Damn! It wasn’t that road either. I could have sworn that’s where it was. I sped up, then slowed down as I looked at the next road on the right and indicated.
Or maybe it was on the left, if Rich and I came from a different direction last time I was there? I clicked off the indicator and started steering the car to the left.
BANG!
I felt a big thud at the back of my car, shunting me forward into the steering wheel.
Shit.
I braked suddenly, pulled my handbrake up instinctively and then spun my head around to see what had happened.
Ouch. My neck! What the fuck?
My whole rear window was blocked out by the sight of the front of the huge metallic grey Range Rover that had gone straight into the back of me.
Without even thinking about my neck beginning to ache, I jumped out of the car.
A tall floppy-haired blond guy slowly climbed down from his giant car, smiling.
‘What the hell?’ I shouted. ‘You just ran into the back of me!’
‘Terribly sorry,’ he said as he looked at both cars to survey the damage. ‘Thankfully, doesn’t look like it’s had a big impact on your car, so not too much harm done,’ he said, stroking the rear of my SLK and then the front of his Range Rover. ‘Shall we exchange details and either let the insurance company sort it all out or arrange for one of the garages I know to fix it privately?’
How was he so calm? Surely there should be some sort of heated argument or something or he should deny any wrongdoing. And what an earth was there to smile about?
‘You rammed my car,’ I said, irritated by his lack of reaction.
‘Without wishing to be rude, you were behaving rather erratically. Stopping, then starting, switching your indicator on, then off, speeding up, then slowing down, indicating right and then steering the car to the left,’ he said, smiling and running his hands through his floppy Hugh Grant–pre–Love Actually hair.
‘Well…’ I muttered, trying and failing to think of something sensible to say in my defence.
‘I tried to keep a safe distance as I wasn’t sure whether there was somebody under the influence at the wheel, but then before I knew it, I was in the back of you. Anyhow,’ he added, ‘let’s not make a big deal out of it. Like I said, it looks like it’ll be easily fixed, so if we just exchange details, then we can both be on our way.’
He had a point. I had been driving badly. I had been sure I had known where I was going. I should’ve just used the bloody sat nav. So embarrassing.
‘Okay,’ I muttered, recognising that it was indeed my fault.
‘I’m Charlie, by the way,’ he said, smiling again. ‘I would say it’s nice to meet you, although that feels slightly wrong under the circumstances.’ His smile widened to reveal a perfect set of pearly whites. ‘I’ll just get my phone so I can take down your details.’
‘I’ll get mine too,’ I said, walking around to the driver’s seat to get my phone out of my bag.
Shit. My phone. Where is my phone?
It’s on my fucking beside table charging, that’s where it is. I forgot to put it in my bag. Aaaarrrgghhh!
My phone was my life. It had everything on it, including Anoushka’s number and her full address. I thought I knew the name of the road, but after what had just happened, I needed to double-check and I definitely hadn’t memorised what number she was based at. What’s the time? Hadn’t worn a watch either as I always used my phone.
‘Excuse me…Charles.’
‘It’s Charlie,’ he corrected me.
‘Sorry, Charlie,’ I said. ‘Do you have the time, please?’
‘Sure,’ he said, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a giant watch which looked distinctly like a Patek Phillipe. ‘It’s eleven twenty-nine,’ he replied.
Why didn’t I just check the time on the dashboard? It was the whiplash. Clearly I wasn’t thinking straight.
‘Fuck!’ I said, initially regretting my decision to swear in front of a stranger, but then reasoning that given the circumstances, it was justified. ‘My appointment is in half an hour and I have no idea where I’m going. Well, I thought I did, but now I’m not so sure.’ Cringe. Now I was really sounding like the stereotypical ditsy driver. Feminists across the world must be hanging their heads in shame…
‘Can I help?’ he said, sounding genuinely concerned.
‘I’ve just realised I’ve left my mobile at home, and the location of where I need to be is on my phone, as is the phone number of the person I’m seeing, and I don’t want to be late.’
‘Where is the address stored in your phone? On a text? An email?’
‘Yes, an email.’
‘Well, can you access your emails remotely?’
