Chapter 11
11
‘So then, who were you with?’ Marisa questioned as she mashed up eggs later that morning.
‘Marisa!’ Helen exclaimed.
George couldn’t blame her for asking. She had turned up late, in the van, wearing last night’s clothes – the skirt of which was torn and her hair was spiked up like Shirley from EastEnders . She had managed to avoid earlier questions by running upstairs to shower and change before they started work. But she had known it was only a matter of time.
‘No, it’s OK. I bumped into a friend from school; we went back to hers. I had too much to drink and I crashed there,’ George explained.
It was amazing what you could get to trip off your tongue, without too much thought, when you were backed into a corner.
‘A friend from school,’ Marisa repeated suspiciously.
‘Yeah. Tracey,’ George added, hiding her face and trying to concentrate on what she was doing.
She hadn’t seen Tracey since school and was still visualising her in ripped jeans and a New Kids on the Block t-shirt. Still, it didn’t matter for alibi purposes.
‘Tracey,’ Marisa said.
‘Marisa, will you leave George alone. She doesn’t answer to you, does she?’ Helen told her daughter .
‘Well, I don’t believe a word of it. I mean, “bumped into a friend from school”! Well, where? The car park of the Hexagon at two in the morning? What does this Tracey do? Is she a pole dancer or a taxi driver? Because I can’t think of another reason for her to be out at 2.00a.m.,’ Marisa continued.
‘Well Marisa, where do you think I was?’ George enquired, looking at her employee and feeling very certain there was no way in the world she was going to guess.
‘With a man. It’s like sooo obvious,’ Marisa answered confidently.
‘What man?’ George enquired.
‘Well, I don’t know, someone you’re like hiding from us, obviously,’ Marisa said, starting to blush as her confidence unravelled.
‘I’m glad you think my life’s sooo exciting,’ George mimicked.
She was trying desperately not to think about Quinn, but even after her shower, she could still feel him on her skin. She had finger-shaped bruises at the bottom of her back, along with a friction burn and as she filled Marisa’s suspicious head with lies, the injuries smarted in retaliation.
‘Well you’re acting all mysterious and like that’s what people do when they’re hiding man action from their friends,’ Marisa concluded.
‘Who told you that? I think you’ve been watching too much Desperate Housewives ,’ George answered her with a laugh.
There was a knock on the back door and George stiffened. She knew exactly who that was.
Helen opened it and there was Simon with the bread delivery. George turned to greet him, thinking it would be best to get any awkwardness out of the way. She smiled at him but he didn’t meet her eye. In fact, his head was bowed so low that if he opened his mouth, he could probably lick his shoes .
‘Oh Simon, perfect timing as usual, thank you. We’re getting through it today, aren’t we, George?’ Helen said, trying to draw her into conversation.
‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’ George offered, giving him another hesitant smile.
Simon not speaking to her like he usually did would set off Marisa’s questioning again and she didn’t want that. She just wanted to try and put the whole date refusal thing behind them and move on, like the professional business people they were.
‘No thanks, got a lot on,’ Simon said briskly and before anyone could say anything else, he left the kitchen, closing the door behind him.
‘Now that was suspicious. Not wanting a coffee, not looking you in the eye, not trying to flirt with you. Were you with him last night?’ Marisa demanded to know.
George swallowed. She really couldn’t bear any more interrogation; she felt guilty enough as it was.
‘Marisa! I won’t tell you again! Leave George alone,’ Helen warned.
The phone rang and, glad of a distraction, George picked it up.
‘Good morning, Finger Food.’
‘Georgina, is that you?’ her mother’s voice queried.
‘Yes, it’s me.’
‘Good, now listen. Your father and I have had to go up to Wales so we won’t be at home for a few days,’ Heather informed her.
‘Wales? Well why? Is it Adam?’
‘Adam had an accident this morning: hit a parked car,’ Heather said like she was giving the bare bones of a news report.
‘Oh my God, is he OK? I’ll come up. I’ll just arrange a few things here and I’ll be there in a few hours,’ George exclaimed in panic .
