Perfect Strangers

by Tasmina Perry

  ‘Actually, it will give me the chance to do some training myself. Take a few courses.’

  ‘Qualify, you mean?’ said Lana with the hint of a smile.

  Sophie felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

  ‘Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. Qualifications?’ She waved a dismissive hand. ‘All I care about is if someone is good at what they do, and you’re the best trainer I’ve worked with, Sophie.’

  The compliment was gratefully received. Sophie had quickly found out that the relationship between client and trainer was quite an intimate one, and had hated feeling a fraud in front of Lana over the past three weeks. Still, she was doubly determined to get certified. After all, what if Lana injured herself and complained that Sophie wasn’t qualified? No – it was best to do a personal trainer course as quickly as possible.

  They stopped by the bandstand and began stretching exercises.

  ‘So what did you do before? Before the training, I mean?’ asked Lana.

  ‘A little bit of work for my father,’ replied Sophie vaguely.

  Lana laughed. ‘Don’t be embarrassed. It’s not as if most of the girls in Chelsea have professional careers. I think they are just killing time waiting to find the right husband.’

  Sophie gave an ironic smile.

  ‘That used to be me.’

  Lana glanced at her.

  ‘So what happened?’

  Sophie sighed.

  ‘Which bit do you want to hear about? The bit where my dad lost all his money, or the bit where he died of a heart attack?’

  Lana looked sympathetic.

  ‘I’m so sorry. When did this happen?’

  ‘Just a few weeks ago. It’s all still a bit raw, to be honest, which is why it’s been good to throw myself into something like this. And you’re right, I am good at this and it’s been a nice feeling recognising it. I have to say, I’ve been enjoying myself for the first time in a while.’

  ‘I bet you’re hearing some hair-raising stories, too?’

  Sophie burst out laughing. Lana was right. Most of her clients had been shockingly open about their marital problems: how they felt neglected by their husbands, how they were convinced they were all having affairs.

  ‘I guess I’m cheaper than a shrink.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure you’ve only heard the tip of the iceberg,’ replied Lana. ‘You wouldn’t believe what really goes on behind closed doors. All those women in their lovely houses, with every luxury and nothing to do all day; yet they’re still miserable, aren’t they?’

  They exchanged a look, and for a minute Sophie wondered if Lana was talking about herself. On the surface, Lana had exactly the sort of life most of Sophie’s friends aspired to – the big house, the 4×4, a wardrobe of Dior – but who ever really knew how happy someone was?

  ‘All right,’ said Sophie with purpose. ‘Enough chat. Two-hundred-metre sprint, then a circuit of the park. Let’s see what you’ve got, Lana.’

  They ran for an hour, Lana impressing Sophie with her general fitness and willingness to push herself – not something she saw with other rich housewives at the gym. For them, Sophie got the feeling, personal training was just something you did, an expected activity for a certain type of rich woman along with tennis and charity lunches. Finally they jogged back to Egerton Row, where Lana handed Sophie one of the white towels she had left in the hall.

  ‘So I’ll see you in September,’ said Sophie, wiping her face. ‘It must be one hell of a place in France if you’re prepared to say goodbye to this.’

  Lana puffed out her cheeks and looked at Sophie.

  ‘Listen, I have an idea. Why don’t you house-sit for us?’

  Sophie gazed at her in amazement.

  ‘Here? For you?’

  Lana threw the towel over her shoulder.

  ‘Why not? For insurance purposes, it would be good to have someone at the house.’

  ‘But you hardly know me. I could run off with all that expensive art in your hallway.’

  ‘I see you more than some of my closest friends.’ Lana smiled slowly. ‘Besides, I have a very sensitive alarm system and a housekeeper who lives out but who can check you don’t throw any wild parties.’

  ‘But what if you needed to come back to London?’

  Lana laughed. ‘Darling, I can’t see that happening. But if I did, I wouldn’t throw you out. It’s plenty big enough for two.’

  ‘What about your husband?’

  ‘You’re unlikely to see him. He works mostly out of Geneva these days.’

  ‘Lana, I couldn’t . . .’

