by Jessica Hart
‘I didn’t—’ she began, only to stop abruptly before she could tell Max that he had completely misunderstood.
What was she going to do? Admit that there hadn’t been anyone serious since the night they had spent together? It would sound as if she had never got over him! Absolute nonsense of course, but try convincing Max, with his oh-so-logical, two-plus-two-equals-four approach, of that. Freya cringed inwardly at how close she had come to making a complete fool of herself. She might not know who the mysterious men Max thought clustered around her were, but he had inadvertently offered an escape route for her pride. She didn’t get many breaks when Max was around, so she might as well make the most of it.
‘Oh, yes…right,’ she said, nodding as if she had a clue what he was talking about.
Max got up to make himself some more toast.
‘We’ve established that it won’t be awkward living together, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be incredibly irritating,’ he said briskly.
‘In what way?’ asked Freya, glad to be off the subject of that one encounter.
‘For a start, we’re clearly incompatible on the tidiness front.’ He slammed the toaster down. ‘You may be happy living in a tip, but I prefer a little more order in my surroundings.’
Order—another typically Max word, like ‘sensible’ or ‘logical’! Freya was tempted to say that the obsessive desire to impose order was merely a manifestation of a subconscious sense of inadequacy, but on reflection, and bearing in mind that she didn’t have anywhere else to go, she kept it to herself. He was such an engineer sometimes, though!
‘There was a party here last night,’ she pointed out instead. ‘There’s no such thing as a tidy party.’
‘In the bedrooms too? It looks as if the entire contents of Top Shop are strewn all over the floor! I dare say you haven’t heard of it, but I understand that there’s a very useful little gadget called a coat hanger that you can get hold of nowadays,’ he added nastily.
‘I was running late,’ said Freya with dignity. ‘I couldn’t decide what to wear.’
‘So you threw everything on the floor?’
‘You’ve never seen a woman get ready for a party, have you?’
‘Look, Freya, how you set about the incredibly difficult task of deciding what to put on every morning is nothing to me. Do what you like in your own room. I’m merely suggesting that we establish some ground rules for those areas like the kitchen and the living room that we’re going to have to share.’
‘Ooh, yes,’ she said sarcastically. ‘We can draw up a cleaning rota and take turns to keep the cushions standing to attention! Bags I be milk monitor!’
Max threw her a glance of dislike as he flipped the toast from the toaster. ‘If you’re going to be childish—’
He broke off as the phone on the wall next to him rang. ‘Yes?’ he barked into it. ‘Who?’ He scowled. ‘Just a minute. It’s for you,’ he said to Freya, passing over the phone with a distinct curl of his lip. ‘Dan Freer.’
‘Hello, Dan.’ Very aware of Max’s scornful gaze, and mindful of her new role as a man magnet, Freya greeted him effusively. ‘How lovely to hear from you!’
Dan thanked her for the party—what a well-brought up boy!—and then asked casually whether she had seen the paper yet.
Getting dressed, finding some money and going out to buy the Sunday papers were all tasks far beyond Freya’s capabilities right then. Falling back into bed was about as ambitious as she intended to get today.
‘I haven’t had a chance yet,’ she said diplomatically.
‘I got my piece in the last edition,’ said Dan, ‘so I wanted to thank your landlord for the tip! What was his name again?’
Max was eating his toast, but Freya knew that he was listening to her end of the conversation. She didn’t want him to know that she was talking about him, but she could hardly pretend that she’d forgotten his name, could she?
‘Max,’ she told Dan reluctantly. ‘Max Thornton.’
‘Well, say hey to him, will you?’
‘Sure,’ said Freya, who had no intention of doing anything of the kind. Max had a very nasty tongue sometimes, and she could just imagine his reaction if she breezed past with a, Dan says hey.
‘So,’ said Dan, dropping his voice sexily. ‘Where were we when we were so rudely interrupted last night? How about lunch today and we can take up where we left off?’
Freya turned a shoulder on Max. ‘I’m not sure I can face lunch, to tell you the truth, Dan. I’m feeling a bit hung-over.’
