Accounting for Love

by Chrissie Loveday

  ‘Now you’re all making me want to cry. I love you all so much. It’s a big step I’m taking.’

  ‘I’ll go if you’re in any doubt,’ said Paula. ‘I can go to America another time. Especially good if I can stay in the same place as you did. That Adam is so dishy. Very tasty.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, child,’ Fiona laughed.

  ‘Typical. Always way behind, aren’t I?’

  ‘It isn’t all it’s made out to be, anyway. Adam is certainly good-looking and, yes, he’s dishy. But he already has a friend. I was only staying in his apartment. At first, I did wonder, but I had it confirmed, he has a partner.’

  ‘Oh lord. He isn’t gay, is he?’

  ‘Paula,’ said her Mother, shocked to the core. ‘Of course he isn’t gay, is he, dear?’

  ‘No of course not. Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I could do with an early night. I’m absolutely bushed.’

  ‘You’re sure about Patrick, aren’t you love?’ her father asked.

  ‘Oh yes. He’s guilty as anyone could be. Are you going to tell the police?’

  ‘I’ll consider what to do. But he will certainly never look at any of our details again. No worries on that score.’

  ‘Good. I’m sorry, but I’ll have to go to bed now.

  ‘You go, love. You must be weary with all the travelling and so on. Night, night.’ She kissed them all and went to her room. Her suitcase was still sitting where she’d left it. She opened it and took out her beautiful dress, sadly crumpled and not looking quite as good as it had done. She shook it and hung it in her wardrobe. Each thing she took out had some memory for her. Why was she feeling this way? She knew she’d had a lucky escape, so why did it feel like a major blow?

  She reached the bottom of the case and took the things out. Her shoes, they were missing. Damnation. She must have left them under the bed. The lovely sea green shoes, the most expensive pair of shoes she’d ever owned, and she had left them behind. Perhaps she could ask Adam to send them on to her? Perhaps she might call at the apartment to collect them? She’d have to think about it.

  The next morning she was awake quite early. She desperately needed some coffee, some proper coffee. Perhaps tea might do the job, but it tasted strange. She made some instant coffee and sipped it. Someone knocked at the door. Must be the post, she assumed.

  She opened it. Adam stood there with her shoes in his hand.

  ‘You left them behind. I wasn’t sure if it was deliberate, or whether I should even bring them back to you.’

  ‘Whatever time were you up this morning?’ was all she could say.

  ‘I left home soon after five. Aren’t you going to invite me in?’

  ‘Sorry. Yes, please come in. No one else is up yet.’

  ‘Fiona, there are things we need to talk about.’

  ‘Do you want some coffee? It’s only instant, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Please. I went to see Melissa again after you phoned.’ She stopped what she was doing and looked at him.

  ‘And?’

  ‘I made her admit to meeting Patrick. She’d seen his name on your computer and contacted him. As your accountant, of course. She’d invited him to come down and had spread all sorts of evil gossip about us. You and me.’

  ‘In what sort of way?’

  ‘Oh the usual sort of gossip. About our relationship. Plus lots of other stuff.’

  ‘But I thought you and she well, you had a relationship of some sort.’

  ‘Me and Melissa? Never. Not that she hadn’t tried it several times, but I’d always said no thanks.’

  ‘But you had her lipstick on your shirt when you came back. You went to shower right away and get rid of the distinctly dishevelled look you came back with.’

  ‘And you thought ...? Oh Fiona. Is that why you rushed home?’ She looked down and blushed.

  ‘Well yes. I’d knocked at her door and nobody came.’

  ‘We were having a humdinger of an argument. She actually hit me and was beating me with her fists. I’ll show you the bruises if you like.’

  ‘Oh Adam. I’m so sorry. I’m really sorry for not believing you. Well, for believing you could have been so stupid.’

  ‘So, Fiona, does this mean I’m forgiven for whatever you thought I was doing?’

  ‘Of course you are.’

  ‘And will you come back to my place when you come to London again?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘And well, I love you. I adore you.’ She gasped.

