City Girl in Training (9 page)

‘It's covered by the maintenance service contract, but I can't guarantee to jump you to the front of the queue again.'

‘I… Thank you.'

‘Don't thank me. Just sit down and try to stay out of trouble for two minutes while I get some clothes on.' I opened my mouth to protest. ‘Please.'

I closed it again. ‘Please' was good, although he wasn't letting me go until I promised to obey him. Maybe he thought I'd make a run for it the moment his back was turned. He could be right about that. But then I'd have to move out, or spend the next few months tiptoeing around to avoid him. On tenterhooks every time I set foot outside the apartment. Using the stairs instead of the lift. And if I went back to Maybridge, grovelled to my manager, begging to be allowed to stay, what would I do with all those expensive new clothes?

‘Please, Philly. I need to explain—'

No-o-o! I didn't want explanations. I wanted…well…better not think about what I wanted. I clearly wasn't going to get it.

‘All right,' I conceded, less than gracefully. ‘But I need to make some running repairs before I go out in public,' I said. ‘I don't want to scare the locals.'

He didn't laugh at my feeble attempt at humour. Didn't bother to reassure me that I looked fine, either.
He simply reached out and opened the door to the guest cloakroom. ‘Help yourself.'

Alone with my reflection, I tried to work out what it was about me that made me so…resistible.

I had all the basic equipment. None of it spectacular, admittedly. Apart from my hair, but the least said about that, the better. Eyes, two. Basic brown with the requisite lashes and brows. At least those had escaped the ginger curse. Nose, just the one and, while it wasn't an especially ‘cute' version, it was neat and functional. Even the freckles were under control at this time of year. Mouth…

Actually my mouth looked different. Or maybe it just felt that way. Fuller, softer, well kissed. And a cat-like little smile that I couldn't quite control tucked up the corners as I let my mind replay the moment, remember just how thoroughly kissed it had been.

Maybe I should concentrate on that, I decided and, having dealt with smudged mascara, I reapplied the red lipstick that Sophie had picked out for me. It was something I'd never tried before. I'd always thought redheads should avoid wearing bright red. Clearly I was wrong. That, at least, had been a big success.

Cal was ready to go in his long dark overcoat when I finally emerged from the cloakroom. He just looked at me for a moment and I thought he was going to say something. Whatever it was, he bit it back; I know he did because I saw his jaw tighten before he turned abruptly away and opened the front door, standing well back to give me plenty of room to get through it without brushing against him.

‘Where are we going?' I asked, when the silence had gone on too long.

‘What? Oh, just a local place. I booked a table earlier this afternoon. That's why I called you, to ask you if you'd have dinner with me. Before…' He stopped, clearly unwilling to say before
what
. We both knew before
what
.

That wouldn't do. Not if it wasn't going to remain a constant minefield, something to be avoided at all costs. I'd done the quiz, checked the high-scoring answers so that I could learn by my mistakes. No tiger would let something like that fester.

‘BK?' I prompted.

‘What?'

‘Before Kiss,' I said, with what was supposed to be amused laughter. All he had to do, according to the magazine, was laugh along with me and we could remain friends.

Maybe he didn't understand the concept, or maybe I sounded hysterical rather than amused. Or maybe it was just bad luck that the lift came to a halt at that moment and I stepped out into the lobby, carefully avoiding the crack in my new high-heeled shoes and drawing unnecessary attention to them.

I saw him staring at them and said, ‘They're new. Sophie did a great job, don't you think?'

‘Very pretty. But can you walk in them?'

‘I'm going to be in trouble on Monday if I can't.' Then, before he could say it, ‘So, nothing new there.'

‘It's the male staff at Bartlett's who'll be in trouble,' he said enigmatically.

‘How far is “local”?' I asked, ignoring this veiled suggestion that I was intent on laying waste the entire male population of London before retiring to domesticity and Don. I knew my limitations. They'd just been demonstrated most succinctly.

‘Just round the corner.'

Which could mean anything, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt. ‘Then let's go.'

I didn't wait to see if he was following me, but strode out in my apparently dangerous new shoes as if wearing four-inch-heels came to me as naturally as breathing. I'd never tried them before because Don wasn't that tall.

They felt great.

He still beat me to the door, then stood back holding it for a tall, incredibly elegant woman who was on her way in.

‘Cal! Darling!' she exclaimed, kissing his cheek, holding his arms in a proprietorial manner that had all my little green cells hissing with ‘hands-off' fury. Considering that I hadn't known they existed until today, they were getting quite an airing.

‘Tessa,' he said. ‘You're looking good.'

