The Chic Boutique On Baker Street

by Rachel Dove

  Amanda grimaced. ‘Well played, Mother,’ she said under her breath. ‘Fine, put her through please, and hold my calls.’ She knew this would take a while, like root canal treatment and about as pleasant.

  ‘Hello, Mother,’ she sighed into the line.

  ‘Hello, darling, meeting go well?’ She didn’t wait for an answer, knowing full well there was no meeting. ‘Did you get my email this morning, with the picture?’ Amanda fired up her email, putting the phone receiver between her cheek and shoulder.

  ‘Do you see it?’ her mother pestered.

  ‘Yes,’ Amanda said, looking at the woman clad in an astronaut suit, minus a helmet, that now filled her email screen. ‘I like my hair though,’ she said, running her fingers through the ends of her hair as though to comfort the strands under threat.

  ‘No, no, it’s too girly, too feminine. Think Anne Hathaway in Interstellar, elfin like, efficient. Would save you valuable billable time too, dear. How much money must you lose every month just by straightening that mop of yours?’

  ‘Well, if I stopped going to that overpriced muscle gym you made me sign up to, I would save even more,’ she retorted like a sulky teen being made to take French for her options against her will.

  ‘The gym is not a waste of time, it’s an investment. Trust me, when you get to my age, you will be thanking me for making you exercise. Now, have they made an announcement about the partnership yet? My sources tell me it is due any time. Kimberley is threatening divorce if he doesn’t step down soon,’ her mother declared, referring to Mr Ford’s wife. Sometimes, it felt like Amanda was still at school, getting regular reports from her teachers and having to sit through parents’ evenings with her mother and father barraging her poor subject teachers on every aspect of her education. She half expected her mother to check her homework too. Amanda deleted the email and short hair Hathaway disappeared from the screen.

  ‘Look, Mum, I have to go, I am busy,’ she said, bringing up her schedule on the screen.

  ‘That’s fine, Amanda dear, go get some work done, get this partnership nailed down. Think about the hair, OK?’

  Amanda strangled the receiver a little between her fingers, before putting it back to her ear. Marcus sidled into the room and she pointed a finger at him to stay silent. The fact that she was sleeping with her colleague and partnership rival was something for another day. Like the twelfth of never.

  ‘I have thought about it, and the answer is still no. Bye.’

  Celine Perry let out an elaborate sigh designed to guilt trip her spawn, and hung on the line, her disapproval making the phone lines jangle. Amanda put down the receiver like a woman handling a live grenade, staring at it ticking away in its cradle. Marcus cleared his throat, and she jumped at the noise, turning her gaze to her visitor, her demeanour tightening further.

  ‘Marcus, what do you want? I am busy today.’

  Marcus Beresford grinned from the corner of Amanda’s office, clearly amused by her terse welcome.

  ‘Why, Miss Perry, anyone would think you weren’t pleased to see me?’

  Amanda’s frown deepened as she eyed him from the top of her computer monitor.

  ‘I’m not pleased to see you, and I am busy—what is it?’

  Marcus smiled, now appearing contrite. ‘Is this about last night?’

  Amanda angrily motioned him to come in and shut the door, aware that Elaine was sitting outside, probably earwigging every word.

  Marcus stepped in, closing the door behind him, and sat on one of the meeting chairs. Despite herself, Amanda found herself gazing at him. His hair was freshly cut and still slightly damp, and the edges curled slightly at the nape of his neck, showing the grey flecks in his black hair against the dazzling white of his shirt. He was dressed impeccably as always—crisp dark grey suit, cream striped tie and polished-to-perfection black loafers. Even his hands were immaculate, with manicured short nails, and wisps of coarse dark hair peeked from his cuffs, licking around his designer watch. Amanda turned her admiring gaze swiftly back into a glare and she returned to the commercial lease she had been poring over for the last two days. She felt his eyes on her. Sighing, she met his eyes, anger fuelling the feeling in her gut.

  ‘Marcus, I have said this before, our personal life does not come into this office, ever! I don’t want to talk about last night. You stood me up, again. Remember Saturday? You are a git. End of conversation. Now, I am busy, so, please, close the door after you.’

