Transplanting Holly Oakwood (26 page)

“I’m pleased to hear it,” he said.

She put her chopsticks down and leaned over the table towards him. “But why weave such a complex story, complete with carloads of cops and tracker dogs? She’s got a case of the Hollywoods.”

She could tell from his expression her argument hadn’t convinced him. His face displayed the indecision battling in his psyche and she knew he was torn between her reasoned logic and his firm belief and desire Holly was innocent. How could that little bitch have wound him so tightly around her finger that Guy believed Holly instead of trusting her? She waited for him to speak, but the silence stretched between them. “Don’t lose any sleep over it, Guy,” she said eventually. “She’ll be fine.”

“I know she will,” he said in a resigned tone. “Once she gets home she’ll put all this behind her and get on with her life.”

For an instant she wondered whether to tell him, suspecting Holly’s news might hurt him. But the opportunity to alienate him from Holly was too delicious a prospect to ignore so she ploughed on. “Of course, you haven’t heard,” she said brightly. “Holly’s staying in LA.”

“Staying in LA?” He looked confused, but hope sang in his voice. “She’s not going back to London?”

“Her boyfriend’s proposed to her,” she said, going in for the kill. “She’s getting married and staying here in LA.”

If she hadn’t been watching for it, she would’ve missed the change in his expression – the imperceptible tightening of his jaw, the slight intake of breath, the way his eyes dulled. Her suspicions were confirmed, but by God it hurt. Guy wanted Holly.

FORTY

Guy

Guy read the page several times, then sighed and put it down. After a moment he picked it up but the words were still a meaningless jumble. He crumpled the paper and tossed it onto the desk, then stood up and stretched.

Below him the streets of Brentwood were laid out like the squares on a patchwork quilt. Its avenues were lush and verdant from the recent rain, the trees shielding the suburb from the noise of busy Wilshire Boulevard. He enjoyed the vista of Brentwood from this high vantage point, but today the panorama was wasted on him. Despite the fact it was Friday afternoon he took no pleasure in the prospect of the weekend, which stretched ahead as empty as the coffee cup on his desk. He’d drunk three bitingly strong cups already this afternoon, leaving him agitated.

A rap on the door signalled Ann’s arrival. “Guy, good to see you back.”

“Come in for a chat.” He motioned to the sofa. “I’m having trouble concentrating this afternoon.” He picked up the crinkled paper, smoothed it out, and waved it at her.

“Jetlagged? Age is catching up with you,” she joked.

“No, not jetlagged.”

“Late nights while you were away?”

“Not that either.” He sank back down in his chair and picked up a blank piece of paper from the desk.

“What is it then?”

He scrunched up the paper and took aim, sending it straight into the wastepaper basket on the other side of the office. “This thing with Holly’s been on my mind.” He picked up a pen and tapped the desk to underscore the point.

“I know what you mean. Still isn’t sitting comfortably with me either. I feel as if I’ve betrayed her, and I’m finding it hard to look her in the eye.”

He nodded in agreement. “You know I’ve always trusted your judgement.”

“Could we both be wrong?” Ann asked.

“I wonder. My gut’s telling me she’s in the right.”

She shook her head and bit her lip. “But the police…that’s the big sticking point.”

“I know, but it takes courage to maintain you’re innocent when the police aren’t backing you.” He crumpled another sheet of paper and took aim.

“Brittany’s unrepentant. She won’t budge on this.”

He nodded. “I had lunch with her and she made that clear. She also told me Holly’s engaged.” Was his tone neutral, or could Ann tell he was disconcerted?

“Engaged? What do you mean engaged?” she asked.

“As in engaged to be married.”

Ann’s brow furrowed. “Is she going back to her ex boyfriend in London?”

“No, she’s marrying someone here.” He folded a piece of paper, and this time it glided towards the wastepaper basket.

“I didn’t know she had a boyfriend here. She came to LA because her partner in London was cheating on her. He came over recently and begged her to go back, but she said no.”

“She must have met someone else.”

Ann shook her head. “As far as I know, she hasn’t been dating anyone else.”

“I saw her at a function a few months back. She was with a man and they appeared close. Must be him.”

“This is all news to me. We’ve chatted loads of times and she’s never mentioned anyone.”

“That’s odd, but good luck to her,” he said briskly. He slammed the last paper plane into the trash can. Thank God he hadn’t confided his feelings to Ann, or he would’ve looked like a fool. It was for the best Holly was leaving, he knew it was. She’d gotten under his skin and was impairing his judgement. He needed to pull himself together, rise above this, and forget all about her.

He woke the next morning barely able to drag himself out of bed. The room was quiet but its peacefulness jarred him, and reluctantly he pushed the covers aside. Gone were the days when he’d lie in bed; gone were the days when lying in bed was a companionable way to spend the weekend; and gone were the days when weekends were enjoyable. He’d never be able to forget Sarah, never wanted to forget her, but these past weeks he’d been able to imagine a future with Holly, and what surprised him was how good that felt.

He pushed past his lethargy and got out of bed; lying in brooding was a waste of time. Donning shorts and a grey sweatshirt, he stretched before putting on his trainers, then let himself out into the clear still morning. The air was crisp, and he inhaled deep diaphragm breaths as he jogged through streets lined with coral trees and date palms. The Pacific breeze caressed his skin, and as he hit his stride the mental cobwebs dissipated.

