the front door before her visitor had succeeded in pounding it to sawdust.
“Okay, I’m coming, I’m coming,” she called out and then fumbled to unbolt the door.
“You took your time. I was about to ring the police,” growled a complete stranger who glowered menacingly on her doorstep. He was hunched in a bulky black weatherproof jacket and blue jeans. He was much taller than Fen’s five foot four, and broad shouldered, though that could have been the coat padding. His nose had appeared to have lost the fight in a rough rugby scrum at some stage in its career. The icy rain pelted down, drenching him and plastering his hair to his head. He had eyes to match the ice. They sparked glacial slithers at Fen and made her shiver from the outside in.
Fen clutched the door hard, partly to support herself and partly to bang it shut if the man turned dangerous. Because he certainly looked dangerous, if the nose was anything to go by.
“What’s wrong? Has there been an accident?” She tried to peer around his bulk and this time shivered outwardly as a blast of arctic wind whistled straight through her fleecy pajamas.
“You tell me.” His voice had the cultured clip of an expensive education, but what he was saying didn’t make any sense to Fen. She wasn’t the one who’d been causing a commotion.
Eek. She had a crazy on her doorstep. Don’t panic. But her heart fluttered like a caged canary just the same. “I’m sorry?” She tried to sound calm and in control but it was hard when one was wearing Garfield PJs while conversing with a large, rain-soaked lunatic.
“I’ve been worrying about you all night. I’ve hardly slept a wink,” ground out the nut.
“I’m sorry but I don’t know who you are. I think you’d better leave.” Fen gripped the door tighter, preparing to slam it in his face. “Or I’ll call the police.”
“You are Fenella Grant?”
“I might be,” she hedged, not wanting to give anything away that might damn her later.
“Yes or no?” The words were a barked command from someone used to being obeyed.
But Fen wasn’t intimidated. She’d never been good at following orders. “Who wants to know?” She thrust out her chin and awarded him a gimlet stare.
A flicker of uncertainty swept his rugged features. “I do. I’m James McAllister.”
James McAllister? Good grief! Fen was tempted to say that she’d never heard of him but that would have been cowardly and craven and she was neither. But she was intrigued.
So this was the serial womanizer with a commitment problem? Not quite what she’d expected, what with the crooked nose and wings of silver at the temples. He appeared all of his forty years, complete with bags around the eyes. What was the big deal? How come he had so many women willing to date him? He was no Mr. Universe.
“Sorry, I suppose I should have introduced myself,” he continued, frowning. “But I was preoccupied. I thought Ms. Grant might be seriously hurt. When she didn’t answer the phone this morning and then nobody answered the door, I
imagined the worst.” His words petered out, a crease appeared between his eyes and then he suddenly demanded, “Are you Fenella Grant?” His gaze raked her up and down.
Fen cringed. She was glad the door hid most of her PJ grinning Garfields and bare feet. But what did her hair look like? Definitely mussed after a night of tossing and turning. Were there smudges of mascara under her eyes? Had she dried drool on her chin?
And did those things really matter in the scheme of things? No. But she was irked anyway. She had enough female vanity to want to look good in front of a man, even if the man was James McAllister. “Yes,” she admitted. “I’m Fen.”
“Ah, so you haven’t been rushed off to hospital or lying helpless on the floor. I’m glad. I’ve been imagining all manner of terrible fates.” His frown disappeared and he smiled.
Okay, so that smile was the big deal. It changed everything about him. It relieved the tension in his face, lit his gray eyes so they gleamed silver and made him less of a lunatic and more a member of the human race. It also knocked a good few years off his face and those tired bags almost disappeared.
Fen managed to smile back but was still very conscious of her PJs.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but it’s freezing and wet out here.”
Was that a hint? Did he expect to come in? Oh no. No way would she allow him to step inside her flat and catch her at her most vulnerable. “I’m not dressed,” she announced.
James gazed at her pajamas. “I can wait while you make yourself decent.”
“And I’m really not well enough to receive visitors.” It would take her all of half an hour to limp back to the bedroom, dress and limp back. She couldn’t have him lurking about her flat for that long.
He hesitated. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be keeping you talking out in the cold. If there’s anything you need, cold medicine, chicken broth, brandy, just give me a call.”
THE DATING GAME Page 2