  Marcus stood up, walked over to the side of the desk and knelt down beside her. Amanda flushed at his proximity, and willed her cheeks not to betray the fluttering in her chest. ‘Marcus …’

  ‘Amanda, I am so sorry. It just got too late to call, we had the Japanese clients fly in unexpectedly, I couldn’t just blow them off. I am so sorry! It was a late one and, when I did get a chance to call, your phone was off. And I explained about Saturday, my mother was in town. Did you really want me to not see my mother when she had come to London to see me?’

  Amanda paused. She liked how attentive to his mother he was, always on the phone to her, spending time with her when she came into town. Last night she was furious, but she did turn her phone off in anger before she went to bed, having waited for two hours, dressed up to go to a dinner that never happened. Again. Softening slightly, she nodded slowly.

  ‘OK, fair point, but I have a busy life too, Marcus. A call or even a text earlier would have been nice. I could have worked late.’

  Marcus stuck his bottom lip out, pouting like a child at the girl he was dating.

  ‘I know, pookie, I am sorry.’

  Amanda rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t call me “pookie”, I am not a bimbo. Now let me get to work, I have lots to do today and you dribbling on my desk is counterproductive.’

  Marcus grinned then, bouncing back upright. ‘Thanks, babe, I mean Amanda. I will make it up to you, I promise.’

  Amanda raised her eyebrows at him and pointed to the door, before returning to her work, feeling slightly better about her morning. Marcus swaggered to the door and paused with the handle in his hand, a gap showing the offices outside.

  ‘Oh and, Miss Perry, I emailed you a contract to look over, for the Kamimura account. Would you give it a look?’

  Amanda’s fingers stilled on her keyboard. She had a busy workload, and that account was not hers to work on, it was his!

  ‘Why can’t you attend to that, Mr Beresford? It is your account,’ she retorted, trying to keep the indignation out of her voice, aware that they once again had an audience. Marcus pursed his lips sheepishly.

  ‘Ah, well, the clients have booked a golf session for this afternoon, so I am leaving the office now till tomorrow.’

  Amanda’s jaw dropped, and her mouth flapped as she struggled to form coherent words. Sighing, she gritted her teeth and nodded.

  ‘Fine, Mr Beresford, I will take a look. If I get time.’

  Marcus winked at her, smirking.

  ‘Why, thank you, Miss Perry. I will need it by five.’ Before she could answer, he swiftly pulled the door to and she heard Elaine gushing over his attentions outside her office. She ran her hands over her tight ponytail and then pushed away from her desk sharply, swivel chair barrelling in the wall behind her. She reached into her bag and pulled out her little key. She then buzzed her secretary, who could be heard outside giggling.

  ‘Elaine, I am not to be disturbed for the next hour, hold all calls, and get me the Kamimura files. Please,’ she added as an afterthought.

  She locked her office door and opened the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. Running her fingers along the brown paper, her stress started to melt away. She selected a magazine and sat behind her desk, pulling her legs up on the chair. After pulling up her Pinterest account, she started to read the magazine, adding ideas to boards as she went along, sighing contentedly, whilst outside her sanctuary, the legal world forged on. At least in here, she could be herself. If the week went on like this, she would be spending her free time
making voodoo dolls to stick pins into.

  Five

  Amanda awoke on Thursday morning to the sound of birdsong coming in through her open bedroom window. As always, it took her a little while to adjust to where she was, and resist the urge to dive out of bed and check her emails from work. Smiling, she thumbed through her hangers, settling on a pleated cream skirt that swished as she walked, and a thin cream camisole with embroidered flowers around the dipped neckline. She looked down at her shoes, all lined up in the bottom of the wardrobe, spying her green suede pumps with dismay. She hadn’t been able to get the blood out, yet she couldn’t bring herself to throw them away either. They sat there, among her other footwear, a little reminder of the day she had met Ben. Not the best memory, it had to be said, but she left the shoes sitting with their buddies all the same. Cringing at her own sentimentality, she picked up a similar pair, this time in a light grey colour, and slipped them onto her bare feet.