‘So are you. In fact you look terrific. When did you get back? Why haven't you called? Do the Aged Parents know you're home? They're in London.'

‘A couple of days ago. I've been busy. They wouldn't be interested,' he said, replying to her questions with a discouraging minimum of vocabulary, which appeased the green cells a little.

Ms Tall-and-Elegant did not take offence, however,
she simply shook her head slightly, as if in exasperation, then glanced at me, lifting a perfectly groomed eyebrow. ‘Not that busy,' she said, with a smile that, while speculative, was not possessive and offering a perfectly manicured hand that had clearly never been near a kitchen sink.

‘Tessa, this is Philly Gresham. She's moved in with the Harrington girls for a few months while her parents are away. We're going to Nico's for supper. Philly this is my sister, Tessa Cartwright. Presumably on a sortie from darkest Yorkshire to lay waste to Knightsbridge in the true spirit of Christmas.'

She gave him the kind of look that sisters reserved for brothers before saying, ‘Good to meet you, Philly.' She held my hand for a moment. ‘If you need anything I'm at number sixty-four. Just knock.' Then to her brother, ‘If you can spare the time, you can take me out to dinner before I return to the frozen north, Cal. Catch up on family gossip.' And with a wave she headed for the lift.

I stepped through the door he was still holding, shivering a little, and not just at the sudden drop in temperature.

‘Cold?'

‘It was a mistake to come out without my thermals,' I said.

‘Not from where I was standing.' He put his hand to my back, directing me to the left, then took my arm, tucking it beneath his, presumably for warmth. ‘It's not far.'

It would have been petty to object, or pull away.
We'd walked linked together like this through Kensington Gardens, when I'd thought he could have no interest in me as a woman, and I'd felt cherished.

What had changed?

Everything, I realised. I could have dismissed the first kiss as another of his Galahad rescues. But he wasn't gay and that second kiss had been personal. He'd meant it.

And so had I.

Cal was greeted as an old friend as we entered the small and cosy restaurant a couple of minutes later. He was surrounded by people who knew him, it seemed. I'd thought I'd known him. But I didn't.

Oh, I knew that he was kind, that he was fun to be with. That he was a great kisser. They weighed pretty heavily on the plus side. But I also knew he'd deceived me, allowed me to believe he was Kate and Sophie's ‘sweet' gay neighbour. Why, for heaven's sake?

He hadn't even bothered to mention that his sister had an apartment in the same block. I hadn't even known he had a sister!

I'd told him my whole damn life story. Okay, so I'd lived a pretty uneventful life and there wasn't much to tell, but I still felt short-changed.

He hung up our coats and we went through to a tiny bar where the
maître d'
brought us menus and asked if we'd like a drink. Cal stayed with Scotch. ‘And a mineral water,' he added, without bothering to ask me.

‘Still or sparkling, miss?'

Something inside me snapped. ‘Well, gosh,' I said, laying my hand against my breast, quite deliberately drawing attention to the low cut of the dress, my bare arms and naked shoulders. ‘Do you think the excitement of
sparkling
water might just be too much for me?' I wasn't plagued with the kind of temper that traditionally went with red hair, but I was beginning to feel as if someone had lit a short fuse beneath me. I know I'd
said
I was on water for the duration, but I was a woman. Changing my mind went with the chromosomes.

‘I'm sorry, Philly, I assumed you meant it when you said you were sticking to water. What would you like?' Cal's coolness in the face of my bad behaviour, and doubtless intended to defuse it, had the opposite effect.

‘A cocktail. A Woo Woo,' I added casually, as if cocktails were something I drank on a regular basis. The only reason I'd even heard of it was because my sister—a natural-born tiger if ever there was one—had made a jugful for her hen-night. I wasn't even sure what it contained beyond Peach Schnapps and possibly Vodka, but it sounded appropriately off-the-wall and my recollection, which was admittedly rather dim—it had been one heck of a party—was that it looked pretty and tasted even better.

The man was good—I'd have missed the merest flicker of a glance in Cal's direction for confirmation if I hadn't been looking for it—before he said, ‘A Woo Woo. Yes, miss.'

The drinks arrived with commendable swiftness,
along with tiny appetisers. Cal made no comment as I sipped mine, nibbled on a salted almond, merely enquiring blandly what I'd like to eat. I told him. He ordered food, deliberated over the choice of wine. By the time we'd finished our drinks the table was ready and we were shown to a secluded corner of the restaurant. Maybe the
maître d'
was worried that I'd start throwing the china.

‘I bought you something today,' Cal said, when we were settled with our first course and the waiter had departed.

