by Alice Ross
Photographs of him in the bar with Marcus the night before the Petticoats pitch.
Photographs of him in the bar with Marcus and Miranda/Mirabelle.
And photographs of him in bed with Miranda/Mirabelle.
*
Outside the Canary Wharf apartment block, Chloe Jones started up her moped and headed back to the courier office. It was her first day on the job but she’d undoubtedly be sacked. Which wasn’t fair. It wasn’t her fault her agent had phoned and told her to go to a last-minute audition for a non-speaking part in a well-known TV soap opera. Consequently, Chloe was running slightly late. She should’ve delivered the envelope to Canary Wharf before three. A requirement her boss had stressed several times due to the client being “particularly difficult”. It was now eight o’clock. But what the hell? It couldn’t have been that important could it? And anyway, Chloe didn’t care. She might be on the telly soon. And her nan would be dead chuffed.
Chapter 16
‘Oh my God! I don’t believe it,’ exclaimed Mandy, as James related the wedding fiasco. ‘Poor Matt. How’s he doing?’
‘Not great. I was thinking of taking a few days off and spending some time with him.’
‘Good idea. I’m sure he could do with some company. What a cow Francesca must be though, disappearing without a word. You’d think the least she could do was give him a reason for jilting him.’
Washing her hands in the loo in the corner of the veterinary practice, listening to every word of the conversation, Anya von Hutterhausen’s mouth stretched into a wide smile. The eradication of minor problem number one had worked perfectly, resulting in a huge tick on her To-Do list. The private detective she’d hired to follow Matt Pinkerton had done a brilliant job capturing him with that blonde, and couldn’t believe his luck when there’d been no curtains at the girl’s bedroom window. The results had been better than even Anya expected.
She’d arranged for the photographs to be delivered the day of the wedding, just before Francesca left for the church. Obviously, from what she’d gleaned from James and Mandy’s conversation, she’d timed it perfectly.
Yet, despite James’ sympathy for his brother, Anya harboured no remorse. Matt deserved everything he got. In fact, she’d probably done that Francesca one a favour.
But Anya didn’t intend wasting any more time on Matt and Francesca. Their wedding was cancelled and so, too, were their chances of procuring that mad old great aunt’s one million pound share portfolio.
Having achieved her desired outcome, Anya now had much more important things to consider in the progression of her plan.
And, if her tender breasts were anything to go by, she had a strong inkling there could soon be another huge tick on her To-Do list.
*
How many hours had he clocked up deliberating who could’ve sent Francesca the photographs? Matt had lost track. It must run into hundreds. His immediate thought had been Marcus. But he’d quickly dismissed it. All Marcus cared about was clinging to his number one spot in the office. An objective he continued to achieve, thanks to Matt’s unceremonious departure.
He’d then carried out a methodical assessment of all his and Francesca’s acquaintances suspecting, at one stage, a particularly bitchy model pal of Francesca’s. That theory, too, had been quickly discarded - again due to lack of motive. In truth, he couldn’t think of anyone who would gain by such a pre-meditated, spiteful act. But the fact that whoever it was had arranged for him to be followed, was very disconcerting. The envelope bore a huge sticker specifying delivery before three o’clock, so they’d evidently intended for Francesca to receive it just before she left for church. Yet it had arrived five hours later. So, unless Francesca had somehow learned of his indiscretion, the photographs couldn’t possibly be the reason for her leaving him. There must be another reason. But try as he might, he couldn’t figure out what.
Meanwhile, time, as it was prone, had blithely ticked away. A week had now passed since the wedding and he’d scarcely left the flat, daily sustenance being provided by Mr Xing’s takeaways. His mother called him twice a day. He’d told her he’d been allowed compassionate leave from his job. Job? What job? And even if he had been gainfully employed by Wiltshire & Harrison, “compassionate” had never been included amongst their colourful vocabulary, and “leave” only very reluctantly. Mercifully, though, she’d believed him.