‘Don’t be so overdramatic; there’s absolutely no need for you to do anything. He’s fine, just cuts and bruises, we’re with him now and he’s telling you to stop making a fuss,’ Heather continued.
She couldn’t hear him making a fuss; she couldn’t hear anything apart from her mother’s businesslike voice holding her at arm’s length as usual.
‘I want to speak to him,’ George said, putting a hand to her racing heart.
She hadn’t checked for Adam’s text last night. She had asked him to message her and then she’d been too busy having her clothes ripped off to bother even looking at her mobile. This was payback for her involvement with a betrothed man. This was the sort of thing that happened. This was retribution.
‘That isn’t necessary. I told you he’s fine. I just thought you should—’ Heather began again in her best secretarial tones.
‘Put him on the phone, Mother! Don’t mess me about; put him on the phone right now,’ George ordered, knowing her anxiety wasn’t going unnoticed by Helen and Marisa.
‘For goodness’ sake, Georgina, it was only a small accident; the car took the brunt of it and Adam is fine,’ Heather spoke all too calmly.
‘Mother, I swear to God, if you don’t put Adam on the phone right now, I am driving up to Wales to see him for myself,’ George threatened.
Heather let out a loud, frustrated tut of annoyance and then there was background movement as the phone was passed over.
‘Hello,’ Adam spoke sheepishly.
‘Adam, what happened? I thought I told you to drive carefully,’ George reminded him harshly.
‘I did drive carefully; it was foggy when we got back to Wales. Stupid fucking car was parked on a bend! Lucky I was only doing thirty,’ Adam told her .
‘Adam! You do not use that word!’ George heard her mother retort in the background as Adam swore.
‘Are you OK?’ George asked.
‘Yeah, I’m fine. Car isn’t, though; the whole front caved in.’
‘It’s a write off? God, Adam, you were so lucky. Is Tom OK?’
‘Yeah, he’s fine and the best thing is I managed to get the CD out of the car before they towed it away.’
‘CD?’
‘The one I made with Quinn Blake. I would have been gutted if I’d lost that.’
George let out a sigh of irritation at the sound of his name. This was all his fault. She should have been checking Adam was safe, not acting like a slapper.
‘Look, do you want me to come up?’ George asked him.
‘No, course not. Mum and Dad are already fussing round me and you have the after-shows to do. I’m fine, really,’ Adam assured her.
‘Well, if anything changes, I want you to call me or text me and I’ll come up,’ George told him seriously.
‘Cluck cluck, Mother Hen. Isn’t it about time you had some kids? Then you might stop worrying about your little brother so much,’ Adam spoke.
‘Kids? Me? I wouldn’t know what to do with one. I mean, do I cover them in breadcrumbs? Or drizzle them with oil?’ George answered with a laugh.
‘Just kidding, sis, I like all the fussing really.’
‘Yes, well you take care and phone me once in a while, will you? Even if it’s to tell me how drunk you are or how many hours of study you haven’t done,’ George ordered him.
‘Will do. See you,’ Adam replied.
‘Happy now?’ Heather’s voice spoke as she came back on the line .
‘Not really, he’s had a car accident. What’s to be happy about?’ George answered.
‘Yes and the accident may not have happened if he hadn’t been driving through the night, too tired after you made him be a waiter at a party,’ Heather snapped.
‘So it’s my fault,’ George said with a heavy sigh.
‘Fatigue was a factor in the accident, yes.’
‘Why do you still hate me so much? I mean, how long is this going to go on for, Mum? What exactly did I do?’ George wanted to know.
‘You know what you did: you let us down,’ Heather retorted.
‘I made one mistake. People do make mistakes, you know. It doesn’t mean they have to go on paying for them forever.’
‘Goodbye, Georgina. I’ll let you know when we’re back home,’ Heather spoke and she ended the call.
George hung up the phone and Marisa and Helen hurriedly recommenced their work, pretending not to have heard the conversation.
‘Is Adam OK?’ Helen asked when George had hurriedly turned back to making pastry.
‘Yeah, I think so,’ she answered.
Her heart was still palpitating, but now she had spoken to Adam, she felt better than she had at the beginning of the conversation. He was in hospital but it could have been so much worse.
