Love to Hate You (14 page)

Or rather, everyone except Michael, who took it really badly. I think it took him years to recover. Hannah was a godsend. When she appeared in his life, my brother finally managed to start healing.

I still remember Linsey very well: work to pay your own way? As far as she was concerned, that meant being poor! A pearl of wisdom that we'll all remember forever.

The tragedy is that people from her world all think like her. Usually, their only job is taking care of their assets – and they even have the nerve to claim that it's hard work!

“I know that you've suffered and you don't want anything like that happening to me,” I tell him sincerely, “but you have to trust me. There is absolutely nothing between me and Ian St John. I'm not that stupid. To tell the truth, I actually find him quite unpleasant.”

And I really believe that I do, I'm not just saying it to re-assure my brother. The gentleman certainly isn't one of my favourite people just because I've spent a few hours with him – and, even worse, I was forced to do it.

But as soon as I finish the phrase, from around the corner what should pop out but the perfect face of Ian, in all its glory. Michael notices him immediately and gives him a doubtful look.

“Have you got a minute, Jenny?” the little lord asks me with a flash of his best smile – the one he usually uses to get everything he wants.

“Not now,” I answer sharply, because I'd like to convince my brother that he can set off for the third world without having to worry about me. And because Ian should know me well enough by now not to try the smile on with me.

My tone must have hit the target, because his expression darkens.

“Okay. Well, when you can—” he says coldly, before disappearing.

Michael laughs behind me.

“I picked up some…
interesting
vibrations,” he teases, continuing to stir a coffee that he is obviously never going to drink.

“I told you so, big brother. There's really nothing to worry about”.

He stands in front of me and looks me straight in the eyes for a long time, trying to get some kind of answer.

“Well, we'll see… In a few months, when I get back, let's have lunch and you can bring me up to date on everything I've missed. Ok?” he proposes.

“Deal,” I reply. Partly because there'll be nothing to bring him up to date on.

I take the coffee out of his hand and, driven by a sudden burst of generosity, throw it away. I'm almost tempted to drink it myself, but I'm way too edgy today and I don't need any additional doses of caffeine.

We walk to the lift together and I hug him and promise to write to him as soon as possible.

Once Michael has gone, all that's left for me to do is find out what Ian wants. The day has already been heavy, but, obviously, it can always get worse.

I arrive at the door of his office, passing in front of a stunned Tamara. I'd forgotten that I'm in enemy territory, and seeing me here is cause for alarm. I knock decisively and without waiting for an answer walk into the room.

There are some habits you just shouldn't change.

Ian's office is an exact copy of mine, except for the desk which is certainly antique and probably priceless. He must have brought it from home.

He's on the phone and my sudden arrival irritates him. That's nothing new, but today small certainties are good for my mood. He covers the mouthpiece with one hand and says, “Next time don't even bother to knock, please”. I look at him surprised, as if I didn't understand what he was saying and plop myself down gracelessly on the leather chair.

“Can I call you back?” he says to the person on the phone, with an acid smile.

Good, that's what I needed, because I don't want to think about the kiss and the feelings that it triggered in me. Better to focus on more useful feelings – such as anger, to be precise.

He says goodbye and hangs up abruptly. As theatrical as ever.

“You wanted to talk to me?” I ask him with the utmost innocence, determined not to be disconcerted by his attitude.

For a second it almost seems to me that Ian is about to kick me out of his office, but apparently, at least for now, reason will prevail.

“I don't want to talk to you at all, but unfortunately I have to.”

Here comes a comment and a tone that re-assures me. It's clear that the relationship between us has gotten a bit too friendly in recent days. Too friendly for my liking, at least.

“So,
did
you need to talk to me?” I re-phrase the question, not at all affected by his tone.

“Yes. Has Colin told you?” he asks coldly.

“I haven't seen Colin yet today,” I tell him.

Ian looks quite downcast. “Great, of course. Let the messenger take the flak—” he mumbles.

