Sara's Child (2 page)
The front door slamming shut behind her gives Ben a jolt. Still sitting in her office, he ponders the recent events. His brows draw together, pulling back the image of Catherine’s face just before she bolted from the room.
She had barely seemed to be there. Her mind, if not her body, had been in another place and time he is sure. That blank look followed by her suddenly paling face and darting eyes, told him she was seeing something that he could not. And it worried him. She’d been terrified, he is sure of it. Whatever she had been recalling is what had turned Catherine’s stomach.
“Not feeling well,” he snorts aloud. “Well, that’s as maybe, but that’s not what this is all about and we both know it.” Walking back to his office, Ben immerses himself deep into his demanding work, pushing all thoughts of Catherine’s troubles to the back of his mind, as he’s had to do many times in the past.
He has known from the start that she is a troubled soul, has tried to offer support and a listening ear, but she refused both. He just hoped that one day, when she came to trust him enough, she would tell him of her own accord.
The beat up old Ford Fiesta that Catherine has been driving since she passed her test at eighteen appears to be heading for that great scrap heap in the sky.
Bloody hell!
“Come on baby, don’t do this to me today of all days.” Afraid of flooding the engine, but too desperate not to give it yet another try, Catherine turns the engine over again. Please baby! With a gasp and a wheeze, the car springs to life and Catherine places a grateful kiss on the steering wheel. “Yes…you beauty!”
Thank Christ for that!
Turning in her seat, she flips through her folder one last time. “If I’ve forgotten anything now I’ll just have to wing it.” But she knows she hasn’t, she is far too obsessive to do that. Catherine never gives a second thought to what she looks or sounds like, just as long as her work is first rate and the client gets exactly what they specified. Or worked out together more accurately, Catherine smiles to herself. That’s the part she really enjoys – like a jigsaw; it’s looking at the parts already in play then designing other parts that enhance the whole and make it complete. Or, worse case scenario, designing a completely new system and the software to get the best out of it.
Pulling into the car park of Kingsley Import & Export Ltd, Catherine secures the paperwork in its folder then hooks her old sack bag over her shoulder. Entering the ultra-modern building through floor to ceiling glass doors, she walks up to the receptionist who watches her approach with a sceptical expression down a nose that could give an Olympic ski slope a run for its money.
Wow.
“May I help you?” Catherine eyes the receptionist and has to smile, knowing this toffee-nosed bitch would like nothing more than to help her back out the door with a kick up her arse.
Ok bitch, you wanna play.
“We haven’t met,” Catherine thrusts out her hand deliberately, knowing the woman will not want to take it, and she is right. However, professional to the last, the receptionist touches Catherine’s fingers as briefly as possible then quickly wipes her own hand on her skirt. “If you wouldn’t mind letting Mr Kingsley know that Colson is here, that’d be great,” and even throws in a smile.
See, I’m playing nice.
“But madam…,”
Don’t you madam me, bitch.
Catherine’s eyes narrow at the overbearing woman’s tone “…both Mr Kinsley’s are very busy men; you can’t just walk in off the street and expect them to see you!”
That does it!
“Off the street…,” Catherine repeats quietly, so quietly that it would have set alarm bells ringing in anyone who knew her. However, this woman has never met Catherine before yet she is judging her and finding her wanting in every way. “Yes, I imagine that’s where you think I live
.” You trumped up snobby cow.
The receptionist gasps at her frankness. “But I guarantee that’s where you’ll be taking a long walk after I get through telling Arthur you’ve made me late for our appointment. Now pick that fucking phone up and tell him that Colson arrived five minutes ago and you’re very sorry for making her late for our meeting.”
You judgemental bitch!
Taking a few steps away from the desk to pull her temper in, Catherine does indeed hear the woman apologise to Arthur Kingsley when he confirms that she is due to meet with him this morning.
