by Barry, Jill
The telephone rang.
‘I’ll take it in your office,’ said Abi.
Zillah felt reluctant to reveal the sender’s identity. She wished he hadn’t done this. It wasn’t necessary and it was the last thing she needed. Hal Christmas wasn’t helping matters even though the gesture was doubtless well meant. She couldn’t pass the bouquet off as a gift from grateful clients after offering half the freesias to Abi. Well, she could, but her assistant, although a darling, was also a chatterbox and if she bumped into Hal, which she surely would, given she was such a fan, she might easily tell him how well Saturday’s wedding went and what fabulous flowers the bride’s parents had sent Zillah as a token of their appreciation.
She tucked the card into her trouser pocket. The seven-word message was written in Mel’s curly script: I apologise for treading on your dreams. HC.
Zillah could imagine the florist speculating as she wrote it. But she understood the message’s significance and that unnerved her. It proved the sender was in tune with her passion for making her business succeed, as well as with her bereavement. Most significant of all, Zillah’s book of poetry flopped open every time at the Yeats poem, she’d read it so often.
Abi bounded back. ‘Electron want us to provide boardroom lunch on the 20th - rustic sandwiches for twelve people. The CEO’s PA is on maternity leave so the temp rang. I’ve left the message on your desk. She sounded in a bit of a flap so I told her we know the fillings they like and you’ll email confirmation as usual.’
‘Well done, Abi. Poor lady, I wonder how long she’ll last. I’m told that particular gentleman can sniff out fear at two paces.’ Zillah glanced again at the flowers. ‘I must put these in water. They’re nothing to do with the Nancarrow wedding. I must have mentioned the firm’s first birthday when I met with Hal Christmas - maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on him. This is a very thoughtful gesture.’
A tall figure strode past the window, heading for his car. Zillah glanced up automatically. She felt her stomach lurch, looked away and hurriedly cleared her throat.
She noticed Abi studying her, a very smug expression as her face.
‘What?’ Zillah stood, hands on hips.
‘Nothing. I’ll make a start on the sponge bases, shall I?’
*
She’d ploughed her fingers through it so often; Zillah’s hair resembled a spiky coronet. Her original business plan had proved good enough to convince the bank to agree a modest loan and her record keeping was efficient. But she still needed to analyse her trading figures because something wasn’t right. Probably she’d got one of those Da Vinci Code things in a twist because no matter how hard she tried to get her head round formulae, she struggled, in spite of the spreadsheet course she’d taken to help gain jobs in the past. At the moment she was reluctant to pay accountancy fees.
‘Maybe I should give up wine. Stop buying books and DVDs.’ Spoken aloud, it sounded a gloomy proposition. It wasn’t as if her leisure hours sparkled. It was fortunate she enjoyed walking through the city’s parks as well as exploring its beating heart. She enjoyed watching squirrels scamper around their woodland playground. She also loved café society, adored checking out restaurant menus and people watching. Other folk’s parties were her social life.
She jumped at the sound of someone banging on the outer door, locked as soon as Abi left at five o’clock. Cautiously, she got up to take a peek. Through the reinforced glass pane she saw the back of a tall man wearing black leather jacket, jeans and desert boots. He was staring at the vehicles still in the car park. Hmm. She was a lone female. It was nearly six pm. She was entitled to be at home with her feet up by now and quite entitled to ignore an out of hours visitor. But you never knew. This might mean a new contact and if you were in business you didn’t reject opportunities. She made a decision. Abi kept nagging her about getting a safety chain fixed and Zillah resolved to see to it the following day.
She opened the front door. The caller spun round to face her. He was older now she stood face to face with him, late thirties rather than twenties. He wore his glossy brown hair in a shaggy, attractive style, and his suntan had to be natural. He wasn’t movie star handsome but his cheeky grin was designed to melt even the grimmest of people.
‘Hi there. I’m here to see Hal Christmas.’ He raised his voice on the last syllable.
Zillah glanced at the nearly empty car park. ‘Doesn’t seem to be here, I’m afraid.’
‘Not a problem. I’m early. Do you have a reception area?’
