Dream a Little Dream (5 page)

Slowly, Dominic nodded. ‘So the empty part could be leased from the hotel, too?’

‘So far as I know, yes.’ Nicolas shuffled his feet, the beginnings of bliss dawning on his round face. ‘Were you—were you thinking of putting in enough money to expand? Gosh, that’s something to talk about.’

The moment of truth was obviously arriving at a gallop. Dominic jammed his hands in his pockets and sighed. ‘I think that’s too much to hope for. Shall we continue this conversation in your office?’

But the damage was done. Nicolas bounded back to his room, throwing an airy request for more coffee and camomile tea at Pippa, rattling on about always wanting to do more with the place but needing the investment.

Finally, when Pippa had delivered a tray of gaily spotted china mugs, Dominic had to interrupt. ‘Nicolas, hang on a minute.’

Nicolas halted, mid-sentence, glancing between Dominic and Miranda.

Dominic hesitated. None of his courses had armed him with the kindest way to crush hopes.

But Nicolas was nodding understandingly, a smile lifting his jowls. ‘I think I already know what’s worrying you – you can’t see a place here for your partner.’ He beamed at Miranda, who had worn a speaking expression of wistful longing during the tour.

Taken aback, Dominic said, ‘Partner?’

Nicolas tapped his nose. ‘The guys at Peterbizop made me aware of the situation and I’ve already taken steps. Things are a bit rocky with one of the therapists, so I’ve given her notice that she has to relocate her
practice
.’ He beamed at Miranda. ‘The treatment room right across the hall, the one we looked at, would be yours. What are your therapies? Something that isn’t already offered by the others would be best, of course.’

‘What?’ In her shock, Miranda found her voice.

Nicolas began to repeat himself, but Dominic cut across him. ‘Wait. I had a treatment with a therapist in that room, yesterday – Liza.’

Nicolas, nodding, ‘That’s ri—’

‘And you’ve sacked her?’

‘Well, no.’ Nicolas laughed. ‘I can’t sack somebody that I don’t employ. I’ve just given her notice to relocate her
practice
.’

‘Why?’ Dominic and Miranda demanded, in unison.

Nicolas’s brow creased uncertainly. ‘I don’t wish to be unsympathetic because Liza has had some difficulties in her personal life. But something happened, yesterday, that gave me the opportunity to give her notice.’ He picked up a copy of the details emblazoned with the red logo of Peterbizop Agency. ‘I have explained, and it does say in here, that all the therapists are self-employed.’ He glanced apologetically at Miranda. ‘The only person I directly employ is young Pippa. Each therapist pays a premium on her rent to cover Pippa’s wages—’

‘Why?’ Dominic repeated.

Nicolas looked up questioningly.

‘Why did you give Liza Reece notice?’

‘Well.’ Nicolas folded his hands. ‘Let’s just say … it was a straw that broke the camel’s back situation.’

‘Did it involve a client?’

Nicolas’s brow lifted, as if grateful for Dominic’s understanding. ‘I’m afraid so, yes.’

Oh crap. Dominic rose, glad to leave the unpleasant vinyl chair. The furniture seemed to have its own sweat glands; no wonder Nicolas looked as if he’d just left a sauna. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Let’s move on to why you think my cousin is my “partner” and that she wants to come here as a therapist? Or even that she is a therapist?’

‘Cousin? The guy at Peterbizop called her your partner.’ Nicolas blinked.

Dominic turned to Miranda. Eyes wide, she shrugged. ‘When he rang when you were asleep, I did tell him what I’ve told you – that I’d love to train in a couple of years, when Ethan’s at school. I suppose he could have assumed that because we’re living in the same house, we’re in a relationship.’

Nicolas cleared his throat. ‘Peterbizop rang to run through the possibilities. You know, they,’ he cleared his throat again, ‘help you to prepare. To explore scenarios and have answers ready to likely questions. He said it was in the notes he’d been given by his colleague that Miranda wanted into the business, as a therapist,’ he added, with an air of injury. ‘He encouraged me to have a solution ready, because that kind of thing could be a deal breaker.’

Dominic snorted. ‘Sounds as if the staff at Peterbizop make up what they forget to put in their notes. I can’t believe you gave Liza Reece notice on such a bogus pretext.’ He jammed his hands in his pockets and, feeling less need to be careful of Nicolas’s sensitivities, continued, ‘I’m afraid we’re wasting each other’s time. I can’t see that there’s an income to be made, here. I’m sorry.’

