‘Charlie, this is Sophie.’
Why would Gabe date a woman like this? Charlie didn’t know much about Sophie, but what she’d heard wasn’t good. The English aristocracy’s answer to Paris Hilton. She courted the paparazzi, tweeting her location so she would always be surrounded by photographers. She’d even featured on some reality television . . .
Of course. Gabe’s show, Billionaire Angels.
‘Hi,’ Charlie said, keeping her eyes down as she busied herself with straightening the already perfectly placed coffee-table books. She sensed Sophie’s steely gaze and an instant dislike struck like a hammer.
‘Cup of tea would be nice,’ Sophie said finally, taking a seat.
Charlie jumped to her feet, grateful for the excuse to leave the room.
‘Sit down, Charlie. Sophie’s just leaving,’ Gabe said.
‘Oh darling, I’ve just arrived.’ Sophie sat, making herself comfortable. ‘Be civil.’
Charlie didn’t know what to do. Leave the room or sit down as instructed? Sophie’s eyes followed her every move.
‘Where’s that tea?’ Sophie said finally, then shot a brilliant smile to Gabe.
Charlie almost ran from the room.
‘Charlie,’ Gabe called. ‘Come back.’
But she was determined to remain out of sight for the rest of Sophie’s visit.
Once she reached the kitchen, she breathed her panic away. Surely Sophie wouldn’t recognise her. She glanced down. She wore none of the trappings that alerted other rich people to the depth of her wealth. And, she was completely out of context. No-one knew she lived in London.
She fiddled with her short, dyed hair. Would it be enough?
Charlie heard the raised voices coming from the living room. She made tea quickly. As much as she didn’t want to face Sophie again, she wanted to hear what was being said.
Charlie assembled a tea tray and tiptoed down the hall. She waited for a break in the conversation.
‘Why the hell are you here anyway?’ Gabe asked, his voice as hard as granite.
‘Just came to congratulate you on the success of First-Class Chef. All those headlines. Nice work.’
‘Next time, leave a message with my assistant.’
‘But you know I’m only round the corner. So much nicer to deliver the message in person.’ The words slipped out so smoothly but with distinctively sinister undertones.
‘What do you really want?’ Gabe demanded.
‘To pitch another idea of course,’ Sophie said.
‘Not interested.’
‘Where’s that tea?’ Sophie whined again.
Charlie heard the woman stand up and walk towards the hall. She’d be caught eavesdropping. Holding the tray, she stepped quickly into the room. Sophie’s eyes darted maliciously to Charlie’s face, a look of concentration marring her aristocratic beauty.
‘Have we met before?’ she asked as if such a thing couldn’t actually be possible.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Charlie said lightly, sliding the tray onto the coffee table.
‘I don’t know. I’m very good with faces.’
‘First-Class Chef,’ Gabe cut in with disdain, as if Sophie were the worst kind of fool.
‘I know that, Gabriel. I’m not stupid thank you, darling.’ Sophie waltzed right up to Charlie to inspect her. ‘You look different on television.’
‘Yes, well, that’s all very interesting, Sophie, but it’s time you were leaving.’
‘Why don’t you just hear me out?’ Sophie said, her voice dripping with mock indignation. ‘Could be the next big thing,’ she said, stepping close to Gabe and running her finger provocatively down his chest.
Charlie crushed a strong urge to ‘accidentally’ douse that expensive jacket with a cup of tea.
Gabe took Sophie’s hand from his chest and dropped it. ‘If you’re involved, I’m not interested.’
‘Ouch.’ Sophie dramatically clutched her breast as if she’d been shot. ‘Darling, you’re so cruel. Remember I put you on the map. Without me, you’d still be making second-rate cereal commercials.’
Gabe’s body stiffened and his eyes burned with fury. ‘Time to go,’ he said, his tone steady and dangerous. He placed a hand in the small of Sophie’s back and pushed her none too subtly towards the door. He was only just holding his temper in check.
Sophie pulled herself from his grip and whirled back to Charlie.
‘I know you from somewhere,’ she said. Her statement sounded like a warning.