James, too, had called regularly. He was a good sort, his brother. Reliable. Dependable. He’d offered to come and stay but Matt was doing his utmost to keep him at arm’s length. If he allowed him to get too close, he might end up spilling the beans about his new unemployed status. The humiliation of being jilted was bad enough, but to enlighten his family on his excruciating departure from the world of work, would mean sacrificing every scrap of credibility he doggedly clung on to.
With bills flying through the letterbox with an almost magnetic-like force though, pressure was mounting to rectify his jobless situation. Today’s most notable arrival had been the bill for the “Wedding Reception” – and the Free Bar. What sodding free bar? That had never been part of the deal. Obviously, in his absence, some magnanimous soul had considered it a brilliant idea to arrange one.
On a more positive note, he’d received his payoff from Wiltshire & Harrison, meaning he had enough money to cover the next two mortgage payments. After that he’d be seriously struggling. No, he couldn’t put if off any longer. He had to start looking for a job. Before commencing such an arduous task though, he needed a major caffeine injection. He’d nip down to the corner shop, pick up some coffee, milk and a paper, and then start making serious inroads into his employment search ...
Matt’s shopping basket contained milk, bacon, wholemeal rolls and coffee and he was about to add The Guardian when a picture decorating a tabloid caught his eye. A picture of the Brazilian footballer, Antonio Fernandez. With a very familiar brunette hanging off his arm.
*
With a pounding heart, Anya forced herself to look at the indicator stick.
It was a dark, unambiguous blue.
Her suspicions had been correct.
She was pregnant.
*
‘Have you seen anything of Alex lately?’ asked Mandy.
James flinched as he read through some notes in the office. ‘I, um, bumped into her in the supermarket the other day,’ he muttered.
Mandy jerked up her head from her magazine. ‘And? How was she?’
He shrugged. ‘Okay, I think.’
‘Did she mention Piers?’
‘Um.’ He arranged his features to make it look like he was recalling the conversation. ‘I think I, er, asked how he was.’
‘And?’
‘She said he was fine.’
‘Oh. Right.’
She looked pensive for a moment. Then, without another word, flicked over the page of her magazine and resumed the eating of her sandwich.
What Mandy was thinking, James had no idea. For all his feigned nonchalance, he hadn’t stopped thinking about Alex since their awkward conversation in the supermarket. It had made him sad. Just when he’d conquered his nerves and they’d been getting on well, bloody Piers popped up and ruined everything. He’d really believed Alex could become a good friend; a welcome addition to their little group. Still, it obviously wasn’t meant to be. And that, as they say, was that.
*
Despite it forming a crucial part of her meticulous plan, it had taken a few days for Anya to come to terms with her new condition. She hadn’t expected to feel so weird. She’d been experiencing a strange kind of thrill, accompanied by an overwhelming surge of protectiveness. Naturally, she’d dismissed these sentimental feelings. Sentimentality was not Anya’s bag. She didn’t have time for it. She was far too busy implementing her plan to get her hands on James Pinkerton’s dead relative’s one million pound share portfolio. And to complete her plan, all she had to do now, was get her hands on James Pinkerton.
*
Once he’d recovered from t
he shock, Matt had seethed as he’d read and re-read the article relating to Francesca and Antonio Fernandez. They had, so the paper kindly informed, met in New York a couple of weeks ago and were now “head-over-heels in love”. Pictures of the “happy couple” frolicking in the sea in Miami had also been magnanimously provided.
‘Bitch,’ Matt had muttered – along with a string of other expletives. In typical Francesca fashion, she’d ensured she still had a holiday, while he simultaneously forked out five-thousand quid on a luxury, secluded, empty beach-hut in Mauritius.
Piece by piece, it started to make sense – particularly the business with the phone calls.
‘Darling, I don’t mean to upset you,’ his mother had whimpered earlier that day. ‘But your father has just returned from the newsagent’s and you’ll never guess who’s on the front page of one of the papers.’
‘It’s okay, Mum,’ he’d sighed. ‘I’ve already seen it.’
