“I can’t believe he came,” Mel said. She looked upset and two spots of colour bloomed above her achingly familiar cheekbones. “Has he flipped?
“Course he hasn’t.” Si put his arm around his wife and drew her close. Dropping a kiss onto her dark hair, he added, “You know why he came. Jonty wants to make sure Jax doesn’t—”
“Darling, look: there’s Alice and Hugo!” interrupted Mel. “We’d better go and say hello! We’ll catch you later, Andi!”
“See you tomorrow,” said Si as his wife towed him away. Over his shoulder he added with a wink, “Unless you go on the lash again, that is!”
Andi poked her tongue out at him and went back to the serious business of refilling glasses. Although she was busy – even if they were some of the UK’s wealthiest citizens Jax’s neighbours seemed determined to make the most of all the free booze – Andi’s gaze kept returning to the couple framed in the window, lost in conversation and oblivious to everyone around them. Maybe they were sorting things out? Jax had stepped even closer to him now and was doing this weird thing where she kept tossing her hair about and struggling to keep her dress on both shoulders. It was as though her skin was made of Teflon. Jonty’s arms were crossed and he kept shaking his head, although he made no move to leave. Quite the opposite. He looked as though he had an awful lot to say. Then he glanced away from Jax and out of the atrium towards the garden. For a split second his eyes locked with hers and they stared at each other. Although it was a warm evening, goosebumps rose on her arms. He raised an eyebrow and mouthed, “Where’s Travis?”
Andi looked away, hot with embarrassment. Although it was none of Jonty’s business what she did, the idea that he believed she’d spent the night with Travis irked her.
Ignoring him, she concentrated on filling glasses, deciding that it was actually a relief to be invisible amongst the guests. They weren’t at all interested in her and as she served the drinks Andi let their conversations drift like dandelion seeds on the breeze. When she did attempt to sneak another glimpse at Jonty and Jax they were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they’d gone somewhere more private? They probably had plenty of things to discuss. Whatever was going on it was their business anyway. Maybe she should just concentrate on topping up glasses, seeing as that was what she was being paid to do?
The night was falling in earnest now; the air was thick with the scent of evening stock and the river below the terrace was just an inky void. Strains of Vivaldi drifted on the breeze, while the chatter of the guests grew louder as they consumed more alcohol. Andi’s headache fluttered again near her temples and she was almost felled by a wave of exhaustion.
After several hours she was losing track of how many trips she’d made carrying trays laden with dirty glasses. Her head was thudding intensely and she felt giddy. Moving as cautiously as she could through the crowd of drunken and excited partygoers, she was attempting to make a return journey to the kitchen when the room pitched and rolled like a boat driven by Travis. Andi wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but the next thing she knew she was sprawled on the floor surrounded by broken glass and gawping onlookers. She tried to get up but the room was spinning. Putting her hand out to steady herself, she yelped in pain.
“Oh my God!” Andi heard Mel cry. “Andi! Are you OK?”
“She’s bleeding!” somebody else gasped.
“I’m so sorry everyone!” Jax’s voice, bright with false good humour, was as welcome to Andi as nails scraping a chalkboard. “I hadn’t realised we were having Greek night!”
Andi attempted to sit up. Whoa! That wasn’t very nice. Why couldn’t everyone stand still?
“Andi? Hey, take it easy. Don’t try to move.”
From the whirling mass of faces Jonty’s voice was like a lifeline. She tried to reach out for it but instead all she saw was Jax, rising like a cobra about to strike. “What the hell are you playing at?” she hissed. “Have you any idea how much the deposit on these glasses was? That can come out of your wages.”
“Jax!” Jonty admonished. “She’s passed out. Have some sympathy. Mel, fetch some water.”
“Passed out?” Jax snorted. To Jonty she said, “She’s hung-over to shit, you mean. Didn’t you tell me that she was out until all hours with the local playboy?”
Even though she felt horribly dizzy and her hand was in agony, these scathing words, which had clearly come from Jonty, really hurt. God, but he was quick to jump to conclusions. A sense of injustice tightened like a vice around her ribs.
