Sweet Deception

by Tara Bond

  “Jesus, Charlotte,” he muttered.

  I turned back to him, affecting an innocent look. “What? I’m just getting ready, like you asked.”

  His scowl deepened. “I’m not in the mood for your games today. I’ll wait downstairs in the car for you. Be there in five minutes, or I’ll come back up and drag you out.”

  He swept from the room before I had a chance to reply.

  Once he was gone, Gavin let out a long sigh of relief. I started at the sound—I’d almost forgotten he was there.

  “Wow.” He shook his head. “That’s one tightly wound asshole.”

  “Tell me about it.” I turned back to my underwear drawer, selecting the only clean bra and panties left in there. I put them on with my back to Gavin, but he didn’t seem to get the hint that I just wanted him to shut up and quietly disappear from my life.

  “Well . . .” he drawled, and I felt a wave of exasperation. Why was it that men felt obliged to make conversation with their one-night stands? I blamed all those movies that suggested women got upset if a guy didn’t automatically start proposing when they slept together. I forced myself to face him. Gavin had on what I presumed was the most polite expression he could manage. He scratched his head a little, looking beyond awkward. “I guess I should get your number or something. Maybe we could hang out sometime.”

  “Yeah.” I spoke with exaggerated seriousness. “We should totally do that. Maybe go for dinner and a movie. We could hold hands and everything.”

  “Huh?”

  It took all my willpower not to laugh at his obvious confusion. It was clearly his looks rather than his quick wit that had attracted me last night.

  “Look,” I said, as I wriggled into a denim miniskirt and pulled on the cleanest white tank top I could find. “Let’s not pretend last night was anything other than what it was. We got drunk, I invited you back to my place, and we shagged. To be perfectly honest, I can’t remember much about the whole evening, but I’m guessing that we both got what we wanted out of it. So, as far as I see it, that’s pretty much the end of our involvement.”

  I couldn’t help enjoying the look of astonishment on his face. He obviously wasn’t used to the women he bedded behaving this way.

  “So you’re saying you’re happy with what went on last night. You don’t want anything else?”

  Ten out of ten for catching on quick. I’d obviously picked up the equivalent of a dumb blonde.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” I said with exaggerated patience.

  He looked at me with the kind of undisguised admiration that should be saved for whoever cures cancer. “You know something? You’re a really cool girl.”

  “Yeah? My parents will be so proud.”

  I reached for my biker boots, my footwear of choice, but then noted the sun streaming through the Velux windows that lined the ceiling. It was late September, but it looked more like mid-summer, and so I slipped on a slightly grubby pair of cream pumps instead. I dug through the pockets of the jeans I’d had on last night, found my purse and keys, and chucked them into the busted-up faux leather bag I took everywhere.

  “Help yourself to tea, coffee and whatever we have in the fridge,” I said, as I made my way out the door. It was meant to be a good exit line, but it seemed to throw Gavin even further.

  “What? You mean, you don’t mind me staying here once you’ve gone? That’s a bit trusting of you.”

  “Not really. If you even think about disturbing my flatmate, she’ll stab you in the eye, and”—I gave a pointed glance round the room—“if you can find something worth stealing in here, then you’re more than welcome to it.”

  The intercom sounded then, Richard’s way of letting me know that my five minutes was up. I popped briefly into the bathroom, deciding he’d rather I took the time to brush my teeth and gargle some mouthwash than have me breathe stale alcohol fumes all over him for the two-hour drive.

  Once I’d finished, I made the mistake of looking in the mirror above the sink. Panda eyes stared back at me. Why couldn’t I ever remember to take my make-up off? I ran a hand through my bleached hair. I was still getting used to it. I changed the colour every few weeks—I’d been everything from bright pink to ebony-black. Platinum-blonde wouldn’t have been my choice, but I’d told Lindsay to surprise me, and she had. If my skin had been more tanned, maybe it would have looked tartier—but the white-blonde against my Casper-the-Friendly-Ghost colouring gave me an emo, edgy look, and made my eyes look an even more unnatural cornflower-blue than usual.

