True Colours Page 12

  Alex groaned and buried her head in the pillow. Right now she needed Solpadeine, and needed them fast. And according to the (much too bright) LCD readout beside her bed, it was already 8 a.m. and she had to get over to Sebastian’s in time to meet the cleaner and rescue her beautiful briefcase and her precious laptop, or she might as well resign now and throw away everything she had worked for.

  Rolling out of bed, stumbling to the bathroom, it was a full thirty minutes before Alex felt human again. Managing to get into the shower, she already had her head under the shower head luxuriating in the feeling of the red hot jets against her scalp when she realised with that slow creeping feeling of impending disaster that she had no chance of getting her hair dry before she had to leave. A was most definitely not connecting with B this morning. But at least , as she reached for her black trouser suit – it was definitely a black trouser suit day – she began to feel the throb in her head subside, the pounding masked by painkillers.

  Thank God Sebastian was in London. Thank God the cleaner could let her in to find her laptop.

  Punching the entry code into the security pad outside the black iron gates of the Eaton Square complex, Alex glanced up to the top floor, to the penthouse apartment There was a light on to the left. The study? It clicked off as she was watching, clicked on in the next room. The cleaner must already be hard at work.

  As the lift doors slid open on the top floor, just as they had done the day before, the only thing that had changed was Alex. Now, instead of her stomach churning with trepidation at seeing the inside of Sebastian’s apartment, it churned with a potent blend of anger and disappointment. Disappointment that the man she had trusted with her virginity, her first real love, had let her down so spectacularly.

  How could he?

  Turning out of the lift, quickly glancing at her reflection in the mirror, at her hair slicked back into a tight wet-look ponytail, her white linen shirt crisp, power dressing, Alex could see that Sebastian’s door was closed. This time the sound emanating from the apartment wasn’t Mozart, but Westlife; mid-ballad: ‘life is a rollercoaster…you just gotta ride it’. Knocking loudly, confidently, Alex was surprised when the door opened by itself. Perhaps the cleaner had to take out the bins and had left it on the latch? Pushing it wide, Alex stepped inside.

  ‘Hello?’

  No reply, only a clatter from the kitchen and a female voice muttering a curse.

  ‘Hello?’ Alex was level with the breakfast bar now, could see a slim dark woman peering into the microwave. Before Alex could say anything, the woman slammed the door closed with alarming ferocity, glaring at it as she spoke.

  ‘At last. I thought you were never coming. This microwave is absolutement le fin, it makes everything explode. You’ll have to sort it out.’ Still not turning around, she click-clacked over to the huge walk-in fridge, continuing, ‘And the bathroom needs cleaning. Properly this time, not just a wipe over.’

  Puzzled for a moment, as much by her polished accent and high heels as by her brusque manner, it suddenly occurred to Alex that the woman must have been expecting her assistant to arrive. And if that was the way she spoke to her co-workers, it wasn’t surprising the girl hadn’t turned up.

  ‘Sorry, I just dropped in to collect my briefcase. I don’t want to interrupt.’

  The woman turned around slowly, her dark, finely-plucked eyebrows raised.

  ‘Briefcase?’

  ‘I think Jocelyn Blake contacted you to say I’d be dropping in. I left it here yesterday.’

  ‘And what exactly were you doing here yesterday?’

  Taken aback by her manner, Alex looked the woman up and down. She had a fabulous face, looked like someone from the cover of Vogue, but, like a model, she was a stick insect, all angular cheekbones and elbows, as if she didn’t eat properly. Heavily made up, her Vogue-like look fell apart a bit with her taste in clothes – sprayed-on black jeans and a skin-tight black t-shirt, a crystal-encrusted designer logo emblazoned across her flat chest. Victoria Beckham on the cheap. Well maybe not so cheap, but definitely tarty. She sounded foreign, but her accent wasn’t exactly inner city. Far from it. Fighting with the remains of her hangover, trying to get her brain in gear, Alex was beginning to get a bad feeling. Her accent was all wrong. And why on earth was she wearing a pair of black sunglasses on top of her head while she was working? They were holding back her long, railroad-straight hair, almost as dark as the glasses themselves. Surely, surely an elastic band would have been more practical?

