Transplanting Holly Oakwood (27 page)

“Thanks for coming at short notice, Brittany. Can I get you a drink?”

“A glass of white wine would be nice,” she said and leaned in to kiss him. “Nice to be home?”

“Sure is. I’m not travelling again for two months, which means I can concentrate on Consular affairs. On that note, I wanted to ask you something about Holly’s accident.”

The housekeeper arrived with lunch, a welcome intrusion because she didn’t want to talk about Holly. She nodded as the woman put cold chicken on her plate. Hopefully Guy would forget the thread of the conversation, and they could move on to more interesting subjects.

“I’m glad we’ll have you back at the Consulate for awhile. We all miss you when you’re away.” She reached over and touched his hand, but he drew it away. Coincidental or deliberate?

“What were you saying at lunch the other day, about Holly having a case of the Hollywoods?” he asked, spreading a thick coating of butter on his bread.

She tilted her head to the side, deciding the best way to tell the story. When she’d recounted it at lunch the other day he’d had a total sense of humour failure, but maybe today he’d see the funny side. She took a sip of her wine and started.

“It was a real scream the way she laid it on. Fancied herself as Thelma or Louise in the middle of a big production. Carloads of cops,” she said, “all of them good looking of course. Apparently they looked like the cops in that 70s programme that used to be quite popular.”

“CHiPS,” he said encouragingly. Fancy him knowing that – he and Holly were the only two people she’d ever heard mention it. “Go on,” he said, sounding impatient now.

She frowned and closed her eyes, trying to recall the details. “The dogs, the tracker dogs. What do you call them? German Shepherds, I think.”

His eyes lit up, and he slapped the table with such force everything on it rattled. “I didn’t imagine it.”

“Imagine what?”

“You said tracker dogs. You said tracker dogs at lunch the other day too.”

“Yes I know, pretty elaborate huh? That’s what I mean when I say she has a case of the Hollywoods.” He was sitting on the edge of his seat, hanging on her every word. He’d changed his tune from the other day, but why should she care?

“Brittany, did Holly actually say tracker dogs, or have you embellished the story to make it funnier?”

She closed her mouth with a snap and crossed her arms across her front. Shit, she wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about the tracker dogs. How to back pedal out of this?

“I assume she did say it,” said Guy, “given you haven’t answered me.” His hazel eyes bored into hers and her stomach clenched and released. “Did you tell Ann or the police about the tracker dogs?”

Her chest juddered with fear and a wave of nausea overwhelmed her. The game was nearly over, and within a minute or two Guy would know the truth. She clutched the edge of the table in dismay.

“Mr Cutler, your sister-in-law’s here,” said the housekeeper from the doorway.

“Thanks,” said Guy, rising from the table. “We’ll talk about this later, Brittany. Would you mind if my-sister-in-law joined us for lunch?”

“Not at all,” she said as Guy left the table. Her heart slowed and relief seeped into her bloodstream. This interruption would give her breathing space to shore up her story. She refilled her glass, and took a long swallow of the wine. Why had she mentioned the tracker dogs at lunch the other day? She’d never mentioned them before, not to Guy or Ann, not to the police. She squeezed the bridge of her nose, trying to think of a way to dig herself out of this hole.

Muted laughter came from the hallway, then the muffled tread of footsteps. She swallowed another large mouthful of the white, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and pushed her chair back to greet Guy’s sister-in-law.

“Brittany, I’d like you to meet Olivia,” said Guy.

Brittany pasted a bright smile of her face and extended her hand, but as her eyes locked on Olivia’s, her smile died, her blood froze in her veins and the sound of white noise filled her ears.

Guy’s sister-in-law gaped at her, but said nothing.

“Have you ladies met?” asked Guy.

Olivia’s pallor transformed from parchment white to a deep crimson. Lined hands fluttered, then reached for Guy. “This is her. Holly.”

“No, Olivia, this is Brittany. Holly was at the party too. In the garden with me,” he said, trying not to flush.

