‘I so-oo hate you, you don’t even need any St. Tropez,’ said Louisa, wistfully. ‘And you’ve got lovely hair that always does what you want. It looks much nicer like that. Are those highlights?’
‘Freya said I should let it grow longer and I got the highlights done by her brother. He’s a student at one of the hair and beauty colleges in London. Do you really like them?’
‘I do. I can see this Freya knows what she’s talking about. We’ll have to get together with her and sort you out.’
‘You’d like her,’ said Beth, grimacing as she noticed the frayed hem on her shorts. They were a bit sad.
‘Anyway, I can’t stop here, helping you all night,’ said Louisa, suddenly, tossing her hair. ‘I have to go. I’ve got a date myself.’
‘And who might that be with?’
He sister tapped the side of her upturned nose. ‘That would be telling.’
‘Not that guy from the boat yard?’ she asked, picturing Greg turning up at the door. He was almost as old as Beth, had been banned from driving twice, and was often stoned to boot. He also had floppy black hair, chocolate-brown eyes, and a six-pack honed from a life spent restoring yachts. Half the village girls had a crush on him and she didn’t really blame them—just as long as he left her sister alone.
‘It’s not Fit Greg, chance would be a fine thing,’ sighed Louisa.
She was halfway through the door before she leaned her head around the frame. ‘Be-eth…’
‘Yup.’
‘At least get your eyebrows waxed before you go off on this trip, just in case your bulldog of a boss does want to shag you…’
Beth was quick but not quick enough. Her flip-flops clattered harmlessly against the door, as Louisa thudded down the back stairs, shrieking.
The next morning, she woke up to the smell of frying bacon. Poking an arm out of the duvet, she fumbled for her watch and she saw the big hand had barely made it past seven. Could Louisa be making breakfast, she wondered. Could she actually have surfaced this early?
Pulling on combats and a T-shirt, she padded barefoot down the narrow back stairs and into the kitchen. The slate floor felt cold under her feet and her nostrils twitched. The aroma grew stronger, accompanied by hissing and spitting. Her dad was standing at the stove, poking a frying pan with a spatula. His metal crutch was leaning across the end of the table. ‘Morning, love.’
‘Dad—you’re cooking.’
‘Well spotted, Elizabeth.’
‘But—’
‘You thought I lived on cold beans out of the tin and charity casseroles from the neighbors?’
‘No. Of course not. It’s just…’
He reached for the grill pan to rescue some toast, quickly turning his grimace of pain into a smile.
‘Let me help you.’
‘No. It’s all right.’
She took a step forward. ‘Dad.’
‘Don’t fuss, lass.’ He shrugged off her arm. ‘Sit yourself down.’ Then he smiled. ‘Or else.’
‘Don’t call me lass,’ she said mechanically. ‘Is that a threat by the way?’
‘A promise. Leave me be. You know, you don’t have to go off and do this job for Louisa. She could get a job, put it off for a year. We might all be back on our feet by then.’
Beth felt strangely hurt.
‘Don’t look like that. I am grateful for your help. Louisa too—much more than she ever lets on.’
‘I’m not looking for thanks. It’s what I want to do.’
He sighed. ‘Just don’t think you have to take on every Allen problem, that’s all. We don’t want you turning into your mum, do we?’
‘We both know that won’t happen.’ She shook her head, knowing that her dad blamed her mum’s worrying for what had happened to her, even though it was total rubbish. Brain hemorrhages weren’t caused by worry, they were caused by… the doctors had offered no answers, just professional sympathy.
As she watched her father add some eggs to the pan, she couldn’t help thinking back to how she’d felt when her mum had been diagnosed one sunny June day and how rapidly she’d deteriorated—how quickly it had all been over in a matter of hours. She’d been the one who’d stayed calm. She remembered now how she’d held Louisa while Auntie Gill had comforted their dad.