  ‘Oh Adam. This is all a bit sudden isn’t it?’

  ‘No hurry. I want you to love me too. I can wait for ... almost a whole week if necessary.’

  ‘You’re an idiot. Can I think about it?’ she managed to mumble.

  She heard her mother coming downstairs.

  ‘Who are you talking to dear? Oh, Adam,’ she said pulling her dressing gown tighter around her.

  ‘Adam’s come to bring my shoes back,’ Fiona said stupidly. ‘And he’s asked me to move in with him. What do you think?’

  ‘Oh dear. But you’ve only just got home again. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go and dress.’

  The pair looked at each other and burst out laughing.

  ‘We need to get to know each other properly. But yes please, I’ll come to stay at your place.’

  ‘Marvellous. So can I drive you back? Later this morning?’

  ‘Maybe tomorrow? I need to spend some time with the family.’

  ‘Well I hope I can soon be considered family too.’

  ‘We’ll work on it, shall we?’

  ‘Now that’s just what I wanted to hear.’ He took her in his arms and kissed her very thoroughly. ‘And you’re not even in my apartment, so I’m not breaking any rules that will upset your father.’

  ‘Oh Adam, I do love you.’ There, she had finally admitted it.

  ‘Does this mean you will marry me?’

  ‘Of course. There’s nothing I’d like more.’

  ‘Oh my love, that is wonderful. Thank you.’

  ‘Thank you. What happened to Melissa, by the way?’

  ‘She’s gone abroad. Said she would not be coming back any time soon. As for Patrick, I suspect he will also move away. He won’t want to stay anywhere near here. Hopefully, that will be the end of it all. We can look forward to our future together.’

  ‘I really hope so. It looks as if it will all come right in the end. Our future together. I love the sound of that.’

  If you enjoyed Accounting for Love you might be interested in For the Sake of Love by Chrissie Loveday, also published by Endeavour Press.

  Extract from For the Sake of Love by Chrissie Loveday

  Prologue

  Amanda stared dejectedly through the window of her small flat. She stroked her swollen belly and sadly twisted the wedding ring from her finger...

  ‘Hello baby,’ she muttered, as she did at least once every hour or more. ‘I’m trying very hard to do my best for you but it’s so tough. Okay, I know it’s all my fault that you won’t have a daddy to love you, but maybe I can love you enough for the two of us. Whatever the world says about me, I shall always know I did the right thing at the time. I love you, baby.’

  Everything was different for her now. She’d been willing to devote her life to her job at the magazine Personal, and had risen over several years to become one of the senior reporters.

  Until she had met Sacha. To say that she’d been swept off her feet by the handsome tennis player was a total understatement…

  Chapter One

  How long ago did it all begin? Amanda scarcely remembered. Penelope had demanded that she get an interview with ‘someone significant in tennis’. The grass court season was just beginning to get started, so it was current and newsworthy. She wanted get the low down on one of the major tennis hunks who were in town. Precisely as instructed, the keen reporter had hung around outside the courts and managed to waylay Sacha after his defeat at one of the lesser tournaments. Sh
e’d picked up the information on the match as the supporters left the courts. He’d been expected to win, but was having a bad day. At first, he’d waved her aside, clearly battered by his loss.

  His perfect English, spoken with a hint of a French accent, was enough to make her feel weak at the knees. Weak didn’t even come close. She looked up at him, towering over her with his six feet four of muscular body, as perfect a specimen of manhood as she could ever hope to see, let alone be as close to as this. Despite his obvious rejection, her years of practice made her persist in her quest.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I know the last thing you want to do is talk about losing but I promise you, have a drink with me and I won’t even mention the subject.’

  ‘Have a drink with you? Why on earth should I?’

  Not my best interview opening, she thought. But necessary for her job.

  ‘Sorry. You just looked so deflated. I know what it’s like to have the sort of day that makes you wish you’d never got out of bed. Not even cappuccino with chocolate sprinkles and an oversized double chocolate muffin can do it for me. But I bet you never eat such junk food.’ His eyes held the glimmer of a smile and the corners of his mouth were twitching slightly.