“I’m fine,” Andi said. Somehow she managed to sit up. Mel crouched down next to her with a glass of water.
“Have a drink,” Mel urged. “And could you manage something to eat? I bet you haven’t eaten all day, have you?”
Andi hadn’t. With her stomach insisting on doing a trampoline impression, eating had seemed a high-risk activity. While Mel went to fetch some leftovers and Jax stomped off in disgust, Jonty helped Andi to her feet and supported her to the sink, where he gently rinsed her cut hand. Neither of them spoke. Andi leaned into him, feeling his solid strength as he held her, and her heart twisted. He was her dear friend but as far away from her right now as the stars shining above Rock. How had it come to this?
Finally, once the wound was clean, Mel returned with some dressings.
“Maybe I should do that?” said Jonty. His arms still held Andi against his chest at the sink, where crimson droplets feathered the white ceramic.
Mel wrinkled her forehead. “I think this needs more than you or I can do, Jonty. It looks deep. I think it’s going to need a couple of stitches.”
Andi was horrified. Apart from the fact that this would mean even less wages – if indeed there would be anything left over after she’d repaid Jax for all the breakages – it was miles to the nearest hospital. For a moment she thought about telling them it was fine and just giving up the evening as a bad job, but the blood dripping into the sink didn’t show any sign of abating.
“Can you call me a taxi?” she asked.
“I’d take you myself but I’ve had far too much to drink.” Mel grimaced. “And Si’s had a skinful too. Jonty?”
Jonty shook his head. “I’ve had several drinks, otherwise I’d drive. What a nuisance.” Then he said, with deliberate care and as though the thought had just occurred to him, “Can I call anyone for you? Travis?”
Mel, who was wrapping Andi’s hand in a tea towel, shot her brother a warning look – but Andi was too exhausted to worry about Jonty’s issues with Travis. If he wanted to jump to conclusions and judge her, then fine. That was up to him.
“Do you need somebody to come with you?” Mel asked. Jonty said nothing. In the gloom of the kitchen his face was shadowed and his eyes were great pools of blackness. Once, not so long ago, Andi knew he would have offered to come with her, but not now. Something had changed.
“I’ll be fine on my own,” she said firmly. Blood roses bloomed through the tea towel and Andi moved her hand so that nobody could see. She didn’t want a fuss and she certainly didn’t want Jonty feeling obligated to come with her, not when he’d once given his friendship and time so freely and joyously.
No way. Let him drink bubbly and eat blinis with Jax. For a guy who professed to love the simple life, he was certainly taking to his ex’s privileged world with ease.
“You bloody well won’t go alone,” Jonty said. He was already scrolling through his mobile for a taxi number. “I’m coming with you.”
“No thanks,” Andi snapped. “You go back and enjoy the party and spend some time with Jax. I’m fine on my own, but if I need anyone I can give Travis a call.”
Jonty stared at her for a moment. The expression on his face was hard to read. Then he shrugged.
“You know what? I think I’ll leave you to it in that case. Good luck at the hospital, Andi.”
As he walked away Andi stared after him. Without Jonty’s arms holding her up she felt strangely untethered, as though she might float away. For a couple of seconds she li
stened for his footfalls on the wooden floor to return, part of her hoping that he’d come back and accompany her after all; but no, he’d gone, just like that. Back to the party and back to Jax. She felt ridiculously let down.
“What?” she said to Mel, who was looking at her and shaking her head.
“If you don’t know then I won’t spell it out,” Mel replied wearily. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her BlackBerry. “Let’s call a taxi, shall we? Si can pop it on his account – don’t go scrabbling for money while your hand is gushing blood.”
Andi swallowed back her disappointment and nodded. Jonty wasn’t going to change his mind. And why should she want him to? She was better off just relying on herself. Hadn’t she learned that much from Tom? She took a deep breath. From now on she was doing things on her own. It was better that way.
