Naked Truths

by Jo Carnegie

  Catherine didn’t feel like going out tonight, but it was the third time Tolstoy had asked and it was difficult to keep saying no. Besides, she thought as she switched off her computer, what had all this hard work achieved? Nothing. Yet again, she was the last person left in the office, and no doubt everyone else was enjoying a romantic dinner with their other half, or drinks with friends. I have to get a life, thought Catherine decisively. It’s not all about magazines and busting a gut to meet pie-in-the-sky targets.

  By total coincidence Tolstoy had booked a table at Duvall’s, the restaurant Catherine and John had been to on their first date together. This was another reason Catherine hadn’t been so keen on going, and she was momentarily overcome by a set of the wobbles as she walked in. It was as if John’s ghost was hanging over the place, and it only highlighted the fact that this time she was meeting a man she didn’t care about. She had to phone John, but what if he didn’t want to know? She could hardly blame him.

  Tolstoy was already at the table as Catherine entered the familiar room. To her discomfort, there was an undeniable air of romance in the air. Pink roses adorned each table, gentle piano music played, and couples sat hands entwined and staring into each other’s eyes.

  ‘You look a dream, I’m the envy of every man here,’ Tolstoy said as he stood up to kiss her, his lips lingering on both cheeks.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Catherine rather self-consciously. She was wearing a low-cut Stella McCartney blouse that showed off a little more than she liked of her cleavage. She noticed Tolstoy’s eyes brush over it.

  He looked as impeccable as ever, his olive complexion set off perfectly by a midnight-blue suit and crisp white shirt.

  ‘What can I get you to drink?’ As usual, Tolstoy had a glass of still mineral water.

  ‘Large glass of house white, please.’

  Tolstoy frowned. ‘That’s more than all your daily recommended units in one glass, you know.’

  ‘Oh well!’ said Catherine. ‘It hasn’t killed me yet. Besides,’ she shot him a sardonic glance, ‘I really am old enough to know whether I want a glass of wine or not.’

  Tolstoy conceded with grace. ‘Of course, I’m being rude.’ He smiled, a flash of white over the table. ‘You’re just such a perfect specimen I’d hate to see you damage yourself in any way.’

  Bit too late for that, thought Catherine, as the waiter came up and handed them a menu each. After choosing the pea and watercress soup for a starter and asking about the calorific content of the seared tuna steak, Tolstoy leaned back and looked at Catherine.

  ‘I’ve finally got you out then. I was beginning to think you were playing hard to get.’

  ‘I’ve been busy,’ apologized Catherine.

  The Colgate white smile again. ‘Oh, don’t worry, as you know I like a physical challenge.’

  He leaned back and cocked his head at Catherine. ‘You know, you do remind me of someone. I can’t think who, though.’ He smiled. ‘You weren’t some huge child star back in the day, were you?’

  Catherine fixed a smile on her face. ‘Sorry to disappoint.’

  Tolstoy shrugged. ‘You have such a familiar face. I’m sure I’ll get it at some point. My memory is normally excellent.’

  The waiter appeared at Catherine’s elbow. ‘Bread, madam?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Tolstoy before she could answer.

  She glared at him. ‘I was hungry!’

  ‘White carbs play havoc with your blood sugar levels,’ he replied smoothly.

  Catherine took a defiant glug of her wine.

  Tolstoy waited for her to put her glass back on the table. ‘I’ve never had you to myself properly before. So, what makes Catherine Connor tick?’

  Catherine began to feel like she was on a psychiatrist’s couch. It wasn’t a nice sensation.

  ‘Would you like to start a family one day?’ Tolstoy asked.

  ‘No,’ said Catherine shortly. As if she’d tell him anyway.

  Tolstoy smiled. ‘Sorry, darling, I wasn’t trying to get your back up.’ His tone was genuine. ‘It’s hard for women to have it all in this industry, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she admitted, eager to move the conversation on from being about her. ‘So tell me, have you got any more Iron Man races lined up?’