Brittany’s insides churned like a seething sea of gruel, and sweat broke out on her face and hands. She had to get out of here, and fast. In the next breath Olivia would explain how they knew each other and Guy would know she was screwing his brother-in-law. Why hadn’t Warren, the bastard, ever told her Guy was related to him? Warren’s reluctance to come into the office, which had always suited her, now came into sharp focus and made perfect sense.

Like a caged animal, her desire to escape was peaking and she pushed against the table. The silence was broken by the sound of its iron legs screeching across the flagstones. “Thanks for lunch. I’ve got to go,” she said, avoiding further eye contact.

She walked across the room, with her head held high, but when she reached the hallway all pretence of dignity left her and she picked up pace and ran to the front door. As it closed behind her a wail came from the direction of the terrace, and she knew Guy was hearing the details of her affair with Warren.

FORTY-TWO

Holly

Holly sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at the stacks of manila files surrounding her. Why was she labouring to track down a piece of paper which probably didn’t exist? She slammed a file onto the floor and a dust cloud rose around her, making her sneeze. She put the file back in disgust, then stood up and lifted one final cardboard storage box from the shelves. If the report she was looking for wasn’t in this box she’d call it a day and tell Brittany to find the sodding thing herself. She sank back down to the floor and lifted the lid of the box.

The door opened with a creak. At the sight of Guy heat crept across her shoulders, stained her neck and threatened to move up to her face. Why did he always manage to find her unprepared? It’d been weeks since she’d seen him, but while she needed to talk to him, she wanted to have her shoes on, wanted to have make-up on, and wanted to talk to him on her terms.

“Hi, Holly,” he said. Then he cleared his throat.

She waited for him to continue but he didn’t, so she stood up, brushed her dress down and tried to stuff her feet into her shoes. An excruciating muscle spasm gripped her leg and she doubled over and grabbed her calf, kneading it with her fingers. “Cramp,” she yelped, trying to flex her leg, but instead she slipped on an open folder beneath her.

Guy grasped her elbow to steady her. “You okay?”

A surge of electricity flowed through her and every nerve in her body tingled. “Thanks,” she said, “I’m alright now.” She wanted to move away from him, but her feet were anchored to the ground.

He cleared his throat again. “I wanted to let you know I’m sorry about the way everything’s worked out.”

“It’s alright, you don’t have to say anything,” she said, digging her fingernails into her palms and trying to still the wobble in her voice. She raised her face to his. Was it her imagination or was the soft haze in his eyes longing? The pressure on her arm increased, and he pulled her towards him. She knew she should pull away, but his proximity was magnetic, and she wanted to move even closer, to bury her face in his neck, to drink in the tanginess of his aftershave, to brush her lips against his. A frisson moved through her body and she lifted her mouth towards his and closed her eyes, feeling his breath mingling with hers.

“Holly, you still here?” asked Ann from the doorway. They pulled apart like guilty teenagers and she dropped back to the floor, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Guy,” said Ann in a tone of surprise, “you’re here too.”

He shifted from foot to foot. “Ah, yes, we were discussing a report,” he said, waving to the papers Holly was now sweeping into a pile.

“Perhaps I’ll leave you to it.”

“No it’s okay, Ann, I was just leaving.” He shuffled his feet again. “By the way,” he said to Holly, “Brittany told me you’re engaged. Congratulations, I hope you’ll be very happy.”

She stared at the door after he’d left, her mind whirring with conflicting emotions. She wanted to call him back, wanted to tell him Brittany shouldn’t have shared her ‘news’ with anyone, wanted to tell him she wasn’t engaged, and wanted to rekindle the closeness they’d shared at the party. She traced her lower lip with her index finger, wondering if he’d been about to kiss her. She was sure he was, but how could he if he thought she was engaged to marry someone else? Sadness and anger flooded her in equal measures, anger at Brittany for telling him she was engaged, and anger at Guy for trying to take advantage of her for the second time.