‘I doubt it, until a few weeks ago, I lived in Brisbane,’ Charlie said, trying desperately to keep her voice steady.
‘Brisbane? Never heard of it,’ Sophie said, as if the place were not worth knowing. ‘But I never forget a face.’
Gabe gripped Sophie’s wrist. ‘This way, darling,’ he said, drawing out the last word in a mocking tone.
When they disappeared into the hall, Charlie expelled a long, slow breath. She slumped onto the couch.
The front door opened and Sophie’s protests died as the door banged shut.
‘Sorry about that,’ Gabe said when he strode back into the room.
‘It’s okay. She’s your ex. I guess they pop up from time to time.’
‘At least yours is conveniently on a different continent,’ he said, his lips tight with emotion.
‘Hmm.’ The reference to Paul instantly made her uncomfortable.
Gabe lapsed into deep thought for a moment. ‘Have you ever done something in your life that, when you look back, you can’t believe you’d been so stupid?’
My whole life was stupid until I met you.
But as the question was rhetorical, she didn’t answer.
Chapter Eleven
Charlie walked up from the tube station and let herself into Gabe’s place. She needed to practise her recipe for the next episode and didn’t want to do it at Emma’s house and disturb her afternoon nap. She dropped the keys on the side table and pulled off her coat. Autumn had arrived and Charlie loved the chill settling over London.
After Sophie’s unexpected visit last night, she’d barely seen Gabe. It was painfully obvious he didn’t want to talk about her. It hurt Charlie that he didn’t want to share anything about the apparently turbulent past relationship. She’d thought they’d grown close. Cuddle- up-on-the-couch close.
Clearly, she was mistaken. She had to stop reading so much into everything.
She wandered down to the kitchen. She had one day to perfect her roast duck and eight-gem rice. She’d gone over time yesterday when she’d practised.
The doorbell rang. She jumped and banged her head on an open cupboard.
Ouch.
Then another blast.
And another.
For heaven’s sake!
Rubbing her head, Charlie ran to the door.
‘Who is it?’ she shouted, trying to end the torture.
The bell shrilled again.
She flung open the door.
Sophie stood on the step. Her hands rested defiantly on her slim hips and triumph, stark and vivid, glittered in her eyes. Charlie’s heart slammed wildly in her chest. She grabbed the doorframe. She knows.
‘Well, well, well,’ Sophie said. She stalked straight into the living room.
Charlie looked frantically up and down the street as if something or someone might come to her rescue. Maybe she could just run. She took a step towards the road.
‘I’m waiting,’ an icy voice called.
Hauling in a deep breath, Charlie walked back into the house, closing the door behind her.
Sophie stood in the middle of the Persian carpet as if she owned the place. Charlie stiffened. She felt like a tigress tensing to protect her domain.
‘How can I help you?’ Charlie said, pleased her voice remained so calm and even a little affronted.
‘What’s your game?’ Sophie asked viciously.
‘Sorry?’
‘Don’t even think about lying to me. I know exactly who you are
– Charlotte Wentworth, soon to be Wentworth-Forsyth.’ She spat each word with contempt. ‘You might recall that I am invited to your wedding. Your postponed wedding.’
Charlie’s body stiffened with shock. She didn’t feel remotely like Charlotte Wentworth.
‘What do you want?’ Charlie asked, all the false bravado gone.
‘To inform you that I was here first. Gabe’s my fiancée and I want to know what you’re up to.’
Charlie’s eyes widened.
‘He didn’t mention me?’ Sophie cocked her head. Her eyes hardened before narrowing to hateful slits. ‘He didn’t mention his own fiancée?’
The muscles in Charlie’s legs lost their ability to support her and she sat down heavily on the sofa. The weak sunlight coming through the window seemed blinding.
‘Well, we would have been engaged if you hadn’t shown up,’ Sophie said, clearly enjoying every minute of her revelation. ‘As you probably gathered from the other night, we’ve had a little misunderstanding. But that will be cleared up shortly. And that’s where you come in.’
Charlie stared at her. ‘Me?’