  A wave of exhaustion washed over me, which had nothing to do with how little I’d slept last night. I so wasn’t prepared for this day—lunch with my parents and two hundred of their closest colleagues and friends. I could just imagine my mother’s face when she saw me—her trouble-making youngest daughter, the university dropout who worked in a bar—turning up hung-over and in a ridiculously tiny miniskirt, amongst a sea of over-achievers in floral dresses and suits. Ah, being the black sheep of the family was always a fun role to play.

  I took a deep breath, mentally shaking myself out of my moment of self-pity. Then I grabbed some face wipes and stuffed them in my bag, sprayed on a liberal amount of deodorant that I feared still wouldn’t mask the smell of fags and booze, and headed downstairs to see what the dreaded day would bring.

  Chapter 2

  I emerged from our flat and ran down the five flights of stairs to the ground floor. My hand trailed against the roughness of the exposed brickwork walls as I went. I could have done without all the jolting around, as my head was still pounding, but it was the quickest way to the bottom. There was a lift—one of those old service elevators, lovingly restored—but at this time on a Sunday morning, it would be experiencing peak-time use, as the other occupants headed out for a leisurely brunch.

  Downstairs, in the small lobby of the building, I found Richard sitting on the antique leather Chesterfield couch, waiting for me. A well-groomed brunette sat next to him. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that this was his latest girlfriend. He was a serial monogamist, and he definitely had a type—they were all conventionally beautiful, intelligent . . . and somewhat bland. Posh Pashminas, as Lindsay and I liked to call them. The kind of Home Counties girls who spent their whole life doing the right thing, without ever questioning if it was what they really wanted—they went on skiing holidays; knew how to scuba dive; enjoyed the theatre; had probably taken a year out to travel to India. All before completing a degree at one of the “good’ universities and finding a prestigious graduate job in London—law, banking or management consultancy—to tide them over until they could get married.

  To me, they were perfectly boring, their lives devoid of any real passion. To Richard, they made the perfect girlfriends.

  I cast a look over his latest. She was model-tall and slender, with chocolate-brown hair that fell in Kate Middleton waves around her shoulders, presumably the result of a professional blow-dry this morning. She rose with Richard, and I took in her tailored cream dress that fell demurely below the knee. She was perfectly attired for a late-summer luncheon party. This was the kind of daughter my mother longed for. She was probably only a couple of years older than me, but next to her, I felt like a teenager again.

  She greeted me with a friendly smile, and held out her hand. “You must be Charlotte.”

  “Charlie,” I corrected automatically, ignoring the hand. That threw her. She glanced over at Richard and frowned, obviously upset about having got a detail wrong. That was the other thing about his girlfriends—they were all perfectionists and over-achievers.

  “Oh, right, of course. Charlie. It’s lovely to meet you at last.”

  Richard’s girlfriends were never entirely sure how to treat me. I suspected he described me as something like a younger sister, so they invariably started off trying to be pleasant to me, wanting to win me over. But it quickly became apparent to them that they were never going to get on with me, so after a while they settled into just
being as polite as possible whenever I was around—or ignoring me, which worked, too.

  I turned to Richard. “So this is your latest.”

  “Petra Hawthorne,” she filled in.

  I looked back at her, seeing a chance to cause trouble for Richard. “I’ve stopped learning the names of Richard’s girlfriends. Every time he drags me down to one of these family occasions, he has a new one. He never seems to keep them for longer than six months.”

  “Which is five months and twenty-nine days longer than you keep your boyfriends,” he fired back. Then he seemed to notice Petra, who was looking between us frowning, clearly perturbed by our sparring. I’d guess that if there was one quality she lacked, it would be a sense of humour.

  Richard rested his hand on her small waist. “Don’t worry, darling.” His voice was smooth and reassuring, but I could hear an edge to it, which I knew was directed at me. “Charlotte’s just kidding around. Pay no attention to her, I certainly don’t.”