She smoothed her hair. ‘Mr Christmas’ offices are totally separate from mine.’
The man waved at her signboard. ‘I’m still confused. Are there two firms with the same name?’
‘Not any more. What time’s your appointment?’
‘Six o’clock. Hey, I can wait in my car. I’m sure Hal will ring me if he’s been delayed.’
Zillah thought quickly. She had her street cred to consider. If people started telling Hal Christmas she was unfriendly, he might question whether to send business her way. It was a no-brainer.
‘You can wait in my office if you like. I’ll open the window so we can listen for his car.’
The visitor grinned and held out his hand. ‘Zak Silver’s the name. You answered the phone to me, didn’t you? I recognise that lovely voice. So, whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?’
She shook his hand. ‘Zillah Robinson. And before you ask, yes, it’s Mrs Robinson. Come this way.’
Zak waited till Zillah was seated behind her desk. Then he turned his chair round and sat astride it, arms folded on its back. A low whistle left his lips. ‘Wow, that’s a beautiful desk.’
‘Thank you.’
‘So who’s the frosty bit of stuff working here? Hal whinged about a stuck-up blonde - he says she gives him a lot of grief.’
Her eyes widened but she couldn’t suppress the laughter bubbling inside her. ‘I guess that’d be me!’
‘Nah - not a gorgeous lady like you. It has to be someone else. When Hal first met this woman, he decided she was Attila the Hun reincarnated in female form.’
‘Is that so?’ Zillah’s smile faded.
‘Yeah, he’s a funny guy, isn’t he?’
‘He cracks me up.’
Zak tilted his head to one side. ‘Your name, by the way, would go really well with mine if we formed a double act. Zillah and Zak? Cool, don’t you think?’
‘I should tell you I was called Killer Zillah at school.’
“I can imagine. My real name’s Jack Brown.’
‘Nice name,’ she said.
‘Exactly.’ He dismounted from the chair. Shucked off his jacket and looked around.
Zillah indicated a hook on the back of her door. ‘So, what exactly has your friend Hal been saying about me, apart from the Hun joke, that is?’
Zak sat down again. ‘Just that the two of you had a bit of a run-in. Nothing mega. Mind you, old Hal can be a bit of a nit-picker. Stubborn devil too.’
‘Really? Now, that I find hard to believe.’
Zak nodded. ‘To tell the truth, he hasn’t been the same since Jessie moved in.’
‘Jessie being?’ She closed down her spreadsheet. It could keep. Who needed soap operas with this going on?
‘Jessie’s his lady, his live-in girlfriend or whatever.’ Zak leaned in. ‘I never met her when they lived in London – haven’t seen him for ages in fact. My work takes me all over the place.’ He rubbed his chin.
Zillah rearranged her pens. ‘I assumed he was married. Don’t ask me why.’ She knew she shouldn’t gossip with this stranger but couldn’t seem to stop herself. Zak was incredibly easy to talk to, far more so than Hal. Her throat dried as she realised the probable reason for this. She didn’t fancy Zak was why.
‘He looks the settling down kind, doesn’t he?’ Zak went on. ‘Got that resigned expression.’ He put his head on one side, as if considering. ‘Unless it comes with the job? Bean counters are generally harbingers of bad tidings, aren�
��t they? Like politicians?’
She laughed. ‘So how long is it since you last saw your friend?’
‘Fact is, Zillah, I was in Hal’s bad books big time after I, um, dumped his sister when she came back from a holiday in Spain. She wasn’t exactly heartbroken about ending the relationship and I probably did her a very big favour. But Hal was like a mother hen about her. Even after all that time, now I need a bit of help from him, I wouldn’t mind betting I have to grovel in order to obtain it.’
*
Hal Christmas parked his car in its allotted space and glanced at the dashboard clock. Fifteen minutes late. He swore out loud in German, a language in which he was fluent and found useful when venting his feelings, depending whose company he was in. There was no sign of Zak though a vehicle was parked in the visitors’ bay. If this belonged to Zak Silver, the poor guy was probably prostrate behind the building, his heart pierced by a stake. Zillah’s van remained where she’d parked it that morning. The visitor had obviously brought Mrs Robinson to the door. Bad news.