“Oh c'mon. I'm not even armed,” I say.

“If voodoo was still fashionable, I'd be long dead.”

I don't deny it and just give him a smile. I'm enjoying this quarrelsome exchange so much that I could practically jump for joy.

“Anyway,” he says, changing the subject, “we have a commitment this weekend. In part it has to do with our work, and in part with our agreement.”

More fool me for agreeing to help him.

“What is it?” I ask suspiciously.

“Work, because Beverly is one of the guests and has peremptorily expressed the wish to see us,” he explains, leaning back in his chair. “And it is also partly linked to the other issue, because the hunt takes place on my grandfather's estate, and obviously I have to be there.”

“A
hunt
?” I repeat with a tone of horror.

“Yes, the Duke of Revington's annual hunt,” the one who one day will bear that title says, sounding bored.

“I will not be participating in a hunt—” I murmur, as though that settles it.

Ian frowns at me. “Of course you will. Not to mention that you have to.”

Clearly we haven't understood one another. “I'm a vegetarian and an animal rights activist too. Supporters of animal rights don't participate in hunts. Supporters of animal rights try to sabotage them.”

I must look pretty menacing because Ian pushes back into his chair. “Then just…
pretend
to participate in the hunt,” he proposes.

And I thought he was intelligent. “You're out of your mind: my family would stop talking to me if I set foot on the Duke of Revington's estate! And they'd be right!”

Ian snorts annoyingly. “So are you saying that I should look after Beverly? Completely? Because he'll want to discuss work during this bloody hunt,” he reminds me, his tone petulant and vindictive.

“No, you can't look after Beverly! You promised to keep out of my way in return for my help! And to think that I even
kissed
you to make sure you wouldn't get between me and my client, for God's sake!”

As I'm saying it, I get up from my chair, realizing that my words don't exactly sound like a compliment to his skills of seduction – but damn it, he's asking for it!

Ian jumps up from his chair too and leans menacingly towards me, saying, “Let's get one thing straight – the revulsion was mutual!”

During this battle the only thing keeping us apart is the antique desk, and our hands brush lightly by accident. In that moment it is as if a one million volt shock runs through my whole body, from my toes right up to my neck. I feel goose bumps come up on my arms.

When I look away from my arms to his face, I'm stunned by his damn blue eyes. Help! Why does this man have such a disorienting effect on me?

All I can do is snatch away my hand from his and back off a bit. There must be space between us. A continent's worth sounds about right, considering how I'm feeling at the moment.

The only small satisfaction is that his face shows some confusion too. Serves him right, I reflect happily.

“Right, ok, let's try and think things through,” says Ian, “and forget everything we've just said. Can we get back to the problem? If you want to deal with Beverly, you'll have to stop being the committed activist for a few hours and agree to be the guest of my grandfather, who is certainly intimidating, and who has certainly never met an animal rights activist in his life, but who has also never forced anyone to participate in a hunt either. Just stay in the garden and read a book, or whatever you like,” he says, sounding vexed.

I admit that in that way it might actually be feasible, but I really don't care much for mingling with the nobility of half the country for a whole weekend.

“I could come—” I venture, “but only if I really don't have to participate. I want your word on that.”

Ian seems cheered by my relenting.

“I promise. You can do whatever you want,” he says, “as, indeed, you always have.”

That's a bit of a cheap shot, but maybe he's right this time.

“Ok, what's the plan?” I ask resignedly, leaning back in my chair.

“The hunt is going to be held at Revington Castle. It's about a two or three hour drive from London, depending on the traffic. We can leave on Friday evening. Some of the guests will be arriving on Friday, others on Saturday morning, but it's probably best to take our time about everything,” he explains. “Saturday is dedicated to 'socializing' and Beverly wants to take advantage of the day to do a bit of work with us. In the evening there'll be a formal dinner and dance.”

Did I mishear or he actually say 'dance'? Again? Why am I so unlucky at the moment!?

