Miranda's Big Mistake (25 page)

This, though, was a whole new experience, and it was making it hard to concentrate. For the first time since he had known Chloe, he was actually running his fingers through her hair, touching her neck, resting his hands on her shoulders…

He could look and now he could touch but he certainly wasn't allowed to flirt. She was six months pregnant with another man's child, Fenn reminded himself. She would be horrified if she knew how he felt about her.

‘Cut loads,' Chloe was saying eagerly, making scissors of her fingers and showing him how much she wanted lopped off. ‘Not a crew cut or anything, just to the shoulders.'

‘Here, you mean?' Fenn scooped the heavy blonde hair up into his hands and rested them against each side of her neck. God, even that simple action gave him a charge. He paused for a second, feeling the warmth of Chloe's skin and breathing in the familiar light scent she wore. It would be so easy now,
so easy
, to bend and kiss the back of her neck—

‘FENN LOMAX, WHERE ARE YOOOUU?'

Fenn and Chloe looked at each other in the mirror; the spell was well and truly broken. In the street outside, someone was yelling at the top of their voice and they both recognized who that voice belonged to.

Wearily, Fenn went to the window and looked out. Fifty yards further up the road, Miranda spotted him and waved.

‘Honestly,' she exclaimed when he let her in, ‘grumpy neighbors you've got around here. You should have seen the looks they gave me when I called out your name. I mean, I remembered the name of the road but I didn't know what the number of your flat was.' She shrugged. ‘How else was I supposed to find out where you lived?'

Another boost to his popularity, thought Fenn. Zebra-print carpets
and
friends with disturbingly blue hair turning up to breach the peace and more than likely mug the first wealthy resident they came across.

‘You were pretty loud,' he pointed out.

‘Well, if I'd whispered, you wouldn't have heard me. So this is it, is it?' Miranda darted past him, gazing around with bright-eyed interest. ‘I saw the dead animals in the skip outside. Hmm, wouldn't have thought you'd go for a flat like this.'

‘It'll be fine when it's finished.' Fenn's tone was curt. ‘What are you doing here anyway?'

‘Just thought I'd pop in.' She gave him a playful look. ‘Are you okay? Not interrupting anything, am I?'

Oh great, this was all he needed, Miranda waggling her eyebrows and doing her arch-psychiatrist bit.

‘No.' Better warn her, thought Fenn. ‘I was just cutting Chloe's hair.'

In the sitting room, Chloe had hurriedly pushed the chair away from the mirror and shoved Fenn's comb and scissors out of sight as guiltily as if they'd been about to launch into a bondage session complete with rubber masks and whips. In the few moments it took Miranda to barge into the room, she hauled out a wallpaper chart and began leafing industriously through it, an expression of deep concentration on her face.

‘I used to look like that when I was supposed to be revising for my GCSEs,' Miranda observed. ‘As soon as you hear someone coming, kick the magazines under the bed, switch off the music, grab a textbook and look
riveted
.' She gave Fenn a dazzling smile. ‘What I want to know is why Chloe's doing it now.'

‘I thought you were staying in tonight,' said Fenn.

‘Danny turned up. He said it was time we were friends again.' Miranda's heels clicked on the bare, sanded-down floorboards as she strode up and down investigating the room.

‘So?'

‘He took me out for a let's-be-friends-again drink.'

‘And then what happened?' said Chloe.

‘First he was a pompous, patronizing git.' Miranda began ticking points off on her fingers. ‘Then he was totally insulting and rude, refusing to believe a single word I said.'

‘It wasn't by any chance one of your excuses for being late, was it?' said Fenn. ‘Didn't happen to involve a stranded puppy about to be mown down by a juggernaut?'

Miranda ignored this. She ticked off the third finger. ‘So we ended up having another fight and not being friends again after all.' She shrugged to show she couldn't care less. ‘I marched out of the pub, forgetting I didn't actually have any money on me. But then I remembered you'd brought Chloe over here, so I thought I'd hitch a lift back with you.' She gave Fenn a winning smile. ‘I won't be any trouble, honestly. You two just carry on as if I wasn't here.'

‘The thing is, Danny's great,' Chloe protested. ‘We all really like him. What I don't understand is how you manage to get into these arguments with him in the first place.'

‘
Me?
Ha! Basically, he just opens his mouth and starts laying into me.' Miranda looked indignant. ‘All I do is defend myself.'

‘So what was it he refused to believe?'

‘Something that was true!'

Fenn, who had found his scissors and was repositioning the chair in front of the mirror, murmured under his breath, ‘Now who's being evasive?'

‘Go on.' Chloe was intrigued by the fact that Miranda was prevaricating. ‘Tell us.'

‘Okay. I told him that I was seeing someone.'

Chloe frowned.

‘But you aren't.'

‘I am, actually.'