Bewildered, Nicolas clambered to his feet. ‘I’ve obviously been fed duff information and if I’ve done the wrong thing about Liza, we could always tell her she can stay—’

‘You have done the wrong thing and you should tell her that she can stay, but it doesn’t make any difference. I’m not able to invest in your business. Coming, Miranda?’

Outside, Dominic breathed in deeply of the fresh air. He checked that Nicolas hadn’t followed them into the stable yard. ‘Oily little oik.’

Miranda’s eyes were guilty. ‘I’m sorry if I said anything that has made things difficult for you, Dom.’

‘It’s not your fault! But Liza Reece must want to eviscerate me.’ He paused as a titchy black-and-purple car swept up and halted beside the building. ‘Great,’ he sighed. ‘I think we’re about to find out.’ The sound of the car door echoed around the stable yard and Liza Reece headed towards reception, pink skinny jeans and blue sequined trainers showing beneath her jacket, with no sign of the clinical dark green. She began to smile. Then she saw who it was and stopped dead.

For several seconds, Dominic and Liza gazed at one another. Her eyes widened and he was caught, baked in her gaze. Her soft lips parted. She was hot. Hotter than hot. Hotter than he’d remembered. Imagined. Dreamed … his dream of her working her way up his body floated gently through his mind, and he smiled, forgetting for half a heartbeat that it hadn’t been real.

Warily, she stepped closer, so obviously squaring her shoulders to attack a job that had to be done that he almost laughed as he snapped back to reality. ‘I suppose I owe you an apology for yesterday. Sorry.’

Dominic had seldom heard anyone sound less sorry. ‘I owe you one in return. Nicolas stupid Notten’s just told me he’s asked you to relocate your
practice
– and I’m afraid it’s all down to me being so outrageous as to ask you out.’

She flushed. ‘He considers the whole thing my fault, not yours.’ With an obvious effort, she added, ‘He has a point.’

‘But he might be prepared to reconsider, now because—’

She made an impatient gesture. ‘It would have happened sooner or later. Things aren’t working that well for me here. Got to go. I have a client at two.’ She checked her watch and started toward the door.

‘Wait!’ he protested. ‘There’s more I have to tell you.’

‘What?’ Her baby-doll blue eyes flicked from him to Miranda and then back to her watch.

‘I think we could usefully exchange information. Is it too much of a cheek to ask to meet you, later?’

‘I’m booked through until nine.’

‘I could pick you up after your last client— Oh, shit. No driving licence.’ He felt his face burn, as if his licence being suspended was his fault. Losing the use of his car had been like losing a limb. He took a breath. Calm, Dominic. It’s not your fault. Work around it. ‘How about I meet you at that pub in Middledip, on Main Road?’

A glimmer of sympathy had dawned in her eyes when he mentioned his licence, or lack of, but her shrug was still ungracious. ‘The Three Fishes? I suppose so.’

He tried his best slow smile, right into her eyes. ‘I won’t mention the word “dinner” in case it triggers your fight-or-flight response, but I’ll be eating. I’m really not shy but I don’t like to eat alone so it would be great if you’d eat, too.’

She didn’t smile back. ‘I noticed you’re not shy.’ A blue Golf whizzed into the stable yard. ‘Here’s my client. See you just after nine.’

It was good to be busy, helping people to relax and seeing the lines and puckers fade from their faces as she set her sensitive fingers to searching out the gritty, bubbly areas of their feet.

After her last client, Liza washed her hands, stuffed her towels into the washing machine and prepared to file the day’s notes. She’d just posted a Newton Faulkner disc into the stereo and opened her filing cabinet when Nicolas slid around the door. She sighed.

He hunched his round shoulders. ‘I’ve been thinking, Liza. I feel bad about blowing up at you, last night. We’re all under a lot of stress.’

Oh, really? She gave him a thoughtful stare. Sweating, fidgeting, Nicolas showed all the signs of a man in a bit of a spot.

He shuffled further into the room. He wore a smile, but his eyes were unhappy. ‘You know I wouldn’t really chuck you out, don’t you?’

The beginnings of relief washed through her. If she wasn’t being ousted, then some of the pressure was off her whilst she decided what to do next. She cocked her head. ‘But aren’t I too unpleasant for everyone to work with?’

His laugh was forced. ‘I didn’t say that! Or, if I did, I was angry and I probably said too much.’

‘No luck with the investors?’

His smile stayed pinned in place. ‘Early days, early days.’