“If you would take the first lift to the ninth floor Mr Kingsley’s PA will escort you to his office.” Her manner is stiff and polite, but Catherine enjoys it most when she watches her swallow down on the bile that is no doubt choking her when she adds, “And, I’m very sorry for any misunderstanding, Ms Colson.”
Stick it!
Not even bothering to reply, Catherine strides over to the lift and makes her way up for her meeting. She hates being late for anything – it’s a pet hate; or an obsession if Ben is to be believed.
The woman who greets Catherine on the ninth floor could not be more different. They met on a previous visit, but Diane Waters had been just as welcoming then as she is now. “Colson…” Diane smiles warmly and holds both hands out to take Catherine’s, “…how lovely to see you again. Arthur is in the informal meeting room – I hope you don’t mind but a family friend, who is also a business associate, has arrived a little earlier than expected. But Logan is such a lovely man, I’m sure there won’t be a problem.”
Bloody hell!
Diane gives a brief knock then immediately shows Catherine in.
Arthur Kingsley is a very young and spritely sixty-year-old man with an infectious laugh and a broad grin, and Catherine took to him right off. “Colson, my dear, come on in, come and sit over here by me.” Arthur pats the seat of a luxuriously appointed honey beige settee that is like nothing you would ever see in a house. It can easily seat six, and is one of three set at right angles to form three sides of a square, in the centre of which is set a large glass topped table that reminds Catherine of a small lake. Arthur stands as she draws nearer and waits while she takes a seat before retaking his own.
“How are you doing, Arthur?” Catherine asks, making an effort to put her temper aside and concentrate on being professional. It had been difficult to use his Christian name at first, but he had insisted and she’d settled into it quickly, realising that Arthur is a man after her own heart. He doesn’t stand on ceremony and doesn’t let anyone else.
A genuine down-to-earth rich bloke - you don’t get many of them to the pound!
“Actually…,” he smiles with boyish mischief in his eyes, “…I’m doing rather well. I’m giving it all up and retiring to a life of riley.”
What the hell!
Catherine is mortified on his behalf. “Arthur, you’re too young to retire; surely they can’t make you go?” Scowling deeply, she imagines ‘they’ as a bunch of gargoyles sitting around a huge table and who made up the Board that had no doubt told him that he is too old, or too something that they don’t approve of.
Bloody gits!
But it isn’t Arthur that answers. A young man of around thirtyish comes striding over from a corner of the room where she hasn’t noticed him having a drink with another man who remains where he is, half hidden in the shadows. “No one’s forcing him to leave, Colson,” Robert Kingsley smiles broadly, a cup of strong tea in hand. “Logan and I…” he waves a hand over to the man he’s been talking to in the far corner of the room, “…have tried to talk the old man into staying on even in a part time capacity but he says he’s done enough and it’s time for the fun to begin.”
Robert casts his father an affectionate look and has it returned ten-fold. “Now…Diane’s made up a fine table with tea, coffee, biscuits and muffins; what would you like? – and don’t say nothing or we’ll all be in trouble,” he jokes giving a mock shudder in the direction of Diane’s closed adjoining office door.
Catherine accepts a cup of black coffee and a couple of chocolate-chip biscuits, and tries not to peer into the shadows that are hiding the mysterious visitor that Robert is again in conversation with.
Could be shy. Could be ugly. Or you could just be another arrogant shit who thinks he’s too good to mix with such lowly company!
Logan Sayers has no such reservations. His position in the room gives him the advantage of being able to assess Catherine openly. He’s heard both Arthur and Robert address her as Colson, yet he knows her name to be Catherine from an earlier conversation with Robert. Possibly a nickname he muses, taking another sip of his tea. He realises then that Robert is repeating something he’s already said and Logan makes more of an effort to pay attention. But it doesn’t last; his eyes are drawn inexorably back towards the young woman with the severe haircut and the most unflattering baggy clothes. She is like some sort of stray mongrel, like no woman he’s ever met yet knows instinctively that she is more than she appears on the surface. The puzzle is, how much more and why is he so interested in finding out?