‘I could, but I’d need to remember the passwords. Harrison!’ I said, having a mini brainwave. ‘My brother Harrison will have access to my emails on his phone. But I’d need to call him…’
‘Here,’ he said, handing me his phone. ‘Take mine and ring him.’
‘Really?’ I said, taking his iPhone. ‘Thank you. That’s very kind.’
‘Yes, of course,’ he said, flashing those pearly whites again. Definitely whitened. It wasn’t natural for teeth to be that white. Unless of course he existed on a coffee-, wine- and basically food-free diet. ‘He doesn’t live in Australia, though, does he?’ Charlie asked.
I frowned, confused. Oh! He was worried about me making an international call.
‘No, no, no. Don’t worry. He’s based in London,’ I replied.
‘It’s okay, I was only joking. I’m sure a quick call to Australia won’t bankrupt me. Go on. Make your call.’
I racked my brain, trying to remember Harrison’s number. I dialled it a million times a day, but that didn’t involve typing in any numbers. I just clicked on his name and the phone took care of the rest. Apart from my parents’ home number, which I’d obviously had to learn years ago, before mobiles were invented, I don’t think I knew anyone’s number off by heart.
After dialling three wrong mobile numbers, I conceded and called the house phone that I’d frequently condemned as being a waste of time and space that only deserved to be in a museum. Right now I was so glad my mum still insisted on having one.
‘Mum, Mum, quick, emergency,’ I said, speaking at a million miles an hour.
‘What’s the matter, darling?’ she said, sounding worried. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’ve had an accident, and I’ve—’
‘An accident!’ she interjected. ‘Oh my goodness! Are you okay? Where are you, what—’
I jumped in quickly to avoid her panicking unnecessarily. ‘It’s okay, Mum. I’m fine, but I left my phone on charge at home by mistake, which is why I’m calling from someone else’s. I’ve got an important appointment in less than thirty minutes, and I’m going to be late if I don’t speak to Harrison and get him to access my emails, so he can give me the full address,’ I said in a panic.
‘Oh, thank goodness you’re okay. Why don’t you just Google it or ask someone on the street for directions, though, darling? Won’t that be easier?’
‘No, Mum,’ I said. ‘It’s not like going to your local Toni & Guy. It’s a private clinic, so the address isn’t on the website. It’s like a secret location because she has celebrities that go there and…anyway,’ I said, fretting about losing time. ‘Please, can you just keep me on hold, get your mobile, call Harrison and ask him to get the address for Anoushka from my emails, please. Sorry about this, Charlie,’ I said, suddenly realising that it might take a few minutes and I’d be holding him up. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘No problem, that’s fine,’ he said in his plummy accent.
‘Oooh, he sounds nice?’ said my mother, perking up. ‘Who is Charlie, Sophia?’
‘Mum!’ Honestly. Now isn’t the time. ‘Please, can you get Harrison on the phone? Better still, can you just give me his mobile number and I’ll call him? It’ll be easier…’
I grabbed my notepa
d and pen from my bag and scribbled down the number. I then typed it into Charlie’s phone. Luckily, Harrison answered straight away. It was Sumner Place, not Jubilee Place like I’d thought. He’d done a quick check on Google Maps, and it was a completely different side of the Kings Road. And I was going in the wrong direction. I ended the call and walked over to Charlie’s Range Rover, where he was now sitting in the driver’s seat, whilst trying to avoid the cars that were angrily having to manoeuvre around us.
I might not know a lot about cars, but I knew from the look of this one that this guy had to be loaded, as I remembered Rich looking at this model before and deciding against it as it was too pricey even for him. This was at least a hundred grand. Dark cherry with ivory leather seats (the rear ones were clearly reclining too), TVs on the back of the front seats like you get on an airplane with some remote control sort of panel by the armrests, a mini table…this had been customised to the nines.
‘So,’ he said, smiling. ‘Panic over? Did you get the address?’
‘Yes,’ I said, relieved.
‘That’s good. So forgive me for asking, but are you late for some sort of life-saving operation?’ At first I couldn’t tell if he was being serious, but he started smiling again.