Slowly, she closed the filing cabinet drawer. Such a feeble justification for this about-face brought with it a whiff of rodent. ‘Have Imogen and Fenella finished with their clients?’

‘I don’t—’

‘Let’s see.’ Dodging past him, she whisked down to reception. ‘Pippa! Have Fenella and Imogen finished their evening sessions?’

Pippa was already zipping herself into her coat, hooking her ponytail out of the collar. ‘Yup, all the clients have gone.’

‘Good. Can you just hang on a sec? And you, Nicolas.’

‘But—!’

‘Won’t take a moment.’ With a brilliant smile at Nicolas, Liza shot off in search of Fen and Immi and vitally illuminating feedback.

Once everyone was assembled, still in the despised forest green tunics and white shoes, Liza turned to face them, clasping her hands and assuming what she hoped was a desolate expression. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she began. ‘I had no idea I was being so horrible to you all and now it’s been pointed out to me, I feel awful. Nicolas has given me the chance to stay at the centre, but I don’t feel I can unless you guys are all OK with it. It wouldn’t be fair. I apologise for my behaviour, of course.’

Silence.

Nicolas shone with sweat. ‘Well—’

Imogen’s dark hair was threaded artfully into a beaded circlet at the back of her head. She tucked away an escaping tendril, frowning. ‘When were you horrible?’

Fenella gave a bemused shake of her head. ‘What do you mean, “a chance to stay”?’

Pippa just looked confused.

Liza gazed around, as if in surprise. ‘Nicolas explained that I’ve been upsetting everyone; that I go too far with my friendly insults. He didn’t seem to think he had much choice but to ask me to go.’ Then watched, with satisfaction, three pairs of astonished eyes swivel towards Nicolas.

Nicolas backed up like a cornered fox. ‘I may have overreacted to something Liza said to a client.’

‘Liza’s had a hard time, she’s a bit sad sometimes, but I don’t remember her insulting me.’ Fenella folded her arms.

‘Me, neither,’ Imogen agreed.

‘I may have blown the incident up.’

Liza gazed at him. He shuffled. Finally, he muttered, ‘Sorry.’

And all there was left for Liza to do was heave pretend sighs and hug, kiss and thank everyone in turn as they reassured her. Except Nicolas. Nicolas just gave her a look that seemed to say he knew perfectly well he’d been punished.

Now all she had to do was work out why she’d had to do it.

PWNsleep message board:

Nightjack: Yesterday evening was so crap. I was talking to a hot girl and I couldn’t clear my head. She must have thought I wasn’t into her at all.

Inthebatcave: Would it work to take your meds a bit later, to keep you with it, if you know you’re going to be out late?

Nightjack: Yeah, but I hadn’t known I would be. It was, like, a developing situation … 

Tenzeds: Were you really that into her, if her conversation didn’t keep you alert? Talking to a woman I like has definitely kept my eyes open, so far … 
But it’s scary to think it might not.

Liza, huddling into her jacket, was grateful to step into the beery warmth of The Three Fishes after the raw autumn chill of the evening. Locals gathered near the bar and grouped around the tables under the darkened beams. A blazing log fire danced its welcome with the cosy smell of wood smoke. And it was inexplicably comforting to find Dominic Christy lounging at a brass-covered table, his jacket a similar harvest-gold to his streaky hair. His glance was a flash of silver.

She dropped into the chair across from him. ‘Bloody Nicolas! Did you think I wasn’t coming?’

His smile was slow and lazy, tugging suddenly at her insides. ‘The possibility occurred. If you want to eat, we need to order right away and there are only three things we can have this late: chicken korma, goat’s cheese and pear salad or tuna pasta bake.’

‘Is the korma with white rice or brown rice?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘You’re not going to go all Miranda on me and extol the virtues of brown rice?’

She sighed. ‘But it is better for cholesterol, energy … Never mind. I’ll have the korma, please, I’m starving. And one of those passion-fruit-and-pomegranate drinks.’

Whilst Dominic ordered at the bar, Liza hung her ski jacket around the back of her chair, rubbing her hands, wishing he’d chosen a table nearer the fire. She glanced around, smiling and waving at people she knew, enjoying the gentle buzz of conversation, the occasional laugh, the crackle of the fire. Three men at the next table, flushed with alcohol, halted their conversation to look her over. One sent her a wink. She acknowledged him with a tiny smile. Angie and Rochelle may have been right that she needed to put some life back in her life, but red-faced pub bugs had never been her type.

Dominic returned and slid two glasses onto the table. His held Guinness. ‘Bloody Nicolas what?’