  A quick brush of her hair, a slick of dusty pink lip gloss, and she was dressed. Looking into her cheval mirror—another junk shop find with her magic worked on it—she did a double-take of the girl staring back at her. Her brown hair loosely framed her face, which now looked well rested and less drawn than in recent weeks. Her outfit was pretty, casual and summery, and matched the weather streaming through the muslin voiles, which framed her large bay bedroom window. She smiled at her reflection and headed for the stairs to the shop, hoping to everything holy that she had a good day. Amanda was realistic—she had never thought that she would open to an instant success, but now, with no income, and her life savings all literally in one basket, the business had to work, as for the first time in her life, she didn’t know what direction her life was heading towards.

  Still, she had three working days left till Sunday, her day off. She could come up with some ideas. She had seen a flyer for the summer fair—maybe she could set up a stall, showcase her goods and services, get the word of mouth out. She made a mental note to find out more.

  She unlocked the front door to open the window shutter, and was faced with a mesmerising pair of grey eyes.

  ‘Oh, sorry! We have to stop doing this,’ a deep voice gently said.

  Amanda flustered, panicked at his words, till she realised he was talking about bumping into each other. She mentally brushed off the sinking feeling she had, and smiled thinly.

  ‘Sorry, Ben, I was just opening up.’

  He smiled back, matching her wary half-smile, and reached out and took the shutter key from her. A spark zinged up her fingers as his brushed hers, and she shivered. Looking at Ben, she saw his slightly shocked expression, mirroring hers, before he turned away. Man, he has nice eyes, she thought to herself. Ben turned away from her, deftly unlocking and lifting the shutters, and she found herself watching him. His muscles twitched as he pushed up on the cold steel, and she idly wondered what was under his white cotton shirt. His buttons were open at the neck, showing off a tanned throat with a sprinkling of dark hair peeking out from underneath. She bit her lip as she imagined running her hand over his bare chest, his curls twitching around her fingers as …

  ‘You OK?’

  Amanda’s lip sprang abruptly from between her teeth as she realised that Ben was speaking again. His amused grin was evident, and she flushed at being caught acting like a gormless idiot, yet again. What was it about this man that made her want to jump into his arms whenever she saw him? He was awful! Get a grip, you know no good comes from attractive and haughty men. The guy hates you.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said sheepishly. ‘Did you say something?’

  Ben chuckled, his grey eyes sparkling with mirth. ‘I just wanted to say sorry for yesterday. I realise I came across as a bit nasty, but I just care about this community.’

  ‘Yes, you were,’ Amanda said, setting her jaw and warning her eyes not to wander. She didn’t accept his apology, he noticed. He was obviously right on the money—she was another city girl, here to make her mark. Well, Westfield didn’t need change, and he wasn’t about to let it happen either.

  Amanda glanced behind her. Tracy was working in the shop, obliviously washing a Great Dane. She turned back to Ben and wiped her clammy palms down the sides of her skirt, her body zinging with nervous anger. She bit the bullet, swallowing.

  ‘So, you and Tracy, have you lived here all your lives?’

  Ben’s brows knitted together, a confused expression coming over his face. He opened his mouth to speak, when a car pulled up behind him. Ben looked irritated, and turned to greet the man coming out of the driver’s side towards them.

  ‘Mr Taylor, have the dogs been hunting again?’

  Taylor laughed, wiping his brow. After glancing between the two of them, he turned to open the rear door. ‘No, my dear Ben, a whole different kind of hunt is going on around here, I think.’

  Amanda looked at Ben, intrigued, and he glanced across at her, his expression saying ‘get ready’. He turned to stand next to her, and she followed his gaze and saw Taylor help a rather well-dressed woman out of the car. Her cream shoes kissed the pavement daintily, and, after smiling thanks at her helper, she smoothed down her already immaculate clothes and levelled her gaze at Amanda and Ben. The atmosphere was palpable, and Amanda felt like she had been caught kissing behind the bike sheds by a strict teacher. She smiled at the lady politely and skipped into her business mode, offering what she hoped was a firm, steady hand.

  ‘Hi, I’m Amanda Perry, pleased to meet you, Mrs …?’

  ‘Agatha, dear, call me Agatha.’