How could he have possibly imagined he’d have a future with Holly? It was a ridiculous notion, and it was lucky Brittany told him she was getting married. If nothing else, it saved him the indignity of making a huge fool of himself.

He slowed his pace on Montana, his customary detour for a coffee. A strong one would go down well this morning, strong enough to stand a spoon up in. Then he’d pick up
The Times
and head back home for a leisurely breakfast.

Despite the early hour it was a brisk morning on Montana. Crowds were already lining the sidewalk, the cafés were full, shoppers were searching for treasures, and professional strollers were out to see and be seen.

“Hi there. Wouldn’t you love one of these babies?” A woman in tatty cut-off shorts and a red bandana was holding the leash of an equally tatty looking large black dog of dubious parentage.

“Who, me?” he asked.

“Yes you, mister,” the woman said, thrusting an Animal Rescue pamphlet at him. “He’d make you a great running buddy.”

He tried to hand it back. “Thanks, but I can barely look after myself, never mind a dog.” He knelt down to pat the animal, who nibbled his hand.

“He likes you,” the woman said encouragingly. “They can always tell dog lovers.”

“Haven’t had a dog for years and no one at home to look after one.” The woman shook her head in disgust, and moved to heckle someone else. “Good luck,” he said to the dog, pulling its ears playfully.

He ordered coffee from his favourite café, his mind still on the dog. It was tempting to take it home. He’d grown up with dogs, and he and Sarah had planned on getting one, but then she’d become ill. God, what was he thinking? First he fell in love with a ridiculous woman who was completely wrong for him, and now he wanted to take a scruffy looking dog home. Whatever was wrong with him, coffee wasn’t strong enough to fix it.

He strolled towards home sipping the espresso. At his corner two women were laughing and chatting, while their dogs strained on their leads. Everyone seemed to have dogs these days but it wasn’t surprising, and in different circumstances he’d love to have a dog to come home to. Someone excited to see him when he walked through the door. But it wouldn’t be fair to leave a dog home by itself all day, and he certainly couldn’t take it to work.

Dogs. Work. Had someone recently mentioned taking a dog to work? He racked his brain, but couldn’t for the life of him remember who it was. Had the conversation been about working dogs? He frowned, tried to think, but it was in the furthest recesses of his mind. He took another sip of his coffee, stared at the dogs, then a snatch of conversation came back to him.

Yes, that was it. Brittany had been talking about Holly the other day. What was it she’d said? “Who’d weave such a complex story, complete with carloads of cops and tracker dogs? She’s got a case of the Hollywoods.”

Yes, it was Brittany, and she
had
said tracker dogs.

He narrowed his eyes in concentration. He’d never heard tracker dogs mentioned before. Was it Brittany embellishing Holly’s story, or was it a material fact which could help to identify the police who’d attended the accident?

He moved to the dogs and leaned over to pat one. “Lovely boy, you helped me remember,” he said to the animal. “Good, good boy, love you,” he burbled and laughed out loud. The women holding the dogs exchanged alarmed glances and edged away as he tried to pat the other one.

He gulped the rest of his coffee and sprinted back to the Residence, fuelled by excitement.

Twenty minutes later, the sweat cooling on his body, he put the phone down, looking thoughtful. Ann had never heard mention of the tracker dogs before. But she confirmed what he suspected, that Brittany had insisted on dealing with Holly herself, and was the only one who’d heard the whole story firsthand.

His fingers drummed the polished wood of the desk. What was the best way to handle this? Wait until Monday to speak to Brittany? No. Time was of the essence. He picked up the phone and dialled Brittany’s number.

“Brittany speaking,” she answered.

“Guy here. You sound puffed. Been out running?”

“Guy, what a lovely surprise. I, er, no, ran for the phone.”

“Sorry to bother you on the weekend. I was wondering if you’re free for lunch?”

“I’d love to.” Her voice lifted with pleasure then she said softly, “I have a girlfriend here at the moment, but she’ll be leaving soon.”

“Come over to the Residence when you’re free. We’ll eat here.”

“Great. I’ll be there around twelve. See you later.”

He hung up, sure that by the end of the afternoon, he’d know whether he could do anything to help Holly.

FORTY-ONE

Brittany

“Sorry, lover, I’ve got to go, something’s come up at the office.” Brittany lay back on the bed, extended her leg and examined her toned thighs, slim ankles and perfect pedicure.

“It’s Saturday, for heaven’s sake,” Warren whined.

“There’s a crisis in the Consulate, and I’m needed.”

“I need you here,” he said, grabbing the down between her legs. “You know how hard it is for me to get away these days. She thinks I’m golfing this morning.”

“I know, darling.” She opened her legs and he straddled her immediately. She lay back, closed her eyes, and arched to meet him, willing him to come quickly. Her thoughts were already focused on Guy, who, she hoped, had come to his senses and wanted to put things right between them. As she imagined the possibilities of a long afternoon together, with no one to disturb them, her breathing quickened, and she came with a shudder.

Minutes later Warren groaned in ecstasy, then rolled over. She crept out of bed and watched him as he slumbered. A film of sweat covered his florid features, his eyes twitched, and soft snores filled the otherwise quiet bedroom. In the shower she scrubbed herself to rid her body of all traces of the man she’d just made love with, then changed into a light dress, which struck the right balance between conservative and sexy.

Thirty minutes later she arrived at the Residence and the housekeeper led her into the garden, where a table was set for lunch. Guy was reading the paper and stood to greet her, looking boyish in his casual weekend clothes.