Behind her, she could hear Max snort. ‘A bit!’
‘Supper, then,’ said Dan persuasively.
‘Tell him you’ll be ready to go out again in a week,’ Max called in the background.
‘What was that?’ Dan asked.
‘Nothing,’ said Freya quickly, with a glare over her shoulder at Max. ‘Supper would be lovely.’
‘Great! I’ll come and pick you up, shall I? Seven-thirty?’
‘I’ll look forward to it.’
Freya closed her eyes as she switched off the phone. Really, she wasn’t up to flirtation today.
She should never have listened to Lucy and Pel! She had been quite happy pottering along in her rut, vaguely hoping that Mr Right would peer in and find her one day, but no! that wasn’t enough for them. She had to be dissatisfied, had to start planning wild affairs when even the thought of a tame one left her feeling exhausted. If they hadn’t prodded her into changing her life, she would never have thought about Dan Freer, she would never have had that party, and she wouldn’t have this colossal hangover to deal with. She could have contemplated a quiet Sunday watching old movies on television.
As it was, she was going to have to wash her hair, shave her legs, and find something to wear that was seductive without being obvious. She would have to be bright and funny and remember to laugh at Dan’s jokes. And at what point should she assume that they would embark on this incredible affair? She ought to be prepared, but it might seem a little pushy if she turned up fully equipped for spending the night.
Freya sighed and dropped her head back onto her arms. She wasn’t up to this right now.
‘If you didn’t want to go, why didn’t you just say no?’ said Max in a hostile voice.
Oh, God, he was right. This was the wrong attitude. She ought to be over the moon. It hadn’t just been the martinis. Dan Freer—the Dan Freer—had just rung and asked her out. Not only that, he had refused to take no for answer. This was the stuff fantasies were made of, and all she wanted to do was go back to bed. She really must pull herself together.
‘I do want to go out,’ she said, straightening her spine.
‘Liar,’ he said without heat.
‘I’ve just got a headache, that’s all. I’ll be fine tonight. I’m not turning down a date with Dan Freer.’
Max’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘What’s so special about him?’
‘Well, let’s see.’ Freya began to count off on her fingers. ‘He’s straight, he’s single, he’s deeply sexy. He’s good-looking and intelligent and funny and thoughtful.’ He was, she reminded herself, managing to convince herself, if not Max, who was looking profoundly unimpressed. ‘He’s gorgeous, he’s glamorous, he’s fun…do I need to go on?’
‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ said Max dourly. ‘I’m having trouble keeping my breakfast down as it is.’
‘And he’s really nice,’ said Freya, ignoring this. ‘Most of the reporters who ring up only ever want to whinge to me about their expenses, but Dan’s different. No matter where he’s calling from, he’s always interested in me. We have some great chats. I can’t explain it. It’s as if there’s a real connection between us.’
‘Yes, it’s called a satellite phone,’ said Max crushingly, and she straightened to glare at him.
‘I might have known you wouldn’t understand!’
‘You’re right, I don’t. I don’t understand why a presumably intelligent woman like you can fall
for a man with nothing to recommend him but a pretty face and a degree of superficial charm. All that intrepid journalist stuff is just a pose. He’s the type that’ll use you as long as it suits him, and then he’ll toss you aside.’
‘Extraordinary!’ Freya pretended to marvel. ‘You managed to tell all that by grunting at him for thirty seconds!’
‘I’ve met his type before. God, I come across reporters like Dan Freer all the time in Africa! They think they can come in, talk to a few old soaks propping up the bars, and “explain” what’s going on. They’re always looking for contacts, for stories, for what you can do for them, and we’re supposed to drop everything just because they’re going to put us on television!’
Max screwed up his face in distaste, but his eyes were serious as he looked across the table at Freya. ‘The Dan Freers of this world are only interested in one thing, and that’s themselves. I just think you should be careful, that’s all.’
