Bad Boys and Billionaires (The Naughty List Bundles)

by Synthia St. Claire

  Then she looked to the blue gates where the field opened into the school car park, and beyond, to the road. Visitors were turning up, milling about outside the gates, armed with folding chairs and sun shades. The glorious weather was the best stroke of luck they’d ever had.

  The sight of people actually wanting to come in sparked off a fresh wave of panic - just as she’d thought she was beyond any more stress. She stared around, searching for Richard. I hope to God he just happens to know a whole heap of experienced ex-session musicians who are co-incidentally hanging around here, clutching their instruments and wondering if they’ll ever get a chance to play again…

  For a moment she allowed herself the indulgence of imagining the shock revelation that eight or nine once-famous guitarists had been secretly living in a collective in the village.

  She was brought out of her reverie by Henderson Henderson shaking his maracas at her. “Do you want to see me do my thing?” the angular, flat-capped farmer drawled, leaping from one wellington-booted foot to the other.

  “Good God. What is your thing…?”

  He gyrated his hips like a Hawaiian dancer, albeit one who favoured baler twine over grass skirts. “That there Richard reckons the time is right for the Rain-Shine Boys to reform!”

  Helena gaped, then sucked in her bottom lip and bit it, though whether to stop herself laughing or crying, she was no longer sure. Richard hove into view, flanked by a grinning phalanx of acolytes.

  “I present to you…” he began, but Helena cut him off.

  “The Rain-Shine boys?”

  “See, lads,” Richard said, spreading his arms wide like an impresario. “Your fame precedes you!”

  One of them, a very fat middle aged man in a tracksuit, said, “I’m not sure. It’s been a long while since we’ve played together.”

  “It will come back to you.” Richard slapped the man on his shoulder. He was unusually effusive, and everyone seemed wary of this smiling, enthusiastic new character. “Go on up to the stage area. Jim will be back with the spare instruments soon and I am sure the school has various bits and bobs you can use.”

  The band trailed off, a mix of reluctance and puppy-dog eagerness. Helena continued to chew her lip.

  “Is this really going to be better than the teenage wannabes?”

  “Oh, these guys are awesome, and everyone loves them.”

  “Really? Have you actually seen them play?”

  “Yes. Way back, they used to do sets in the pub, before Ray and Spenser took it over and made it into that swish gastro-pub that it is now.”

  “I quite liked it. I took my mum for a meal.”

  “Nothing against it. The food’s great but it changed and the Rain-Shine Boys didn’t quite fit in.”

  “So, what style do they play?”

  “Oh…. They’re post-modern eclectic.”

  Helena looked him in the eye, hunting for a hint of sarcasm. He met her gaze, and the corners of his eyes crinkled but he kept his face straight. They were locked together for a moment, until Helena suddenly became aware of Vicky, hovering at her elbow.

  “Er… sorry to interrupt…”

  Oh great. She makes it sound like we were having some kind of intimate moment. As soon as she thought it, she felt her face burn. I hope that doesn’t show as a blush. I will never live it down. “Vicky! We’ve - I mean, Richard has sorted out the band!”

  “Really? Not the…”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.”

  Helena looked from one to the other. “What?”

  Vicky shook her head. “I suppose it could be marginally better than very bad punk. Anyway. I came over to say that it’s time to get things started! Er…”

  “What?”

  Vicky twisted her fingers together, and took a deep breath, before addressing Richard. She put her teacher-voice on again, so Helena knew she was a little nervous. “We hoped that the fete might be opened by someone of local importance. We tried to get the mayor of Ingholme to come up. But, er… anyway, so we rather hoped you might take the microphone and introduce the fete and just say a few words about what we’re raising money for.”

  Richard’s early bonhomie faded instantly. “Me.”

  “Sorry, I don’t mean to make it sound like you’re in second place…”

  “It’s not that. It’s… oh, never mind. Come on then. Let’s get this over with.”