‘This is what you’re going to do.’ Sophie picked up the BAFTA award and studied it idly. ‘When I give the word, you’re going to invite Gabe to lunch at Oakley Court Hotel in Windsor. It’s not far from the studio, so it shouldn’t be difficult.’
She dumped the award unceremoniously back on the mantelpiece.
‘And why would I do that?’ Charlie tried to sound defiant, but she knew Sophie was holding all the cards.
Sophie’s face contorted into an expression of contrived pity and genuine disdain. ‘Because if you don’t, darling, I’ll call one of my buddies at the tabloids and tell him exactly who you are. And you won’t be Britain’s latest darling anymore.’
Sophie threw down the latest edition of the Evening Standard.
The frontpage headline shouted: Aussie Darling Captures Nation’s Heart. The accompanying picture featured Charlie stooping to place something in the oven while smiling at the camera.
‘I reckon tomorrow’s headline will read something like this: Heiress Chef Dupes the Nation.’ Sophie smiled. ‘Gabe’s little cooking show will collapse – oh dear, such a scandal. His reputation will be mud. No-one will believe he isn’t in on it. He isn’t, is he?’
‘No.’
‘Well, it doesn’t matter. No-one’s going to believe he wasn’t, even if you are everyone’s little darling.’ She said the last word with a sneer.
Sophie sat elegantly on the sofa opposite Charlie and crossed her perfect, tanned legs. ‘So, how do you think all your little fans are going to feel when they find out you’re not a struggling catering assistant, but a woman who could buy Buckingham Palace if they’d let you?’
‘Gabe won’t see you. His filming schedule is so—’
‘Get him to the restaurant at one or I’ll make that call,’ she said, inspecting her neatly manicured nails. ‘You’ve obviously done a perfect job deceiving him so far, so I’m sure you’ll have no trouble convincing him to take an hour off from his busy schedule tomorrow.’
The rancid taste of bile rose in Charlie’s throat. What could she say to defend herself? Everything this evil woman said was true.
Charlie stood and walked to the door of the living room. She waited for Sophie to take the hint. The woman took her time moving from the sofa.
‘Oh and by the way,’ Sophie added as she glided past on her sky-high heels, her perfume heavy and spicy, ‘I saw the Rare Pink collection featured in Vogue the other day. I wouldn’t mind the oval pendant,’ she said, stroking her throat. ‘And the matching earrings. So, after you’ve delivered Gabe, you can have them delivered too.’ She gave Charlie a little tap on the cheek. ‘Good girl.’
Charlie stood powerless as Sophie swept through the front door. She closed her eyes as a nasty throbbing attacked her frontal lobes. What had she done?
When she’d first uttered the name Brown, it had seemed completely harmless. She’d just wanted a few more days of being incognito. But the situation had spiralled out of control so quickly. Gabe’s career and reputation was under threat and it was all her fault.
Sophie’s words horrified her. We would have been engaged. Could Gabe love Sophie Eddington-Smythe? Was there some simple misunderstanding?
Tears prickled at the back of her eyes. What the hell was she getting upset about? It wasn’t as if she and Gabe had anything going. She sniffed. But she wouldn’t let Sophie destroy him.
She had to silence the woman, at least until the end of the show.
She had to convince Gabe to visit the Oakley Court Hotel.
Charlie sat in her small dressing room at the studio. A vase of fresh flowers stood on the table, the unusual mix of gerberas, roses and lilies filling the air with a sickly scent. The smell turned her stomach.
Three weeks had passed and she hadn’t heard a word from Sophie. She nibbled at her fingernails, but had already chewed them to oblivion as the stress built with each passing day. What was the woman up to?
She stared into the light bulb-edged mirror, just like in the movies. The brightly lit surface reflected her hollow-eyed pallor. Picking up the powder compact, she tried in vain to cover the dark circles under her eyes. She’d only snatched about two hours’ sleep between her anxious pacing and ferocious nightmares. The make-up department had failed its job this morning!
How would she counter Sophie’s blackmail plan? She asked herself that question a hundred times but not one single solution she came up with would save Gabe from the impact of her thoughtless actions.