“Holly, what’s wrong?”

She’d forgotten Ann was still there. “Ann, I’ve made such a mess of things.”

“I heard the news of your engagement, too. We’re all pleased for you.” Ann sank down to join her on the floor. “But you’re not happy, are you?” The older woman listened as Holly confided in her, nodding every now and again. “Can I give you some advice?”

“Yes, God knows I need it.”

“Set the record straight with everyone concerned and do it now. Go and speak to Guy first. I’m sure he’ll want to hear everything you have to say.”

She gave Ann a quick hug, and went in search of Guy. His office door was closed, and as she rapped quietly, Brittany walked past.

“Everything alright? You look upset,” said Brittany, her expression ninety percent loathing mixed with a dash of gratification and a spoonful of curiosity. “What are you doing outside Guy’s office?”

“I need to talk to him about something important.”

“He’s gone for the rest of the day. Why don’t you come along to my office and tell me what’s going on?”

She ignored the warning bell jangling in her subconscious. Ann said to set the record straight with everyone, and everyone included Brittany. It wouldn’t do any harm to talk to her. After all, things couldn’t get any worse.

“The thing is, Brittany,” she said when they were seated, “I lied to you. I lied about getting married.”

“Lying’s becoming a bit of a habit with you,” said Brittany, regarding her with contempt.

“It wasn’t all a lie.”

“So you’re sort of getting married? That’s like sort of being pregnant.”

“Charlie did ask me to marry him but I said no.”

Brittany’s eyes were as hard as a greenstone club. “What I’d like to know is why you imagined this little confession would be of any interest to Guy.”

“Um, I thought,” she began but the circuit between her brain and mouth became disconnected. Why did she think it would be of interest to Guy? The circuit failed completely and her mind went blank.

“I don’t care a nickel about your personal situation. It’s neither here nor there whether you’re getting married or not.” Brittany’s colour was rising but her lips were white. “And you’re under some sort of strange illusion if you think Guy’s interested. He couldn’t care less either.”

“Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think,” she argued.

“I know him a lot better than you do,” Brittany replied.

“Guy can be reserved, but he’s a caring person.”

“Yes, he is a caring person, but he doesn’t care for you.”

“That’s a lie,” she said hotly.

“As far as he’s concerned you’re completely expendable,” said Brittany in a patronising manner.

She gripped the arms of her seat, scared if she let go she’d stand up, lunge at Brittany and throttle her. “Don’t blame him for your decision to fire me. We both know you make the staffing decisions.”

“You’re right. Staffing is my responsibility.” Brittany’s eyes narrowed and her upper lip curled. “But what you don’t know is I recommended keeping you.”

“What? I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care whether or not you believe me. But let me make this clear, it was Guy who insisted you had to go. I tried to intervene but he wouldn’t risk the reputation of the Consulate.”

“What?” Black spots danced in front of her eyes and she grasped the side of the desk to stop herself from pitching forwards. Surely this wasn’t true? No. Brittany was lying. Or was she? Guy hadn’t come to her defence throughout any of this.

“I didn’t know any of this.” Slowly she rose from her seat, her knees wobbling. She couldn’t continue this conversation, couldn’t let Brittany see her break down. “Thanks. It’s not what I wanted to hear, but you’ve saved me from making a giant fool of myself.”

She stumbled back to her office, closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, a bitter taste on her tongue. With difficulty she moved to her desk and slid into her chair, slumping forwards and cradling her head in the crook of her elbow. How could Guy have done this to her? She’d been such a fool, persisting in a stupid fantasy he cared for her and didn’t want her to leave. The reality was, he didn’t care any more than Tom had.

She considered her predicament carefully. She’d made a complete and utter ninny of herself over a man who wasn’t interested in her, and she’d rejected Charlie, the only one willing to make the commitment no one else would. She’d never stopped to consider, until this moment, how much she’d hurt him. He must be feeling lousy, as lousy as she was feeling over Guy.