  Alex paused. Whatever this woman’s background and her strange choice of work clothing, and the fact that it was none of the cleaner’s business what Alex had been doing here yesterday, Alex had been brought up knowing her manners and to refuse to answer just seemed too rude.

  ‘I was taking measurements.’

  Scowling, the woman pursed her lips, irritation radiating from her like a bad smell. Addressing Alex as if was about twelve years old, she put her hands on her hips.

  ‘And what precisely were you taking measurements of?’

  Rankled by her tone, Alex stood her ground, but kept her own voice excruciatingly polite. ‘The apartment. I’m an interior designer,’ biting back, ‘and what business is it of yours?’ Which was just as well.

  ‘About time.’ The woman pulled a face of theatrical proportions, her sarcasm dripping like hot wax down the side of a candle. ‘I thought I was going to have to get someone in myself which would have been most inconvenient.’ Jangling her watch around her wrist, a flashy diamante affair with a baby pink face, she said ‘I’ve got twenty minutes. I’ll talk you through my ideas.’

  ‘I’m sorry...?’ Adding to the hangover fogging her brain, a brain crowded with memories and emotions, Alex’s bad feeling was growing. There was no way this woman was the cleaner.

  ‘Sebastian is totally hopeless, can’t even match his ties to his shirts. How he thinks I could live here I really don’t know…’ Reaching to pick something up as she sashayed out from behind the counter, four-inch heels clattering on the stone floor of the kitchen, she slipped the something onto her finger as she continued, ‘Now, I thought the living room should be Shaker, I did send that Joss woman some pictures…’

  The something she had slipped onto her finger suddenly caught the light from the kitchen spots, flashing like a warning signal. But it wasn’t red. It was blue. Oval, surrounded by diamonds. And as big as a quail’s egg. The Wingfield Sapphire. The penny dropped in Alex’s head, literally. Then rolled off over the edge of a cliff, spinning into space, metamorphosing into a wounded fighter jet as it plunged to earth. Crash and burn.

  How could she have been so stupid?

  Stunned, suddenly dizzy, acutely conscious of the emptiness in her stomach, of the pain slamming behind her eyes, Alex nodded helplessly.

  ‘She’s given them to me…’

  ‘Perfect. I was sure she’d lose them. I really don’t know why he keeps her. She’s as mad as a hatter.’

  Pushing past her, the heels of her stilettos, Alex was sure, leaving a line of dents on the cherry wood floor, Caroline marched into the middle of the living room.

  ‘These sofas will have to go, and the coffee table. And those curtains are just hideous. I want pale colours, lots of cream and beige. Shades of brown. Lots of cushions and a fabulous rug. A geometric print definitely. Modern, cutting-edge. And get rid of those bookshelves. Horrid. They’re positively industrial.’ She pointed a long red talon at what was obviously a custom-made shelving unit, a series of chunky cubes crafted from burr walnut, stacked elegantly to display several sets of heavy reference books and the intricate scale models of a collection of pre-war planes. Before Alex could say anything, Caroline continued.

  ‘Now for the bedroom.’

  She was on the move before Alex registered where she was going; glaring over her shoulder when she realised that Alex was lagging behind.

  ‘Come on, keep up. I don’t have all day. I was thinking toile de Jouy Pale blue, or maybe pink… ye
s pink, definitely pink. And a new bed. Ornate French-style with a scrolled headboard. White. Lots of white. I hate all this dark wood, it’s just so old-fashioned. You’ll see for yourself. And you’ll have to take up this carpet and paint the floorboards.’

  Alex felt herself shrivelling inside. This was Sebastian’s fiancée, had to be; who else would be wearing his mother’s engagement ring, the famous ring that in a strange family tradition had been passed from new bride to new bride for over three hundred years, replaced by an equally impressive diamond eternity ring when it left the original owner’s finger? Sebastian’s mum had shown it to her one day, a circle of diamonds representing the completion of the family, the continuation of the family line…So this was Sebastian’s fiancée… And Alex was just about to get another look at that painting…

  ‘It needs a total revamp…’ flinging the bedroom door open, Caroline teetered in. The bed was unmade, pillows piled in a heap, sheets thrown back, a black g-string screwed up on the floor, a wet towel lying beside it.

