Saving Nathaniel (17 page)

He shrugged. 'Take no notice of him. He's talking out of his arse. Forget him. He's not important.'

'Don't lie to me, Nat.'

'I'm not. It was nothing and it was a long time ago. I can't even remember it. I'm more concerned about whether he hurt you?' He stretched out his hand and touched her arm to offer her reassurance. She shrugged it away.

'Get off!'

'Meg?'

'No! What makes you think you can smash a man's face in with your right hand and then try and placate me with your left? Don't you dare go thinking that trying to be calm and comforting will make everything okay, because it won't. It was a horrible, vicious thing you did and I'd rather you didn't touch me right now.'

The experience had both terrified and distressed her. She had never seen Nat act so aggressively, and she really didn't like it at all. He had been sharp with her vocally, when she had deserved it, but she had never seen him resort to any kind of physical violence apart from the odd slamming of doors. She didn't think he had it in him. It troubled her to have been proved so wrong, even if he was only defending her. Too upset to accept his consolation, she began to wonder whether she knew him at all.

Nat drew himself a glass of water from the tap, leaning back against the sink as he drank from the dripping tumbler. Megan, seeking diversion, returned to the table and occupied herself with finishing the floral arrangement. For a few, tense minutes the only sound in the room was the sharp, angry
snip
of the scissors against innocent flower stems.

'Phil's a prick,' said Nat, breaking the silence. 'He's always been a prick. He's had it coming for a long time.'

'You shouldn't have hit him, Nat,' she said, without looking up from her work.

'It was only a tap.'

'You broke his nose! I heard it and he was bleeding all over the place.'

'It was just a wee bit of gore. He can spare it. And with the amount of alcohol circulating in his system, he wouldn't have felt a thing.'

'You were throttling him.'

'He asked for it.'

She threw the scissors down onto the table. 'For crying out loud, Nat, you threatened to kill him and if I hadn't stopped you, you may well have done just that!'

'He assaulted you. He needed teaching a lesson.'

'He squeezed my bum, that's all. I was shocked, but there's no real harm done to me. You caused a real injury. Actual physical assault. Grievous bodily harm. My arse isn't worth fighting over by anybody, and it's certainly not worth ruining a long standing friendship over.'

Nat snorted. 'I don't need friends like him.'

'Keep punching them in the face and you won't have any at all.' She picked up the completed floral arrangement and carried it through to the hall.

Nat had always considered McNeil to be one of his closest friends. When he had been invited to go out, he had gone willingly.

At the time, he had thought he was genuinely pleased to see his old friend, but on reflection, his own loneliness was the only reason he had accepted the invitation. He wanted company and didn't care where it came from. He had foolishly, and drunkenly, allowed McNeil to pimp Irana onto him without realising the implications, and it had only served to compound his misery.

Without Megan's intervention, he would have pummelled McNeil's face to a bloody pulp and enjoyed doing it. McNeil's manhandling of her was merely a catalyst for the release of a deep-seated, simmering rage. How far would he have gone if Megan had not been there to stop him? Would he have killed McNeil? The prospect that he possibly could, made him shudder.

Megan returned to clear up the mess on the table.

'So, do you think McNeil will sue you?' she asked.

'Nah,' Nat scoffed. 'He hasn't got the balls. He'll stew about it if for a day or two then forget it.'

'What if he reports you to the Police? You'll be in so much trouble.'

Nat shook his head. 'Don't worry, he won't. He and the Polis don't get on. He skates a little too close to the edge himself to want them asking any questions and digging up any dirt.'

'What fine company you do keep,' she muttered. 'Do you think he'll come back here?'

'Not if he knows what's good for him. If he does come back, I'll forego the preliminaries and just tak his heid clean off.'

His accented pronunciations brought about a flicker of a smile and she felt some of her nerviness slipping away.

'You've had a bit of a shock,' he said. 'Do you want to do home early? I don't mind if you do.'

'No. I don't know if I can trust you to be left on your own.' She dug about in a basket of laundry and pulled out a clean shirt. 'Give me your shirt,' she said. 'I'll see if I can get that blood out before it stains.'

Without argument, he stripped off his shirt, and exchanged it for the offered clean one. Megan tossed the soiled garment into the washing up bowl, covered the stain with a good measure of table salt, and immersed it all in cold water, where it would be left to soak for the rest of the day. She turned her attention to Nat, turning down and neatening his shirt collar before tentatively picking an imaginary piece of lint from his shoulder.

'What is it?' he asked.

She sighed heavily. 'I know you've made a lot of promises, ones you've never intended to keep, but I want you to solemnly swear to me, Nat, on your honour, that what just happened out there will never, ever happen again.'

He neatly rolled up his sleeve to just above his elbow. 'I don't think I have a lot of honour left, Meg, so I can't guarantee I could keep that promise.'

'You really need to learn to curb your temper, Nat. One day it's going to get the better of you and you'll end up doing something you really regret.'

He folded the other sleeve. 'I won't regret hitting Phil, he deserved it...and more. But I do regret upsetting you and I'm really very sorry.' To prove he meant it, he put his hands on her shoulders and gave them a light squeeze. Encouraged when she did not shrug him off, he laid a brief kiss on her head.

She watched him walk across the hall to his study, tucking his shirt into his trousers.

Left alone in the silent kitchen, she was suddenly uneasy. She dropped the latch on the rear door and tested the handle to ensure it was secure and she was safe.

Nat might be content to live with the fact that he had been keen to batter in a man's head with his bare hands, but she certainly would not forget it in a hurry.