‘Oh?' I concentrated on my salmon mousse while he took a small package from his pocket and placed it on the table between us.

It had been elaborately gift-wrapped, with an extravagant knot of curled silver ribbons.

Damn! I'd just wound myself up to be really, really mad at him and he had to choose that moment to demonstrate that he'd been thinking about me. As if I needed any more proof. I had messages backed up on my mobile showing me how much he'd been thinking. He'd even booked a table for dinner…

‘Very pretty,' I said wryly. ‘I'd have asked if you did the bow yourself, but clearly you didn't.'

‘Okay, I deserved that…I'm sorry.'

‘That's it? You're
sorry
? Have you any idea of the embarrassment I felt when I thought I'd let slip that stupid nickname—?'

He reached out, caught my hand briefly to stop me. ‘I know,' he said.

‘I wanted to curl up and die—'

‘I know,' he repeated, still in that same reasonable voice.

‘I have no doubt you thought it was hilarious.'

‘If you could have seen your face…' He let it go. ‘I guess you had to be there,' he said.

‘I was.'

‘Look, the pizza was getting cold and I didn't want to spend the rest of the evening in the hall. I promise you I had intended to put you out of your misery the minute I'd opened the wine. After that…well…I was going to offer to show you around. Ask you to have dinner with me. Or go to the theatre maybe…'

‘Embark on a flirtation? Something to pass the time until you depart for the South Seas to film the life and death of the leatherback turtle.'

‘Something like that,' he replied steadily, but my stupid heart still gave a leap at the thought of what ‘something' might entail. However briefly. ‘And then you started talking about your boyfriend.'

‘Those damned anchovies,' I said, wishing I'd kept my mouth shut. Except of course I'd subconsciously been making the point that I might be stupid, but I wasn't a total loss as a woman. Overkill. Apparently he'd already noticed.

My mistake.

‘From the way you talked about him, it was clear that you've been with him for years, that you're committed to a life with him. Only a complete heel would have made a play for you when you were on your own and vulnerable.'

‘Oh, I see.' He was being noble. How rare. How unlikely. ‘So what happened tonight?' I said.

I
T WAS
like poking a sore tooth. Whatever he'd been going to do, Cal had clearly had second thoughts. And third ones. But he had, if only momentarily, forgotten all his good intentions and kissed me. Done rather more than kiss me. My body was still singing from his touch.

‘I'm not made of wood, Philly. Have you any idea what you looked like with your head tilted back, your hair loose over your bare shoulders, running that piece of ice over your throat?'

The picture he painted was shocking, nothing like the Philly Gresham who'd left home on Friday afternoon, fed up and angry. ‘I wasn't performing for an audience,' I said, trying to justify myself. ‘And when you kiss a girl, even when you're pretending, well…' I lifted my shoulders, then grabbed the front of my dress as it nearly lost its precarious battle with gravity under the strain. ‘I was hot,' I said.

I'd invited him to tell me he hadn't been pretending. He didn't. What he said was, ‘It won't happen again.'

It wasn't what I wanted to hear.

‘The pretend kiss? Or the one that wasn't?' I was living dangerously, I knew it, but I couldn't help myself. I wanted him to want me. I wanted him to want me so much that nothing, short of the end of the world, would deter him from making love to me.

‘Both. What you needed last night, above all else, was a friend, Philly,' he said carefully, and avoiding my question. ‘I wanted you to be able to relax with me. Feel safe. Not to have to keep up your guard against a man with more than pizza on his mind.'

I did. I do, I thought. Feel safe. But knowing that wasn't doing anything to cool me down. Knowing that he was caring and thoughtful as well as hot and sexy made the prospect of surrender irresistible.

He was a dangerous man, no doubt. I felt alive when I was with him, aroused and weak with longing for him to do things to me that should have made me blush with shame. But deep down, where it really mattered, I felt totally safe. Protected, cared for. He'd
already demonstrated that he would put my best interests before his own gratification. And mine. And I knew that if he loved me I would be the most fortunate woman in the world. I also knew, instinctively, that he wasn't the kind of man to settle down in Maybridge. Fulfil my dream of small-town domesticity. But then that was the dream of the mouse who'd left home on Friday.

I'd been kissed by Callum McBride and I wasn't the same girl any more.

‘I realised,' he went on, although he seemed to be struggling a bit as I fanned myself with my hand, ‘that if I left you with the impression that I was gay, you wouldn't think of me as a threat.'

He waited for me to confirm that he'd got it right.