Fenn gave Miranda a sharp look. He hoped this didn't have anything to do with Miles Harper's scene-stealing appearance in the salon the other day. No, no, it couldn't possibly. Even Miranda wasn't that gullible.

It was curious, though, that she evidently hadn't mentioned the Miles Harper incident to Chloe. Never one to hug an item of gossip to her chest, Miranda had for some reason certainly managed it this time. Fenn couldn't help wondering why.

‘And that's what you argued about?' Chloe persisted. ‘Danny didn't believe you when you told him you had a boyfriend, so you had a fight with him and stormed out of the pub?' She took the towel Fenn had given her and pulled it around her shoulders, struggling to understand.

‘He said some horrible things about me,' wailed Miranda. ‘I'm telling you, Daniel Delancey is a complete pig.'

It went against the grain to even think it, but Fenn was reluctantly forced to admit that he was grateful to Miranda for showing up. Cutting Chloe's hair without a chaperon could have been a risky business. At least now he was able to concentrate on the task in hand.

It was, Fenn reflected, an unreal situation. Normally when he met a girl he liked the look of, they'd end up in bed together within a few hours. And yet here he was now, having met someone as untouchable as a nun, helplessly in love with her and not even allowed to
kiss
her.

Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. All he had to do now was make sure nobody else found out that it had.

‘So who is this chap you've been seeing?' said Chloe.

Miranda shook her head.

‘I can't tell you.'

‘Why not?'

‘I just can't, okay?'

Chloe gazed in horror at Miranda's reflection in the mirror.

‘Not Greg!'

‘Oh, come on, do I look that stupid? Of course not Greg.'

‘Who, then?'

‘Wait until Monday.' Miranda had been insulted quite enough for one night; she certainly didn't need another snotty lecture from Fenn. ‘I'll tell you then, I promise.'

Either that or emigrate.

***

The phone rang at seven thirty the next morning while Miranda was on the loo. Typical. Knickers at half-mast, she almost broke both legs crashing downstairs to catch it on the third ring, because third rings were lucky.

Snatching up the phone in the nick of time, she gasped, ‘Yu-yes?'

‘Hey, heavy breathing, my favorite kind. Don't stop, do some more.' Miles sounded cheerful. ‘You know, you could charge fifty pence a minute for that.'

‘Did you finish with Daisy?' It was no good, she simply couldn't be laid-back and casual about it—she had spent the night wide awake and with her heart on springs.

‘Still trying. I'm doing my best, but she isn't taking it terribly well.'

‘What's she doing?' Miranda struggled to haul her knickers up; not easy with only one hand.

‘Trashing my flat.' As Miles spoke, there was a crash in the background. ‘Jesus, and I'm supposed to be out of here by eight.'

Miranda felt dreadful, as if it were all her fault. He had to be at Silverstone for the all-important qualifying laps and now, thanks to her, he had this to contend with, a madwoman smashing up his home.

Another louder crash made her jump.

‘I'd better go,' said Miles.

‘Good luck.'

He sounded amused. ‘With the practice laps, or getting rid of Cruella de Vil?'

He's doing all this for me, thought Miranda, her heart bounding like a gazelle.

‘Both.'

There was a click on the line as someone picked up the extension.

‘That's her, isn't it?' screamed a hysterical voice. ‘You're bloody talking to her now! How dare you DO THIS TO ME, YOU BAST—'

Abruptly the line went dead. Miranda put down the receiver and pulled up her knickers. There was no point trying to ring back—all she could do was go off to work, say nothing about this to anyone and wait.

***

Nine hours later, Chloe let herself into the empty house and read the note Florence had left on the table out in the hall:

Darling Girls,

Have been whisked away by a wicked vicar with a fetish for old women in support tights. Gone to Edinburgh, back in a week. Don't do anything too naughty while we're away!

Florence had a whole new lease on life since she started seeing Tom. And it was all thanks to Greg, thought Chloe, marveling at the sneaky tricks fate could play.

She made herself a cup of tea, tore the wrapper off a Wagon Wheel and wandered through to the sitting room, dying to examine her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace and admire her new, improved hair.

Hooray, it still looked great. All day in the shop, customers had been complimenting her on the cut. Now, swinging her head this way and that—and watching the hair swing too—Chloe experienced a surge of gratitude towards Fenn. The 1960s Shetland pony look had gone for good; he had improved her beyond recognition and boosted her confidence no end.

And she knew he loved Thai curries. Maybe if he wasn't doing anything tomorrow afternoon she could make one for him as a way of saying thank you.

Still busy swishing her hair from side to side, Chloe picked up the ringing phone.

‘Hello?'

‘I know you're the one he's been seeing,' hissed a furious female voice, ‘but you're not having him, okay? He's not yours, he's mine, all
mine
.'

Click, brrr.