“The hunt itself is going to be on Sunday, and afterwards there'll be a kind of lunch in the early afternoon and then we can head back to London. All right?” asks Ian, who hasn't sat down and is now towering over me beside my chair.

I nod. All right.

But then I remember something important. “And what about our 'relationship'? Are we going put it on hold over the weekend?”

Please say yes… please!

I see Ian squirming. “Erm. Well, no, Katie and her parents have been invited as well.”

What have I done to deserve all this? I flop down onto the desk and hide my face in my arms.

“Not thinking of throwing yourself into the Thames, I hope?” asks Ian.

“That's
exactly
what I'm thinking of—” I moan, refusing to lift my head.

“Come on, it could be worse,” he whispers with a soft laugh.

I lift up my head. “Hardly. And don't you contradict me!” I warn, holding up my index finger.

“I wouldn't dare,” he re-assures me. Ah, really?

“Of course you would. You'd dare anything. I know you. Right, well, now that you have dumped this on me, I'll be getting back to work.”

I get up from the chair and walk sadly to the door. “It was a pleasure, as always,” I say, sarcastically.

Ian laughs, amused. “The pleasure was all mine.”

And the idiot even gives me a bow.

“Come on girls, put your backs into it! We absolutely have to get this damn bag closed!” I beg my friends.

“Darling, if you weren't taking so much stuff with you—” Laura points out crossly.

I look at her with indignation. “It was you who bullied me into
bringing
all this stuff!”

Vera laughs. “Actually, you're right – it
was
us.”

Laura doesn't look convinced, though. “We only put in the clothes you're going to need. She must have put a load of totally useless junk in here too.”

“Like what?” I ask, insulted.

“Like your bloody financial newsletters, for one! And don't you deny it!” shouts my friend.

“As a matter of fact I did notice some paper in there,” says Vera, angrily.

I raise my hands in defence. “It's only what I absolutely need. Come on, push!”

“The clothes are strictly necessary, paperwork is for the office,” says Laura. God, she's grumpy today.

“Have you had a fight with David?” I ask her, because it is clear that my suitcase can't be the only reason for her mood.

“Of
course
I've had a fight with David!” she says grimly. “When
haven't
I had a fight with David?”

Ah. That explains everything.

Eventually, after a long and tiring struggle, we manage to get my bag closed.

“Finally!” sighs Vera, sitting down on the floor in exhaustion. “You really must really buy a bigger suitcase.”

“This one has always been big enough and it'll continue to be big enough!” I say.

But Laura agrees with her. “No, it's not big enough, not if you're going out with the Earl of Langley and have to go to the castle of Revington.”

“First of all, I'm not going out with Ian at all,” I say firmly.

“Of course not – you're just kissing him!” Vera interrupts. I throw a pillow at her and carry on.

“As I was saying, I'm not going out with Ian. And secondly, what kind of castle are you imagining Revington is going to be? It'll be a country house, just maybe a little bigger.”

Laura laughs uproariously. “Do me a favour. You've never opened a gossip magazine in your life and insist on ignoring the realities of this country: when you arrive and see Revington castle, would you kindly give me a call, just to tell me your initial impressions?”

Just what I needed to calm me down.

“Is it really a castle?” I ask hesitantly.

“It's a
massive
castle” my sadistic friend says.

My face contorts in a grimace of pain. “If my mum found out she'd probably give up her rule of not eating meat – she'd probably stick me in the oven with an apple in my mouth.”

“Why, what excuse did you give her?” asks Vera.

“What do you think? That I'm going away for work. Full stop. By the way, if she calls here and starts asking questions, you don't know anything, please!” I beg.

“Of course we don't know anything! Don't worry” she re-assures me.

“You make it sound easy… If only you knew how worried I am! For some reason, I've got a weird feeling about this weekend. As if something really, really bad is going to happen. And, to be honest, I have already been through plenty… I could do with a break.”