I was going to repeat the careless shrug, but recollected myself in time and said, ‘You did a fine job.' We'd flirted and laughed and he'd put his arm around me but I'd thought, hey, this is okay. I'm safe as houses. I'm not doing anything bad. But I hadn't wanted to be. Safe.

‘I also realised,' he said, ‘that if you felt safe, I could stay close to you.'

‘Really?' I went for a thoughtful frown with that ‘really' to prevent a wide grin from breaking out all over my face. As if I was interested in his thought processes rather than over the moon that he liked me enough to make such a sacrifice to spend time with me.

A man who could do that had to be very confident of his masculinity. Had to be able to laugh at himself.
I thought how easy it would be to love a man like that.

‘Really,' he said. ‘And it wasn't noble at all, Philly. I wanted to stay close. I wanted to touch you, put my arm around you. I wanted to see you laugh. Wanted you to tell me the kind of secrets you'd only tell a friend.'

‘You don't think straight men and women can be just good friends?' I said, before he could get onto secrets.

His smile was wry. ‘I think we've already proved how impossible it is. I kept up the charade for twenty-four hours before I completely lost it. And even then you weren't fooled, just confused.'

I was a lot more than that, but I let it go. ‘Sure I was confused. You were flirting with me this morning over breakfast,' I said, thinking of the way he'd played with my hair. Held onto my hand. Flattered me, even. ‘Was that unintentional? Were you aware that you were doing it?'

‘I…I guess I just couldn't help it,' he said. ‘Any more than you could help the look you gave that girl in the market.'

‘You saw that?' I demanded. Then wished I hadn't as my cheeks flooded with colour.

‘If you'd been convinced I was gay, you wouldn't have bothered. You'd have been amused, or a little sad for her. You wouldn't have been sending hands-off signals. Is that why you didn't answer my messages, Philly?' I frowned. ‘Were you feeling guilty about Don?'

‘I didn't go straight back to the flat,' I said obliquely, not ready to admit that the only man in my thoughts had been him. ‘I went to the Science Museum.'

‘Oh,' he said. ‘I see.' As if I'd just unlocked the secret to my deepest thought processes. Completely betrayed myself. Maybe I had.

‘They've got a baby Austin on show there. Like the one Don's restoring. He asked me to go and have a look at it. Send him a picture postcard.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘That I sent him a postcard?'

‘That you felt guilty.'

‘Why? It's not your fault.' He had nothing to reproach himself for. Well, maybe he had, but any guilty feelings I might have had weren't his responsibility. They were one hundred per cent my own. ‘And to be honest I don't know what I felt.' Okay, so I was stretching the truth a little, but in a good cause. ‘Confused, mostly.'

‘Everything all right, sir?' The young waiter whisked away our plates, having ascertained that we'd finished. Neither of us had exactly wiped our plates clean.

‘Fine,' Cal said. ‘Thank you.' There was a lull while the second course was served, our glasses were filled. I regarded the wine with suspicion. Cal saw my look and said, ‘It's white.'

‘Lovely.' Having insisted on a cocktail, I could hardly remind him that I was sticking to water. But I'd have to be careful. This conversation was going a
lot faster than anything I was used to. And I had no experience of dissembling, playing games, sexual teasing. I was conscious of laying myself bare. Exposing myself to the intensity of Cal's gaze in a way that was far more complex, more revealing than the mere unzipping of a dress. ‘Can I open this now?' I asked, taking advantage of the break in conversation to pick up the gift he'd bought me.

He looked as if he wanted to say more, but he let it go. ‘It's yours,' he said. ‘Do what you like with it.'

I tore off the paper, but kept the ribbon safe. I already knew that I'd keep that bow, tucked away somewhere, for the rest of my life. Inside the wrapping was a small flat box that contained a keyring. Hanging from the keyring was a miniature, state-of-the-art attack alarm.

Not a fun thing like the one my mother had bought, but a serious piece of kit made from the kind of dull black metal that no shoe, even a Callum-McBride-sized shoe, could dent, let alone destroy.

‘It's to replace the one I flattened with my size elevens,' he said, his thoughts evidently running along the same lines as my own.

‘Elevens?' I lifted my eyebrows. I was getting this whole tiger thing down to a fine art, but it was more than that. I knew I mustn't let him see how much his gesture meant to me. Or he'd be the one racked with the guilt. ‘I'd have said…bigger.'

And even in that softly lit, discreet little restaurant I could have sworn that his cheekbones were stained
with a darker red. It made me feel powerful and strong and suddenly very much in control.

‘Do you think I'm safe with this in an enclosed space?' I asked as I laid the little keyring beside my plate, my thumb brushing gently over the alarm.