Chloe had never been on the receiving end of an anonymous threatening phone call before. Shaken, she realized that someone had got completely the wrong idea about her friendship with Fenn. They were warning her off because they were jealous of the amount of time she and Fenn had been spending together…Good grief, how could they even think anything was going on between them?

It was worrying and embarrassing at the same time.

Dialing 1471 didn't help. Predictably, all Chloe got was Number Withheld, which was frustrating because if she could have rung back whoever it was she would have been able to reassure them that there was absolutely nothing going on between her and Fenn.

Glancing at her watch, Chloe headed upstairs. She had promised to babysit for Bruce and Verity tonight and they wanted her there by six. Since she would be staying overnight, she needed to shower, pack a change of clothes and leave her own note for Miranda.

Chloe did this hurriedly, fifteen minutes later, without mentioning the phone call from one of Fenn's disgruntled girlfriends. It was too complicated to explain in a note and she didn't want Miranda to start winking and teasing her about the top-secret, red-hot, oh-so-passionate affair she must be having with Fenn.

Anyone with an ounce of sense would know at once that there was nothing like that going on between them, Chloe thought ruefully, but it was an undeniable fact that she had been spending a fair amount of time recently with Fenn. And that, clearly, could be misconstrued.

Maybe it was time to take a step backwards.

Cancel the Harrods trip, for a start.

And give that Thai curry a miss.

Snatching up the red pen and the note she had already scribbled for Miranda, Chloe added:

PS
Visiting my mother tomorrow, straight from Bruce and Verity's. Could you let Fenn know he'll have to choose his own carpets.

Pausing to read through the message and experiencing a strange pang, Chloe discovered that she had been looking forward to the shopping excursion more than she'd realized. She went hot all over at the thought that her hormones could be about to start running amok, that she might be developing some form of sad, pregnant-woman's crush on the first man in months to show her a bit of kindness…

Oh dear, all the more reason to put the brakes on, Chloe thought with a shudder of alarm. It simply hadn't occurred to her before now that this had been on the cards. That anonymous caller had been absolutely spot-on after all.

And thank heavens she
did
phone, Chloe breathed a sigh of relief, because at least now I know I have to keep my distance before it gets all out of control and embarrassing.

Basically she had to stop seeing Fenn for her own protection.

Gosh, anonymous caller, whoever you are…thanks.

***

‘Coming in for a quick drink?' offered Miranda when Fenn dropped her home after work.

Fenn said casually, ‘Okay.'

But the house was empty.

‘Gone!' Miranda held up the two messages like an indignant ice-skating judge. ‘Gone, both of them, and left me all alone. I ask you, how selfish and uncaring is that?'

Fenn, who had spent the last couple of hours planning how he would invite Chloe out to dinner on the pretext of discussing…um, window boxes, said, ‘Actually, don't worry about that drink. I should be getting back.'

Never mind, at least he'd be seeing her tomorrow.

‘Hang on.' Miranda was busy scanning the rest of Chloe's note. ‘This bit's for you.' She waggled it under his nose with irritating cheerfulness. ‘Hey, looks like you've been stood up. Want me to come and help you pick out new carpets? Nothing with glitter, I promise.'

‘Good of you to offer, but actually glitter was what I'd set my heart on. So thanks, but no thanks.' Fenn smiled his cool, detached, boss-like smile because he would rather walk barefoot over burning coals than let Mersey Tunnel-mouth Miranda get an inkling of how disappointed he was about Chloe.

***

‘Ah, good evening, I'm conducting a survey on behalf of a well-known women's magazine—'

‘Are you really? How exciting,' said Miranda.

‘—and I wonder if you could tell me which men, in your opinion, make the best lovers: (a) zoo-keepers; (b) quantity surveyors; or (c) Formula One racing drivers.'

‘Oh dear, I'd love to be able to help you,' Miranda sighed, ‘but I'm afraid I'm a lesbian.'

‘I'm sorry, that was the wrong answer. The correct answer was (c), racing driver. And I'd be more than happy to prove it to you if—'

‘How did everything go?' Miranda broke in hurriedly, before he got carried away.

‘Mission accomplished. The practice sessions went brilliantly.' As modest as ever, Miles added, ‘Starting from pole position tomorrow. Would you like to hear my lap times?'

‘I meant Daisy.' Miranda knew he was teasing her but she had to know.

‘Didn't I just tell you that? Mission accomplished. She's gone.'

Oh my God, thought Miranda, her hands suddenly clammy with shock and relief. What have I done?

There was a pause.

‘You've gone quiet,' said Miles. ‘Changed your mind yet about being a lesbian?'

‘Was she upset?'

‘I
really
hope you aren't thinking of dumping me and running off into the sunset with Daisy.'

‘I wasn't actually expecting this to happen.'

‘Too late to back out now. I wish I could see you tonight.' Miles sounded regretful. ‘But I'd never get any sleep and you'd play havoc with my reflexes. Are you coming up tomorrow, by the way?'