  ‘Sophie, you would be helping me,’ she insisted. ‘And you can use the studio for your training.’

  Sophie understood Lana’s gesture. It wasn’t pity or charity, it was generosity. From Sharif’s no-strings-attached job offer at the gym to the man in the newsagent who gave her two months’ credit for the glossy magazine habit she couldn’t relinquish, kindness had come from the most unusual places since her world had turned upside down. And now Lana was making an offer she felt certain came from the same sense of simply wanting to help.

  ‘Well I warn you, I’m no domestic goddess, but I can water the plants, take messages if you like . . .’

  ‘That’s sweet, but I have a housekeeper for all that,’ smiled Lana. ‘I fly to Nice early Thursday morning. You’re welcome to move in any time after that. Any questions?’

  Sophie looked around at her dream house and couldn’t keep the smile off her face.

  ‘No, actually, I think I’ll be fine.’

  6

  Ruth twisted around in front of the mirror, her arms tied in knots trying to reach for the zip. Stupid things, why do they make them so hard to put on? Finally she got the black dress straight, smoothed down her short blond hair and gave her lips one last slick of gloss. There, she thought, that’s the best you’re going to get. Looking at herself in the mirror, she winced at the reflection. She looked like a dominatrix. Perhaps it was the knee-high boots and the tight black dress. If she’d have been at home, she might have changed into something else, but she had left work so late, the only option had been to get ready in the ladies’ at the restaurant; she had to go with what she’d brought. Maybe she shouldn’t have rushed. Ruth seriously doubted David was even here yet. He was at his desk at seven and rarely left before ten; that was standard working hours in the City, so a financial journalist like David had to work the same beat. At least that was what he told her. Of late Ruth had begun to have doubts about her boyfriend. They had been dating for two years, and he had yet to invite her to meet his parents, they rarely spent the entire weekend together; hell, it was the first time she had seen him this week.

  Of course, Ruth would never usually complain about that. She had always tried to keep relationships at arm’s length; work always had such a habit of getting in the way of her love life that she found it easier not to bother cultivating it. But she liked David. He was smart, sexy and handsome, with dark cropped hair and the clean-cut, regular features of a talk-show host. More importantly, they understood each other. He was as devoted to his career as she was to hers – he planned on being business editor of The Times within two years and editor-in-chief another three years after that. What she needed to work out was whether he was just as devoted to her. She wasn’t looking for a ring on her finger, but what was it her mom always used to say? ‘You’ve got to shit or get off the potty.’

  ‘Just go and have fun,’ Ruth told herself, blotting her lipstick and heading for the ground-floor cloakroom. Dropping her bag off, she rode up in the lift to the dining room on the twentieth floor. It was a pretty swish restaurant they were meeting in – so maybe things were looking up in her relationship after all. Stepping off the elevator, she almost whistled at the view. Ruth never tired of the other-worldly futurescape of Canary Wharf: the chequerboard yellow lights of the offices and the clean modernist angles of the architecture. It was like a science fiction film set come to life, a strange secret city
hidden away around the corner from the rest of London.

  The maître d’ pointed her towards the bar area, where she saw David almost immediately. He was sitting at the bar laughing – with a pretty girl in a miniskirt. Great.

  ‘Oh, hi, Ruthie,’ he said, rising from his bar stool as he spotted her. ‘Come and meet Susie, she’s a lobbyist with Lorna Steele.’

  Of course, thought Ruth, a PR girl. Aren’t they always? Not a great beauty up close, but blonde and young enough to flatter David, that much was obvious. The girl clearly caught the look on Ruth’s face, because she stood up.

  ‘Listen, I’ve got to be going,’ she said quickly, picking up her clutch.

  ‘Stay for another one,’ said David.

  Susie shook her head.

  ‘It’s late. Lovely meeting you, David. You too, Ruth,’ she added, before swaying towards the lift on five-inch heels.

  Fifteen years younger and ten times as hungry. What hope is there for the rest of us? thought Ruth, watching her leave. Her long legs, her tight ass. It didn’t help that David was three years younger than Ruth. He’d once called her his cougar and she’d sulked for three days. At least he’d laid off that line of teasing ever since.