She’d cried, of course she had, but not in public, not even at the funeral. Counseling had been suggested by one well-meaning relative which had made Beth button up her feelings even more. Honor had tried to talk to her, but even then, she hadn’t felt able to open herself up and let her true pain out. But why, she’d wondered and still did, did she have to scream to show how she felt? She’d been screaming inside. She shook herself, trying to clear the fog of gloom that was threatening to spoil what was, by recent standards, a Really Good Moment.
Her dad popped a plate of crispy bacon and sausages on the pine table. A thick cottage loaf was already waiting alongside the bread knife. Ridiculously, she suddenly felt tears pricking and had to dig her nails in her palm to stop them. Fortunately he hadn’t noticed, he was so busy scooping fat over the eggs to get them perfect. When he turned round with the pan, she searched for something to say, anything to avoid letting her dad see her face. She pointed to a vase of full-bloom yellow roses on the dresser.
‘Nice flowers,’ she said, as he added the pan of eggs to the table and eased himself into a chair.
‘They’re all right, I suppose,’ he said, dipping a crust in his egg. ‘If you like that sort of thing, that is.’
‘Did Honor buy them for you?’
‘She might have.’
‘Well, they’re beautiful.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘They are. Now don’t let your breakfast get cold.’
Beth wolfing down her fry-up far faster than was healthy seemed to amuse her father.
He smiled. ‘Do you want some more eggs? I can easily put some on.’
‘No thanks. It was lovely, but I just need to pop to the shops,’ she said, dropping her plate in the old Belfast sink.
Ten minutes later, she’d managed to nab a pair of Banana Moon shorts from the sale rail in Rush, the village’s trendiest outdoor shop. On her way to the till she just couldn’t resist adding a little halter top that had fifty percent off. The chances of being able to wear it in the Lakes were slim, but in Corsica, she could practically live in it.
Louisa was right: she owed it to the company to look her best.
Chapter 16
On the Monday after the gig, Jack was sitting in his office, trying to make sense of a perfectly ordinary weekend that had left him unsettled. On the Saturday morning, after the gig, he’d kissed Camilla goodbye, seen her safely into a cab then headed off to his brother’s place in Windsor. Nick and his wife had shaken their heads when they’d got back from their day out to find him playing Mario Kart with his nephew and niece, amid a sitting room littered with McDonald’s Happy Meal cartons.
On the Sunday night, he returned to his apartment to find an answerphone message from Camilla, demanding to know why his mobile had been switched off and would he phone her ‘ASAP, Jack, darling.’ It had taken lunch at her favorite haunt in Knightsbridge to pacify her.
He wandered over to the window, hoping to find solace among the statement tower blocks poking like accusing fingers into the London skyline. He felt guilty because while he’d been eating sushi with Camilla, a corner of his mind had been reserved for Beth. He just couldn’t believe she was in love with a bloke like Marcus. Or was that just because he didn’t want to accept she liked someone else?
There was no denying it. Over the past few years, he’d become more and more cynical about women—especially since Saskia. He’d grown to believe that all he really needed was a slinky, sexy woman who’d keep him warm at nights. Someone willing to share his weekend espresso, his new Killers album, and his power shower. Because, he thought, that seemed to be as good as it was ever going to get. Now he was staring thirty-five in the face and he wasn’t so sure that good coffee, gre
at music, and sex without strings were enough to see him through a lifetime.
Back at his desk, he consoled himself by choosing a victim for a company health and safety course that involved a weekend in Slough. Ten minutes later, he’d narrowed the course down to the marketing manager and the accounts assistant, when Martha came in with his daily fix. Another espresso, another file, and, he noted with quiet pleasure, a Snickers was placed on the edge of his desk.
‘Thanks, Martha. I owe you one.’
He pulled a file from his in tray and tried to get down to some real work.
***
Later in the week, Beth found herself in Jack’s office, preparing to run through a presentation and web mailing she’d devised to market the tours to travel agents and the public. Her laptop whirred softly from the table and behind her, a web page was projected onto a white board. The stream of air from the unit above her head set tiny goose bumps rippling across her bare arms. Jack was leaning back in his chair behind his desk, his hands round a mug.
