I was partly mollified by the fact that he’d obviously gone out of his way to protect me, but that didn’t excuse the fact that…
‘You didn’t even reply,’ I said, reluctantly letting him steer me into a café. I say café - it was more a wine bar that sold coffee. I’d never been in there. When I went out in the City, it was usually with Liv, and she’d always vetoed this one because the prices were so high. ‘And you acted as if you didn’t even know me just now, in Max’s office.’
‘I wanted to reply to your text,’ he said. ‘But I had some rather…pressing engagements, last night.’
He did sound genuinely regretful, but how long did it take to send a text? I returned his amused look with a sLeo stare, even as he pulled out a chair for me to sit down.
‘It doesn’t explain why you gave me the cold shoulder just now,’ I said, perching on the edge of it. I was finding it harder and harder to stay angry with the man, the more I looked at him. He was just so beautiful. He wasn’t playing fair – he couldn’t. His looks put him at a natural advantage.
As he sat down opposite me, his dark blue eyes looking so keenly into mine, I knew I could’ve just melted. But I wouldn’t let myself. Max’s words came back to me; He’s just been charged with assaulting a girlfriend. If there was one thing that could keep me grounded, it was that, but already I could feel my good intentions wavering.
‘Did you tell Max you knew me?’ he said, his gaze steady and searching.
I looked away – he’d turned the whole thing on its head in just a few words. ‘No, I…’
‘Why not?’
‘I…’ I knew what he was getting at, but I couldn’t think of a way to evade the obvious answer. ‘I didn’t think he’d approve.’
‘Approve of what, exactly?’
‘Of me associating with his clients…friends…whichever you are.’ I looked at him again. God, he was criminally gorgeous. I knew I was going to struggle to take Max’s advice about steering clear of him. God, I was disregarding it already.
‘I’m a friend of Max’s,’ he said. ‘And a client. Both – and neither.’
Well, that was as clear as mud. His evasiveness was infuriating. In spite of myself, I was desperate to know more about him, but he seemed incapable of giving a straight answer. Christ, I still didn’t even know his name.
‘Do you always speak in riddles?’ I said. ‘What does that even mean?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, with an amused smile. ‘Max is a friend, of sorts. We were at school and Cambridge together. We’re tied, you might say. Our families have a long history. My father is a client of Ffyvells, and me, by proxy. Does that explain what I meant?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And no.’
‘Are you playing me at my own game, Miss Anderton?’
‘Yes,’ I said, feeling confused. ‘No.’
‘Yes or no?’ His eyes danced, wickedly. ‘Which is it?’
‘It’s both,’ I said, trying not to laugh. ‘What do you mean, Max is a friend, sort of?’
‘Well, it depends on what you mean by a friend, I suppose.’ He beckoned to a waiter. It was a subtle, yet totally commanding, gesture – imperious, yet gracious. If I hadn’t already guessed he was wealthy, it would have given it away in an instant. ‘A tea, please…green. Miss Anderton?’
‘Grace,’ I said, feeling I was totally losing the thread of the conversation, and wondering what I could order that wouldn’t seem…well…lacking in class. ‘The same, please,’ I said.
The waiter hurried off, and he turned back to me. ‘Look, Max and I… We don’t always see eye to eye, okay? He has…ways about him that I don’t much care for. He doesn’t much like me either, but – and this is what I want you to understand – I can trust him, and him me. If I’m in trouble, he’s there, and vice versa.’
‘Okay,’ I said, absorbing this outside angle on my boss. I hated to admit it, but he had a point – Max had ways about him nobody much cared for.
‘It’s about loyalty, which is the most important thing of all,’ he said, almost as if he were explaining it to himself. ‘So, you see, he’s a friend…’ He paused briefly, and smiled. ‘…of sorts.’
I nodded. I wasn’t so sure about the loyalty angle - not after what Max had told me as I’d left his office, but I’d promised not to mention it to anyone, so there was nothing I could say.
The waiter came back with our tea.
I bent my head to sip at it. It was scorching hot and tasted like boiled grass clippings. He laughed at my face. ‘What is it?’ he said. ‘A burnt tongue, or merely disgust?’