Chapter 15

'Megan! I can't find my keys!' Nat yelled, wriggling into his jacket and rummaging through his pockets.

'Fruit bowl!' she bawled back from the laundry.

He had developed a habit of throwing his keys casually on the kitchen counter when he came in. She always retrieved them and put them in the fruit bowl where they would easily be found again. He never remembered where they were, even though she reminded him almost every day.

'What? Where? I can't see them…Megan!'

She was suddenly behind him, reaching around into the ceramic bowl and extracting the keyring. 'For goodness sake, how many more times - apples, bananas…keys.'

He snatched them from her with a muttered, 'Thanks.' She helped him on with his jacket, handed him his briefcase and he had made it halfway through the door when he stopped.

'Look, I know its short notice,' he said, 'but what are you doing next Wednesday night?'

'Erm…nothing, why?'

Witness my sad and empty social life, she thought.

'I've invited a few people around for a wee dinner party and I'll need you. You'll be able to come won't you?'

She looked at him agog. Was that an invitation to dinner? She didn't have chance to ask.

'We'll talk about it when I get back,' he said, and with a bright, 'Cheerio,' he was gone.

'You want me to WHAT!?'

Megan had waited patiently for Nat to come home, eager to hear his news, but was not prepared for what he had to say.

'I need you to take charge of the catering.'

She felt her face redden with indignation. 'You are joking!' she exploded. 'You know I can't cook, I told you that on the very first day! I'm from the land of black pudding, tripe and cow heels, not
hâute cuisine
. Let me emphasise - I don't cook!'

'Your cooking's not that bad, I usually manage to keep it down, but don't worry, you don't have to prepare anything, it's all arranged.'

He explained that entertaining at the Lodge was an exercise in deception. The food was not to be cooked there, but delivered ready to serve from a high-class restaurant in town. Nat had a long-standing arrangement with them. He called, they delivered, wine included. No-one was any the wiser and it made him look good.

All she had to do was plate up using Struan's own crockery and cutlery, and serve each course. She would ensure the wines were poured as and when requested, and then be on hand to deal with the clearing away afterwards. It couldn't be simpler and the whole ordeal shouldn't take more than a couple of hours, three tops.

She was stupefied. 'You want me to be a waitress and do the washing up?'

'What's wrong with that?'

'A waitress?'

'It's always been part of the job, ask Rebecca.'

'How strange she never mentioned it. I wonder why.'

She stood with her arms folded tightly across her chest, glaring at him. Despite her agitation, he remained as calm as a millpond, totally unmoved by her outburst. 'I really would appreciate your co-operation, Meg. These are important people. I've been trying to deal with them for months. I need to put on a show, to butter them up a little and loosen their cheque writing hands.'

She closed her eyes and shook her head. 'I can't do it.'

'Why not?'

'Because I've never been a waitress in my life…'

'Don't be such a snob.'

'I am not a snob, Nat. If you'd let me finish, I was going to say I can't do it because I've never had to. I don't do parties and I've never even been to a formal dinner.' Her voice went very quiet. 'I wouldn't know what to do.'

He couldn't quite believe what he had heard. At last, a chink in her armour of efficient competency - something she couldn't do. The find delighted him. Now he could play her at her own game.

He cupped his hand to his ear. 'I'm sorry! Would you mind repeating that? I didn't quite catch it.'

'I said I wouldn't know what to do. It's out of my sphere of experience. I'll probably make a complete hash of it and ruin the whole night.'

He began the game by piling on the guilt. 'Oh, that's a shame,' he said with an air of deep disappointment. 'I'm sorry you feel that way because I have every confidence in you. But if you really feel that you just can't do it...'

Followed by a little flattery. 'I really thought a woman of your admirable capabilities would make short work of a simple thing like a dinner party. '

And the icing on the cake. 'I suppose I'll just have to cancel the whole thing. All that work...'

'If it's so important you can't cancel,' she said.

'But you said you won't do it. What else can I do? I was rather counting on you...' He let out a long dramatic sigh and shrugged.

She suddenly inhaled deeply, let it out very slowly and rolled her eyes. 'Okay, I'll do it…but this one time, and one time only.'

He beamed at her. 'Really?'

'Yes, but under duress. I'm not happy about it, I'll tell you that for nothing. And you can wipe that silly smile off your face.'

He dropped the grin and reinstated his expression of utmost solemnity.

'I'm doing it because it's important to you…for your business,' she said.

'Of course you are and I really, really appreciate it.'

'I'll do my best; I'll try not to embarrass you. I can't say fairer than that.'

'Understood,' he said and nodded, his face still an immutable mask. 'You are a jewel amongst women.'

It then dawned on her what had happened. He had subtly, but expertly, manoeuvred her exactly where he wanted her, and she had let him do it. She narrowed her eyes at him. 'You devious, conniving bastard.'

In celebration of his victory, he restored his boyish grin.

A few minutes before the guests were due to arrive, Megan, in a simple black dress, white apron, and much umbrage, was fussing with the floral centrepiece. She stood back to admire her work and was satisfied. 'Self-praise is no recommendation…except in this case. Good job, Meg.'

As she put the final touches to the glasses and cutlery at the table, Nat rushed into the dining room in a state of agitation. He was wearing a dinner jacket over a crisp white formal shirt, and in his hands he flapped the ends of an untied bowtie. 'Help me with this thing will you, Meg, I can't do it?'

'Dearie me, something you can't do? Let me see.'

She made him stop fidgeting and stand still. 'It's a simple sequence of loops and folds, a child could do it. Chin up.' After a few moments' concentrated effort, the bow sat neatly tied at his throat. 'There, how's that, not too tight?'