‘Well, I must say, I think it’s a dirty trick,’ she’d continued. ‘And I wouldn’t mind if the man didn’t look like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. Does he ever comb his hair? But don’t you dwell on it, darling. You’re much better off without her. Your father was never sure about her. Always considered her far too-’
‘MARJORIE!’ boomed a voice in the background.
‘Well anyway, don’t forget, darling, if ever you want a little break, there’s always a room here for you. And don’t rush back to work. You could do with a long rest after all you’ve been through.’
Ha! A long rest from work was definitely what he was in for. Indefinite was perhaps more accurate.
*
Anya had avoided the gym for a week. She couldn’t face seeing Jakov. The fact that she now carried his child had altered her feelings for him. Not that she actually had feelings for him. She simply had no desire to see him. Jakov, of course, had no idea she carried his child - nor would he ever. Once she’d seduced James, everyone would assume the baby was his. The small issue of seduction though, had proved more problematic than she’d envisaged. Each time an opportunity arose, something scuppered it. Well, not anymore. Time was now of the essence. Fortunately, another perfect opportunity loomed - a social occasion at which she, James, and copious amounts of alcohol would be present: Mandy and Eric’s wedding. This would be her perfect chance. And she had no intention of letting it slip through the net.
Chapter 17
Mandy and Eric’s wedding was at eleven o’clock in the village church. Eric had asked James to be an usher, admitting just last week that he’d have preferred to have him as best man but had been obliged to ask his younger brother. James had been flattered at the admission, reciprocating with one of his own – that, for all he would’ve been honoured to be Eric’s best man, it was a relief not to have the responsibility. After all, he’d joked, if Mandy changed her mind and decided not to show, he’d have to make another awkward speech to yet another curious congregation. Too much for any man – best or otherwise. Not that there was much likelihood of Mandy not showing. If an over-paid, poser-of-a-footballer attempted to whisk her off to Miami he’d receive an impromptu slap across the face. But despite that unlikely situation, James was more than content with his usher role. The lack of pressure meant he could relax and enjoy the day, the one slight problem with this theory being in the shapely form of Alex Corr. And today, with her as official photographer, there’d be no escape – from her or Piers, if he tagged along. Well, whatever happened, he’d have to grin and bear it – for Mandy and Eric’s sake.
James had just stepped out of the shower and pulled on his towelling robe when a bout of hammering began on the front door. His heart sank. Nobody hammered like that bearing good news. Something awful must have happened. And he had a horrible feeling it might be something to do with the wedding. Heart beating wildly against his ribcage, he hurtled downstairs and yanked open the door.
There on the step, in white pyjamas, hair a mass of tangled blonde curls, stood Alex, tears pouring down her cheeks.
‘Oh my God. What’s the matter?’ he gasped.
She swiped her nose with the back of her hand. ‘Oh, James. You’ll never guess what’s happened. And today of all days-’
His thoughts immediately turned to Piers. If he’d hurt her, he’d- ‘Is it Piers? Because if it is I’ll-’
She stopped sniffling and regarded him quizzically. ‘Piers? No, it’s nothing to do with him. It’s-’ She broke into a fresh round of sobbing.
‘What? What is it?’
‘It’s my photography equipment. I had it all prepared. Everything ready for today. But overnight the Jacuzzi has leaked through the ceiling and my kit bag is swimming in water. It’s all ruined. Both cameras and my-’
James uttered the first word that came into his head. ‘Shit.’
‘And I can’t let Mandy down. I just can’t,’ she continued, hysteria creeping into her voice. ‘She’s been so good to me since I arrived here. And I was going to give them the photos as a present and-’ Another hearty bout of tears commenced.
James stood completely nonplussed for a few seconds before an idea occurred to him.
‘Look, I don’t know if it’ll be any good. And I know it’s nowhere near as professional as yours, but I do have a decent-ish camera you’d be welcome to use. If you want.’
She stopped crying and regarded him for a few seconds before the corners of her mouth tilted upwards.
‘Oh. Right. Could I have a look at it?’
‘Of course. Come on in.’
