Love to Hate You (25 page)

I decide not to take the bait. I'm enjoying being blonde very much and I don't give a damn if Eliott loves 'natural-looking' women. After over thirty years of being natural I've decided to be artificial enough to feel attractive.

“Oh, I'm
so
glad your sister's going to introduce you to somebody nice,” my mother chips in, smiling. “Try not to be the usual grumpy old you when he calls, dear.”

Strewth! How on earth could I have thought that coming here to peel potatoes was a good idea?

My desperation is interrupted by a cloud of dust rising up along the road that can I see through the kitchen window. Apparently a car is approaching our house at high speed.

“Were you expecting someone?” I ask, noticing that the car has pulled up just outside the window.

“Not that I know of,” she says doubtfully. “Perhaps your dad's invited some of his friends round.”

But my father's friends don't race along the road that leads up to our house at a hundred miles per hour. Suddenly I have a sinking feeling, which, unfortunately, is confirmed by the sight of a black Porsche.

My heart begins to pound. This can't be happening.

The potato slips from my hand, falling with a thud to the kitchen floor.

“A Porsche?” my sister calls out, standing up and moving closer to my mother. At that point I can only join them to observe the scene, although I try to keep my distance. I'm afraid my expression might give me away.

I see the way they're staring in amazement at Ian getting out of his car. He's wearing a pair of blue jeans, a polo shirt with the collar turned up and has a sweater knotted round his waist.

Ian raises his sunglasses to check the name of the farm on the gate, then locks the car with the remote and strides purposefully towards the front door.

Moments later we hear the bell, and my brother gets up to go and open the door.

What the hell do I do now?

The question is taking shape in my mind when Stacey turns to look at me. “Someone you know?” she asks me point-blank, her voice suspicious.

A flush starts to spread over my face. “A colleague,” I answer, not knowing what else to say.

Tom enters the kitchen. “There's a colleague of Jenny's at the door,” he says, surprised. “He says he needs to speak to you urgently.”

“Couldn't he have just called?” asks my sister, folding her arms across her chest. That's rich coming from her – she hates mobile phones.

“My battery's dead,” I stammer, red as a beetroot.

“Well, he could have tried your home phone,” she suggests.

“Errrrm, I'm afraid that's dead too,” I say quietly.

Pleased to meet you, I'm the new queen of telecommunications.

Stacey glares at me. She can tell that there's something rotten in Denmark, and is trying to figure out what it is.

“Let me go and see what he wants,” I say. I have no idea how I'm going to stop my family's curiosity.

When I enter the room, Ian is sitting on the sofa as though his presence there was the most natural thing in the world. He is maybe a little tense, but overall he seems at ease, although when he sees me enter his face suddenly becomes darker.

“Couldn't you have climbed out of a window, or something?” he asks sarcastically, as he meets my defiant gaze.

“What the hell are you doing in my parent's house?” I ask furiously, approaching the couch. The scene is quite grotesque, because someone like him looks totally out of place in my parents' rustic living room.

He smiles at me cynically. “Since you've turned off all your phones and weren't at home, I decided to come here,” he says angrily. As though it were normal to hunt me down like this.

“And how did you know where 'here' was?”

“I went to your house this morning and when I saw that you weren't there I got the address from your friends.”

Vera and Laura will pay for this.

“Ok, now that you're here and have managed to get my whole family's attention, what are you planning on doing next?”

But before I can get an answer, my mother decides to make her entrance, followed by my father. Hats off to them, they managed to wait two whole minutes before coming to have a look. I would have bet money that they wouldn't have lasted more than thirty seconds. As soon as Ian sees them he changes tone. He stands up and holds out his hand to my mother. “Ian St John,” he says, flashing his usual smile. My mother grabs his hand and stands there enchanted, because she is a woman and a pair of eyes like that would bowl anyone over. That shirt, the same colour as his eyes, isn't just a coincidence, I'd bet my next bonus on it.