Two hours, five stitches and several very bad cups of hospital coffee later, Andi was feeling exhausted and starting to wonder whether she’d made the right decision. It might have been nice to have somebody to chat to while she waited in the bleak A&E reception. It would have been even better to have had somebody there to tell her that everything was going to be fine and to hold her other hand while the nurse stitched up the wounded one. The hospital staff were kind enough but she could see how run off their feet they were. Andi felt bad for taking up time that could have been better spent on somebody who was genuinely sick rather than clumsy. Whatever had she been thinking, to get so blindingly drunk like that? Hadn’t she learned from her past mistakes? Andi felt utterly appalled with herself.
She hadn’t intended to return to Jax’s house. Once the doctor was happy with her hand and she’d been discharged, Andi’s only thought had been to get back to the caravan, dive into her narrow bunk and sleep for as long as she could, possibly for at least a day. The thought of being able to close her eyes and put this horrendous day behind her was a very welcome one. The only problem was that she’d left her bag in Jax’s kitchen with her keys, purse and mobile in it. The hospital receptionist had called a taxi for Andi but had looked so pained as she went about it that Andi had started to feel that this one call would be to blame for the collapse of the NHS. Andi had had no means of getting back to Rock via public transport and no desire to be stranded in Truro at this time of night. So she’d had little choice but to request the taxi and then persuade the driver to take her all the way to Jax’s place and wait outside while she fetched her bag.
It was a beautiful August night and, although it was sweet with the scent of lavender and stock, there was crispness in the air that hinted of autumnal days to come. The Virginia creeper around the front door had already turned a deep crimson, although in the darkness it looked like a reddish-brown smudge, and Andi could feel the last days of summer sighing in the light breeze. She had the profound sense that something was drawing to a close and, in spite of herself, Andi shivered.
Jax’s rented house was beautiful, a double-fronted Victorian villa with big bay windows that looked out onto an immaculate garden. It was late now, almost midnight, and as she crunched up the path Andi steeled herself for another tongue-lashing. The guests must have all gone by now but hopefully Jax would still be up and not too put out. Closer investigation revealed that the light was on in the sitting room. Andi felt relieved. Jax had to be awake; maybe she was chatting to the last stragglers – or perhaps, and far more likely, she was ordering the other helpers about. The sash window was up and the curtains fluttered. Andi couldn’t resist peeking in; at least this way she’d know what she was in for.
Shadowing the brick wall, she edged along – skirting the flowerbed – until she was right next to the window. Reaching up onto tiptoes, Andi peered around the edge and into the room. When her eyes adjusted to the light she realised exactly what she was looking at and her heart twisted.
Jonty and Jax were alone in the room. His broad back was against the window but it was as clear as the moonlight outside that Jax’s slender arms were twined around his neck.
Feeling like a voyeur, Andi crept back to the taxi as quietly as she could. She’d have to wake Gemma or Angel to let her in and borrow the fare, because there was no way she was disturbing whatever was going on inside. All she wanted to do was hide away and never see either of them again.
Andi closed her eyes in defeat as a cocktail of emotions raced through her nervous system: shock and embarrassment and anger, but most of all jealousy.
Chapter 41
Angel was beyond frustrated. It was all very well having an absolutely genius idea, but if every time you tried to get it up and running people wouldn’t co-operate then what was the point? Honestly, she could have screamed with annoyance. Normally she couldn’t move in Rock for practically tripping over Andi or Gemma or Cal, but now, just when she had the solution to all of their problems in the palm of her hand, they all decided to go AWOL. Andi was uncharacteristically out late and then sleeping in; Gemma had locked herself in her small room and was refusing to come out, and Cal was presumably in hiding from the tabloid press behind his very high gates.
Angel’s chin had a determined tilt to it as she worked the idea backwards and forwards in her mind. There had to be a way she could reach Cal and pitch her idea to him. He’d love it, she knew he would, and it was only a matter of time before she found a way to talk to him.
“Maybe you should just let it go?” Laurence sighed as they pulled up outside the Alexshovs’ mansion in Trav’s Aston Martin. The roof was down and it was a glorious day. Not that Angel noticed such details: her head was far too full of schemes to be distracted by sparkling waves and cotton-wool clouds. “I agree that it’s a marvellous idea but it all seems very complicated.”