  He didn’t meet Helena’s eyes. Instead he strode along, surging in front of Vicky as he realised where he was supposed to go. Helena trailed along behind, feeling like a spare part. Richard stamped up the steps to a raised platform all bordered with bunting and flags, and grudgingly took the microphone.

  Two marshals, roped in from the school’s platoon of dinner ladies and teaching assistants, opened the blue gates and the waiting families began to trickle in. Some glanced towards the podium, but mostly they looked around at the stalls. The adults were searching for their friends who had probably made them promise to come and see them, and the kids were straining to the bouncy castle and the owls that were chained to tree stumps in a display from the local sanctuary.

  Richard gripped the microphone and shrugged at Vicky. “Can’t really say anything. There’s no crowd, as such.”

  “Perhaps just a little introduction?”

  Helena shook her head. “I don’t think…”

  Richard’s face was blank now. He seemed distant, far away, and more like the miserable man they all expected. He stepped forward and just started speaking. A few heads turned as his voice crackled through the speakers that had been set up around the field.

  “Welcome to Arkthwaite Village Fete. We’re raising funds to lay in broadband. We’ve dug some trenches and have a lot more to do. Please enjoy yourselves and spend lots of money.” He lowered the microphone and glowered at Helena and Vicky.

  Helena felt fury rise in her stomach, making her feel sick. After everything they’d done and worked for - so he didn’t like public speaking? That was no excuse to stand there and sound like a complete idiot. Her skin prickled as the adrenaline kicked in, and she grabbed the microphone right out of his hand, holding it away from her as she hissed at him, “What was the point of making me feel better about today if all you were going to do is try to ruin it?”

  He lifted his hand to get the microphone back but she held it to her lips and turned away from him, plastering on a bright smile. More attention had already focused on them as people noticed that something was going on.

  “We also wish to thank each and every one of you for your support!” Helena declared, mentally sending arrows into Richard’s neck. Even you, you miserable bastard. “So many people have given up time and skills. Please do visit the stalls and show your support for all this effort and dedication! There’s food, drink, games, craft items, and displays from all our local clubs and societies. A huge thanks also to the St John’s Ambulance for the First Aid centre. If you have any issues, don’t hesitate to speak to one of our marshals in the high-vis tabards. Every penny you spend will help bring in broadband - super fast communication to the rest of the world - benefiting everyone, old and young. Enjoy your day!”

  There was a smattering of applause and a few whoops from a crowd of teenagers. Helena paused and scanned the crowd once more, before saying on impulse, “And our most exciting local talent - the Rain-Shine Boys - will be entertaining us with their fantastic music!”

  There was a boo from the teenagers, who were supporting their sacked punk mates, but general laughter rippled round the onlookers, and a few ribald remarks. Henderson Henderson held his maracas aloft and shimmied in a most disconcerting way. Someone else started to bang a drum, and the crowd parted to let the motley band members approach the platform.

  Helena handed the microphone over to the designated sound person, a goth-type girl with huge, serious glasses and the most amazing black hair Helena had ever seen. It shone like a mirror. Helena pointedly ignored Richard. “Vicky, come on. Let’s go grab a cup of tea a
nd relax. It’s done. It’s open. Everything is set.”

  If Richard protested, she didn’t see it. She led the way to a stall where they wrapped their hands around styrofoam cups and began to work their way around the field.

  Things turned out to not be “set”, not at all. A hundred little queries flooded their way, but they dealt with things methodically and calmly. The marshals were excellent, keen and ready to run from one end of the field to the other, dealing with requests for more toilet paper, overflowing litter bins, directions to the scented candle stall, and myriad other things.

  There was another flood of visitors just after lunch, and the numbers steadily built throughout the afternoon. Helena and Vicky had split up, and by three o’clock Helena was ready to crawl into a hole and sleep. She had sent someone to Ingholme to buy yet more toilet paper and plastic cups, and was just unloading their car, when Richard finally reappeared.