  ‘Now what makes you think that? Carbs are always important and with added chocolate, what could be nicer?’ When he said chocolate, he pronounced it with a ‘sh’ sound and even added the final ‘e’ as a separate syllable. It sounded incredibly sexy. She would always call it shocolatay from this moment on. ‘Okay. So, where do you suggest we go for this drink?’

  ‘Oh wow. You mean you will? Right, that’s wonderful.’ She needed to think fast before he had the chance to change his mind. ‘Okay. Okay. I have my car parked near here. We can go to a wine bar. Or somewhere else if you prefer. Do you drink? Maybe you don’t drink alcohol… your training schedule. So maybe it should be a coffee house?’ She was babbling. ‘Sorry. This is exciting for me - you’re my first tennis star.’

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean. Your first?’

  ‘Oh, sorry. I mean ... I’m such a fan. Of tennis. Of you.’ She did not want to give away the fact that was seeking an interview. Not yet. She needed to get him into her car before she let that little nugget slip. ‘I mean, I’ve been a fan for years. Of tennis, that is. I haven’t ever talked to anyone involved before. Not a famous player.’

  ‘I’m hardly famous. Yet,’ he added with a grin. ‘I do intend to play all the big tournaments though. Maybe that makes me start to be famous. In France, I am well known. Okay. So where’s this coffee bar with the triple chocolate muffins?’

  ‘Double. Double chocolate. Not far.’ They reached her small car and he dumped his oversized tennis bag in the back, almost filling the entire rear seat. ‘Excuse me asking, but how were you proposing to get back home? You could hardly walk far with that lot.’

  ‘My coach was organising a cab for me. He’ll be absolutely furious that I have left, of course. Probably write me off completely, after today’s disaster,’ he added gloomily.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’d hate for you to be in any trouble on my account.’ He folded himself into what was clearly an inadequate sized car seat for him and they drove off.

  ‘Don’t worry. My trouble is all of my own doing. This is a pleasant relief from the pressures. There’s always someone pestering me outside the courts. Fredo my coach, guard dog, mother substitute and publicity agent usually protects me from anyone and everyone. Radio, television, magazines … They want to know everything about me for some reason. So intrusive.’ Amanda blanched. She was yet another of these tiresome people. ‘Even the most intimate details,’ he went on. ‘I guess they practically want to know how many times I sneeze in a day. I just hate gossip writers.’ She giggled nervously. At what point did she have to confess the truth? He’d just described her job exactly. For once, she could see the other side of it. She’d always told herself it went with the territory of fame; the gossip columns and true-life stories. If she confessed the truth right now, that would be it. No more talking of any sort. And she knew she could listen to him talk all day. That accent was incredibly attractive. Her heart was making the sort of gyrations she hadn’t remembered existed for some months. She swallowed hard and grabbed her senses back into some sort of order.

  ‘You speak such good English. Where did you learn?’

  ‘My father is British. My mother is French. We have a family business down in the South, in Provence. We mostly lived in France or Spain. The tennis coaching is better there. I played from an early age but it is only in recent years I became professional. I have won a number of tournaments but I think maybe, I left it too late. Too late to be really successful. Seems these are the times of the tennis teenager. I’m already twenty-five, but I reckon I’m as fit as most on the circuit.’

  ‘Oh yes. I’d certainly agree with that. You’re as fit as anyone I know.’ She grinned, wondering if he was aware of the double meaning in today’s slang. She drove carefully, hoping the nearest coffee place would have somewhere to park.

  ‘You are such a pleasure to speak to,’ Sacha told her, after they’d spent almost two hours over coffee. ‘No hang-ups. No ulterior motives. I’d like us to share some more time together. I so rarely meet normal, happy girls. Your beauty adds even more to my pleasure. Now my part in this tournament is over, I can relax for a while. You can be my compensation. Will you have dinner with me?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ she replied, her eyes already bright with anticipation. Somehow, she’d forgotten all about the article she was supposed to be researching. She’d simply tell Penelope that she’d been unable to find anyone to talk to. Dinner with this gorgeous man who gave a wonderful French lilt to every word he spoke, how could she possibly say no?