“It really isn’t! It’s actually very simple. I just need to talk to Cal,” Angel said, with great confidence. “He’s the key to all of this, and Gemma too if she ever comes out of her room. Seriously Laurence, if I can get Cal on side then I know we’re onto a winner. Kenniston will be saved. Better than saved!”
Laurence covered her hand with his large, strong one and in spite of the warmth of the sunshine beating down on her head, Angel shivered. Those hands of his worked some kind of magic; that was for sure. Laurence only had to touch her with a brush of his fingertips and she was jelly. Since they’d got together she’d hardly been apart from him and it was proving very tricky to keep focused when all she wanted to do was drag him back upstairs! But after two delicious days of scarcely moving from the big four-poster in the master bedroom of Travis’s house, it was time to take control of circumstances again. Project Rich Guy may have gone slightly pear-shaped but this was an even better idea! Laurence had taken a little persuading at first, but he’d done the figures and some research and could see the potential. He was firmly onside now – which may or may not have had something to do with those two days in the master suite!
“I won’t be very long here,” Angel told him. “Vanya’s mother’s come to stay and she only wants a couple of manicures.” Leaning across, she brushed his mouth with hers. Wow. How could just a simple kiss send all her senses spiralling out of control?
Laurence glanced down at the plain diver’s watch Angel had bought him in Padstow. The borrowed Rolex had been safely returned to Travis.
“I’ll see you at half eleven,” he promised. “Wish me luck at the bank.”
“You have a copy of our business plan: you won’t need luck,” said Angel.
As she sauntered up the drive to Vassilly and Vanya’s, the KGB-style security guards on the gate waving cheerily when they saw her, Angel felt buoyed up with determination. Unlike Andi and Gemma, both of whom seemed to be doing more than their fair share of moping lately, Angel was a firm believer in grasping Fate by the short and curlies. Callum South might think that his reality TV career was dead in the estuary, but if her hunch was right this was just the start of bigger things to come…
“Angel! Darlink!” Vanya cried when Angel entered the opulent sitting room. Today the Russian woman was chan
nelling her inner Joan Collins and sporting more leopard skin and flowing mane than London Zoo’s big cat area. As they air kissed, Angel nearly had her eye put out by one of Vanya’s Sky-dish sized earrings. More was definitely more in Vanya’s book.
“Vanya! Wonderful to see you,” Angel replied, dodging the second earring and smacking her lips somewhere above the Russian woman’s razor-sharp cheekbone.
Vanya stepped back and regarded Angel thoughtfully. “You look different, darlink. Radiant! Haff you had hair done? Hmm? An oxygen facial? I know! A leetle filler?”
Angel laughed. In her dreams! No, odd as it seemed, wearing no make-up and spending half the night doing terrible things to Laurence Elliott was proving far more effective than any beauty treatment. The glitter in her eyes and inner luminescence hadn’t come for Clarins, that was for sure. That was all House of Elliott.
“Anyway, you look beautiful,” Vanya decided, stepping back and clicking her fingers at one of the servants. “Now, some champagne?”
Champagne at nine thirty in the morning was the norm at the Alexshovs’. They drank the stuff like Angel drank Diet Coke. Probably bathed in it too. Accepting a glass, Angel followed Vanya from the drawing room and along echoey corridors filled with priceless works of art and countless photographs of family members, lined up with military precision on mahogany sideboards. Enormous chandeliers sparkled above. The whole place screamed money. It was a long way from the shabby and faded elegance of Kenniston Hall.
“My mama is visiting for a leetle holiday,” Vanya explained as they traversed a marble hallway, their heels clicking on the polished floor and then padding over thick Turkish rugs before they climbed the sweeping staircase. “She has been unwell and is staying for a rest. I think haffing nails done cheer her up.”
“There’s nothing like a manicure to perk you up,” Angel agreed. She glanced down at her own nails. Oh dear, they were looking a bit neglected. Making a mental note to give herself a French manicure that evening, she followed Vanya into a large bedroom where, sitting in a big chair by the window, all ice-cream-cone hair and boot-button eyes, was none other than Mrs Yuri.
[Escape 01.0] Escape for the Summer Page 36