  Half an hour later, Catherine knew more about training techniques and personal bests than she cared to, and Tolstoy had excused himself to go to the gents. Catherine finished her wine just as someone appeared at her elbow.

  ‘Oh, can I have another glass of this please?’ she said, thinking it was a waiter.

  ‘Catherine? I didn’t expect to see you here.’

  She looked up and her stomach dropped to the floor. Standing there, as impossibly handsome as ever, was John Milton. He looked as astonished as she did.

  ‘John! I think I could say the same thing.’

  To her relief John smiled, his green eyes as arresting as ever under the midnight black hair. ‘You look great, how are you?’

  ‘Couldn’t be better,’ Catherine lied.

  His face fell, but only for a moment. Catherine felt mean and happy all at the same time. ‘How was the heli-skiing?’

  John looked surprised. ‘You remembered . . . It was great.’ He smiled the wry boyish grin that made her stomach go funny. ‘I think it may be the start of a rather expensive new pastime.’

  ‘Men and their hobbies,’ she teased.

  He grinned at her, and Catherine suddenly felt the greyness had been lifted from her world. She took a deep breath.

  ‘Look, John, I’ve behaved appallingly. I know I don’t deserve a second chance, but can I take you out for a drink to talk about things?’

  John opened his mouth, but someone else got there first.

  ‘Cath-a-rine!’

  To her absolute horror, Isabella Montgomery had materialized next to John like a malevolent genie.

  She linked a possessive arm through John’s. ‘I see you’ve met my date. I do hope you weren’t trying to steal him off me.’

  Catherine gaped at John. ‘You’re with her?’

  A look of discomfort passed over his face, but before he had a chance to reply Isabella started gushing. ‘John and I have become very good friends, haven’t we, darling?’ She leaned up to wipe a lipstick mark off his cheek. ‘Come on, Johnny, our first course has arrived.’ Isabella looked down at Catherine. ‘Here by yourself again, darling? You’re going to end up an old maid at this rate!’

  Johnny? Catherine could take no more. ‘Enjoy your meal. If you’ll excuse me . . .’ she said quietly, and jumped up from the table, pushing past them for the ladies.

  It took her fifteen minutes to calm down. By the time Catherine got back to the table, Tolstoy was sitting there with two cold starters in front of him, looking rather put out.

  ‘I thought you’d run off!’

  Catherine didn’t want to glance up and risk seeing John and her nemesis all over each other. ‘Tolstoy, I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. I’m sorry, but do you mind if we get out of here? I’ll pay for dinner.’

  He looked at her curiously. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said through clenched teeth. Of all the people John Milton could end up with! Her humiliation at asking him for another chance was turning to anger. At least she knew what kind of person he was now, going for someone like Isabella. It still didn’t make her feel any better.

  If Tolstoy was confused by her change of mood, he recovered quickly. ‘Of course, darling, you look quite pale, where would you like to go?’

  ‘Anywhere with a bar.’

  Catherine opened her eyes. She felt dreadful. Her tongue was thick and furry, and a drum was banging relentlessly inside her head. She stared up at the ceiling – hang on, that looked different . . . As her eyes frantically swept round the unfamiliar room, the horrified realization struck . . . she was in someone else’s bed.

  ‘Morning, darling.’

  Pulling the covers right up to h
er chin, Catherine slowly turned over. Tolstoy Peake was standing by the end of the bed in a minuscule pair of pants. Aside from the fact that he was balancing on one leg, his hands pressed together in front of him as if in prayer, Tolstoy didn’t appear to have one hair on his entire body. Catherine wondered with a shudder if he shaved his legs.

  ‘Tree pose,’ he said, his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall above the bed. ‘I always like to start the day with ninety minutes of yoga.’

  Catherine was in shock. She needed to know what she’d done. ‘Have we, I mean did we . . .’ she gabbled. At least she still had her underwear on, unless Tolstoy had put it back on afterwards. She felt sick.

  He turned his head and looked at her, a faint smile playing over his lips.

  ‘Did we have sex, do you mean? I’m afraid not. You were so drunk by the end of the night you could hardly stand up. I thought it best to bring you back here, so I could keep an eye on you.’ A faintly lascivious look crossed his face.