  ‘Dreadful isn’t it? …I mean that painting just has to go. A nude, honestly, and a fat one at that! Just look at it. She looks like some whore in the middle of the job. I don’t know where he got it…’

  Leaving Alex standing speechless in the doorway, Caroline pushed open the door to a huge en suite.

  ‘And this bathroom needs a whole new look. The red just has to go. White stone I thought, a walk-in shower. Those little tiles that look like pebbles.’

  A whore? A whore? And fat? Just because she had decent boobs and Caroline was like a waif. Fat? And what exactly was it about the painting that made her look like a prostitute? Alex couldn’t resist the cattiness of her next thought: maybe Caroline had never had good sex, was too frigid to know what it felt like, wouldn’t recognise an orgasm if it hit her in the face. And, despite the initial sting of Caroline’s comments, Alex realised that a tiny part of her actually felt incredibly, almost deliriously smug – obviously Sebastian hadn’t mentioned that he’d painted the picture himself, that he was actually a very talented artist, that the subject was his ex-girlfriend. And not just any ex-girlfriend, but the first girl he’d ever slept with, a girl, who at the time, he couldn’t get enough of.

  Caroline’s high-pitched voice grew louder as the stream of criticism continued from inside the bathroom. Her mind still on the painting, Alex wasn’t really listening. Then, somewhere in the background, Alex thought she heard the front door close. The cleaner must have arrived at last. Thank God. The interruption would give her a chance to grab her laptop and run. Unaware of anything other than her own torrent of ideas, Caroline continued.

  ‘I want a really big shower head, and a corner bath. Big as you can get, with jacuzzi jets. Don’t understand how anyone can cope without a bath in the en suite. And really a dressing room is essential. You might have to break into one of the spare rooms for that. I really need somewhere for my clothes, with lots of mirrors obviously.’ Her head appeared around the bathroom door, ‘I hope you’re writing this down.’

  ‘What the hell?’

  Alex nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of a voice behind her.

  Sebastian.

  His china blue and white striped shirt was crumpled and he was seriously in need of a shave but there he was, standing right behind her, and not looking at all pleased.

  ‘I…’ Alex didn’t get a chance to finish as Caroline swept out of the bathroom.

  ‘Sebby darling, I thought you were in London.’

  ‘I was. The meeting ran on last night so I went straight to the airport and caught the red eye. I cancelled the cleaners so I could get some sleep.’ He paused, looking straight at Caroline. ‘What are you doing here anyway? I was trying to call you last night, why the hell didn’t you answer your phone?’

  Surprised at the tone of his voice, his barely concealed irritation, Alex tried to melt into the carpet, acutely aware of that painting out of the corner of her eye, that she was in his bedroom. Again. This time uninvited. And she knew Sebastian well enough to recognise the danger signs, the set of his jaw, the almost imperceptible tic under his eye, could see he was on the verge of losing his temper. He might look like a young Richard Gere with that incredibly sexy stubble, his overnight case still in his hand, but just like his grandfather, he had a cataclysmic temper. And it was about to explode.

  Breezing on as if nothing was wrong, Caroline sashayed across the room and kissed him on the lips. He didn’t respond, stood like a pillar of stone, the case in one hand, his jacket trailing from the other. She didn’t seem to notice. Running a painted nail suggestively down his nose, across his cheek, she slipped her hand between the buttons of his shirt.

  ‘Were you trying to call? I thought I’d pop over and surprise you.’ Pouting, her voice coy, she sounded half-teasing, ‘You don’t mind do you darling?’

  ‘Mind?’ Surveying the mess his room was in, Sebastian looked like he was biting his tongue, trying to stifle a retort. Caroline took the advantage while she had it, ‘I was just giving her a few ideas for the decorating.’

  The tic increased. Alex could almost feel Sebastian holding onto his temper like he was clinging onto the collar of a huge dog, its angry barks ricocheting off the walls.

  ‘Fine.’

  It so obviously wasn’t. Turning to Alex, he raised one eyebrow in question, looking for affirmation, for explanation.

  For a second, she didn’t reply, had been so busy watching their exchange, their body language, that she didn’t realise he was waiting for her to explain why she was here. Blushing hard, she said the first thing that came into her head.