She took a sip from a cup of water, tapped the keyboard pad, and launched into her spiel. ‘High street agents aren’t going to be first port of call for packages like this as the tours are too specialized,’ she explained, focusing on the screen. ‘So we’ll be focusing by selling it via the web on the business-to-customer side as well as approaching some agents via the web to sell it on business-to-business basis.’
‘What’s your commission figure for the agents?’
‘I’ve been through the stats thoroughly with Freya and we’ve decided that we should start off by offering an initial figure of fifteen percent commission. Any less and they won’t take any notice. There’s some room for maneuver, but not much, or we’ll be eating into our margin.’
He nodded approval. ‘OK. Shoot with the rest.’
‘What you see here is the draft web page,’ she said, pointing to the screen which flagged up photos of a family hiking and a group of girls in wetsuits sliding down a cascade into a pool. ‘I’ve also done a draft mailshot to the travel agents, which we can email out.’
Picking up an A4 sheet, she started to read aloud as the laptop scrolled through a slideshow of typical sights and activities.
‘“Dear Agent, Big Outdoors is pleased to announce the launch of a new Adventure Product in partnership with Lorenzelli Tours. Called ‘Corsica Escape,’ this concept offers the perfect mini-package for those travelers looking to start their first travel adventure in a smaller way…”’
She paused as he sat back in his chair. ‘Carry on, sounds good so far,’ he said.
She stood up taller in the new kitten heeled slingbacks Freya had persuaded her to get. ‘Um… to continue. “One of the great things about traveling with Corsica Escape is that it’s very much like traveling independently, but with none of the drawbacks.”’
‘A strong USP,’ he said. ‘An adventure but not quite. Like it.’
‘“Passengers are free to do as they choose; to pursue their own interests one day or take part in activities or sightseeing Corsica Escape has arranged the next. Our leaders in Corsica have many years of experience and really know their clients’ needs. We can assure your customers of a great adventure and wonderful experience.”’ She finished with a flourish, beginning to almost enjoy herself.
He stayed silent for a few seconds as she finished by clicking on a short video clip of a couple hiking over a ridge.
‘Well?’ she asked when the clip had ended.
‘Where are my hiking boots?’ he said, breaking into a grin. ‘You’ve convinced me. In fact, you’ve made me want to get out of this place right now and catch the first plane out. It’s a great pitch, both on the customer and agent side,’ he said, his grin fading to a wry smile. ‘Even at fifteen percent commission.’
‘I could push for less, but experience tells me they won’t bite.’
‘Relax. I trust your judgment. I’ll just have to cancel the Bentley, I guess.’
She laughed, felling a small wave of relief flow over her as he gestured to the small table overlooking the window. ‘Want some Goji berries?’ he asked, pulling out a packet from the drawer. ‘They have five hundred times the Vitamin C of oranges… or so I’m told.’
As he offered the bag, her eyes were drawn to his arms. He had his sleeves rolled back up to below his elbows. White shirt, tanned wrist, chunky watch: it was a perfectly ordinary combo, but it made her throat feel dry.
‘Thanks,’ she said, even though she’d had so many that week, she thought she might barf. Jack shook a few onto her palm.
‘Aren’t they a bit on the healthy side for you?’ she couldn’t resist adding after she’d managed to swallow them. Jack threw the empty packet in the bin and sat down at his desk.
He folded his arms. ‘Are you implying I’m a couch potato? That I’m out of shape?’ He looked stern, but his eyes, crinkling sexily at the corners, gave the game away.
Desire stirred low in her stomach and she shook her head, trying to relax her tautening muscles. ‘No, you look really fit. I mean, you look um… very well. It’s just, you like your chocolate and…’
He had his head on one side, his eyebrows raised, as she dug a deeper and deeper hole. Then he laughed. ‘You’re right. I ought to get out of the office more, but it’s just not practical at the moment. In the States, I used to jog a couple of miles before work, but here in London, it’s all I can do to get to the gym a few times a week.’
‘Where were you based?’
‘San Francisco. Our office had a view of Alcatraz.’
‘That must have concentrated your mind.’
