Feeling White

by Charlotte E Hart

  And no discussions of threesomes, or Pascal.

  And nothing at all to do with death or illness.

  Maybe I need a couple of days completely on my own.

  Chapter 20

  Elizabeth

  I haven’t got a clue how it’s happened but it’s suddenly Thursday.

  I’ve been almost killing myself trying to get everything together for various parties and special seasonal luncheons across London. Cleverly, Belle hasn’t even entertained the idea of doing anything outside of the city centre for the entirety of the festive season so I’ve been ensconced in my kitchen from five am until eight most evenings, desperately trying to hold the whole thing together. The very first thing we’re doing when we move to the new premises is hiring another chef.

  I’ve been toying with the idea of asking James to come on board full time with me, but I just can’t quite work out whether it’s a sensible move or not. I mean yes, the guy is an amazing chef, but with this thing hanging around us, I’m not convinced that it’s the smartest thing to do and I’m positive Alex will not be in agreement at all.

  I did at least manage to get my Christmas shopping done online last night. While I went to Alex’s on Tuesday after work, I knew I would be starting early this morning so I stayed at home with Belle and tried to buy everyone’s presents in one fell swoop. Clearly that wasn’t possible because I still haven’t managed to find anything that someone like Mr. Wonderful could need or want. What the hell do you buy someone like Alex White for God’s sake? All the other presents are done and dusted, of course. I don’t even know why I thought I would manage his online. It was never going to happen, was it? And to be honest, I want it to be more personal than that anyway.

  It’s now ten past five and I’ve got half an hour to get the rest of the kitchen sorted and then a further twenty minutes to do something with myself before Andrews picks me up. I don’t know why he’s picking me up because Alex wouldn’t tell me. He just sent me a text last night to tell me to be ready by seven and to wear something short. I have assumed he meant sexy and not lie on a beach and suntan yourself short, which means we’re going somewhere swanky. It’ll probably be a club so it’s a sodding good job we have a shower here so that I can wipe the afternoon’s food prep off of me and revitalise to some degree. It’s also a good job I have a day off booked.

  “So I called Pascal.” My head whips round to see Teresa narrowing her eyes at me. “Ha, I knew it. You don’t like it, do you?” she says with a smug smile. My hand stops its maniacal wiping to try and fathom what the hell she’s talking about, and then I realise that the pit of my stomach is telling me that she’s right. For some utterly bizarre reason, she’s absolutely right. I don’t like it at all.

  “What on earth are you talking about? Why would I not like you calling Pascal? I’m just a little concerned, that’s all. It’s your health risk, not mine,” I reply, trying very hard to extinguish the jealous little bite of something that’s going on down below because it’s just stupid. She raises a brow and keeps staring. It’s very her, far too bloody astute about emotions of every kind. I plaster on my you go girl face in the hope that she believes me.

  “Well, that’s good then because I’m meeting him on Sunday. Given that I have Mondays off, it seemed the best night all round. I daresay I’ll need recovery time,” she says with her naughty little smile as she wiggles her hips and smacks her own arse. I can’t help but burst out laughing.

  “I think you’ll be getting more than a light smack on the backside, Teresa, but if you’re game I’m sure he will be.”

  And I’m still trying to contain my irritation at the thought. Why the hell would this bother me? She’s lovely and he needs someone just like her, doesn’t he? But he won’t, will he? Want her, that is. Okay yes, in the sexual sense, but not in the mate for life sense. He’ll just use her and then dismiss her, and why I’m jealous of that is anyone’s guess. Perhaps I’m not. Perhaps it’s just concern.

  “Listen, honey, just don’t go falling for him, will you? I don’t think he’s the settling down type and I don’t want to see you hurt or injured.”

  “Don’t be bloody stupid. One night, Beth, that is what the man’s made for and that’s exactly what I’m going to get from him,” she says as she wiggles off with a silly grin. I get back to my wiping with more venom than I had a few moments ago. Clearly I need to have a think about this at some point because I have no right to feel jealousy of any kind, especially about my friend having a good time with someone like Pascal. Maybe I should call him and tell him to back off or tell her he’s changed his mind, or maybe not. What right do I have to tell Pascal what to do? None, and I’m sure he’ll let me know that in his very aristocratic way. Stupid Beth.