‘To watch you race? I don't know.' Without warning, Miranda's stomach contracted. The idea of cheering Miles on from the stand was all very well in theory, but when it actually came to it, she didn't know if she could bear to watch. This was motor racing, not tiddlywinks.

It was dangerous.

‘I'll drive carefully,' said Miles. ‘Keep to the speed limit, follow the highway code, all that stuff, I promise.'

‘I still don't think I can.' Miranda braced herself, expecting him to call her a wimp. ‘Sorry.'

There was another pause, then Miles said, ‘Don't be. I'm quite flattered. As far as Daisy was concerned, watching me race was basically a photo-opportunity that was too good to miss.'

His tone was dry. Miranda, who had never told him what Daisy had said to her friend on the phone that day in the salon, wondered if he had known all along. As she spoke, a lump came into her throat. ‘Good luck for tomorrow, unless it's unlucky to wish you luck.'

Actors said break a leg, didn't they? Maybe racing drivers said burst a tire.

Miles sounded as if he was smiling.

‘Wish me as much luck as you like. And put the TV on tomorrow morning. I've got a pre-race interview lined up and I want you to see it.'

‘Why?'

‘Don't argue,' said Miles. ‘Just do it, okay?'

***

Miranda was on her fourth bowl of Cheerios the next morning by the time the racing commentator's interview with Miles took place. Sitting cross-legged on Florence's sofa, she squealed and dribbled milk down her chin when she realized why he had been so keen for her to watch.

Her copper pig was making his TV debut, attached to a narrow strip of leather and tied around Miles's tanned neck. As he spoke, Miles idly unfastened the second button of his denim shirt and fiddled with the pig until finally the interviewer was forced to comment on it.

‘This?' Miles grinned. ‘Oh, he's a good-luck present from a close friend of mine.'

The interviewer, who was as famous for his
faux pas
as for his high-octane commentary style, said eagerly, ‘And that's the very lovely lady in your life, Australian actress Daisy Schofield, am I right?'

‘Actually, no, but I do have a message for the lovely lady in my life.' His tone light, Miles smiled lazily into the camera. ‘And that is, when you meet the right person, you know it. That's what happened to me and I—'

‘Well, that's all we've got time for,' bellowed the interviewer, clamping his hand excitedly to the side of his head in final-lap fashion. ‘I hear through my earpiece that your team manager is waiting to speak to you down in the pits, so for now, Miles Harper, and on behalf of the rest of the nation, may I wish you the very best of luck for this afternoon's titanic race!'

The cameras swiftly turned their attention to Miles's great rival, an ugly Frenchman with a face like a walnut, and Miranda turned off both the TV and the VCR. Unable to watch the race, she wished she knew how she was going to get through the next few stomach-churning hours.

She wished the commentator hadn't stopped the interview just as things had been getting interesting.

She really
really
wished he hadn't used that word
titanic
.

***

Halfway through cleaning the kitchen floor—blimey, that was when you knew you were desperate—the doorbell went.

Wringing out her sponge and peeling the wet knees of her jeans away from her skin, Miranda went to answer it.

‘Oh no, not you again.'

‘That's what I love about you, your unquenchable enthusiasm,' said Danny. ‘Tell me, have you ever considered becoming a Samaritan?'

‘Have you ever considered becoming a stand-up comedian?' Miranda parroted back. Heavens, sometimes a wet sponge was an awfully tempting thing to have in your hand.

Danny, reading her mind, said mildly, ‘This is my best suit. I'd rather you didn't.' He pulled her cheap sunglasses out of his pocket. ‘I only stopped by to drop these off. You left them at the pub on Friday night.'

‘Oh. Thanks.' Grudgingly, Miranda took the glasses from him.

‘I'm surprised you're here,' he went on. ‘Thought you'd be up at Silverstone. Isn't there some kind of race going on today?'

‘I was asked. I didn't want to go.' God, that sounded feeble, even to her own ears. Danny clearly thought so too. Irritated by his knowing smirk, Miranda said crossly, ‘What's the suit in aid of, anyway? Don't tell me you've been to church.'

She would have died rather than admit that actually Danny was looking good. Only someone with his gypsy-dark coloring—and fat-free physique—could get away with a navy-blue suit teamed with a deep-red shirt and blue and gold tie.

‘You like it?' Danny's eyes widened in mock-alarm and he held up his hands. ‘Stop, better not answer that. And no, I haven't been to church. We're just on our way out to lunch.'

For a moment Miranda thought he was inviting her out. We as in you and me.

Then she realized he didn't mean it like that at all.

Her gaze jerked automatically in the direction of Danny's car. In the passenger seat a glamorous-looking blonde with swept-up hair and a low-cut top was reading a newspaper and calmly smoking a cigarette.