  Taylor’s surprised expression, caught by Amanda’s shrewd eye, told her that this woman didn’t offer her first name lightly, which comforted her some. Who was she? Maybe Ben had called her, maybe she was here to run her out of town. Agatha stepped forward and wrapped Amanda’s hand within her own. They were strong, belying her age, soft and warm, and Amanda relaxed at the gentle gesture.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Agatha.’ She smiled. The woman spoke well, forthright but friendly, and Amanda instantly took a liking to her.

  ‘Now, dear, I have come to officially welcome you to Westfield. I think we are long overdue for a meeting. I am the committee head of a number of things here, and I would like to introduce your new venture, if it would please you, of course.’

  The words came out as a statement rather than a question, and Amanda guessed that the woman before her generally didn’t ask, but rather expected. She was a doer. Her liking to her grew all the more, and she grinned happily. Ben tutted loudly next to her, and she clenched her fists by her sides, ignoring him.

  ‘Agatha, I would be delighted. Would you like a drink?’ She motioned to the shop doorway. Agatha smiled, a little shake of her head making her tight bun catch the light, shooting off glints of grey into the sunshine.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t today, but I appreciate the offer, thank you. I was thinking Tuesday? I could get Taylor here to pick you up perhaps, bring you to my house for a light supper?’

  Taylor sniggered at the side of her, and Agatha shot him a fearsome glare. He coughed, covering his tracks feebly, and straightened up, clasping his hands in front of him. Amanda shot a quick look towards Ben, and saw he was watching the exchange with wide-eyed interest. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, poodle primper. Amanda quickly looked back at Agatha.

  ‘That would be wonderful, thank you. I close at five, is that OK?’

  Agatha smiled warmly, her eyes flicking to her companion once more.

  ‘That’s fine, Amanda—’ she said it ‘A-marn-da’ ‘—I shall send the car for half past six.’

  Taylor nodded once, eyes cast to the floor. Amanda also nodded and Agatha smiled again, seemingly satisfied. She then turned her attention to Ben.

  ‘Now, Benjamin, Miss Perry here is new to the area, and being a native like myself, I would venture that you could be of some assistance, don’t you?’

  Ben didn’t get a chance to reply before she went on. ‘Amanda, you are closed on Sunday, do you have plans?�
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  How did she know that? Amanda thought of her impending day off. My day off? Oh, hours of being sat in PJs probably, scouring Pinterest on the laptop, checking my bank balance and crying intermittently. This didn’t seem like the thing to say, so she just whispered feebly, ‘Er no, not really.’

  Agatha bristled with pleasure, not seeing Taylor’s eye-roll to Ben.

  ‘That’s settled then. Benjamin, you have a day off too. Why don’t you take the girl on a tour, show her the sights of our lovely village?’

  Ben cleared his throat, turning to Amanda, an embarrassed look on his face. ‘Er, well, I have a lot on at the moment, I will have to check my …’

  Amanda looked up at him and waited a second till her heart stopped doing jumping jacks in her stomach. A day with him! No chance!

  ‘Benjamin Evans,’ Agatha said, her best scolding voice in full flow. ‘You have better manners than that.’

  Ben visibly sagged, his shoulders drooping. Turning to Amanda with a ‘she is making me do this’ face, he said glibly, ‘Of course, I would be delighted to take you on a tour.’

  Amanda wanted the ground to swallow her up. She dare not even try to get out of it now. Agatha and her mother would get on like a house on fire.

  ‘Er, yes, well that would be lovely.’ She paused. ‘If you and Tracy are not too busy, of course.’

  Amanda couldn’t think of anything to get out of it. A day with Ben would be bad enough, but watching the couple being all loved up while he sat there plotting her grisly death seemed a lot less appealing.

  My Lord, Agatha thought to herself, I could bang this pair’s heads together! Don’t young people talk any more? There was a lot to be said about Facebook statuses, that was for sure. Even an old fogey like me knows that. The two of them had enough tension to implode the universe. She half expected them to start pulling each other’s hair.

  Agatha spoke up, cutting through the miscommunications. ‘Tracy?’ she said, trying hard not to yelp in frustration at the duo. ‘Well, Tracy will be busy, dear, with her boyfriend. But I am sure that Benjamin here can manage the tour on his own.’