‘Why don’t you go upstairs and have a lie down? Marisa and I can cope here and you can’t have had much sleep last night – on Tracey’s sofa. It was Tracey, wasn’t it? Your friend,’ Helen said.
‘Yes, it was,’ George replied, sensing the tone of her voice.
‘Well, go and catch up on some sleep now. I can finish the pastry and do the chicken and garlic parcels and Marisa can do the sandwiches for the WI. You do look terrible. She looks terrible, doesn’t she, Marisa?’ Helen said.
‘Dog rough,’ Marisa replied without looking up.
‘Thanks, both of you,’ George answered.
‘Go on, shoo! And I don’t want to see you back down here until well after lunch,’ Helen ordered.
‘OK,’ George replied.
She didn’t have the energy to contest the idea and the thought of a couple of hours with her head on her own pillow was literally pulling her up the stairs. Sometimes you just had to give in. Like last night.
The show that night had been awesome, but more importantly, she was in the room now and she looked amazing. A white shirt and black skirt had never been so appealing. Not that he wanted to look at it on her; he’d much rather it was spread across his hotel suite, like she had been.
His palms were itching; he was nervous. He wanted her again but he had rules. You didn’t go there twice. Once was testing the water, a little fun on the side, no harm done; twice indicated intent. But this wasn’t just about the sex; he wished to God it was. No, this went a whole lot deeper. He walked over to join Michael.
‘My dear, I missed you last night. What did you think you were doing hiding away in the bowels of the Hexagon? Surely your staff should have been beavering away in the background while you shone out here with your delicious concoctions,’ Michael exclaimed as George brought another platter into the buzzing after-show party that night.
‘Ah well, I was preening and perfecting and those details could only be attended to by the creator,’ George replied swiftly, offering the plate of food to him .
‘What do we have here?’ Michael asked, picking up a pastry parcel and scrutinised it.
‘Chicken and garlic with honey overtones,’ George informed him.
‘Honey overtones! My dear, you are starting to speak my language. Oh! Oh! I have officially died and am feasting at Paradise’s table. These are special, I tell you! Delicious!’ Michael exclaimed, chewing the food and enjoying every bite.
‘Michael, you’re my biggest fan. I’ve never known anyone enjoy my food quite so much,’ George told him.
‘I definitely want to vie for the title of super fan; these are excellent.’
George had been avoiding even looking in Quinn’s direction all night and had made sure she was always standing near a large group when handing out food. Now, here he was, stood next to Michael, eating one of her parcels and looking straight at her, bringing back all the memories she had of the night before. She had kissed every inch of him; he had kissed every inch of her. They’d had sex over and over again. At first, fast and passionate, then much slower and more sensual, and the final time, she had cried out his name when she came. She couldn’t stop looking at his lips as he ate, remembering how they tasted, recalling what they’d done to her.
‘Isn’t she wonderful? I can’t tell you how glad I am the original caterers pulled out,’ Michael said with a big smile.
‘I’m with you. So, how are we fixed for Manchester?’ Quinn asked.
‘In what department, my man?’ Michael enquired.
‘The catering department,’ Quinn said, looking at George.
‘Well, we’ve got a local catering firm. I can’t remember their name off hand, not something nice and punchy like Finger Food. Probably something really dull like Sally’s Sandwiches,’ Michael said with a guffaw .
‘Cancel them,’ Quinn ordered. ‘I want George.’
‘Oh, what a marvellous idea! I love it! Yes! Perfect!’ Michael exclaimed excitedly, clapping his hands together.
‘I’m sorry. I’ve got other commitments and Manchester’s a bit of a commute, to be honest,’ George answered hurriedly.
‘Darling! You wouldn’t have to commute, would she, Quinn? We would put you up in a hotel, get you some staff to boss around, all the ingredients you need, whatever you wanted.’
‘Sorry, I’ve got long-standing bookings and they’re people who’ve put a lot of business my way,’ George answered firmly.
‘I’ve put a lot of business your way,’ Quinn retorted almost angrily.
‘Yes, I know, I realise that and I’m very grateful but—’ George started.