“A pleasure. Cassandra Percy,” she says, timidly.

Then it's my father's turn, and he shakes Ian's hand vigorously.

“I hope it isn't anything serious,” my mother says.

“Oh no, really. Just a small matter, but of some urgency,” he says, lying flawlessly.

“Well if this small matter has been resolved, you can stay and have lunch with us,” she says, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

I suddenly turn white. Ian at the table with my family? Not if I can help it.

“Mum, Ian's very busy,” I say, giving him a nudge as a warning.

“Actually, I'm not,” he says, giving me a dirty look.

Heaven help us, because Ian doesn't really know what he's doing. My family might look harmless, but I'm sure they've already got an idea who he is, and it won't take them long to start laying into him. Not to mention that if they realised that there was a member of the English nobility standing in front of them, things would get
really
nasty.

My father keeps casting glances at Ian's watch, which certainly must have cost a small fortune. Dad's no expert in such objects, but when you see someone dressed in designer clothes from head to toe, you just know that everything they're wearing must have cost a packet.

Not to mention that this person turned up at his house uninvited, driving a brand new Porsche. And eccentric as he might be, even he can put two and two together…

“See? He's not busy,” says my mother. “Sit down, Ian. It'll be ready in half an hour.”

As if the room wasn't already crowded enough, my sister Stacey appears. “We haven't been introduced yet. I'm Stacey, Jenny's sister,” she says, shaking his hand and showing off a smile. He reciprocates the smile.

“St John?” asks Stacey, “Like the famous St Johns?”

Damn you and your love of history.

“Errr… I'm not quite sure what you mean by famous, but if you mean the St Johns of the Duchy of Revington, then yes,” he confirms almost proudly. Poor fool.

“The Duke of Revington?” asks my mother in a voice that smacks of horror.

“Yes – he's my grandfather,” says Ian, as though it were nothing.

“Your grandfather?” my mother repeats, turning pale. Today is about to turn into a Shakespearean tragedy, I tell myself.

Stacey is also stunned. “And who would you be, then?” she asks, sensing something.

“I'm the Earl of Langley,” confirms Ian, his voice quieter in response to the looks on the faces of my relatives.

There then follow a few moments of embarrassment. I desperately need to intervene.

“Right, well, now that you've rattled off all your family tree, what do you say we go and have a look around the farm?” I suggest, desperately looking for a way out and grabbing him by the arm.

Ian must have sensed that his announcement has not produced the expected effect and wisely decides to follow me. “Gladly,” he replies, sounding unperturbed.

“Let's go, then,” I urge him, leading him away from my family who watch us escape. And fortunately they do it without uttering another word. It'll take them at least a few minutes to start coming out with the barbs.

Once we're outside, I breathe a sigh of relief. “This really is the worst idea you could have had,” I reprimand him while he looks at me quizzically.

“Why?” he asks, sounding a little embarrassed.

“Are you actually asking me why? You show up on a Sunday, at lunch, at my parents' house! Not only that, but you also tell them that you're a member of the nobility… For God's sake, Ian, I really thought you were smarter than that.”

He looks at me with a vaguely hurt expression. “I was a bit angry,” he admits, “and I wasn't really thinking straight when I got behind the wheel. But it's your fault! I've been trying to call you for twenty-four hours.”

He's right, I know.

I take him by the arm and lead him round the corner, away from the window where my whole family is surely watching, their ears pricked up like hares. Touching his arm makes me nervous, so I let go of it as soon as I'm sure we're safe from prying eyes.

“Ok, we should be safe here,” I say. He just stands there looking at me, getting more and more angry as he awaits a plausible justification.

“What do you want me to say? Okay, I admit, I did a shitty thing just walking out like that yesterday morning. But I was panicking, as you might have imagined,” I tell him breathlessly.

He seems to appreciate my confession, because straightaway his face brightens a little.