No, she’d be forced to play Sophie’s game.
She flinched at the sharp knock at the door.
‘Fifteen minutes, Charlie,’ Abigail called.
‘Okay.’ She slumped in her chair. Since Sophie’s visit her scores in First-Class Chef had slipped each week. The mounting tension messed with her mind and her ability to cook creatively. Sophie had stripped her of her confidence.
‘Do you mind if I come in for a moment?’ Abigail asked.
‘Sure.’
Abigail sailed into the room, her face shining. But the cheery glow evaporated immediately.
‘Charlie! Are you all right?’ Abigail placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘Sorry, but you look terrible.’
‘Couldn’t sleep.’
‘Anything I can help with?’
‘Yes. Do you know a plastic surgeon who can fix this in the next five minutes?’ Charlie pointed to her reflection.
‘No, but I’ll get Tracey from make-up to come down.’
‘Don’t bother, this is after make-up.’
Abigail pulled her head mike to her lips. ‘Tracey, could you come to Charlie’s dressing room for a moment?’
‘Don’t worry, Tracey’s our best make-up artist. You’ll be looking like a supermodel in no time.’
‘Great.’ But Charlie couldn’t summon any enthusiasm.
‘Why are you so worried? You should be ecstatic. So the last couple of judges’ scores have been a bit off. So what. You’re still number one with the public.’
Charlie nodded without conviction.
‘Come on, Charlie. Just get out there and give us that magic we saw in those first few episodes. You’ll be fine. Okay?’
‘Sure.’
‘Ah, Tracey,’ Abigail exclaimed as a very cool-looking young woman appeared. ‘Charlie, meet the woman who can make your dreams come true.’
Charlie smiled weakly.
I’d settle for banishing the nightmares.
Tracey’s touch-ups made her slightly more presentable.
She picked up her apron and walked to the door. The dressing room phone buzzed. She checked her watch. She still had a few minutes.
She snatched up the receiver. ‘Hi, Charlie speaking.’
‘Today,’ an icy voice announced in her ear.
A black chill encircled Charlie’s heart. She swallowed with difficulty.
‘It’s imposs
ible,’ Charlie stammered. ‘We’re filming the semi-final.’
‘Get him there today,’ Sophie demanded. ‘Or it’s bye bye to Gabe’s reputation. And I can’t wait until the media throws you to the dogs.’
The line went dead. Charlie dropped the phone and leaned heavily on her dressing table. She fought the hysteria building in her chest.
‘It’s time, Charlie,’ Abigail called through the door.
What on earth was she going to do?
‘Sorry, Charlie, but you’ve really let yourself down this week.’
Gabe sat back in dismay as Jasper delivered his verdict on Charlie’s chicken, lime and coconut parcels.
He pulled at his collar. The cool control room suddenly felt hot and stuffy. He’d never considered that Charlie might not make it through the semi-finals. The public loved her. Couldn’t get enough of her. She’d appeared in just about every women’s magazine in the country. But, without the judges giving her at least an average score, she’d be out this round.
Back on set, Jasper shook his head. ‘The chilli overpowered the lime, your rice is gluggy and the snow peas are over-cooked,’ the chef said.
Gabe’s heart lurched as Charlie’s eyes glistened.
‘We’ve come to expect so much more from you,’ Jasper said. ‘What’s happened?’
Charlie mumbled an apology. Gabe could see she was battling for composure: she stood rigid and pressed her lips together over and over. Gabe balled his hands into fists. Every instinct shouted for him to rush down on set and comfort her, but he was powerless to intervene.
It looked like Charlie would bomb out in the semi-finals. This was not good. The web statistics showed her profile on the show’s site was by far the most visited and the media had already picked her as the horse to back.
‘The show will take a dive if Charlie’s voted out,’ Abigail said, as if reading his mind.
Gabe nodded, keeping his eyes locked on the set.
Jasper’s fork clattered on the plate. ‘Let’s hope your dessert is better. I’m sorry, Charlie, but you could find yourself at the bottom of the tally this week.’
Sweet Seduction Page 27