  Amazingly, I’m ready on time. Teresa’s already left and I’m just about to make my way outside in my short, brown, suede dress and Belle’s cream coat when I notice a thick brown envelope on the counter top so I swipe it up and put it in my bag. Belle must have left it there or something and I hate leaving anything hanging around that might be important. It’s unlike her but she’s been a bit dappy since her engagement. So now I’m waiting on the side of the road for Andrews to appear and surprisingly he’s late. I’m not entirely sure I’m happy about that. He’s normally so punctual. I hope nothing’s happened to him. Ten minutes later and I’m still waiting and wondering whether I should call Alex because this is not usual at all. What if something has happened? I pull my phone out and notice I’ve missed a text at some point from an unknown number. Maybe it’s Andrews letting me know he’ll be late.

  - You need to look at the photos. He’s not who you think he is.

  What the hell? What photos? And who isn’t who I think he is?

  This has to be a wrong number or something equally odd because I haven’t got clue what any of it means. A screech of tyres makes me jump so I lift my head from the phone to see what the noise is then laugh. Andrews is almost flying along the road in the Bentley, clearly annoyed at himself for being late, so I stuff my phone back in my pocket and walk to the kerb. A very efficient Andrews jumps out with a scowl and opens the door for me.

  “Michael, this door opening really isn’t necessary,” I giggle as he pushes me in a little forcefully. “Umm, any reason you’re pushing me?”

  “Sorry, just bear with me for a minute, will you?” he says tersely as he hits the accelerator and sends me reeling backwards in the car. “Seatbelt,” he shouts as he floors it again.

  “Okay,” I reply as I strap myself in and try to work out why he’s travelling so fast. “Are we late or something? Well clearly we are, but why are you going so fast? I’m sure Alex would rather me alive than-”

  “Was everything okay in the shop?” he clips as he scans the road.

  “Yes, why?” At the quick left-hand turn, I grab onto the handle and try to keep my dress from riding up to my crotch. Always elegant.

  “Nothing unusual? Suspect?” MI5 agent has clearly arrived.

  “No. Well, Belle left an envelope out but she’s been a bit all over the place since Conner and...”

  More acceleration ensues as he floors it again to the right. Shit, the sedate Bentley can move, it seems. I hang onto my dress a bit more. Suede on leather seats does not appear to mix in the slightest.

  “What’s it like? Size? Description?” Oh for God’s sake, apparently we’re on a covert operation of some sort.

  “Umm, brown, A4 size, you know like, an envelope?” I’m rolling my eyes at him now while I’m trying to hang on. What other sort of envelope is there? Well, I suppose there are white ones, too, but what does that matter?

  “Where is it?” The car comes to sudden halt and he turns and glares at me. It’s quite scary. I haven’t seen it in him for a while.

  “In my bag. Why?” I reply, completely confused as to why he would want Belle’s stuff.

  “Give it to me. Have you looked inside it?” he demands as he continues his glare and beckons his hand at me.


  “No, not yet. Look, Michael, what’s going on? I’m not giving you Belle’s stuff. It’s nothing to do with-”

  “Now, Elizabeth!” Oh shit, that was loud. I flinch instantly and dig into my bag for the offending item and pass it over to him. He nods, rips it open and does a quick scan in his lap so I can’t see. Bastard. “Hold on again,” he says a little more quietly as he accelerates back into the road again and appears to begin searching for something again so I just hang on and keep quiet because I seriously don’t like angry Michael. He’s very frightening. Why is everyone in Alex’s world not normal?

  I hear the phone link in as he dials someone.

  “Andrews?” Oh, that lovely, velvety smooth voice comes drifting into the car and I feel at peace all of a sudden, and a little horny if I’m honest.

  “Sir, we’ll be late. I’ve got a situation that I’m following up on,” Andrews clips.