As Catherine and Arthur conclude their business, Robert moves across the room to say his goodbye, or so Logan thinks.
“Colson, don’t rush off.” Robert smiles warmly at Catherine, obviously quite taken by her. “As we were saying earlier, my father is insisting on retiring so we’re insisting on giving him a good send off. It’ll be at the end of next month and we’d love you to be there, wouldn’t we?” He turns an encouraging look on his father, obviously wanting his backing.
“Wouldn’t be the same without you,” Arthur reiterates enthusiastically, and Catherine knows they both mean it.
Ok Brain-of-Britain, think of something!
Catherine hesitates; she really does not go out, as in being social and actually making conversation for the sake of it. She’s never seen the point for one thing. “I’m not sure…I don’t really think…”
Help!
However, Robert isn’t taking no for an answer. “That’s settled then,” he states, steamrolling over any further protests. “I can arrange a car to pick you up…” then adds “…and your escort, of course, or a friend of your choosing?” when Catherine still doesn’t look convinced.
Friend! What friend? I don’t do friends!
“Fine…” she finds herself agreeing awkwardly, “…I’ll ask Ben if he can make it.”
Are you nuts? Socialising? Really?
“Well that’s great,” Robert smiles slyly. “And now that you’ve agreed to go to my father’s bash you can hardly miss mine. Wouldn’t be fair at all would it…?”
What? I need to get out of here!
“Yours…I don’t understand…what bash?”
I feel faint.
She is starting to flail, feeling totally out of her depth.
“It’s my thirtieth birthday in a week’s time – though we’re having the party the night after rather than the night of,” he laughs. “Can’t get rat-faced on a Thursday so it’s going to have to be on the Friday, and we can make the same transportation arrangement for you and Ben…or whoever you decide to bring?”
Bloody buggering hell!
“I can get myself to both dos,” she tells him, making to leave before he can talk her into anything else.
“So you are coming then.”
No! No! No!
Robert laughs at her forlorn frown. “That’s great, and I promise you’ll have a good time.”
Whoopee!
Catherine eyes him doubtfully then turns to smile at Arthur. “Thanks for your time, Arthur. I have copies of everything so don’t feel you have to rush or return the paperwork. But if you’ve got any queries you know how to reach me.”
Now let me out of here!
“I’m sure it will all be fine,” he assures her. “Now go and enjoy the rest of the day. The sun is shining and you could do with a little more colour in your cheeks.”
I’d have more colour in my cheeks if your bloody son would stop cornering me into things I’d really rather not do!
Turning she acknowledges the stranger with a grimace more than a smile and a very brief nod of her head
. Holy fuck, he’s built like He-man and looks like a Norse God – shame he’s such a stiff-necked son-of-a-bitch!
Taking her completely off guard, Logan thrusts his hand forward expectantly waiting for her to shake it. “Ms Colson.”
Holy cow!
Not wanting to appear petulant or ignorant, Catherine takes his hand and feels a jolt of electricity shoot up her arm to addle her brains.
God Almighty – what the hell was that!
Her bright blue eyes flash up to his face and she knows that he felt it too.
“Mr Sayers.”
You know what you’re doing to me, don’t you?
The only reason she hasn’t snatched her hand back is because Logan is holding it in a firm but gentle grip.
After what feels like forever, Logan lets go of her hand and Catherine makes a speedy exit.
Phew!
Berating herself all the way back to her bedsit –
and yes it is still the same one she moved into at seventeen
- Catherine feels the heat in her cheeks when she remembers how her hand had felt in Logan’s and rubs it on her thigh to erase the memory.
However, she can’t erase the memory of how Mr high and mighty Sayers had looked at her.
As if she was something he’d wipe off the sole of his fancy shoes, no doubt.
Well tough shit, she doesn’t dress up for anyone, and anyone who expects her to can take a long run off a very short pier.
And drown!