‘I’m tired of being careful,’ said Freya. ‘I want to live dangerously. Most of the men I meet are nice enough, but they’re just ordinary. Dan’s different. I just feel that we could have something special.’
‘Freya, you don’t think Dan Freer is really interested in you, do you?’
Charming, thought Freya. There was no need for Max to make it quite so obvious that he thought Dan was way out of her league. She lifted her chin.
‘He’s asked me out. Why would he do that if he wasn’t interested?’
‘He wants something,’ said Max flatly.
Freya rolled her eyes. ‘Like what? It’s not as if I’m sleeping with a Cabinet Minister. The only story he’s likely to get from me is a first-hand account of what it’s like when a friend’s brother turns up out of the blue and proceeds to humiliate you in front of all your friends and colleagues!’
Unperturbed, Max merely poured himself some more tea. ‘Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ he said.
‘Lucy’s brother is a bit grim, isn’t he?’ said Pel. He was wearing a T-shirt saying ‘When I’m good, I’m very, very good, but when I’m bad, I’m better.’ Freya only wished that she had that kind of confidence.
They had agreed to meet in the gym to sweat out the last of their hangovers, and after Pel had intimidated a geek in glasses off the exercise bike next to Freya’s by the sheer force of his glare they had settled down for a proper debrief on the party.
‘I can’t believe you’ve been hankering after him all these years,’ he went on, shaking his head.
‘I have not been hankering after him!’ protested Freya, affronted.
‘It sounded suspiciously like it to me,’ said Pel provocatively. ‘The way you told it, no one since had ever quite measured up to your fantasy night with Max.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said coldly, but Pel only grinned.
‘So what’s it like living with your fantasy?’
‘Awful,’ said Freya. ‘He spends his whole time tidying around me. He’s obsessed with putting the tops back on jars. And if he’s not doing that, he’s making me feel completely stupid.’
Pel glanced at her curiously. ‘How does he do that?’
‘I don’t know, he just does,’ she said sulkily. ‘There’s just something about the way he looks at me. He’s got a really sarcastic voice too. I always feel he should be curling his lip like a Georgette Heyer hero.’
‘If it’s that bad, why don’t you come and stay with me and Marco for a while?’
Freya was touched by his offer, as his flat was tiny. It had been designed for single living, and things were a squeeze with the two of them, let alone a guest. ‘That’s sweet of you, but I’ll be OK. Max will be going back to Africa as soon as he can, and in the meantime we agreed that there wasn’t much point in me moving out. And I don’t see why I should,’ she went on with a trace of defiance. ‘It’s not my fault there was a coup, is it?’
‘Not unless you’ve been leading a double life,’ said Pel.
‘And the flat is handy for work,’ Freya persevered, almost as if trying to convince herself that she had made the right decision.
‘And for Dan,’ he pointed out.
‘Yes.’ Freya was guiltily aware that she should have thought of this first.
‘So, forget about Max,’ he said. ‘How did your big date with Dan go last night?’
‘It was…fine.’
Of course, she might have known Pel wouldn’t accept that for an answer.
‘Fine?’ he echoed. ‘What kind of answer is that? We are talking about the guy who millions of female viewers tune in to watch talking about politics in a place they’ve never even heard of before? The one every woman at the party, including contented wives like Lucy, would have willingly sacrificed their last pair of Jimmy Choo kitten heels for the chance of a smile from, let alone a date?’
Freya shifted on her saddle, unwilling—unable—to explain why it had been such an unsatisfactory evening. Dan had been as handsome and as charming as ever, but since he had spent the entire time in the apartment attempting to grill Max about the political situation in Mbanazere, she had been unable to shake off the suspicion that he had only invited her out as a way of contacting Max again.
And the worse thing was knowing that Max thought so too. There had been a sardonic gleam in his eyes when he said goodbye, and she knew that he thought that he had made his point.
After that, she had been on her mettle, determined to prove to him that she meant more to Dan than a contact with someone who could be useful to him, but as the evening wore on, she had found herself thinking of excuses to leave early.