  He was holding a greasy cheeseburger and it looked like the nicest thing she had ever seen. He thrust it towards her. “You haven’t had any lunch. Nor any decent breakfast. Three biscuits don’t count.”

  “Oh. Thank you. One moment… here, Marie, these are for the far portaloos.”

  Marie nodded and loaded herself up with loo rolls. She lumbered off and Helena accepted the cheeseburger. It was more than food, she knew. It was a sticky lard-based peace offering.

  “That’s fantastic,” she said, after the first mouthful. “Hang on… how did you know I hadn’t had any lunch?”

  He leaned on the car’s back bumper and tipped his head back, staring at the sky. “Intuition…?”

  “Really?”

  He dropped his chin and his gaze was intense. “Actually, no, I’ve been watching you all day.”

  The bread and meat balled in her mouth as she suddenly struggled to chew and to swallow. The sentence hung in the air between them. She forced herself to eat the entire cheeseburger before replying.

  “Like some crazy stalker?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because… of lots of things. What time does the fete end?”

  “Officially, five, but people are starting to go home already. Then we’ve got the big clean-up, but most of the marshals are coming back tomorrow to help out.”

  “Sounds sensible. You must be shattered.”

  “I am… if I stop to think about it.” She sagged as she spoke.

  “You’ve done an amazing job. I’ll hang around as well, help with the tidying, and then…”

  “What?” She looked at him with curiosity. He folded his arms, then seemed to catch himself, and unfolded them with a jerk.

  “Come back up to mine. I’ve got a tub full of left-over chili in the fridge. Needs eating.”

  “Well, er…”

  “Government directives mean we can’t feed left-overs to pigs any more, see. And I am sure you hate waste as much as I do. Also, you’ll be knackered. I’ll come and find you when the fete’s over.”

  He stamped off and Helena shook her head in despair. He was making it very, very clear there was no romance in the air, and that was exactly how she wanted it.

  Romance? Who mentioned romance? She frowned, mostly at herself. It was like telling someone not to think about pink elephants. She wiped her hands on a tissue and launched herself back into the fray.

  Chapter Seven

  It clouded over during the late afternoon. Richard found himself glaring at the last few stragglers, willing them to get a move on and disappear. He wanted to continue with the clearing-up, and he wanted to go home.

  He could feel his grumpy mood growing and he started to regret inviting Helena back for chili. Chili! What was I thinking? He knew he’d laid it on far too thick - all that business about pigs, for God’s sake. He cringed, and it made him feel angrier. He nearly growled as a plump, harassed woman with three small children approached him. She held one toddler by his arm, almost dangling him in the air, and her other hand was balancing a cigarette. He couldn’t hold his tongue.

  “Passive smoking kills. I am sure you love your children very much so please don’t smoke near them.”

  Her slack mouth dropped open and she snarled back. “It’s none of your business. Anyway we’re outside. And I only wanted to say thanks for this. I know who you are. It’s true what they say, then. You’re a right miserable bastard.”

  The children appeared unconcerned by their mother’s language, but Richard said, “Please. Have a care for them. Yes, I am miserable. Being outside doesn’t make a lot of difference when you’re that close to them with your cigarette, like you are.”

  She looked him up and down, nearly hissed, and dragged her kids away, leaving a trail of smoke and obscenity behind her.

  Larkin was right, he thought glumly as he continued his perambulations around the field, litter-picker in hand. We really are fucked up by our parents, whether they mean to or not.

  He kept catching sight of Helena as he worked his way around, filling bag after bag with rubbish. Her short strawberry-blonde hair was spiked in all directions, a result of spending all day pushing her hand through it in exasperation. She was usually with others, so he couldn’t approach her for a chat.

  Her face was tired, but she kept on laughing and talking and smiling and nodding. Richard felt uncomfortably like a voyeur as she was engulfed in an expansive hug by Henderson Henderson, and the band surrounded them both, ringing bells and congratulating themselves.