Then I remembered. I was currently wearing no make-up, and I mean zero. No tinted moisturiser, no mascara, no lipgloss. Nada. My naked face was being exposed to a complete stranger who, on closer inspection, despite not being my type at all, was quite cute. I started to feel a little self-conscious.
‘Um, no, not quite. I’m seeing someone important—a client—and it won’t be professional if I’m late.’
‘I see,’ he said as if satisfied with my answer. ‘Sorry. You didn’t tell me your name.’
Never understood why us Brits say sorry even when we’ve done nothing wrong, which he hadn’t. I was the one who should be apologising.
‘Sorry, Charlie,’ I said. ‘How rude of me. It’s Sophia.’
‘What a delightful name!’ he said, running his hands through his ridiculously shiny, floppy hair once again. Clearly a man who used good quality professional haircare products. ‘So, Sophia. Are you certain you know where you’re going now?’
Grrr! Now he’s talking to me like a pathetic, clueless woman driver. Sadly, on this occasion I had done nothing to prove otherwise.
‘Yes, I need to get to Sumner Place, which I believe is back there,’ I said, pointing in the opposite direction to the way our cars were currently facing.
‘Oh, I know it well,’ said Charlie. ‘Listen, jump in your car, follow me and I’ll take you. That way we can get you there on time without you having to call your VIP client. Then, as far as she’ll be concerned, you’ll have turned up as planned, thereby keeping your reputation and professionalism firmly intact.’
Now it was my turn to smile. Wow. What a nice guy.
‘Thank you, Charlie,’ I said, blushing. ‘That would be amazing. Why are you being so nice to me? Especially considering I’m a crazy woman driver that’s about to make you claim on your insurance and lose your no claims bonus?’ I asked.
‘Ah, well, it’s no big deal,’ he said, shrugging his broad shoulders. ‘My Sunday was shaping up to be pretty boring, so if I can help a damsel in distress, albeit distress that was caused by her own fair hand, then I’m happy to help. All good karma too, so it’s not entirely selfless,’ he chuckled.
‘Well, thank you,’ I said, ignoring the ‘damsel in distress’ reference. Despite the fact that my actions had suggested I was guilty as charged, I didn’t want him thinking I was some weak woman. At the same time, though, I was grateful for his help. ‘That’s really kind of you—I appreciate it.’
My car was still drivable, and when I re-examined it, the damage didn’t look too bad. With the big grille protecting the front of his Range Rover, Charlie’s car was almost unscathed.
Charlie led the way to Anoushka’s with me following behind. Luckily we were only a few minutes away. Phew.
When we arrived, I parked a few doors down from the building so that she wouldn’t see my slightly scratched car. He pulled alongside me and his automatic window began winding down.
‘Are you sure you’ll be okay?’ he asked considerately. ‘I’m just on my way to brunch with some friends, but if you have any problems and are able to use your client’s phone, then call me and I can come back and help you. Have you got that notepad? Let me give you my number.’
I jotted down his details and also gave him mine. Strictly for insurance purposes only, of course…
‘Charlie, I don’t know how to thank you,’ I said, letting out a huge sigh of relief. ‘I really, really appreciate your help and everything you’ve done to get me here. Look,’ I said, pointing at the clock on the dashboard. ‘I’ve still got five minutes to spare. It’s a miracle.’
‘My pleasure,’ he said, grinning. ‘Go on, you better hurry. I’ll call you tomorrow, and we can discuss how best to proceed with fixing your car.’
‘Sounds good,’ I said, returning the smile. ‘Enjoy your brunch and speak tomorrow.’
He smiled again, accelerated and his beast of a car sped off down the road.
Wow. What a lovely guy. And kind of good-looking too, in a hot, young Farmer Giles kind of way.
Mmmm.
Behave, Sophia. I might not even be his type, and he definitely didn’t fit my dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin, Italian god template.
He was cute, though.
I wonder if he’s single…
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I’m impressed. I leant forward to scrutinise my skin in my bathroom mirror for probably the fiftieth time. It was smoother than a baby’s bottom, and the glow. Anoushka had magic hands. The luxury beauty press were going to love this.
