by Jane Linfoot
Izzy looked up to see Luce’s face peering at her over the edge of the counter.
‘There you are.’ Luce shook her head, and gave Izzy a scolding scowl. ‘Can you come over here right now please, because Xander’s interested in buying your bed.’
So it was Xander now. Xander somehow sounded a suitably arrogant enough name for him. As for Luce, she certainly didn’t hang about, getting to know people.
To Izzy’s horror, a second later there was a blur of choppy brown hair, and then the face of a horribly familiar guy was staring down at her too.
Skip guy? Pink house guy? Hot guy? Or how about none of the above, because this was the original Mr Smoulder, and he appeared to be getting a view right up her dress, yet again.
Izzy grabbed at the folds of her skirt, scrabbling to pull it down. Somehow her footless tights offered very little cover at all the way she was sitting.
‘Xander, this is Izzy, she’s busy doing a spot of undercover tidying.’ Luce beamed down at Izzy. ‘I think you two already met.’
Izzy chomped furiously to steady her nerves. Nerves? That would include heart leap frogging out of her chest, too.
‘I think we have.’ Xander was talking in his best, husky, spine shivering drawl, and gazing down at her. He cocked one superior eyebrow at Izzy, from on high. ‘So hello Izzy, or rather, hello, again. Can I smell bubble gum?’
Bubble gum? Cheeky sod. As for her meeting him scrunched up on the floor, talk about setting off at a disadvantage. Again. Izzy gathered her legs together, and she pushed herself to her feet, but even when she pulled herself up to her full five foot three, and took a deep, deep breath, somehow both Luce and Xander still seemed to tower over her.
‘Right. Interested in a bed? Which bed would that be?’ And dammit that Izzy had just given a defiant flounce of her skirt. She really didn’t want to come across as pouty and head tossing and petulant, but something about this guy made her horribly fighty.
Luce butted in. ‘Xander’s shopping with a stack of interior magazine pictures on his phone showing exactly what he’s wanting, and the bed in your room at home is just what he’s looking for. And technically it is for sale, isn’t it Izzy, even if you’re using it right now? It’s the least we can do, given the amount of things Xander needs to buy.’
Luce gave Izzy a fierce “don’t you dare refuse, think of the sales” glare, then turned to Xander with one of her more melting smiles. ‘We always like to go that extra yard for our customers.’
Izzy’s heart sank. She wasn’t sure about extra yards, this felt like an extra mile at least, and definitely a mile too far.
But Luce was on a roll here. ‘Fine, that’s organised then, I’ll cover for you here Izzy, whist you whizz Xander round to yours, so he can check it out.’
Izzy gave a groan. ‘Fine. Looks like we’re going then.’
Not what she wanted, not what she’d planned. But the faster she did it, the sooner it would be over, and, as Luce knew, Izzy could do with turning the bed into cash. She only had it at home because it had been on display for ages and hadn’t sold.
As for Xander, the name sounded pretentious enough for the guy. Xander. Still unsmiling. Still unavailable. Still drop dead…
Whatever.
At least that got the introductions out of the way.
17
Monday Afternoon, 9th June
XANDER & IZZY
In his car
The only way is up
‘Take a right, then a left, then it’s as far up the hill as you can go.’
Xander watched Izzy out of the corner of his eye, waving her hands, as she rattled off the directions. Izzy was a name that kind of suited her. Small, dizzy, unpredictable, prone to explosions…And here she was filling yet another of his cars with the smell of sticky candy, except this time she was jammed up against him, in his dad’s ancient Aston Martin, as they made their way up an impossibly steep road, towards high altitude Matlock. Come to think of it, today the bubblegum was overlaid with a very different scent that was somehow making him want to inhale incredibly deeply. Something sweeter than sugar, more like burning roses.
‘I’m liking your old car by the way.’ She wrapped her arm around her light tangerine curls, which were flapping wildly in the breeze from the open window.