‘Five thousand pounds a night and you can bring your team,’ Quinn stated.
George held onto her breath as much as she could. Five thousand pounds was about three times the amount she would get from the bookings she had and that was just for one night. She knew he was in Manchester for four nights. She was ashamed to admit, she knew his whole UK tour itinerary now thanks to Marisa and Star Life magazine.
He was looking at her, undressing her with his eyes, a slight smile on his lips. It was hard enough to resist him now; she didn’t know if she could bear another four nights. And despite him making her feel like no other man had in years, it was going nowhere.
‘I’m sorry, I’ll have to decline. Excuse me,’ she said. She turned her back on Quinn and Michael and made her way back to the kitchen as quickly as she could.
He was so angry, he had trashed his dressing room. He’d also had Belch up against the wall by the collar of his leather jacket. Now, he was halfway through his sixth bottle of lager, on top of all he had drunk at the party. How dare she turn him down? What was wrong with her? She’d been keen enough to take her clothes off last night. Once couldn’t be enough for her! He was Quinn Blake! People didn’t say no to him. He was shaking again. What was wrong with him? He should put a stop to this and go and find another distraction. He could go to the casino with some of the other guys, or a club. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He knew she wanted him, so why had she said no?
‘Ready to go?’ Michael asked, opening the dressing room door and popping his head around it.
‘No, I’m not and since when did you come in here without knocking?’ Quinn blasted.
‘Oh, well, I apologise my man, a thousand pardons and—’ Michael started, taken aback but trying his best to hide it.
‘Shut up Michael, for Christ’s sake!’ Quinn ordered, sucking in a breath.
This was her fault. George Fraser, the woman who was taking him over and not giving a damn about it.
By 3.00a.m., the Hexagon conference room was empty and George was collecting up the final plates. It had been a busy night; all the food had gone and guests had been particularly complimentary about the canapés.
As she prepared to go back to the kitchen to pack up the last of the stuff, her phone vibrated as a text message came through.
She looked at it and saw it was from Adam.
Mum n dad drivin me mad – cant sleep – food terrible send canapés x
George smiled and was about to text a reply when the swing doors banged open and Quinn marched into the room, a thunderous expression on his face.
‘How dare you!’ he greeted, striding up to her.
‘How dare I what?’ George replied, standing her ground and looking at him.
‘How dare you refuse to come to Manchester, in front of Michael!’ Quinn yelled.
‘How dare I?! How dare you put me in that position!’ George exclaimed angrily.
‘It was just a catering job,’ Quinn said, standing opposite her, so close, it was a little unnerving.
‘No, it wasn’t,’ George snapped back.
Quinn just kept his gaze focussed on her, staring at her as if he was daring her to look away. George swallowed, knowing what was going to happen next.
His lips crashed against hers a second later and he was holding her so tightly, she thought the breath was going to leave her body entirely. She melted into him like she did every time they were together and only let go when she just had to stop to take in air.
‘Quinn…’ she began as he moved his lips down to her neck and began lightly kissing her shoulder blade.
He didn’t reply. She could feel the tip of his tongue brushing against her collarbone.
‘Quinn…’ she repeated, trying not to shiver as his hot breath warmed her entire insides.
His fingers were at the buttons of her shirt now and she was perilously close to letting him carry on.
‘Quinn,’ she said firmly.
Finally, he stopped, and brought his head back up to look at her.
‘We can’t keep on doing this. I won’t be that girl,’ George told him seriously .
Quinn just gazed at her, his eyes shining with emotion and then he took a step back from her and held onto her hand, his fingers softly caressing hers.
His whole persona had altered and for a moment, he looked completely fragile, not the self-assured, confident individual she was getting used to seeing at close quarters.
He opened his mouth as if to speak but then closed it again and swallowed poignantly.
He squeezed George’s hand and she saw his eyes well up with tears. All of a sudden, he looked like a different person, someone with the weight of the world on his shoulders. The change in him shocked her. He looked lost, like he didn’t know what to do next.
‘This is stupid. Come on,’ George spoke, squeezing his hand and leading him towards the door.