‘Bloody Nicolas came to talk just as I was leaving.’ She sipped at the drink, sweet and tart together.

‘Let me guess.’ He drank from his black beer, returning it to the circle of moisture it had left on the table. ‘He’s reconsidered giving you notice on your treatment room?’

She propped her chin on her fist. ‘Good guess. Now it’s my turn – you and Miranda are the investors he’d arranged to meet today? That’s why you were leaving as I arrived?’

He was nodding before she’d finished speaking.

What did that mean? Where did he fit into her picture? ‘You haven’t opted in yet, and he’s realised he needs my rent a while longer?’

‘I’m not opting in with him at all.’ His grey gaze was steady. ‘He got some dodgy information from the business opportunity agency that made him think I’d make bringing Miranda in as a therapist a condition of my investment.’

‘So he put me on notice in case he had to get me out to make way for her, knowing he could pretend a change of heart if he needed to?’ A lick of anger. ‘But Miranda’s not even a therapist.’

‘Nope. I’ve delisted from the agency, because it’s obviously staffed by monkeys and gibbons, quite unable to understand the concept of losing a dream job and having to find a new one. I’m glad Nicolas isn’t turfing you out.’

‘It does make life easier.’ She blew out her cheeks. Last night she’d tossed and turned over whether to find a treatment room in Peterborough, where population would be dense and trade more plentiful but she’d have a fifteen-mile drive each way, or to try to drum up enough business around the villages. It would mean being a mobile, as Mrs. Horrible Snelling might report her or object or whatever it was you did to stop people if they tried to trade from home. And she didn’t know anyone who was making being a mobile pay as a full-time business. ‘It’s nice not to be up against a deadline, but it doesn’t solve the underlying problems.’

His gaze was thoughtful, focused. ‘I presumed from what you said this afternoon that there are some. Am I allowed to ask what those problems are?’ His eyes smiled. ‘I do have a reason for asking.’

She shrugged. ‘When I moved out of Peterborough I knew I’d lose existing clients, but there was supposed to be a flood of guests from the hotel to more than make up. But it’s been more of a trickle than a flood and, of course, many are only around long enough for single treatments. But the premises are fabulous and I keep on at Nicolas that we need to get creative to capitalise on them. We need new ideas and I’ve got loads. But he only has to hear the word “new” and his mind clangs shut.’

She paused as Janice from behind the bar brought two steaming oval plates of fragrant curry on fluffy pillows of rice – white – with hot naan bread on the side. Dominic thanked her with a smile. Janice smiled back in a way that suggested that, although she had two decades on Dominic, she wasn’t impervious to his charms.

Liza propped her head on her hand. ‘Suddenly I’m not certain whether I’m starving hungry or can’t eat for worry.’

‘Still trying to get out of having dinner with me?’ He assumed an expression of injury.

She managed a sort of laugh and stripped the paper napkin from her cutlery. ‘Being credit crunched isn’t good for the appetite.’ Which she proved when she pushed away her plate with half the food still remaining. She waited until he’d cleaned his plate before picking up the conversation. ‘So. Are you going to share your reason for asking about my problems?’

Leaning back, he stretched his legs out beside the table. ‘I need to find a new career. Narcolepsy has made certain options no longer viable, including shift work, which would turn me into a zombie. Becoming self-employed seems a good way to go. It makes it easier to schedule my sleeping pattern and I’ve always enjoyed leading projects.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘Miranda wanted me to give The Stables a look.’

‘So you did and you hated it,’ she supplemented, drily. ‘I think I got that.’

‘I’m certainly not tempted to train as a therapist.’ He stared pensively at his drink, making patterns in the condensation with the pad of his thumb.

She waited, thinking, absently, how unlike Adam he was. No endless patience or gentle light of adoration in this man’s face. Dominic’s habitual expressions were determination, laughter or thoughtfulness. But at least what showed on his face seemed real.

Whereas, Adam’s adoration had disguised the mechanisms he employed to make things what he’d like them to be …

Resolutely, she dragged her attention back to the moment. ‘So why the need for information about The Stables, if you hate the idea of being involved?’

He fixed her with his grey gaze. ‘It’s only reasonable to research an idea before accepting, rejecting or modifying it. There are some things I don’t understand. Like, how does Nicolas make any money out of the place?’

Janice returned to clear the plates. Dominic asked for water. Liza ordered coffee. ‘I think your question ought to be, “Does Nicolas make any money out of the place?”’