  Catherine was mortified. ‘Tolstoy, I can only apologize. I don’t know what came over me.’

  He looked smug. ‘I do. You’re not the first lady who has drunk too much around me because of nerves. I seem to have that effect on women.’ Suddenly he threw himself to the floor and started doing vigorous one-armed press-ups.

  ‘I always like to do one hundred press-ups before sex,’ he said, barely out of breath. ‘It makes me last longer.’

  ‘Before sex?’ Catherine gasped.

  The one-armed press-ups got even more frantic. ‘I hope you can keep up. My PB is three hours, forty-five minutes. Mind you, we did go out for a ten-mile run in the middle of it.’

  Chapter 53

  SOMEHOW, CATHERINE MADE her excuses and left Tolstoy to himself, but not before he had made her swallow a disgusting algae drink to flush away the toxins.

  The whole, nightmarish experience was the wakeup call Catherine needed. She had been skirting dangerously close to the edge with her drinking for months, and finding herself in Tolstoy Peake’s bed with no memory of how she had got there was the final nail in the coffin. She was furious with herself. Even worse, they had apparently bumped into Fiona MacKenzie, and Catherine hadn’t even remembered it.

  Fi emailed her not long after she had sat down at her desk, to see if she’d got home OK.

  I think Tolstoy Peake thought he was going to get his end away with you last night! Did anything happen?!

  Catherine groaned, and quickly replied he’d dropped her off at home. This was one confidence she was never going to share with her friend.

  One hour later, her hangover hadn’t abated. But worse than that was the gut-wrenching devastation she felt knowing John was dating Isabella. Catherine tried to tell herself she’d had a lucky escape, but it didn’t stop the hollow feeling that numbed her insides.

  Her desk phone rang. ‘Oh God, what now?’ she muttered. She really wasn’t in the mood for Adam. Wearily, she picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’

  ‘It’s me.’

  Catherine froze. A fresh wave of nausea swept over her that had nothing to do with the hangover.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘To try and explain.’

  John sounded as tired as her. Probably been up shagging that stupid bitch all night, Catherine thought. Her stomach clenched in misery.

  ‘It didn’t look as if it needed any explaining to me,’ she said icily. ‘Is Duvall’s where you take all your conquests? No wonder you’re a regular.’

  ‘This isn’t fair,’ he said. ‘And I didn’t know you and Isabella knew each other.’

  Catherine’s paranoia reared its ugly head. ‘Were you talking about me? What did you tell her? Look, I really haven’t got time for this.’ She tried to sound cool, even though her heart was racing so fast it was painful. Unable to help herself, Catherine couldn’t stop. ‘After all, I don’t want to keep you from adding any more notches to your bedpost.’

  ‘Since when do you care who I go out with?’ John asked, suddenly angry. ‘After all, you’ve made it perfectly clear you don’t want me.’ He paused. ‘I noticed you didn’t leave alone, either.’

  ‘Sorry, did I hurt your manly pride? I’m sure Isabella won’t mind kissing it better.’ She hated the viciousness in her voice, but Catherine was so hurt she wanted him to feel pain, too.

  There was a silence. ‘I just don’t understand you, Catherine,’ he said.

  Catherine gripped the receiver with white knuckles. ‘Oh, but I understand you perfectly now. I just thought you’d have more taste than Isabella Montgomery.’

  John sighed heavily. ‘I’m sorry things had to turn out like this.’

  Not trusting herself to speak any further, Catherine put the phone down.

  Caro and Benedict were in bed reading. At six and a half months pregnant, Caro was feeling more whale-like by the day. She sighed loudly, trying to get comfortable for the umpteenth time. She needed the loo again.

  Benedict put down his Literary Review and turned to her. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘As much as one can be with elephantiasis of the ankles, and boobs like Zeppelins.’

  Benedict’s gaze swept up and down her body. ‘Oh, I don’t know, I find you rather sexy in full bloom.’

  Caro smiled at her husband. ‘I feel anything but sexy, but it’s very sweet of you to say I am.’