On the way home, as well as reflecting on my appointment, I couldn’t stop thinking about Charlie.
He was so kind and thoughtful. And I was a complete stranger. Why? He could have been a total arse about the situation, but he wasn’t. He had gone above and beyond the call of duty. He really seemed to care. And he was cute. Did I mention that?
Okay. Not my normal definition of cute. I mean, we’ve established that I had developed a penchant for Italian men. Just something I loved about that gorgeous olive skin, deep eyes and abundance of facial and body hair. Mmmm.
In short, tall, dark and handsome was definitely my cup of tea, whereas Charlie, on the other hand, was fairly pale and clean-shaven, with floppy blond hair and blue eyes. He looked like he’d just walked off an episode of Made in Chelsea. His dad was probably an earl or the Count of Sussex or something, and his mum is likely to be one of those ladies who permanently lunches and sits on the board of a gazillion charities.
Something about him screamed ‘money’. You know, he looked like the type that are so rich that they didn’t have Andrex in their bathroom, or even black toilet paper à la Simon Cowell. They probably wipe their bottoms with fifty-pound notes instead.
But his personality and aura seemed very warm and relaxed—not at all la-di-dah. I was intrigued. In fact, I was borderline excited about the fact that he would be calling me tomorrow.
Here comes the voice of reason again…
Don’t get carried away, Sophia. Remember, he’s calling you to discuss fixing your car and boring insurance claims. Not to whisk you off to his hundred-foot yacht in St Tropez.
And anyway, weren’t you just infatuated with Lorenzo like five minutes ago? So fickle! It’s as if any guy so much as speaks to you, you start planning the rest of your lives together. Calm the fuck down!
Noted, Reasanna.
He was sweet, though…
As I walked into the living room, I saw the answering machine on the house phone flashing (I swear I forgot I had one half the time). Mum had left about ten messages. Why she’d assumed that, as I’d left my mobile charging at home, it would be better to reach me on the landline, which was also at home, I had no idea. I listened to message one:
�
�Darling, it’s your mother. Are you okay? What happened with this accident? Are you sure you’re okay? Please call me and let me know.’
Message two:
‘Mother again. You haven’t called back and I’m starting to worry. Please call.’
Message three (even more rattled than message two):
‘Are you at home? Let me know you’re safe. Should I call Harrison? Please ring.’
Message four (concern levels on a scale of one to ten? A hundred. Bless her):
‘Where are you? It’s been over three hours since we spoke. Call me.’
Message five:
‘And who is Charlie?’ she asked slyly. Well, that concern was short-lived, wasn’t it? ‘I haven’t heard you speak of him before. Was he with you when the accident happened? I assume it’s a guy Charlie as I heard a male’s voice in the background. Should I get excited about a new man in your life? Please call me.’
I was just about to listen to message six (why, I don’t know, as the message was likely to be exactly the same as messages one to five) when the phone rang again.
‘Hello, Mother. I’m okay.’ I knew it was her without even looking as she’s the only person I knew in the universe that would still call this number.
‘Oh, thank goodness!’ she shouted. ‘Why didn’t you call?’
‘Long story, but I’m fine. Sorry to have worried you. Can I call you back later? I’m starving and need to get something to eat, then when I’m more relaxed I can ring you.’
‘Okay, darling. Let’s speak later.’
I just didn’t have the energy for the Spanish Inquisition. Especially now that she knew I was okay, she would turn her focus to the ‘Who’s Charlie?’ campaign, where she’d grill me like a pack of bacon about what he looked like, what he did for a living, whether he was married, if he wanted to marry me, blah, blah, blah. My imagination running wild when it came to men had nothing on my mother’s.
Ever since I’d announced my split with Rich, she was constantly trying to pair me up with every single man she encountered. There was Doug, son of Jean who lived across the road from my parents, who was so dreary it was a struggle not to fall asleep when he spoke. Zero get up and go, and physically it was a no. Not even my grandad wore jumpers like that.
The Middle-Aged Virgin_A Chick Lit, Romantic Comedy Novel_Newly Single And Seeking Spine-Tingles... Page 21