‘If you feel threatened, just press the button.'

I laughed. ‘You like to live dangerously, don't you?'

‘It beats the alternative.'

‘How would you know?' I asked. ‘You've been living dangerously ever since you used one of your mother's best sheets to make a hide and escape your architectural destiny.'

‘Unlike you with your safe job, safe boyfriend, safe life?' He shook his head. ‘Forget I said that. If that's what you want, who am I to criticise?'

Did I? Want it?

‘I've left home, got a terrifying new job, and a pile of smart new clothes to go with it, thank you very much.' Okay, so the boyfriend needed work, but I thought I was doing pretty well for a little over twenty-four hours into a new life.

‘You're in a flat your mother found for you and you were, by your own admission, seconded to Bartlett's kicking and screaming. I hate to break it to you, darling, but it takes more than one ruined sheet to escape your destiny.'

‘That's out of the Cal McBride book of homespun philosophy, is it? Very profound.'

‘I'm merely making the point that it's easier to stay
with what you have, what you know, than take a leap into the dark.'

‘You didn't. Take the safe option.'

‘I came close,' he admitted. ‘I sold my soul for my cameras, the light meters, lenses, tripod that I begged as birthday and Christmas presents. Sold it with assurances that it was just a hobby. It wouldn't affect my school work. Easy promises that I'd go to university, qualify as an architect. Join the family firm.'

‘Did you mean to keep them?'

‘Architecture, especially as the partner of a major firm, is a lot more lucrative than filming pigeons. I knew that. I thought I could live with it, be content making small films in my spare time. I thought I could have it all and for two years I applied myself to becoming the son my parents wanted me to be.'

‘What changed?'

‘Someone I met at university…' he looked at me then, as if weighing his words, as if it was important that I understood ‘…someone clever, lovely, talented, was killed in a stupid accident. She slipped on icy steps and broke her neck racing to get to a lecture she didn't even want to go to. One minute she was full of life, warmth. The next she was dead.'

‘I'm so sorry, Cal—' I wanted to reach out for him, comfort him, but I felt it would have been intrusive. That I didn't know him well enough for that.

‘She was twenty-one—not even your age, Philly—and studying mathematics instead of music to please her father. He'd insisted she shouldn't waste her fine brain on something as pointless as singing.' He shook
his head. ‘She had a voice that could make you want to laugh, or weep. The world is full of mathematicians…'

‘You loved her.'

He stirred. ‘Perhaps. In that careless way of the young who believe themselves to be immortal. My grief, I suspect, was as much for the loss of that innocence as for her death.'

He shrugged, but I thought he was playing down his own hurt.

‘All I know is that she wasted her gift to fit someone else's vision of her life and as I stood by her graveside I made her a promise that I wouldn't do the same.'

And he reached out and took my hand then, as if he needed me to understand, and I turned it in his, grasping his fingers in mine so that he would know that I did. And, intuitively, I realised something else.

‘That's it, isn't it?' I said. ‘Your deep secret. The one thing you've never told anyone else?'

‘Smart, aren't you?'

‘As paint,' I assured him. Then, because I wasn't ready to tell him mine, because frankly I didn't think he'd believe me if I did, especially not after this evening, I said, ‘So what happened?'

‘I left university.'

‘And no one said a word? You suggested that your mother wasn't exactly overwhelmed by your career choice and when your sister asked you if you'd seen your family…' I left it there.

‘Okay. There was a major row. My mother sug
gested I take a year out. Give myself time to get it out of my system. She thought a year as an assistant cameraman on a film crew, out in all weathers, working for someone else instead of pleasing myself, would be enough to dampen my enthusiasm. My father knew better. He knew that if I left university, I'd never go back.'

‘He tried to hold you to your promise?'

‘He was cleverer than that. He offered me my flat as a gift, just to complete my degree. He asked nothing more than that. Just take my degree, then we'd talk again.'

‘Your flat? You mean number seventy-two?'

‘He designed the apartment complex.'

‘It's beautiful, Cal.'

‘He won an award for it. We McBrides are high achievers.' He grinned. ‘Of course, being talented helps, and he's not just talented, he's clever. The developer got into trouble and Dad bailed him out in return for a share of the real estate. They use the penthouse when they're in London. Tessa was given the smaller flat on the floor below us as a wedding present. She and her husband use it as a
pied-à-terre
when they come down from his estate in Yorkshire. And I was offered number seventy-two in return for giving up all this airy-fairy filming nonsense.'

Now I was confused. ‘But if you turned him down—'