  Benedict kissed her swollen belly, and then lay back on his pillow for a few moments. ‘Amelia seems like her old self again. At least we’ve seen the last of that Kirillov character.’

  Despite the warmth of the room, a shiver passed over Caro. ‘I still can’t believe you rushed out like that to confront him. I was so worried, darling, please don’t do anything like it again.’

  ‘And I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about the phone calls, or the fact he’d been hanging around outside,’ chided Benedict. ‘I could have sorted it out a lot sooner.’

  ‘It was stupid of me,’ Caro admitted. ‘If I’m honest, I knew deep down something was going on, but I guess I was in denial. Family life is so good at the moment, I didn’t want to upset the apple cart and ruin everything.’ She sighed. ‘Some reasoning.’

  ‘Why didn’t she tell me, Caro? We’ve always been so close.’

  Caro snuggled up to her husband. ‘I think she got herself in such a hole, she didn’t know how to get out of it. She was frightened, and didn’t want to drag us into her problems.’

  Privately, Amelia had told Caro she hadn’t wanted to go to her brother because he’d always got her out of sticky situations before. She had wanted to sort this one out on her own.

  Benedict sighed. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ he said. ‘Anyway, it’s all over now.’ He rolled his head round, releasing tension. ‘Christ, it’s hot in here. I think there’s something wrong with the central heating. Do you mind if I open the window?’

  ‘Go ahead.’ Caro lay back and closed her eyes.

  A few moments later Benedict spoke. ‘Darling, come and look at this.’

  Caro heaved herself out of bed and padded over. He was standing at the window with the curtain in his hand, his mouth wide open.

  Caro looked out, straight into the consultancy room. Both the doctor and nurse were standing by the desk, completely naked. The nurse was holding what looked like a bright orange space hopper with a black dildo attached to it. With some difficulty she heaved herself on to it and started bouncing round the room.

  Caro’s eyes goggled. She’d seen one of those recently, when Calypso had used her computer at Christmas and left it open on a sex toys website. ‘That’s a Horny Hopper!’ she exclaimed.

  Benedict winced as the bouncing got faster. ‘How on earth do you know that?’

  ‘They do this quite a lot,’ she said apologetically. As if on cue, the nurse hopped past the window, boobs slapping around like giant udders, and looked straight up at them. Caro dived back behind the curtain, pulling Benedict with her.

  He was in shock. ‘Christ, now I’ve seen it all!’<
br />
  ‘I don’t remember them making space hoppers like that in my day,’ said Caro.

  They looked at each other and exploded with laughter.

  John Milton, it seemed, had one last fight in him. The next day, a beautiful bouquet of stargazer lilies, peonies and freesias was delivered to Catherine. The message was simple.

  Please don’t think any less of me.

  John x

  Catherine stared at the card for a moment and then gave a short bitter laugh. She picked up the bouquet, opened her door and marched into the middle of the office.

  ‘Does anyone want these flowers? They were sent to me by mistake.’ She swept back into her office and threw herself into the mountain of work piling up on her desk.

  But the card’s message kept coming back to her.

  Don’t think any less of me.

  John x

  Catherine couldn’t believe the gall of the man. She’d wondered at the time why someone like him was single. Now it was obvious. John Milton was a player. He’d been ready with all those smooth lines and she’d fallen for it, hook, line and sinker.

  You had a lucky escape, girl, she told herself.

  It had taken a while, but Ash was finally starting to come out of his shell. In the shop he was more animated, constantly asking questions and soaking up everything Angie told him. As well as the antiques side of the business, she had started teaching him accounting, overheads and stocktaking.

  Angie was thrilled with his progress, and had been even more astonished when he’d asked if he could start accompanying her, Avon and Barksdale on their walks round the countryside. She had quickly picked up on Ash’s fear but it was hard to keep the bouncy border collies away from him – they just wanted to lick everyone to death. Ash had eventually realized the dogs were harmless, and had even taken to patting them tentatively on the head while keeping the rest of his body at a safe distance.