  “Oh right.” Petra forced a smile. “I see.”

  He ushered her outside, shooting a frown at me over his shoulder, a clear signal to behave. They did make an attractive couple, I admitted reluctantly as I followed after them. Very grown up and sophisticated. Trailing behind them, I felt a bit like their wayward teenage daughter, and for the first time, I began to wish I’d made a bit more effort this morning—at the least that I’d had time for a shower.

  I’d heard Richard had a new car, and when I saw it my heart sank. Outwardly, it was impressive—a sleek Mercedes-Benz CL-Class coupe, in a dark silvery-grey. But basically it was one of those two-door sports cars, really only meant for a couple, with a cramped seat in the back for those occasions when you had an extra passenger. I didn’t deal well with confined spaces, and just the thought of being cooped up in there for more than five minutes made my heart start to beat faster.

  Confirming my fears, Richard opened the door, and pulled the driver’s seat forwards for me to climb in the back. I just looked at him.

  “What’s the problem?” The amusement in his voice belied his innocent face.

  “You seriously expect me to spend the next two hours squashed up in the back?” It would take at least that to get to my parents’ country house in Hampshire.

  “How else are you planning to get to Claylands?”

  I stared at him for a long moment, contemplating whether I dared head back inside. But finally I gave in and clambered into the back seat, muttering a few choice oaths under my breath as I did so.

  I shifted around, trying to get comfortable, as the other two got in. Richard put the key in the ignition, but before he started the car his gaze caught mine in the rear-view mirror.

  “The seatbelt’s there for a reason.”

  I gave an exasperated sigh, but did as he said and fastened the seatbelt. At this point, I just wanted to get the whole day over with as fast as possible.

  As we started on our journey, Petra kept up a steady stream of bright, polite chatter—everything from how lucky we were to have such good weather today, to where they’d been for dinner the night before, as well as expounding about her job as a PR executive at a FTSE 100 company, which apparently she absolutely loved. We’d been driving for only about fifteen minutes, and had just reached Chelsea, when Richard began to slow the car.

  “It’s just over there.” Petra pointed to an upmarket florist’s shop.

  “Why’re we stopping?” I asked.

  Petra turned to me, with a big smile, clearly still trying to win me over. “I ordered some flowers for your parents, and I just need to nip in and collect them. I know how important your mum and dad are to Richard, so I wanted to get them something really lovely.”

  It took me a second to figure out that it was a present for their anniversary. That was probably something I should have done, too. Oh, well. Too late now. Maybe she’d let me put my name on the card . . .

  But just as that selfish little thought was going through my head, I saw the look of gratitude that Richard shot Petra, and I felt ashamed. My mum and dad had been good to him over the years, and he’d never forgotten their kindness. As my brother’s best friend, he’d always been welcome at our house. But then, when he was nineteen, his parents had died in a plane crash. He hadn’t had any siblings or close living relatives, so my mum and dad had made it clear that he was to treat their home as his own, and there’d always been a place for him at Christmas and Easter. After my brother died, they’d made a point of keeping in touch with him. In return, he seemed to have made it his mission to keep an eye on their wayward younger daughter.

  Naturally Richard offered to go and collect the flowers—because he prided himself on being a gentleman—but Petra insisted on doing it, so she could check they’d got the order correct. I watched as she got out of the car, and ran delicately across the road in her heels.

  “So what happened to Prince Charming?” Richard said after a moment.

  It took me a second to figure out he was referring to Gavin, my overnight guest. “He’ll see himself out.”

  He frowned at me in the rear-view mirror. “Aren’t you getting a little old for these one-night stands? You do know that you don’t have to sleep with every loser who crosses your path.”

  His words didn’t bother me. I’d heard it all before. As far as I was concerned, it was up to me how I lived—and no one had the right to judge me. “Have you ever considered that it’s about me, not them? That maybe I just like sex, but I don’t want a boyfriend? And that someone like Gavin allows me to have that—a great time in the bedroom, but with no strings attached.”