In the living room, Alex nibbled her lip while she examined the camera. After what seemed like an eternity to James, her mouth stretched into a huge grin. ‘This is a really good piece of kit.’
‘Thank God for that,’ he chuckled. ‘After what I paid for it, I’d have been gutted if it was anything else. Oh, and I know a really excellent plumber who can fix the Jacuzzi. I’ll give him a call.’
‘Perfect. Thanks.’
Their gaze fused. Neither of them said a word.
Alex eventually broke the silence mumbling, ‘Well, I’d better run along and make myself decent. Somehow I don’t think Mandy would appreciate me turning up in my pyjamas.’
‘I can’t think why not,’ replied James softly. ‘You look lovely.’ No sooner had the words left his mouth than he kicked himself. Why had he said that? Now she’d think he was some kind of letch who-
But before he knew what was happening, she’d taken a step towards him and brushed her lips against his cheek.
‘Thanks,’ she whispered.
James’ chest constricted. She was so close he could breathe in the scent of her - an intoxicating mix of lemons, lilies and fresh honey. And she was gazing at him again - with those incredible sapphire eyes. He lowered his head as she tilted up hers.
Then the post arrived, landing with a thud on the doormat.
They sprang apart.
‘Right, well, I’d, um, better go,’ she muttered, her gaze still glued to his. ‘I really do have to get ready.’
‘Yes,’ he nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from her. ‘Me too.’
‘Right, so I’ll, um, see you later.’
‘Unavoidable today, I’m afraid.’
Still neither of them moved.
A car horn sounded outside, jolting them into action. Alex busied herself with the camera; James rummaged about in the sideboard, retrieving a holdall containing other photographic bits and pieces. Alex slung the camera over her shoulder and accepted the bag from him before they made their way to the front door.
Out on the step, she turned to him. ‘Thanks again for coming to the rescue. You have literally saved the day.’
He shook his head. ‘You’d have come up with a solution once you’d calmed down.’
She gave an ironic snort of laughter. ‘I doubt I would’ve calmed down.’
Then, in a flash, she scuttled down the street.
James watched her go, concluding that, despite her red eyes, messy
hair and runny nose, he’d never seen her looking quite so lovely.
Eric was the first member of the wedding party to arrive at the church, looking very dapper in his morning suit. Three tiny bridesmaids in duck-egg blue followed. And finally Mandy, resplendent in cream satin and lace. The intimate service brought a tear to the eye of most of the female members of the congregation and several of the male contingent. Then, religious formalities concluded in what seemed like no time, they were back outside for photographs.
Alex, in a red linen dress, hair swept up in a French pleat took charge of proceedings. James observed her going about her work, organising the various groups with an air of authority. He experienced a stab of pride. Completely ridiculous given not a jot of her professionalism could be attributed to him. He’d simply loaned her a camera. And if he hadn’t, she would’ve found another solution once she’d calmed down. No, he could only attribute his pride to being able to count her amongst his friends. Or at least he hoped he could; that after this morning they could forget their past misunderstandings and move on. As friends. He allowed himself a wry smile as his mind flittered back over the morning’s events. For one daft moment he’d imagined he wanted to kiss her. He’d even imagined she’d wanted him to kiss her. He shook his head. Of course he hadn’t – and nor had she. Still, regardless of how the land lay between them, he was relieved to discover Piers wasn’t in attendance. Unfortunately, the same could not be said about Anya, very much present in a mint-green shift dress. He watched her as she chatted with Mandy. He couldn’t put his finger on it but there was something different about her. She looked … softer. Must be the colour of the dress, or the way she wore her hair slightly longer. Either that or his eyesight had deteriorated.
Finally, Alex whisked the bride and groom off to the farm for some “interesting shots”, and the rest of the party were instructed to make their way to the Manor House Hotel for the reception.
At the hotel, James couldn’t resist a look at the seating plan on the board in the lobby. Each of the tables sat ten guests and he was neither surprised nor disappointed to discover that Mandy had seated him right next to Alex. Excitement slithered down his spine. Unfortunately it didn’t last long.