Typical that she’d like something faded and worn and somewhat past its sell-by date, and he’d have said as much if she hadn’t carried on without pausing for breath.
‘A lot of people don’t realise how cost effective it is to pick up an old banger for a couple of hundred quid, and run it until it dies. It’s good to meet someone else who’s in on the secret.’
Xander wasn’t sure, but she seemed to be gabbling randomly, in fact she’d barely stopped talking for a moment, since they left the shop. But Izzy assuming this was an old banger had Xander suppressing an amused smile, and raising an ironic eyebrow. He’d temporarily liberated the Aston from his dad’s vintage collection, simply because it seemed a shame for it never to see the light of day, and frankly his dad had so many cars tucked away, he probably wouldn’t miss it.
‘I once had a Nissan Micra called Shirley that someone gave me for free. I didn’t open the bonnet once, and she lasted for three years, and my younger brothers both drive Corsas, because they’re pizza delivery drivers.’
Xander let the words wash over him. Her one sided conversation was going fine without any replies from him.
No point asking himself how exactly he’d let this happen, when he knew it was all his own fault, and that in reality he’d engineered the whole thing. Dropping by first with the lame excuse of checking out the building – at the price it was on offer, it still looked like a good deal – and accidentally building up to buying furniture for The Pink House along the way. Hadn’t this been the kind of end result he’d secretly imagined, when he’d dived on the card she dropped on the building site?
It had taken one waft of that crumpled card in front of his sister Christina, currently stuck at home with her leg in plaster, and she’d come up with a long list, just as he’d known she would. Christina always helped him furnish the properties he developed, and more often than not, the hugely profitable corporate lets she organised were a viable alternative to selling properties on. Solid quality, over laid with shabby chic style was currently proving very popular for letting, especially to the American clients. Though shopping by proxy, with a list so long it would scare a props department on a full length feature film, was hardly his idea of fun. In fact it was his all-time nightmare, given how much he hated shopping, but it had been made bearable, by the constant tingle of anticipation, that he might bump into the woman from the skip.
‘Don’t forget, you’re turning left here.’
He had forgotten. ‘Fine.’
When Izzy had actually turned up with the delivery on Friday, the shock had sent his pulse off the scale. But mixed in with the whole crazy thrill that he’d found her, there was a kind of horror at what he was doing, an anger with himself. If women pursued him, he always pushed them away, so he had no idea at all why he was technically being the pursuer here, other than the inexplicable attraction that coursed through him every time he saw her. Like the way his stomach was tied in knots now made no sense at all, given she wasn’t even his type. And it really wasn’t like him to be this out of control.
‘The van I drive is called Chou-fleur, but it’s my other brother’s, not mine. By rights it should have died years ago, and it would have done if my brother hadn’t been a whizz at metalwork.’
Sounded like she had a whole lot of brothers. On a need to know basis, Xander didn’t need to listen to any of this. As for chasing around after a woman who made his car smell like a cross between a sweet emporium and a perfume counter, who seemed to flip from obnoxious to vulnerable in seconds…
‘Turn right, watch out for parked cars, it’s narrow.’ She was barking the orders now. ‘I don’t usually take people to see stock at home, but we’re in the middle
of a special customer service initiative, so you’re in luck.’
‘So you said in the shop.’ Xander gave a sigh. Because that was another thing. How they’d got from there to here, on the basis of one picture of a bed, in one of Christina’s magazines, he didn’t know, although the main guest bedroom at The Pink House was still in need of furnishing, so if there really was a bed it could only be good. ‘Would that be customer service, as in no skip too deep to search in?’
‘Very funny. Not.’ She gave a disgusted sniff. ‘Talking about skips, where’s your gas guzzling tank today?’
Xander gave a “whatever” shrug. Looked like someone came out without their sense of humour this morning.
‘It went back to the film company that owns it.’ Easy as. That was one Range Rover off his conscience. That should take the huff out of her.
‘Do you work in film then?’ She picked him straight up on that.