‘A…bit of both, to be honest,’ I said, not wanting to meet his gaze.
He laughed again. ‘It’s an acquired taste, I suppose,’ he said. ‘But very good for you.’ He frowned, suddenly, and followed it up with a look of distaste. ‘Unlike cigarettes.’
I pursed my lips. ‘I have the right to smoke if I want.’
‘And I have the right to protest.’ He smiled again, teasingly. ‘Is it wrong of me to want to protect you?’
‘I don’t need your protection.’
‘Don’t you?’ he said, softly. ‘Shall I go and find our friend Phil? Tell him he can sell his story?’
‘No,’ I said, quickly. ‘I’m sorry…you’re right.’
He took a sip of his tea. ‘It’s not about right and wrong,’ he said. ‘And you can’t be selective about how I choose to protect you. I stopped you smoking because it's not good for your health, and I didn’t acknowledge you in front of Max because it wasn’t in your best interests for me to do so. I have your back, Miss Anderton. I gave you my word.’
‘I only wish you had it, when I needed it,’ I said, regretfully, taking another sip of tea. Ugh…definitely an acquired taste.
‘And that was when? Last night?’
‘And when you dropped me home.’ I couldn’t help a shudder, but whether it was due to the tea, or the memory, I wasn’t sure.
He looked bewildered. ‘Why? What happened?’
I faltered, feeling humiliated at having to explain. ‘It…it was just Leo. He was there, waiting for me.’
He looked perplexed. ‘But you went in safely,’ he said. ‘I made sure of it.’
I looked down at my tea. ‘He was already inside.’
‘Who let him in? I don’t understand.’
‘No one.’ I was beginning to wish I hadn’t mentioned it. It wasn’t easy to talk about it, and he kept asking questions. ‘He got in when Liv went out to do the bins.’
His face hardened. ‘And what happened? Did he hurt you?’
‘No.’ I was still looking into my tea. ‘Not really.’
‘Grace,’ he said. I looked up at him. It was partly the use of my first name, and partly the tone of his voice. ‘Did he…do anything you didn’t want him to?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘That is, he tried but…’
‘But you stopped him?’
‘Yes,’ I said, with a sad laugh. ‘I kicked him…you know…’
He didn’t say anything. He just flicked at his teacup with his thumbnail.
‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘He’s apologised.’
He uttered a short, hard laugh. ‘Well, all’s well that ends well,’ he said. ‘As long as he said sorry.’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ I said, realising how lame it sounded. ‘But it’s sorted.’
‘It is,’ he said, cryptically. ‘Now, what about last night? Don’t tell me that was Leo too?’
‘No,’ I said, with a sad smile. ‘That was all me.’
‘Okay, and did you take any notice of what I’d written on…’ He paused briefly and, for a wonder, looked uncomfortable. ‘…the card I gave you?’
I raised my eyebrows at him. Touché. It was about time I got the upper hand, and he’d been hoist by his own petard. ‘Yes, I did,’ I said. ‘I went yesterday…Mr Filth Monger.’
He ran his hand through his hair. ‘That was - an oversight. I meant to…’ He fished in the pocket of his
jacket. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘This is the card I meant to give you.’
I looked at it. It was more or less the same as the other one except, in place of the title Filth Monger, it read Nathaniel Forbes. Nothing else, except for a phone number – which looked to be the same as on the previous card. Nothing to tell me what he was, or what he did. There was something that rang a bell, from the night at the F Bar and, for a moment, I thought I knew. He did own the whole hotel.
But no, it was the Fforbes hotel. Double f the same as Ffyvells – that was why I remembered. It must be a coincidence - a pretty hefty one, but a coincidence all the same.
‘Nathaniel,’ I said, turning it over. The other side was blank. ‘And I had you pegged for a Keith…or possibly a Norman.’
He laughed. ‘Very good, Miss Anderton. Although, I have to say, I may as well be an Ermintrude, for the amount people use it. Most people simply call me Sir.’
There was an odd melancholy note to his voice that made me look up at him quickly, but as I caught his eye, he was smiling.
‘Ermintrude,’ I said. I couldn’t help smiling back. ‘It suits you.’