  ‘Measurements. Just needed to double-check the, err, widths of the door sills. I’ll only be a second.’

  ‘Your briefcase is in the living room. Beside the sofa.’

  ‘Oh that, yes thanks.’ Alex could feel her blush deepening, heating her face until she was sure her damp hair was steaming. His eyes locked onto hers like a laser beam. Why had she said that? He knew she’d left her briefcase behind, must have found it as soon as she’d left, ‘I’ll just get it, leave you to it.’ She tried to sound airy, moving as fast as was decent out the door of the bedroom.

  Phew! How could this be happening? Alex had thought that that painting was bad enough; now she was caught in the crossfire of a huge row she was sure he was about to have with his fiancée. Time to get out as fast as she could.

  Back in the living room, it took Alex only a second to see where he had propped her briefcase up against the end of one of the leather sofas. But, as she picked it up, she was hit with that doomsday feeling once again, a hole spinning open in the pit of her stomach like the mouth of a vortex.

  Had he opened it?

  Christ she hoped not. Would he? Surely, he was way too polite? He’d always been such a stickler for good manners. Would she have opened his briefcase in the same situation? The vortex began to whip into a frenzy…She’d have fought the urge, but she might have just had a sneaky look…Oh. My. God. The laptop was password protected, but…but she’d left the letter confirming her rental arrangement for her house in the inside pocket…would he have looked at that?

  Before she had time to think about it, she heard Caroline’s voice again, sweet, cajoling.

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly darling, we’re going to be married in a few weeks and we’ll be living here together.’ Alex couldn’t hear his response. ‘And you’re such a darling to find a decorator. Won’t it be lovely to give this place a facelift?’ Caroline giggled suggestively, ‘Surely you’re not that tired.’

  Feeling like a Peeping Tom, Alex cringed. There was no question she was gorgeous to look at, but what on earth did Sebastian see in her?

  Moments later, Caroline was back in the living room, calling over her shoulder, ‘You just need some good coffee and a massage and you’ll feel so much better. I really must get you a coffee machine; I can’t understand why you use that pot thing. It’s positively medieval.’

  Seeing Alex in th
e living room, she stopped suddenly, like she was going to ask her what she was still doing there, then her eyes lit up.

  ‘Do you ever do restoration work, on historic buildings I mean?’

  Tentatively, Alex nodded, why on earth did she want to know that?

  ‘We do all types of interiors, we…’ before she could finish, Sebastian appeared in the doorway, his shirt replaced by a plain white t-shirt. A white t-shirt that clung to the muscles in his chest, cut into his tanned biceps. Alex hastily averted her eyes, fiddled with the strap of her briefcase. There was something about stubble and a white t-shirt. If he’d looked like Richard Gere before…Unaware of her reaction, Sebastian lent on the doorframe, speaking to Caroline.

  ‘Just let me get an hour’s sleep, I’ve got to get back into the office and try and sort out this mess Forenander has got himself in. The man’s a jumped-up little prat, I knew I should have sacked him when we took over.’

  But Caroline wasn’t listening, instead had her eye fixed on Alex. ‘Guess what darling, I’ve just had the most utterly brilliant idea.’

  A pained expression flitted across Sebastian’s face. Alex almost laughed. He looked like he knew Caroline’s good ideas cost him money. A lot of money. Caroline continued unperturbed, speaking slowly like she was still marvelling at how clever she was.

  ‘Why don’t we get her to do Kilfenora? She’d be perfect. She’s a professional after all; she’ll have a much better idea where to buy the right type of paint and stuff than I would…’

  Sebastian paled, fought to keep his face impassive, but there was an edge to his voice.

  ‘My grandfather asked you to do it. You told him you loved doing that type of thing.’

  ‘I know, but just think, it’s only a few weeks to the wedding and it’s such a big job. I’ve been so worried about how I was going to get it done in time, I’m quite sure I’m getting a wrinkle. And I still have so much to organise. I’d have to spend all my time down there keeping an eye on the builders and stuff. If she does it, we can spend more time together can’t we, up here in civilisation?’ The word time was loaded with innuendo. ‘She can look at it tomorrow.’