Chapter 8
‘Please don’t look at me like that.’
I can’t help it. I know how pathetically needy it is but I don’t want him to go. He leans down and plants a kiss on my brow. I push myself up on the bed and bring my face to meet his. He smirks at my greediness before placing his lips on mine.
‘I’ll buy you a treat,’ he says through a grin.
‘I’m not a child.’
‘Then stop behaving like one.’ He winks, making me smile briefly. ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘I know.’ And I do know. I’ve always put work top of my priorities – well, just below my dad. He would’ve never knowingly stood in my way.
‘It’s just… what if…’
‘What if I’m charged?’
I twist my fingers in my lap.
‘Baby, it was self-defence and that’s why it’s taking so long. You heard John Harrison. If the CPS thought I was a danger to society, I’d be charged. But they don’t, I’m not, and I won’t be charged.’
‘Gregory, you don’t know that.’ My eyes feel heavy as I continue staring down at my fingers. ‘What if in a few days…’
‘I can’t put my life on hold, Scarlett. I have a business to run.’ He places a hand over mine, holding my fingers still. ‘And I won’t put us on hold. I’ll be back Friday and we’ll enjoy our weekend together, okay?’
I nod but inside, I know nothing has changed. ‘I’ll see you Friday.’
‘See you soon, beautiful.’
I have to use this time. Three days to get my head straight without any forget-the-world sex or angry sex or miss-me sex, without the distraction of this excruciatingly stunning, infuriating man. Time to process everything: me, Gregory, us, my dad, the investigation, Dubai.
My life really has become complicated since I met the man who still in so many ways is a complete mystery to me, the man who’s taken complete control of my mind and body and sent my head and heart into the battle of all battles.
The man who won’t let me in and the man who really might not be in love with me.
Who am I kidding, these three days are going to be mental torture.
My alarm draws me out of my muddled thoughts. Reaching over to the bedside table, I silence the phone then get ready in the luxury of solitude and opt for a fitted, black dress and a soft-damson blazer with black heels, then curl the ends of my hair.
Amy has already arrived when I make my way downstairs.
‘Good morning, peach,’ she sings as she busies herself, her oversized jumper swishing at the thighs of her leggings as she rubs the already gleaming worktops of the kitchen back to super-sparkle. ‘You look very nice. Would you like coffee?’
‘Please.’ I plonk myself on a stool at the island.
‘Strawberries and yoghurt or something warm for a change?’
I check my watch. ‘I probably have time for something warm.’
‘Eggs? Bacon? Porridge?’
‘Porridge would be nice, thank you.’
She stops scrubbing and pours me a coffee from the filter machine. ‘Let’s see… hmm… seeds, nuts, berries, honey, banana?’
‘You spoil me, Amy. Seeds and honey sounds great, please.’
‘Right you are. Did Gregory get off okay?’
I nod through my coffee. ‘He left early, about five, I think.’
She shakes her head. ‘I don’t know where that man gets all his energy.’
‘How long have you worked for him?’
‘Gosh, maybe five years. I used to just clean but he’s hopeless. He’d work all hours, get up at the crack of sparrows to exercise with that nutty driver of his and never eat – well, never eat or eat rubbish. You know they put all kinds of fat and salt and sugar in food in those fancy restaurants.’
I giggle to myself; she sounds just like Sandy. ‘What about the women he’s lived with? Didn’t they cook for him?’
Amy throws her head back in an almighty chuckle. ‘Sweetness, that man has never been with a woman long enough to move her in. You’re special to him, I can tell.’ She raises her brows with a grin that draws my smile up to my ears.
‘You’ll get the sack for spouting rubbish like that,’ Jackson chirps before he limps into the kitchen in sports shorts and a polo. ‘And I’m not a nutter.’
Amy twists her damp tea towel and whips it across Jackson’s legs.
‘Argh!’ He bends forward gripping his injured leg and hopping.
Amy’s quickly by his side, panic-stricken.
‘Only joking!’ Jackson stands with a cheeky grin.
‘You are a nutter!’ Amy slaps his shoulder and moves back to stirring porridge. ‘I hope you don’t expect me to feed you after that performance.’
‘My man said I could have his breakfast this morning.’
Amy tuts at the ceiling. ‘Well, if the boss calls it. Eggs?’
‘Poached please, flower.’ He hops up to a stool next to me. ‘You don’t mind me being here for breakfast, Scarlett, do you?’
I laugh through my coffee. ‘You have more right to be here than I do, Jackson, and don’t pretend he hasn’t told you to babysit me whilst he’s gone.’
‘He said nothing of the sort,’ he laughs.
‘No crutches today?’
‘Nah, it’s healing up nicely already.’ He proves his point by flexing his injured leg then straightening it flat and flexing it again. ‘I’d like to be driving again next week.’