‘Yep, I’m a Producer.’ Dropped in. Casually. And even though he might sound like an arse, he never got tired of saying it.
‘Which means…?’
He didn’t usually have to explain, most people got it first time around. ‘If I can persuade a whole lot of people to do everything I want them to, and make the books balance, the end result is a film.’ And sounding even more like an arse with every word.
‘So that’s where you get your habit of ordering people around?’
Whoa. People were usually way more impressed than this, not to mention complimentary.
‘My personal charm usually gives great results.’ Not that it was cutting it today.
‘Nothing at all to do with being a control freak then?’ Her snort managed to be derisory and dismissive, simultaneously.
‘You could say I’m a bit of an entrepreneur I guess.’ Something about this straight talking woman told him it might be best to admit to being a secret shopper, with an interest in the cinema building, and now was as good a time as any. ‘And I sometimes dabble in property development too.’ That pretty much covered it.
‘Entrepreneur?’ Her voice rose half way to a shriek. ‘What kind of poncey claim is that?’
He’d walked into that, and she had a point. He shouldn’t have expected anything lass derogatory.
He gave a half laugh. ‘It comes from the French word enterprise. It simply means I inject cash into projects, and then extract it later, along with a healthy profit.’
The huge snort she gave had to be disgust. ‘I knew it.’ All wrapped up with a derogatory sneer that told him she was looking down on him, as if he was some kind of worm.
All the more reason for him to clear this up now. ‘The main reason I was in the cinema on Friday, was to look at the building.’ He kept his voice calm and level.
‘What?’ A banshee would have been proud of the yell she let out.
He winced. This woman was certainly the queen of overreaction.
Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel was definitely not a sign of nerves. ‘Early tip off from the agent, it would make an ideal space for a gym and upmarket coffee shop.’ It had definitely been best to come clean, if this was her reaction.
‘A high end gym? Why does that not surprise me?’ She made a strange choking noise. ‘It’s about as acceptable as fracking in the park, but you’ve probably considered that too.’
He gave a shrug. ‘I was actually also thinking it would be pretty awesome to re-open it as a retro cinema. They’re very popular now. But you can’t fight it, if it isn’t me, it’ll be someone else. ’
‘Well see about a fight.’ Her brow descended like a thundercloud, and she closed her hands into tight fists. ‘Pull in anywhere along here.’
Xander reeled. Nothing like touching a nerve. Given the freckles on her cheeks were now clearly visible, she was definitely several shades paler than when they set off, and he bit back the guilt about that. The thought of upsetting her made his stomach squelch in the strangest, most uncomfortable kind of way. As for parking, good luck with that one.
‘What is this, boy racer central?’ Given the line of cars with spoilers, fat exhausts and decals, he might have arrived in a scene from a Fast and Furious movie.
‘It’s band practice this morning.’ She gave an “I don’t give a damn” shrug, jutting her chin so far out it almost grazed the windscreen. ‘Take it or leave it.’
Xander squeezed the car into the tightest of spaces at the end of the road. Part of him had jumped to grab a view of this woman’s home, when the blond girl had offered the bed viewing, thinking it was a fast forward way of finding out about who she was. Now he was here, running behind her along the row of semis, and having upset her a lot more than he’d anticipated with his attempt to be honest, he was starting to feel like a gatecrasher. Dammit that his eyes had widened in surprise, when she turned into the gate of the smartest house on the row. Somehow it didn’t fit with the girl in front of him, with, as he was noticing now he was standing behind her waiting for her to open the door, her ginger waves full of tangles.
‘Have you brushed your hair today?’
That thought turned itself into words, and was out before he could stop it. Now who was gabbling stupidly?
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ Hand on the door handle, she jerked around, and stared over her shoulder at him accusingly.
Shit. He opened and closed his mouth. ‘Nothing, it was just a random, passing thought.’ That obviously shouldn’t have happened.