‘To stay on the straight and narrow?’ he asked.
‘Something like that.’
‘How’s Marcus?’ he asked, startling her.
She recalled their last conversation with a little skip of her heart. ‘He’s OK. Very busy with the dealership and he’s thinking of running for the district council too.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me.’ He paused. ‘You must miss your family when you’re down here.’
She glanced at him in surprise. ‘Of course I do, but dad seemed well on the mend when I went home at the weekend and Louisa is always bubbly. Overconfident, full of herself, dreaming of bad boys…’
‘How bad?’ asked Jack, getting up and walking to her side of the desk.
‘Very,’ she murmured, the image of Louisa almost skipping up to bed when she’d come back from the boat-yard party. ‘Very bad boys indeed. The kind of guy you wouldn’t want your sister to have anything to do with.’
‘As bad as this?’
He seemed very close to her now. It was more than his physical presence. She could smell him, imagine she felt the heat of his body pressing against hers. Suddenly, his hand was covering her fingers like a warm glove, pulling her to her feet. He was cupping her face in his hands, his fingers and thumbs tilting her chin up to him. She shut her eyes and opened her mouth, wanting him to be a bad boy and kiss her. Wanting to be a bad girl herself and let him. Wondering if that kiss would still taste as sweet after eight long years…
‘Jack.’
The sound of Martha’s voice from the desktop machine had the impact of a fire bell clanging in an elevator. His stomach plummeted to his boots.
‘Jack. I have Camilla waiting on the line for you.’
In seconds, Beth was across the other side of the room, gathering up papers, banging down the lid of her laptop with a click. ‘Have to get back to work,’ she mumbled, dropping a folder on the floor in her haste to get out of the room.
‘Jack! Camilla says it’s urgent. Can you pick up? Are you there?’
He grabbed at the phone, which clattered nosily against the desk before he snatched it up again. ‘Yes, Martha. I’m here!’
Beth heard him call after her as she headed for the door. ‘Wait, please!’
By the time she’d made it back to her office via the ladies, she’d managed to bring her breathing back to normal. Freya had gone to lunch, leaving
her a note on her desk asking if she wanted a sandwich or sushi. Right now, she felt she couldn’t eat anything ever again.
Jack had touched her, he’d been about to kiss her…
Wrong. She’d had been about to kiss him. In fact she realized, with shock, she might have gone a whole lot further than a kiss if Camilla hadn’t called. A Camilla whose feet seemed to be so firmly under Jack’s table that she could get put straight through to his office any time she liked.
Chapter 17
Jack spent a good while before returning Camilla’s call, trying to catch his breath after what had happened with Beth. He asked Martha to field his calls and by two-thirty, the BLT bagel she’d had ordered for him, lay untouched on his desk. He might have known Camilla didn’t really need him urgently. She’d only wanted to ask if the Voyages photographer could call at short notice to get a shot of him in his office, but Beth wasn’t to know that.
‘What a bloody mess,’ he muttered under his breath.
He knew he should never have touched her and that he should be grateful that Camilla had called him and put a stop to what was totally unprofessional behavior. But he wasn’t grateful and that scared him more.
He pulled a file towards him. Inside was a memo attached by a clip to a thick wad of paper. It was a summary of Beth’s itinerary for her Corsican visit. Questions she was going to ask, statistics on visitor numbers, profiles on competitor firms, ideas for promoting tours. All, he noted, very thorough, just as he’d expected. On the last page was a post-it note written in her small, rounded handwriting.
Jack,
I’ve tried to cover everything but if there is anything else you think I’ve missed, let me know ASAP.
Beth
He caught his breath as he reread the words, tracing the writing with his fingers, feeling how hard she’d pressed the pen into the post-it note. She must have mixed feelings about going, he knew that, yet she’d produced a great marketing pitch in spite of everything. He frowned slightly at her words. Anything she’d missed? His heart began to beat a little harder in his chest. Was he missing something here? Was he expecting too much of her, sending her off to handle a big project like this on her own?
Wish You Were Here Page 11