‘Isn’t that a little soon?’
He scoffs and shakes his head. ‘If I don’t get back soon, I think Kenneth might lose a limb.’
‘One porridge with seeds,’ Amy announces, placing the steaming bowl in front of me. ‘You can put your own honey on to taste.’ She pushes a very pale-looking substance towards me.
‘Manuka?’ I ask, reading the label. ‘Oh, one of those healthy things.’ I hold the pot up in front of my face.
‘It has superhuman properties, apparently. Gregory insists on it, won’t have any other kind. Crackers if you ask me. It’s ten times the price of ordinary honey.’
‘Hmm, tastes okay, I suppose.’
I gobble up my porridge, drink my coffee then finish up getting ready for work.
‘Ken’s downstairs. Do you have his number?’ Jackson asks, still munching his way through poached eggs on toast.
‘Gregory put it in my phone last night.’
‘All right. Call me if you need anything. Let’s try not to do anything to make the crazy fool jump straight back on that jet home.’
I roll my eyes to the ceiling. ‘Yes, Dad.’
‘There’s no need for cheek, girl. I’ll be at Lara’s this afternoon seeing Sandy but I’ll be back tonight.’
My eyebrow instinctively rises.
‘Get out of here!’ Jackson snaps, clearly suppressing a smirk.
Kenneth drives me to work where Margaret has left a latte on my desk with my mail. I’ve got one conference call this afternoon, otherwise I can get my head down into some documents.
First, I dial my favourite contact at the firm.
‘Hey, foxy lady!’
‘Hello yourself. Gregory’s been his stubborn self and made me another appointment with the Fashion Police at Harrods tomorrow. Come with me?’
‘Now, now, don’t be like that; Lucas was a delight, the cute little thing.’
‘You mean when he wasn’t stealing our carbs and telling me I make designer dresses look like a sack of potatoes?’
She laughs and I know her head will be thrown back in her chair. ‘He didn’t say that; he just said, “Ew, darling, that’s all wrong.”’
‘Same thing. I need another evening dress and some country clothes.’
‘Country? But you’re City.’
‘Yes, apparently City doesn’t work for fox hunting.’
‘Fox hunting! Bloody hell! Where?’
‘No idea. The country somewhere.’
‘Oh my God.’
‘Yup. So you’ll come to Harrods tomorrow? We could have a girls’ night in with a bottle of wine after.’ I silently beg her to say yes and not leave me in the apartment alone.
‘I’m there.’
‘Great, thank you. Now let me work out how on earth I’m supposed to disconnect this call.’
There’s no need. Amanda’s obviously sussed this damned technology and the line goes dead.
Abdulla Ghurair’s work keeps me distracted for most of the day but the space-from-Gregory thing really isn’t going to plan.
I miss him immensely. By lunchtime, I’m starting to wonder whether he’ll have landed in China yet; he must be close.
Will he call me or text me to let me know he’s landed safely?
I have a wave of irrational fear that something could’ve happened to him mid-flight and I’m exceptionally grateful when Outlook flashes a reminder on my screen that Neil and I have the distraction of a call with Abdulla at two thirty.
With one ear engaged on the call and the other listening for any sign that Gregory has landed safely in China, I continually check my emails and text messages but nothing comes.
Then I’m dragged away from my distractions by the inevitable matter of a secondment to Dubai.
Abdulla seems set on the idea of me being the secondee.
Neil doesn’t say a final decision hasn’t been made but thankfully buys us a couple of weeks before we have to confirm that request because, as he explains to Abdulla, there are more pressing matters to deal with in the first instance.
I can breathe a sigh of relief for now but I’ll have to make the decision imminently.
The way I’m feeling, beside myself with complete nonsensical and unfounded worry, tied up in knots at the thought that I’m missing Gregory so much already, I might not make it to Friday with my sanity intact.
There’s no way I can accept the secondment.
Suppose I decide not to go. Would it really be that bad? I refuse a potentially enormous client and let Neil and the firm down. There’s no way around it; if I don’t go, I’ll be placed indefinitely in the not-concerned-about-the-interests-of-the-firm bracket.
I call Jackson just after four.
‘Scarlett? Is everything okay?’
Suddenly feeling very silly, I confirm that there’s really nothing wrong. ‘I was just wondering if you’ve heard from Gregory?’
‘You really have it bad don’t you? No, I’ve not heard from him. He should touch down shortly: half-past four, quarter to five, give or take for wind and what have you.’
‘Thanks, Jackson. Are you with Sandy?’
‘I’ll let you know if I hear from him. And she’s right next to me. Would you like me to put her on?’
‘Erm, yes please, just for a sec; I’m at work.’
‘Scarlett, sweets?’ Her bubbly voice is my ultimate reassurance.
‘Hey, Sandy. How are you?’