  ‘So, want a drink?’ said David, slightly too eagerly. It looked as if he was on his third, at least.

  ‘Why don’t we eat?’

  He laughed. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you? We’ll have to take out a mortgage just to get a starter.’

  ‘But it’s fine to buy overpriced cocktails with Susie?’

  His handsome features frowned.

  ‘What’s got into you?’

  Ruth stopped herself. After her confrontation with Jim, the last thing she needed tonight was a public row. She just wanted a nice night out, to have fun, for David tell her everything was going to be all right. And she wasn’t going to get that by screaming at him for talking to some floozy.

  She waved a hand. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she said, capitulating. ‘Just a bad day at work.’

  David raised a finger to get the barman’s attention.

  ‘Vodka tonic. Double. Slice of lemon.’

  He turned to look at her.

  ‘So come on, tell me. What’s happened? Jim Keane’s been dick-swinging again?’

  ‘Is my working life so predictable?’

  She took the vodka and sipped it slowly as she told him about the editorial meeting at the Tribune, about the escort story she had been working on, and how Jim had nixed it before she had time to investigate it properly. David leant forward on the bar, his eyes twinkling with the same excitement as she had felt earlier today when she’d been piecing together the story. Sometimes it was good dating a journalist – the same hunger for news.

  ‘Bloody hell, if you’re right that’s a fantastic story,’ he said. ‘Not just for the Tribune, but for the Germans, for us, for anyone. I can’t believe he doesn’t want to follow it up.’

  Ruth stabbed at the lemon in her drink with a swizzle stick.

  ‘We’re both on trial for the bureau chief job, remember? And I have more to prove because he’s already in the job. He’s not going to want me to get the glory, is he?’

  ‘So don’t tell him,’ said David. ‘Write it under the radar. Smile sweetly, do the Angela Ahrendts profile and whatever else Jim throws at you. In the meantime, you find your scoop, then file it directly to Isaac.’

  Ruth shook her head. She had already thought of that approach and dismissed it.

  ‘I don’t know. Isaac is going to see right through that. And Jim will go ballistic. In fact he’ll probably have me fired.’

  David gave a low, slow laugh. ‘It’s every man for himself now, sweetheart. And as for Isaac, if he’s got a shit-hot story on his hands, he won’t give two hoots who you shafted to ring it in.’

  Ruth smiled. She knew they were talking about dirty office politics but David made it sound acceptable.

  ‘You’re a ruthless sonofabitch, you know that?’

  ‘I’ll accept that as a compliment,’ he grinned.

  Ruth finished her vodka. She was already feeling better, that stupid little PR girl a distant memory. She looked over towards the restaurant hopefully.

  ‘Aren’t you hungry?’ she said.

  David slid his hand up her thigh.

  ‘Yes I am,’ he whispered. ‘Why don’t we go back to mine and get a takeaway?’

  ‘Let’s go,’ she said, reaching out and taking his hand.

  David lived in one of the anonymous modern apartment blocks a short distance away from the restaurant. Ruth had enjoyed the walk along the river, her arm looped through his, not talking, just relishing the intimate air of expectation. They rode up in the lift, then David stopped to push the key in the lock, fumbling and cursing as he failed to get it in. Smiling, Ruth came up behind him and brushed her lips across his neck. He smelt good – a familiar tang of soap and expensive cologne.

  ‘Can I help?’ she murmured. After feeling frustrated at work, paranoid about the girl at the bar, suddenly Ruth felt sexy, in control. David turned and she kissed him, slowly at first, teasing him, barely touching his lips, until the kiss grew deeper, more fervent. Groaning, David twisted the key and they stumbled through the door into the darkness of the small foyer, kissing, laughing, needing to touch, taste the other. Her hands held his face and he moved his mouth to suck the tips of her fingers, sending urgent shots of lust round her body.

  ‘Get this dress off me,’ she purred, feeling the heat between her thighs.