Which was awful. As Pel had pointed out, there were thousands—millions—of women who would gladly have exchanged places with her. She should have been on cloud nine, not casting surreptitious glances at her watch; disappointed when Dan only kissed her on the cheek when he said goodnight, instead of relieved. The odd thing was that, if anything, Dan seemed intrigued by her reserve.
‘I’ll call you,’ he had said, with a lingering smile. Why wasn’t she over the moon at the prospect of that?
‘I know,’ she sighed, watching the seconds clock up on the exercise bike. ‘I was tired, I suppose, and a bit out of sorts. I still had a hangover from the night before and…oh, I don’t know…I wondered if there’s any point. Dan’s going to Africa in less than three weeks.’
‘So?’ said Pel. ‘Go to Africa too.’
‘Oh, yes, I can so afford that!’
‘You’d only need to pay for the flight,’ he pointed out reasonably. ‘I bet you anything you’d spend your entire time with Dan, so you’d save on hotel bills.’
‘But I can’t follow him out to Mbanazere. Isn’t there a coup going on? Besides, he’d think I was stalking him!’
Pel waved a dismissive hand. ‘The coup will be over by the time you get there. You can turn up, surprise him and pretend it was coincidence. You could tell him you’d won a holiday there or something. What could be more natural under the circumstances that you should look him up when you got there?
‘I hear the coast north of Usutu is the latest place to go for those who are into undiscovered beaches and no night life,’ he went on, warming to his theme. ‘Strictly for the back to nature types, of course, so it’s not my thing, but if you can’t do something with Dan, the moonlight and an empty beach, then I wash my hands of you!’
Freya opened her mouth to ridicule the idea and then shut it again.
Maybe Pel was on to something, she thought, pedalling absently. Ever since Max had told her about the hot African nights and the Indian Ocean rolling into the long, white beaches, she had had a secret yearning to go and see Mbanazere for herself. Of course, there was no question of going because of him, but Dan would make the perfect excuse.
Plus, it would take the pressure off her having to have an affair with him in the few weeks before he left, with Lucy and Pel supervising her every move and demanding reports on her progress.
Freya pedalled
away, oblivious for once to the television screens and the other girls in the gym with their pert bottoms and flicking pony tails who usually annoyed her so much. Maybe going to Africa on her own would count as living dangerously? She could get in touch with Dan, and if anything happened, well, that would be a bonus. If not, she could scuttle back to her rut, knowing that she had at least taken a risk and done something different.
Realising that her thoughts were heading treacherously away from an affair with Dan, Freya pulled herself up short. This would never do. If she didn’t want a gorgeous man like Dan, she might as well check into a nunnery right now!
She did want him, she reassured herself. She just wished that she hadn’t opened her big mouth and boasted to her friends about her plans to change her life. Knowing Pel and Lucy as she did, they wouldn’t let her give up now, which meant that somehow the whole idea of getting together with Dan had become a task, something she had to do to prove herself rather than because she fancied him rotten.
Africa would change all that. She was out of practice, that was all, and getting back into practice was the whole purpose of the exercise. And if getting back into practice involved wandering hand in hand with Dan along a moonlit beach, so much the better!
‘I suppose I could find out about flights to Usutu,’ she said.
‘You must book time off work tomorrow,’ said Pel bossily. ‘You’ve got to get the timing right. If you arrive before he’s had time to unpack he’ll feel hassled, but if you leave it a week or two the novelty will have worn off but he still won’t be settled into a new group of friends, so he’ll be delighted to see a familiar face.’
Freya was tempted to ask him how come he was such an expert on everything, down to the precise timing required when pursuing a foreign correspondent to his new posting, but when it came down to it Pel knew a lot more about relationships than she did, so she had better do as he said.
‘But Pel, I’ll never be able to afford a flight that soon,’ she said. ‘I only just squeezed the party onto my credit cards as it was.’
Pel waved money aside as unimportant. ‘We’ll think of something. There’s masses of ways to win cash out there. I bought a packet of baking potatoes the other day which had a scratch card promising a million pounds!’