  “What situation?” Alex asks. His voice has suddenly become all businesslike and very demanding. I can almost feel his suspicious eyes coming at me so of course my core clenches, hard. It’s completely ridiculous but I can’t help it so I close my eyes and revel in it.

  “Someone was in Miss Scott’s shop and I’m trying to locate him. It seems he left a package.” My eyes fly open.

  What? That is... What the hell?

  “What do you mean someone was in my shop?” I practically scream at him. While I was in it? In the bloody shower? But the door was locked, wasn’t it? How could someone get in? Andrews ignores me and keeps scanning every incoming street.

  “Get her here now. You can go back out.” Alex is clearly pissed now. I can feel the fury bubbling off him as his voice lowers and turns gravelly, utterly hypnotising. I so shouldn’t be thinking about sex again.

  “Yes, Sir,” Andrews replies in a quiet voice as he continues staring at the streets. I’m not entirely sure he’s listening to anyone. He seems entirely focused on finding my burglar come thief come whatever the hell he was.

  “Michael, how do you know someone was in my shop?” I ask with narrowed eyes as I once again grab onto the centre console as he throws the car around a corner towards the back streets.

  “When I pulled up he was running out. I went in and saw you were safe in the shower so came back out to see if I could find him,” he says, all matter of fact. He saw me in the bloody shower? Did the other guy? Alex’s growl does nothing to hide his irritation at the image that is now floating through his mind. I have a feeling Michael will be getting an earful at some point.

  “Just get her here, ten fucking minutes ago, Andrews,” Alex seethes quietly. That’s definitely not good. Quiet means thoughtful, or not thoughtful at all, both of which are bad.

  “Yes, Sir. We’re about fifteen minutes away,” Andrews replies. The line goes dead. I’m not sure who ended the call but I’m assuming it wasn’t the man in the front.

  I sit and wonder why someone was in my shop, and more importantly, I wonder what it is that’s in that envelope. It suddenly reminds me of the text message. Are there photos in that envelope? And if so, of who? I stare at the back of Andrews’ head and ponder asking him to let me have it back. It seems he thinks it’s none of my business but it is, isn’t it, because it was left in my shop, for me to see.

  “Michael, what’s in the envelope?” I ask as sweetly as I can in the hope of influencing his calmer side.

  “Nothing for you to be worried about,” he replies brusquely as he begins to drive a little more calmly.

  “Well, sweet as that is, it was left for me so I’d like to see what’s inside,” I say in a more authoritative tone, because his bless her little cotton socks attitude is irritating as hell. “And I’m now assuming it has something to do with a text I received, so tell me or show me please.”

  “What text?”

  “It told me I needed to look at the photos and that he wasn’t who I thought he was. Now, I have no idea what that means but I’m beginning to assume that there are some photos in that envelope of something I should be aware of for some reason.” I am met with silence. It’s not helpful.

  “Michael, what’s in the envelope?” Still nothing, and now I’m officially pissed off. In fact I’m acting just like Alex would. I can almost feel him rumbling around in me. “Stop being fucking awkward, Michael, and tell me,” I snarl. It’s actually quite impressive for me. The shit raises the privacy screen and effectively ends the conversation. Arsehole.

  Ten minutes later and we’re pulling up outside a tube station that I’ve never heard of - Chatsteel Avenue. I’m completely clueless. Why we’d be at an underground station is mystifying. I’m still irritated enough with Andrews to not want to talk to him so I wait for him to open the door and then glare as best I can. Unfortunately, his MI5 agent mask is firmly in place so I’m not convinced my hatred has had any effect at all. He gestures his hand to the steps and nods in the direction of the locked gate at the bottom of them. My curiosity is on high alert but I’m still refusing to say anything to him as I descend the stairs and come to a halt in front of the battered old gate.

  “You have a key on your key ring,” he says. I do? Really? Unlikely, but I dig them out anyway and fiddle with them until I find a key I’ve never seen before alongside Alex’s. I unlock the gate and walk through, expecting him to follow me but he shuts it behind me and I hear the lock click back into place.

  “What are you doing?” I ask a little nervously as I glance around the darkened area and wrap my coat around me.