  “Is that so?” Richard raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Because given the state you were both in this morning, I find it hard to believe you derived any pleasure from whatever took place in your bed last night.” I wished I could contradict him, but frankly I couldn’t since I had no memory of what had happened. “And anyway surely sex isn’t just about physical gratification—it’s much more about expressing emotional intimacy.”

  “Oh, yeah?” My lips twitched into a smile. “Is that what your girlfriends tell you? Maybe you’re just not doing it right.”

  “Ha, ha. Very funny.” He rolled his eyes, as if to suggest I was being childish, but I ignored him. This was far too good an opportunity to tease him.

  “Or have you ever thought it might just be the women you’re dating?” I went on, inclining my head towards the florist shop. “I imagine Little Miss Uptight likes it missionary with the lights off.”

  Richard didn’t bother to respond. He was too smart to rise to such obvious bait. So instead I leaned forwards, folding my arms along the headrest of the passenger seat, and resting my chin on my hands, so my head was turned directly to him. If I was going to goad him, I needed to try a little harder.

  “Or maybe I’m wrong. Perhaps Petra likes to get a little dirty in the bedroom. For the moment, anyway . . . It’s probably all part of her ploy to hook you into marriage, isn’t it?”

  Richard’s dark eyes flicked over to mine. “Trust me, marriage is the last thing on Petra’s mind. She’s focused on her career right now.”

  “Oh, please,” I scoffed. “Come on. Even you can’t be so naïve to fall for that line.”

  As much as he might irritate me, Richard was what most women would deem a “catch.” He was good-looking, charming—if a little uptight—and, most importantly of all in these situations, he was seriously minted.

  His father had run a successful advertising business before he died, and as his only child, Richard had inherited all the shares. He’d continued with his plan to finish his degree at Oxford University, allowing the management team to run the company. But then when he graduated, he entered the business and began to learn the ropes. I’d never shown much interest, but from what my parents said, he’d assumed control two years ago, on his twenty-eighth birthday, and the company had expanded greatly under his stewardship.

  Unsurprisingly, given all of that, he had been featured in Tatler
as one of their “Most Eligible Bachelors” for the past few years. It caused me much amusement, but there were women out there who took it deadly seriously. Every girl Richard dated was desperate for him to put a ring on her finger. For all her practised nonchalance, Petra was undoubtedly salivating at the thought.

  “Trust me,” I said. “She’s after a big fat diamond on her left hand.”

  He shrugged, refusing to be drawn. “Even if she is, that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.”

  “Oh, really?” I lifted an eyebrow. “How can you be so sure about that?”

  “Because I’d need to propose, and right now I have no intention of doing so. I’m too busy with the company to even think about settling down.”

  “Perhaps.” I pretended to muse on this for a moment. “But what if she gets pregnant?”

  He flicked a look over to me. “She won’t,” he said flatly.

  “How can you be sure? Because she’s told you she’s on the pill? Or is she letting you ‘take care of business’? Either way, no contraception is one hundred per cent infallible.” I affected a shocked look, placing a hand to my mouth in a gesture of surprise. “Oh, Richard darling, I have no idea how this happened.” I mimicked Petra’s high-pitched voice. “I didn’t want to get pregnant, you know that, but now that I am, whatever shall we do?” I paused. “Marriage, you say? Well, I’d never given it much thought. But now that you mention it, I’ve had my eye on this little diamond ring in Boodles—”

  “Okay, okay.” Richard cut me off. He was trying to sound like he didn’t care, but I could hear the irritation in his voice. “That’s enough. I get the idea.”

  I would have gone on further, despite what he said, but Petra came out of the florist’s then, carrying a huge bouquet of white and pink roses and lilies. Usually Richard would have been straight out of the car, opening the door for her, but now I saw him hesitate for just the briefest of moments. Whatever I’d said had done the job. He wouldn’t be able to look at Petra in quite the same light from now on. I felt a pang of remorse, but quickly quashed it. This was payback for him dragging me along to my parents’ lunch, and no less than he deserved.