‘You might as well come in now you’re here.’ If this was customer service, this customer’s reaction was “could try harder”. Although with the bombshell he’d just dropped inadvertently, it was understandable.
As she swept along in front of him, he sauntered into a neat, white, hallway, with coir flooring, acres of white walls, pale grey skirting boards, and a smell of new paint. There was just enough judiciously arranged vintage paraphernalia to carry off the effect of being simultaneously stylish and homely, with clever splashes of colour that stopped it from feeling clinical. He had no idea why he was pulled up short by all this classy neatness. Through an open door he caught a vista of a crowd of pink painted chairs on a dust sheet.
‘Hold on, what’s with the Barbie chairs?’
Izzy carried on up the stairs. ‘Last night’s paint job.’
He called up after her. ‘Mind if I take some quick pictures?’ Even though he hated this kind of stuff, he knew they were ideal for Christina’s up market rental clients.
‘Help yourself.’ Izzy paused on the bottom step, to wait for him.
Xander pulled out his phone, and began to click. A dozen mismatched dusky pink chairs. Regardless of how the bed worked out Christina was going to be ecstatic about these. Xander could see the edges of another perfect, vintage chic room, underneath the dust sheets.
How come Izzy had such an impeccable place here?
As he came back into the hall, the jarring noise of a sudden twangy chord drifted down from somewhere much higher in the house.
Izzy was waiting for him, swinging on the newel post, at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Sounds like the band are tuning up. Festering Flesh are death metal, and they’ve been known to burst ear drums. It’s an occupational hazard of living with brothers.’ The wry grin that somehow escaped from her came as a relief.
Then she began to move on up, talking as she went. ‘And no I haven’t brushed my hair, do you have a problem with that?’
Problem? Him? Watching the way the hem of her dress danced around on the back of her thighs, as she took the steps two at a time, reminded him he might have had a problem – if he stopped to think. As it was he’d decided the only way to deal with this was to stop thinking completely, get the whole damned thing over as fast as he could, and get the hell out.
18
Monday Afternoon, 9th June
IZZY & XANDER
In her bedroom
Forty shades of white
Izzy was trying to ignore the fluttering in her chest. She’d thought at first th
at Xander looked as uncomfortable as she was, but then he’d gone and proved her totally wrong by marching on in and taking pictures of her chairs, as if he was totally at home. Nothing like a man on a mission. As for him checking out the cinema building, that shock would have made her vomit, if she hadn’t been so furious. As it was, it made it all the more urgent to extract every penny from him that they could.
Grimly she made her way along the landing, yelling up the attic stairs to the band.
‘There’s freshly baked cupcakes in the kitchen guys, and fresh orange juice. Help yourselves.’
Xander had reached the top of the stairs now. Did he raise his eyebrows expectantly at the mention of refreshments? So much for free coffee. Looks like this taker was ready to extract everything he could. If he was expecting juice and cupcakes too he could forget it. Customer service had its limits, and she was already way beyond the call of duty. Later he’d be screwing her down on price too. That’s what bastards like him did, wasn’t it? If he thought she was going to give stuff away, he could take a running jump. Except they needed the sales more than ever now, if the pressure was on so soon from a potential buyer.
Given the racket that was about to begin over their heads, she shot him a grimace of apology. ‘We need to make this fast, no way you want to hear the boys getting musical.’ In other words, hurry the fuck up. Please. As far as she was concerned she couldn’t get this over fast enough.
Xander, apparently not getting the hurry up message at all, paused, and ran his hand along the rail of the balustrade. ‘It’s all very white in here.’ He sounded puzzled.
‘I like white.’ Izzy’s nose shot high in immediate defiance, even though she hadn’t meant it to. ‘People think white is just one colour, but there are forty different shades of white on my favourite colour chart.’
He lingered, looking at the pictures, hanging in their recycled frames. Not everyone got the multi-layered collages of scraps of fabric and paper that Izzy made.
He pulled out his phone again. ‘Christina would love your pictures, do you mind if I…?’