  ‘You need to get pissed off about work more often,’ smiled David as he unzipped it, slipping the fabric from her shoulders, stroking her bare skin with his palms.

  Unhooking her bra, she crawled on to the bed, feeling his hands behind her, peeling down her panties and slipping them off over her long, slim legs. She lay back, watching him undress, and stretched her arms above her head, closing her eyes in lazy, lustful anticipation of what was to come.

  Kneeling on the mattress, he parted her thighs, then dipped like a cat to take a long, slow lick between her thin strips of pubic hair. She gasped as his tongue entered her and seared across her swollen nub.

  He worked his way up her torso, slowly sucking and kissing each nipple in turn, then eased himself on top of her, his scrub of chest hair brushing against her breasts, as his hard cock pushed into her wetness.

  ‘Yes,’ she gasped, arching her back as his lips brushed her neck. She circled her hips, her hands pressing against his back, feeling his skin bead with sweat under her palms. They moved in perfect motion until slowly, teasingly, he pulled out of her, stroking her clitoris with the tip of his cock as he moved position. He gave a deep, animal thrust back into her and she moaned in desire. She felt so exquisitely full of him, a hot, rippling arrow of lust ripped through her core. And when she came, the orgasm shook her like she had touched a live cable.

  Finally David cried out and collapsed on top of her, his muscles shaking. For a moment they lay there in silence, then they both smiled, slowing their breathing.

  ‘You’re a wildcat sometimes, Boden, you know that?’

  ‘I try,’ she smiled.

  She felt her breath regulate, feeling much more calm, the stresses of the day all but gone. David rolled over to face her, propping his head up with the pillow, and looked at her earnestly.

  ‘Why don’t you move in here?’ he said, his voice unusually hesitant.

  She was determined to remain cool, despite the surprise of his offer.

  ‘Because you’ve never asked,’ she replied calmly.

  His lips curled into a half-smile.

  ‘I’m asking now. It makes sense.’

  She laughed. ‘You mean sex and home-cooked dinners all on tap within a one-mile radius of work. You’re such a caveman.’

  He laughed.

  ‘You’d never make a home-cooked meal.’

  ‘You’re right there.’

  There was a long pause.

  ‘So what’s your answer?’

&n
bsp; ‘I don’t know,’ she said finally.

  He looked hurt.

  ‘You don’t . . . know?’ he asked.

  Ruth pulled a face. Wasn’t this exactly what she’d wanted from him earlier in the evening?

  ‘I can’t give you an answer because I don’t know what’s happening in my life right now,’ she said. ‘If I lose my job, there’s a good chance I’ll be leaving London.’

  ‘That might not be such a bad thing.’

  It was her turn to look wounded, but he put out a hand to stroke her cheek.

  ‘I’ve always wanted a spell working Stateside,’ he said. ‘New York, Washington. It could be good for us both.’

  ‘It might not be that simple,’ said Ruth. ‘If they close down the London office, the only job I know of is in Shanghai, not Washington.’

  He frowned.

  ‘I don’t want to go to Shanghai,’ he said, smoothing her hair back. ‘And I don’t want you to go to Shanghai.’

  ‘Neither do I.’

  Her words surprised her. Five years ago, maybe even two, such an opportunity would have made the hairs on her neck stand up. But things had changed, she had changed. She was tired; she had no more desire to go racing off to China than she had to go to the moon. The truth was, her battle to impress Isaac wasn’t just about keeping a job – it was about keeping the job she had now. She looked into David’s handsome face. Was it time to settle down, put down some roots? And suddenly she knew: what she really wanted was to make a home, not just a base from which to work. It was as if she had floated right around the world, and like a feather falling to the ground, she had chosen to stop here. She pulled David closer, nuzzling into his chest.

  ‘Right now, I don’t want to be anywhere else.’

  7

  There was a note leaning against the marble counter-top in the kitchen. Sophie put down her suitcase and picked it up.

  Make yourself at home! The fridge is stocked – help yourself to anything you can find, and if you get bored, there’s a few things on the mantelpiece you might enjoy. Have fun! Lana xxx