He sat up, planting his elbows on the table. His phone sounded an alert and he fished it from his jacket pocket and silenced it impatiently. ‘Does he?’

She shook her head. ‘Not enough, I don’t think.’ It probably wasn’t ethical for her to publicly paw through Nicolas’s business, but neither had been giving her notice in case he could move a new therapist in. ‘I’d been living and working in Peterborough, but my sister lives in Middledip and I wanted to move to the village. The hotel wanted a treatment centre, Nicolas took up the lease and advertised the rooms. The premises were great, and I fell for Nicolas’s rosy view of the future. I suppose it didn’t occur to me that he could get it quite so wrong. I should have been like you – all researchy and logical. I’m learning the hard way.’

Her coffee arrived. ‘I suppose,’ she continued, slowly, scooping up the spinning-froth island on her teaspoon before licking it off, ‘that Nicolas is basically lazy. He wants the traditional model of obliging clients who make appointments, turn up for treatments, pay and book again. But there just aren’t enough.

‘I – and Fenella and Imogen – suggested bridal pampers, hen parties, new treatments and stuff, but he says they’re not true to the ethos of alternative medicine. They’re crossing over into beauty treatments and gimmicks.’ She gave a sniff. ‘Frankly, we’re prepared to sacrifice his principles to make a living but it’s in our agreements that he makes the decisions about the centre as a whole. Which is why we’re all wearing those gross green NHS reject tunics.’

She sipped at the hot, sweet coffee and noticed his gaze fall to her lips as she licked away the froth. Maybe he was regretting ordering water but, too bad, she didn’t allow herself much skin-dulling caffeine and she wasn’t sharing. ‘Also,’ she continued, ‘Nicolas doesn’t bring any money to the party; he just wants to take it out.’

His gaze shifted to her eyes. ‘Clarify?’

Rather than being irritated by the way he rapped the word out, she found herself admiring his focus on the conversation. It felt good, to be listened to as if every word was of vital importance, and a stark contrast to the way Nicolas dismissed everything she said. She liked intensity, she decided. She liked this man, brushed by gold under the lights from the bar, his intellect almost a palpable thing, his attention all on her. ‘He’s not a therapist. He doesn’t have clients. What we pay him buys us the use of the general facilities – the building, the electricity, water and the receptionist, Pippa, though I’ve never known another centre with a receptionist to make appointments and show clients into the treatment rooms. It’s a luxury. Most therapists use voicemail and return calls to manage appointments. And Nicolas draws a salary, too. He sits in his office and does the admin but that doesn’t bring in fees. To run Nicolas’s kind of operation would need the clients and prices you see at a top-end spa. I wish the hotel had made the stables a spa, as they planned, and we’d rented the rooms from them. They could have sold spa breaks and attracted the upscale clientele that would expect those kinds of fees. Right now, things are not working out for Nicolas and not working out for us.’ Dominic was so still as he listened that she flushed, suddenly self-conscious. ‘Sorry, I must be boring you to death.’

‘No.’ He stirred only to down the last of his water, not removing his gaze from her. ‘It’s not boring. What you’re saying fits in with what I observed. Nicolas seems to have a novel view of business. He’s got nothing to offer and apparently thinks an investor is an angel who’ll swoop by with a briefcase full of money, mysteriously providing the therapists with so many clients that he’ll be raking in the dosh.’

Liza let out an inelegant snort.

‘What do you think will happen to the centre? And to you and the other therapists?’

For a moment, she let her eyes shut against the spectres of a dwindling client list, dwindling income, her car and house gurgling away down a great economic plughole. ‘I don’t know about Immi and Fenella but I intend to start looking for better premises after Christmas and hope to limp along until they’re found. Unless Nicolas gets to the stage where he can’t make his rent. In which case we all shut down.’

He nodded. ‘So you’ve got to relocate, whatever? There’s no chance of you making things work with Nicolas?’

‘I don’t see one. But at least I can do it at my own pace now Nicolas isn’t giving me notice.’ Liza finished her coffee and smothered a yawn. Many of the locals had drifted off and Janice was washing glasses. Tubb, the landlord, came through from the mysterious area only ever referred to as ‘the back’, assessed the scene through narrowed eyes, checked his watch and said something to Janice. Probably that he was going to watch Sky Sports and she could ring last orders and cash up. ‘Being self-employed has its drawbacks,’ she mused. ‘I sympathise with your medical needs but running your own business seems a long way from the career you’ve been used to, with paid holidays and sick days and never having to go out and find business.