He nodded his head graciously, as if accepting a great compliment, before taking another sip of his tea.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘Let’s talk about last night.’
Twenty Six
Him
Whether she just didn’t want to talk about it now, or whether she was truly pressed for time, she suddenly looked at her watch and stood up.
‘I didn’t realise how late it was,’ she said. ‘I’ve an appointment.’
‘I’ll take you.’ I stood up, too, and drained the last of my tea. ‘Stephens is on standby, somewhere around here.’
I left a tenner on the table and escorted her back out into the shaded vaults of the market. She seemed on edge, and I knew how she felt. I didn’t know how to play it. I wanted to take her in my arms, there and then, and tell her how I felt, but it just seemed such bad timing, what with Charlotte and Rick. I didn’t want her getting caught up in all that. Added to which, it was true - Max would be pissed off. I couldn’t give a shit, for myself, but for her…he’d make her life hell, and it didn’t seem fair.
If I’d thought she felt the same, it might have been different, but she seemed distant again, back to the girl I’d spoken to on the verandah at the F Bar. I had to keep my desires to myself, for now, and focus on what she needed. I’d given her my word.
‘You don’t have to,’ she said, as we came out into the blaring rush of Lombard Street. ‘I’m going to the West End. I can find my own way.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ I said. ‘It’s practically on my way home.’
‘Does Stephens always drive you around?’ She looked at her watch again.
‘Now, you know very well he doesn’t,’ I said, with a grin. ‘But in the middle of the day, in the centre of London…well - it beats taking the bus, I suppose.’ Or the Tube, I thought to myself, remembering the previous night.
She laughed, and it was like she’d turned into another person. ‘You? On a bus? Now, that’s something I’d love to see.’
‘I’ve been on a bus,’ I said. ‘I was a student once, don’t forget. And you should laugh more. It suits you.’
‘Well, I suppose a bus might suit you,’ she said, with a wicked grin. ‘But it’d have to be a very special bus, for your own personal use. Gold-plated, and…with a Jacuzzi on board.’
‘A Jacuzzi?’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘What kind of man do you think I am?’
She looked directly at me and raised her eyebrows back. ‘We both know what kind of man you are,’ she said, pointedly. ‘You’re a filth monger. It says so on your card.’
‘Now, look, I…’
But at that moment, Stephens pulled up at the kerb and, by the time we’d got into the Bentley, the moment was lost.
So she was still dwelling on the card. No wonder she seemed distant. I tried again to address this warped notion she had of me, as we headed through the traffic into the West End.
‘Grace, about that card,’ I said, turning to look at her. The windows were down, and her hair was blowing across her face. I wanted to push it back for her, but I didn’t know how she’d take it. ‘I know what it said, but I’m not the kind of man to…’
‘I know what kind of man you are,’ she said, quickly. ‘You don’t have to explain. It’s why I called you. I wanted…’
She tailed off and looked out of the window.
‘You wanted…?’ I shifted in my seat, so that I was facing her. ‘What is it that you want, Grace? You can tell me.’
‘It’s not what I want,’ she said, still looking out of the window. ‘It’s what I need. I can’t help it…can’t help myself.’
‘And the counselling? You’ve only been once, you said.’
‘Didn’t help.’ She closed her mouth, firmly. ‘I’ll go again, but it won’t stop me. Nothing seems to stop me.’ She turned to look at me. ‘I wouldn’t have got in touch, otherwise.’
I turned away from her. So it really was all about that. I wanted to tell Stephens to pull over…to drop her off…but I’d given her my word.
My word. Christ, it did nothing but get me into trouble. Why was I so fucked off, anyway? She was hardly the first woman to come to me in a tail-spin. Hell, their friends, their husbands – even their fathers – sent them to me on a regular basis. She was just one more fucked-up female to sort out. I’d taken on the mantle - made it my mission in life. It was my decision, so why was I letting her get to me like this?
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, with an embarrassed laugh. She seemed to realise she’d said the wrong thing. ‘I didn’t know where else to turn. I know I sound crazy, but he…Leo…took my fantasies away. I just want them back.’