But no wonder she so often came over as prickly. She must still be vulnerable after what she’d gone through. He steeled himself not to feel sorry for her. At least she hadn’t been rejected. At once he felt ashamed at his insensitivity. His pride had been hurt. She’d lost her husband. No contest. He got out of his car and strode towards the building but avoided glancing in at Zillah’s kitchen window. He could do without being struck down by one of her withering looks.
The front door was locked. Hal had a key, but didn’t relish ringing from his office to ask if she was holding Zak hostage, so he loped round the side of the building. He knew her section of the premises backed on to a swathe of scrubby land with a fence a maximum-security prison would be proud of. He snuck round the inside of the fence, hoping for a quick glance through the window, which he saw was open at the top. At once he heard Zak’s unmistakeable mellow tones. Laughter floated from inside. Hal felt a jolt the like of which he’d not experienced since Jessie broke the news of her departure.
Zillah was leaning back in her chair, her lovely throat creamy above the neckline of her filmy white blouse. She never relaxed like that with him. He knew he should duck backwards before she noticed him but she glanced his way and their gazes locked before her smile switched off, even though Zak was probably still chatting her up. She rose and headed for the door. Hal turned in haste, almost tripping over a discarded tyre. He cursed and decided to tell the truth and say he was trying to find Zak and hadn’t wanted to disturb her. That way, she’d think he was a wimp which was marginally better than being thought of as some kind of weirdo.
*
‘So you plan on being around a few months.’ Hal ushered Zak into his office and checked his watch. ‘Tell you what, rather than stay here, how about we talk over a drink and some supper?’
‘Fine by me. I’m always hungry. What about your gorgeous neighbour?’
‘You mean the fair Miss Frigidaire, as the man says in the song? Don’t even think about it.’
Zak raised his eyebrows. ‘Hey, we hit it off, man. She’d probably love to join us.’
Hal’s jaw tightened. ‘She’s just leaving. Trust me. The woman likes her own space.’
‘You’re not seriously going to tell me Zillah Robinson really is the blonde who turns you off?’
Hal hesitated. If Zak only knew. ‘That’s the one.’
Zak’s eyebrows shot heavenwards. ‘She said as much to me but I thought she was teasing.’ He glanced around. ‘So, are you pleased to be out of the rat race?’
‘Very pleased.’ Hal picked up his briefcase. ‘But I’m trying to organise my new home as well as this place. Office furniture arrives tomorrow. That’s why I drove back to the cottage earlier. So I could load up files and stuff, ready to unload in the morning. I’m sick of having to move things to make room for other things.’
Zak rattled his car keys. ‘Shall I drive?’
‘If we take both cars you can go on to Bristol later. You don’t want to have to bring me back here.’
Zak rubbed his chin. ‘I was kind of hoping I might be able to crash here tonight.’
‘In my office? Whatever for?’
‘My mini’s a cool motor but my legs aren’t built for back seat sleeping.’
Hal groaned. ‘Don’t tell me Kylie’s kicked you out again?’
‘Changed the locks this time. I got an email before I left Vegas.’
Hal sighed. ‘We’ll go in my car. You can stay at my cottage tonight but don’t expect the Ritz.’
‘You know what, Hal? You’re quality.’
‘Yes, well, you can pay for the meal. And you better grab your overnight stuff from your car before we go.’
‘I’m such a muppet.’
‘Not for me to argue,’ said Hal. ‘Any particular reason?’
‘I’ve just realised my jacket’s still hanging in the delectable Zillah’s office.’ Zak slapped his back pocket. ‘Don’t worry. I have my wallet. And she has a tangible reminder of me ‘til she and I meet again.’
Chapter Six
Zillah arrived home to find the gardener had left a treasure trove on the back step. Upon the yellow courgettes, feathery-topped carrots, satin-leafed spinach and waxy new potatoes, Ruby slumbered, maybe dreaming of a tasty supper. Zillah picked up basket and kitten and carried them inside the back door to the garden flat, which doubled as her main entrance. The morning’s mail lay on the mat and, taking her cargo into the kitchen, she placed it gently on the floor before pouring milk into a saucer to leave beside the basket. There was wine chilling so, even though it was a week night, she poured herself a glass and sat down at the table to gloat over her latest letter from Montreal.