“Good thing I admitted it,” I joke. “I swear, I didn't mean to run away forever. I'm a
terrible
fugitive. Tomorrow morning I was going to talk to you.”

“Looks like I've beaten you to it then.” He leans on the fence. “But you can talk to me now. I mean, let's make the most of this opportunity.”

“I haven't prepared a speech!” I cry.

Ian laughs. “Thank God! I'm not really a fan of your speeches. You're better when you're speaking off the cuff.”

“I'm the
queen
of formal speeches!” I exclaim indignantly.

Ian looks at me as if to say 'come on, let's be serious'.

“Ok, then back to us… no, I mean, there isn't an ‘us', so, back to the subject—” It's obvious I'm struggling. “…What happened was clearly a mistake, and the best thing would just be to forget about it altogether and not talk about it again.”

Ian notices my embarrassment. “Yes, I was expecting something like that,” he says, as if I were the most predictable woman in the world. “I know you well enough by now to have an idea about what goes on in that weird head of yours.”

I wish I could say the same, but I haven't the faintest idea what he's thinking.

“Good, I'm glad you agree,” I reply, trying to work out what he's implying.

“Did I say that I agreed?” he asks, looking askance.

“You didn't say anything, so I assumed—”

Ian stops me. “You have a bad habit of assuming things.”

“I wouldn't have to if you'd tell me what you were thinking,” I say in irritation.

“As though it matters—” he says.

I take my head in my hands in despair. “Lord, give me strength—” I say with a sigh. After laboriously managing to count to ten without physically attacking him, I compose myself. “Ok, seeing as I'm the interested party, can you try and put aside your wounded nobility for a moment?”

“Well—” he begins. “Erm—” he tries again. “… in all honesty I don't know
what
I think.”

I swear, that's the
last
thing I was expecting.

“What do you mean you don't know?” I ask in surprise.

He almost smiles at me. “Funny, isn't it? But the truth is that when I woke up yesterday morning I was actually smiling. Of course, that was before I realised that you had disappeared,” he adds, sounding slightly annoyed. He looks at me seriously, and asks, “Was it a good night for you?”

At least I can give an honest answer on this point. “Yes, it was. But since it's us that we're talking about, I can't think of any positives. All I can think of are the repercussions. Ian, I'm not really a woman who embarks on a relationship after a one night stand. It's just not who I am, and it doesn't make me feel good. Not to mention that at my age I should be aspiring to completely different things,” I explain.

“Even serious relationships can start like this,” he says with conviction.

“Yes, but our case is different.
Was
different – it'll never happen again,” I say. Is he trying to confuse me?

“You can say that with certainty?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Let me give you a demonstration.” And without waiting for an answer he pulls me to him and starts kissing me. I'm so taken by surprise that I can't break free from his clutches – and as soon as he touches me I feel a jolt of electricity that means I can't help but respond to his kiss.

A few minutes later Ian pulls away. “See?” he says, slightly flushed. “There
is
an attraction.”

I'd realised that when I woke up on Saturday morning, thanks.

“What's that got to do with it? You're attracted to everyone,” I say.

“Actually, there are very few people I'm attracted to,” he replies.

He has perhaps taken me for an idiot? “Oh, of course, right – you just go to bed with people, even if you don't like them—”

Ian looks at me grimly. “Not that it's any of your business, but it's true. I go out to dinner a lot, almost always with a different girl. But then I go home. Alone.” His face is tense.

Sure, why not. And I still believe in Father Christmas.

“Exactly, it's none of my business. As far as I'm concerned, you can do whatever you please,” I say.

“I don't believe you,” he replies. “I think that you care about this very much.”

For a moment we look at each other like a couple of snarling dogs about to launch into a fight, then Ian stretches out his arm and pulls me to him again.

“Will you stop that?” I ask outraged, sensing that he's about to kiss me again.

“Your face is hilarious. It's a mixture of shock and excitement. I've never seen anybody react like that to a kiss.”