I’d heard women say similar things too many times, for too many reasons. She didn’t sound crazy to me, but it didn’t mean I had to like it.
‘And if you experience them? What then?’
‘Then,’ she said, with the hint of a sob in her voice. ‘I might finally get a decent night’s sleep.’
Neither of us spoke for a few minutes but, as we entered the West End, I knew I had to say something. She’d come to me for help, and I couldn’t leave it like this.
‘Look,’ I said, as Stephens pulled over at the address she’d given him. ‘If you want it that badly, I can make it happen – discretion assured and no questions asked – but, please, don’t ask me.’
‘Please,’ she said, even as I willed her not to.
There was nothing I could say. She had her own path to follow, and I knew that, if I tried any harder to dissuade her, she’d give up on me and walk it alone, and into certain danger. If she weren't killed, she’d be ruined – splashed all over the fucking media like her mate, Kitty Hart.
‘Be ready, then,’ I said, as Stephens got out to open her door. ‘Stephens will pick you up at seven.’
I left her, standing on the kerb and watching as we pulled away. I turned to catch one last glimpse of her and wondered, not for the first time, what was going on in that pretty little head of hers.
‘Home, please, Stephens,’ I said, turning away and getting out my phone. ‘There’s some business I need to attend to right away.’
Twenty Seven
Her
Jimmy turned out to be a quaint little man, in a garishly striped suit. Short and slightly balding, with his remaining hair combed carefully back over his tanned scalp, he held out his hand and shook mine warmly.
‘Grace, Grace, Grace,’ he said, ushering me into his office. ‘How has it taken us so long to meet?’
‘It’s very kind of you to offer to see me,’ I said, gazing around the room. It was large but seemed cramped somehow. It probably had to do with the walls, which were covered from floor to ceiling with signed photos of celebrities. Some of them were dead now, I was sure. He’d obviously been in the business a long time.
‘It’s my pleasure, dear girl,’ he said, sitting down
in front of me, at an enormous desk, empty but for a phone, a laptop and a notepad. ‘I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to have you here.’
‘So,’ I said. ‘Do you think you can do anything for me?’
‘Oh, my dear.’ He clasped his hands together. ‘With your looks? I mean, just look at you. Your figure! That hair! Those eyes! Those cheekbones!’ He paused briefly to give a satisfied sigh. ‘And, of course, you’ve come here at such a serendipitous moment.’
He paused theatrically, waiting for me to speak. I didn’t. I could only look at him, wondering if he’d gone stark staring mad. Was he even talking about me? I think he thought I didn’t understand what serendipitous meant because when he started talking again, he repeated it, complete with explanation.
‘Serendipitous, darling. Fortune is smiling upon you, my dear. Just when that footballer…’ He wrinkled his nose in distaste. ‘…Has been such a very bad boy, and that naughty girl Kitty has gone AWOL. Oh, I’m cross with her. I am. I’d be a liar if I said otherwise, but it’ll all come out in the wash.’
He stopped again for a moment and looked at me, consideringly. ‘Now, let me see. What have I got at the moment?’
He leafed through his notebook, before throwing it down in disgust and turning to his laptop. He perched a small pair of glasses on the tip of his nose and seemed to be looking down a list. Every now and again, he’d turn back to look at me.
‘Hmm, no,’ he said, on one occasion. ‘You’re a bit…thin. My dear, you do need to eat, you know. It’s a man you’ve lost, you know – not a pair of Manolos. It’s not the end of the world.’
I smiled, in spite of myself. He was eccentric, but he seemed to have a good heart. I could see why Kitty doted on him. The luvvy-meter must have been maxed out, when they were in here together.
‘Why don’t we try you with a little spot on This is the Morning to start with?’ he said, finally, looking at me over his glasses. ‘Just a quick chat. You know the sort of thing.’ He put on a woebegone face. ‘Oh, well, I was utterly destroyed by it but, you know, I’ve picked up the pieces and I’m stronger now… That sort of thing. Get the audience’s sympathy. Make them like you, then…wham! You’re available for public appearances.’
Bad Grace: A Billionaire Romance Romantic Suspense (The Filth Monger Book 2) Page 9