At school in Cornwall Zillah had been one of a trio of friends. But when the other two decided to apply for university places, Zillah didn’t follow suit. Her parents ran a medium-size hotel and knew she had the catering gene. She was already helping in the holidays and putting aside earnings so her father chipped in, so she could take a course at the prestigious Leith School of Cookery.
The summer of the girls’ Advanced Level exam results, Zillah answered the phone and spoke to a man who said the Cove Hotel was the sixth he’d contacted.
‘I’ll never speak to you again if you’ve put a No Vacancies sign outside,’ he’d said in a voice that told her he was smiling.
All she could offer for the next three nights was a small single room with no sea view. ‘It has bunk beds,’ she’d said. ‘In high season, it’s normally let to families who only want somewhere for the children to sleep. It’s not en suite but there’s a washbasin and a bathroom just opposite.’
‘Fantastic. I’ll take it,’ he’d said. ‘Would you mind if I cover the top bunk with a plastic sheet so I can spread my stuff out?’
‘Let me guess. You’re an artist?’
‘For my sins. I expect you get plenty of those, don’t you?’
‘We do. What name is it, please?’
‘Daniel Robinson. I promise you I’m house-trained. And I may not arrive till sevenish so please don’t give away my room.’
As Zillah replaced the receiver, she wondered why his name seemed familiar. At that moment she remembered the art teacher who’d seen her through her coursework was a big admirer. Mr Robinson must have decided to make a last minute trip and found he was unable to book into any of the smarter hotels.
*
The restaurant Hal chose for his meal with Zak still awaited the evening bustle and the two men were shown to a window table. ‘So, you’ve saved lots of money?’ Hal tore off a chunk of naan bread.
‘Um, sort of.’ Zak didn’t meet Hal’s gaze. ‘One-armed bandits don’t do it for me. Some of my mates ended up hooked but I, um, found more entertaining pastimes.’
‘I can imagine.’ Not for the first time, Hal thought how fortunate it was that his sister met the man destined to be her future husband before there’d been time for her relationship with Zak to deepen. Nina s
till suspected the singer of stringing along two other gullible girlfriends apart from her. She’d told Hal Zak seemed relieved when he dumped her and she explained she’d been about to tell him she’d met someone else.
‘How’s Nina doing?’ It was as if Zak read Hal’s mind.
‘Very well indeed. She adores Majorca. She and her husband have three children now.’
‘Three kids? Good for them. Does she work?’
‘If you mean supporting a busy Majorcan GP, raising three lively youngsters under the age of eight and maintaining her elderly mother-in-law’s garden plus her own, the answer to your question’s yes. Especially if you count juggling.’
‘Whoops. Sorry, mate. It’s lucky for me you don’t bear grudges.’
‘I was relieved when you two stopped seeing each other before you could break her heart. I sometimes wonder how much money I’d have spent on therapy, if she’d married you instead of Dr Carlos Antonio.’ Hal leaned back as the waiter arrived with their food.
‘I’m not disputing that. Even I wouldn’t want to be married to me.’ Zak addressed the waiter. ‘Could you bring two more lagers, please?’
‘I hope they’re both for you,’ Hal cut in as the waiter sped away.
Zak blinked. ‘I forgot you’re lumbered with driving. My turn next time.’
‘Zak, if you’re planning to stay around, I can’t guarantee any work at the moment.’
‘Understood, but –’
‘My new enterprise is an unknown quantity. What I hope is that people will lash out for their stag nights and corporate events even if they cut back on holidays and personal spending.’
‘Fair enough. Even if you will insist on sounding like a number-cruncher.’
‘That’s my bread and butter. I can promote you as a singing waiter, wedding singer, or whatever. But please don’t hang about in hope of making a living out of gigs I can’t offer.’
Zak spooned lime pickle on to his plate. ‘Fabulous food.’
Hal cleared his throat. ‘This restaurant has been recommended to me by Mrs Robinson.’