  She was popular. How had she done that? She’d lived in Arkthwaite for just a few months, and here she was - her and Vicky - heroines of the hour.

  He stabbed at a crumpled drinks can with his grabber and managed to tip stale liquid onto his shoe. He groaned and tore his eyes away from Helena, and stamped off to the farthest corner of the field to attack a pile of discarded napkins and wrappers.

  Five o’clock dragged itself around and finally the blue gates were closed. The stall holders packed up and the bunting was taken down. The goth girl pumped out some happy eighties music through the loudspeakers as it was all hands on deck to get the field cleared while people still had the energy to move.

  He found himself watching Helena again, tracking her movements out of the corners of his eyes as he helped to dismantle tables and stack chairs into trailers.

  The field emptied, and by seven he was ready to collapse in a heap. He glanced around and saw that Helena was standing on her own, at last, by the pile of rubbish bags that would be collected in the week. She was thumbing through her phone.

  “Helena,” he said, and she jumped, and smiled.

  “Hi there. Oh, thanks so much for staying, and helping tidy up. We won’t have as much to do tomorrow.”

  “Of course. It’s a community thing, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but you’re…”

  “Not part of the community?”

  “No, I mean, already doing so much,” she blustered hastily.

  He shook his head. “Well, whatever. I think this looks pretty much done for today. Are you ready to come up to the manor and have some chili?”

  She looked around, assessing. “Okay. But only because I know I won’t be depriving the pigs.”

  “I don’t actually have any pigs,” he confessed.

  She shot him a dark look that made his stomach twist, and dashed off to speak with Vicky, who waved her away with a grin. She returned, and he was struck by how utterly exhausted she appeared. She could barely pick her feet clear of the ground.

  “I appreciate the offer of food,” she said, “but I’m wondering if I’d be better off just going home. I’m going to be rubbish company.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m always rubbish company. If you go home, you won’t eat, will you? So come up to mine and get fed.”

  “Well…”

  “Come on. I’ll run you home afterwards in the Landy. You won’t even have to walk back.”

  “I don’t think I can make it to your place! It’s all uphill,” she complained, smiling as she wa
lked along beside him. They left the school field and began the slog up past the old cottages to where the road swept right, and the lane to the manor went left. Helena stumbled as her foot caught a dry rut of mud, and a strange impulse came over Richard.

  Before he could think about it, he said, “I can carry you.”

  “What?” she said with an incredulous laugh, stopping in her tracks.

  Steady, steady, his rational brain told him. She ran off last time, and that was over nothing. But his rational brain was shouted down, and he stepped forward, arms open.

  She didn’t back away.

  “Hold on!” he said, and put one arm behind her shoulders and brought the other under her knees, tipping her backwards and upwards so that she had to fling her arms around his neck.

  And she did. She hung on, and he walked up the track, carrying her like she was an enormous parcel. Within a few steps his knees were groaning with effort - he was tired, too, but once he’d started, he was damn well going to continue.

  And… well, she hadn’t run off, had she? It felt like a triumph.

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this. I’m just too tired to fight back,” she muttered, her breath tickling his neck.

  She was heavy and warm in his arms and it spurred him on. He ignored his aching muscles.

  He staggered on a few hundred yards but he grew slower and slower, until she said, “Um, Richard? You do sound like you’re about to pass out. I know you mean well, but perhaps you should put me down. I can walk from here.”

  He lowered her to the ground and bent forward, putting his hands on his knees and taking a few deep breaths. “We’re definitely taking the Landrover back to your place.”

  “Are you saying I’m heavy?”

  “I’m saying I’m unfit.” He straightened up and smiled. “Come on, last bit. Chili’s waiting.”

  * * *

  Walking into Richard’s kitchen for the second time in the day felt natural. Perhaps it was just her extreme tiredness, but she had no awkwardness in kicking off her shoes in the back porch, and collapsing into the rocking chair by the cooking range. She tucked her legs up under her bottom, and curled her arms around her knees. She felt like she was sinking in on herself.