  ‘So. You will kindly return me to my apartment and then we can meet again in a short while. I need to shower and change my clothes. Do you know somewhere good to eat?’

  ‘Of course. What sort of food do you want?’

  ‘Italian, preferably. Though anywhere will be a pleasure, with you accompanying me.’

  ‘I bet you say that to everyone.’ What a smoothie, she thought to herself, but it was still lovely to be spoken to like that.

  ‘Hey … no. What do you take me for?’

  ‘Well, a good looking man who probably has his choice of all the women he could wish for.’

  ‘Not true. I’m usually guarded within an inch of my life. Fredo is like one of those large guard dogs. Rottweilers, are they called? He rarely lets me out of his sight. I’ll be lucky to get out this evening without him insisting on joining us.’ Her face dropped with disappointment. ‘Don’t worry Cherie ... I am skilled in avoiding him. So, where shall I meet you?’

  She named a wine bar near to Covent Garden. There were plenty of places to eat around there, and it should be easy enough for him to find. She left him outside his apartment block and drove back her own flat, almost floating as she parked the car and went inside to get ready for her evening out. There were several messages on her answering machine at home.

  ‘I assume you struck gold as you didn’t come back into the office and your mobile was switched off. I shall look forward to your piece. Tomorrow morning, please. I want it in this week’s edition. Strike while the public’s interested. And make it very personal, as we expect for our magazine. I know I can rely on you. Chiao.’ Penelope’s voice always sounded strident and impatient on the phone.

  What a dilemma she faced. She was very attracted to this handsome French guy ... half French guy. He was so good looking. His eyes were the blackest brown she had ever seen, with lashes that curled to a ridiculous length. His jet black hair, slightly too long perhaps, made her want to run her fingers through it. She shook herself slightly. If she didn’t write a piece for her editor, she would be in trouble. If she did write it, Sacha would never want to see her again. Even if she told him the truth and didn’t write anything, he might never want to see her again. Why was she suddenly so conscience stricken? She had chat
ted up many lesser celebrities and always got her story. Why was this one any different? Maybe she should make something up about someone, but that was way too dangerous.

  Amanda dressed carefully. She chose a slightly low cut, slinky crimson dress that showed off her curves and slim hips to perfection and then, in a fit of discretion, changed it for a less blatant outfit. The crimson was much too obvious. She sensed that Sacha would go for a more groomed look. French women were always well-groomed, weren’t they? She picked out a more tailored linen dress, in a pale blue that exactly matched her eyes. She brushed her blond hair and coiled it into a chignon, clasping it with a favourite silver clip. French made, she remembered. She applied minimal make up, again sensing that her date would prefer a natural look. She gave a twirl and nodded to herself. She’d do. She phoned for a cab and was ready. She still had made no decision about confessing the truth about herself, but who cared? She intended to have a fun evening and face the consequences when she saw how things were progressing.

  She arrived at the wine bar first and ordered a glass of house red. There were tables on the pavement outside, but she chose to sit at a table near the window so she could see Sacha arriving. She sipped her wine slowly, looking at each taxi as it stopped. When he was half an hour late, she began to feel anxious. Maybe he hadn’t managed to shake off his guard after all. Maybe he had discovered who she really was. Maybe he had simply changed his mind. Maybe ... maybe. Well, if he didn’t show, she’d leave when she had finished her wine. All the same, she sipped the wine so slowly that it could well have lasted her for most of the evening.

  ‘Cherie? I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. I had a big row with Fredo. I needed to sort it out before I left him.’

  ‘I thought you’d changed your mind about coming,’ she said weakly.

  ‘Oh no. Ma Cherie … how could you think that? I was looking forward to this evening so much.’ The dark eyes looked rather as if they were pouring warm chocolate all over her. What a thought.