  “He’ll meet you down there. Just keep walking and follow the music, Elizabeth,” he says as he nods his head again in the direction of the dark tunnel in front of me. I’m not at all happy but if Alex is down there then I’m sure everything is reasonably normal. He doesn’t retreat, just stands there waiting for me to move, presumably to make sure I’m safe or something. How the fuck he would know, given that I’m about to walk into the pitch black, is confusing to say the least. Still, I turn on my too tall heels and stride away from him in what I hope is a display of superiority because I will not back down from my irritation with the man. Who the hell does he think he is, not allowing me to see my own things? I’m having severe words with Alex about this, as soon as I find him, that is.

  Oh shit, it’s dark. I seriously can’t see a thing as I clip my way along the tunnel and listen for anything that will give a glimmer of a clue as to where I’m going. There’s nothing to indicate a direction or a source of light so I keep following my instincts in the blind hope that they’ll lead me the right way while running my hands over the brick walls. Eventually, I hear the telltale echo of footsteps and then the dull thud of music coming from somewhere in front of me. My relief at hearing something is so overwhelming that I realise I’m smiling for the first time in the last hour, so I pick up my pace and continue forward.

  Heat starts to seep into my bones as I pass a small row of candles on my right in the shape of an arrow, pointing me in another direction. I turn that way and shrug out of my coat. The thud of a bass line is getting progressively louder, which causes me to move in time to the beat of it. I find myself swinging my hips as I hopefully glide along, now looking completely in control of who I am and where I’m going. I’m not, obviously, but I can’t help but feel increasingly more empowered by the seemingly corrupt nature of the passage that I’m allowed into.

  My irritation with Andrews is slowly disappearing as my thoughts drift to quite captivating images of strange dungeons and a certain tall and dominant man. I have to give it to him; he certainly knows how to evoke a sex driven atmosphere wherever he leads me. Lanterns are now lined strategically along the sides of the wall, highlighting the way forward and thankfully indicating an end to this mystery at some point. Small doorways draped with dark green velvet are off to the sides and random gold name plaques are embedded in the floor beneath my feet as I walk over them. I’m not sure what they mean but a few of the surnames seem familiar somehow.

  I fluff up my hair in the hope that
I’ll be seeing Alex soon and run some more lipgloss over my lips as I catch the dim sound of laughter and glasses clinking in front of me. Clearly I’m nearly there and thank god, because if I swing my hips anymore, they might fall off or something. It’s an undeniably sexy and soul grinding entrance to a venue. All I want to do is dance my backside off and fall into this hedonistic mood with abandon. Two men soon come into view, standing side by side in front of another gate. They’re big - like wrestler style big. I suddenly feel very small but this hip swinging is not going away anytime soon so I glide towards them and put on my award winning, Belle style smile.

  “Your key, ma’am?” big oaf one says in an American accent. Key? What key? Does he mean the gate key? I pull them out and pass them to him. He swipes them over a blue pad on the wall and the gate clicks open. Okay, so I’m officially a member of some underground club that the mere mortals of the world know nothing about, which could be a little scary if I thought about it too much.

  “Name?” Big oaf two says, as he scans me up and down lecherously. I narrow my eyes at him because I am a feisty little thing, am I not? Who the hell does big oaf think he’s looking at. I am Elizabeth Scott, girlfriend of Alexander White and owner of my own company. It seems a little of my anger is still firmly rooted because my own authority knows no bounds as I land my hand on my hip and curl my lip at him. I quite like my snarl. It’s new for me but does appear to get results.

  “Her name is mine and not for you to hear. Let her through, Wade.” Alex’s voice comes drifting around the corner as I see his dastardly hand reach through the gate for me. Both men instantly step aside so I walk towards the gate and clasp onto those fingers, which immediately twirl me in toward him so I hit his chest with an oomph. “Good evening,” he says to me as he clasps the back of my neck.

  “Hi,” I reply, relishing in his hold of me as I gaze into his icy blues. I don’t even know what he’s wearing because his mouth is mesmerising me towards it as he licks his lips and broadens his ravishing smile.