The Accidental Mistress (25 page)

Sotheby’s – Twentieth Century English Watercolourists – gift for Rose? Willis re. bid. Also tea at Claridges?

Rose. Who was Rose? Clearly somebody important to him, if he, or his P.A., was bidding on a gift for her and taking her to Claridges.

Lizzie scrolled through a mental address book of people he’d mentioned. Women he’d mentioned. There weren’t many. It wasn’t his ex-wife, because she was called Caroline. Maybe his sister-in-law? Or his niece? Were they close enough for him to expend so much thought on a gift? And take them to Claridges for tea? John was generous to a fault, but Lizzie’s unease still roiled. Something she could only describe as a gut feeling told her this ‘Rose’ was incredibly important to him, more even than family.

And more important than me?

‘Shut up, you silly moo,’ she muttered, barely audibly, ‘don’t go there.’

Of course there would be women from his past, lovers he still cared about. He’d already said he was still on good terms with Caroline. He might still harbour genuine affection for women he hadn’t married as well as the one he had.

Walk away from the laptop. Do it now.

But, of course, she didn’t. She reached out to the touchpad, scrolled a page or two ahead, and a couple more.

Visit Rose.

Damnit. Now she’d seen it, she couldn’t unsee it. She flicked forward still further, and found another entry, and another. The visits seemed to be planned, and more or less monthly. Scrolling back revealed more of them, on the same schedule.

He saw this woman every month, without fail. Was she someone he simply couldn’t ever fully break from? Someone who’d wormed her way into his heart and soul, despite his claims that he wasn’t into hearts and flowers and all that stuff?

Someone you’ll still see, even if you and I are living together, John?

Swigging down some of the gorgeous coffee, but not
tasting it at all, she marched away from the laptop. Then raced back to it, and returned the organiser to the page she’d first discovered open. The urge to barge into the bathroom and cross-question him was ridiculously powerful. But it was a stupid thing to do. She wasn’t even supposed to have seen the organiser … or was she? Maybe it was his subtle way of telling her to back off, after that foolishly blurted out
I love you
?

Buggeration, if only she’d just chilled out in the big chintz armchair, enjoying her coffee and thinking back to the delicious fuck they’d just shared. She’d be feeling fine and mellow now, happy with her decision to keep things light and comfortable with the idea that in a while … sooner or later … it might be more.

Now there was a ‘Rose’ festering around in the back of her brain, and no amount of being sensible, and just ignoring the fact she’d ever seen the name, would work.

The brisk rap at the door could not have been more welcome. Thank God for something to break her out of her deranged spiral of speculation, or at least slow it down. When she opened the door, the smiling waiter who’d let her take the tea tray earlier now stood in the corridor with a trolley, one from which heavenly smells of bacon and toast were emanating. Despite her Rose-thoughts, Lizzie’s stomach suddenly growled, indicating that her appetite at least hadn’t been affected.

‘Ooh, that smells lovely. I’m starving!’ she exclaimed as her waiter friend pushed in his glorious chariot of fried food, baked goods, fruit juice and what looked like yet more magnificent coffee.

‘I think you’ll enjoy this, ma’am … We do a great breakfast here, though I say it myself.’

After he’d deployed the trolley into a mini-breakfast table, they did the dance of the tips again. Lizzie tried to give him a gratuity, but the friendly waiter shook his head. She fished in her bag for her purse, not sure what the going rate was, but he beat a retreat and was out of the door with a cheerful, ‘Enjoy your breakfast!’ before she could find the blessed thing or extract any cash from it.

Pushing ‘Rose’ to the back of her mind with only moderate success, Lizzie investigated the covered dishes, and discovered, as she’d suspected, a mountain of divinely crispy bacon and a bumpy yellow lake of creamy scrambled eggs. There was toast and croissants too, various jams, and two kinds of juice, plus fresh fruit and mini cartons of cereal, yeah right.

If I was a proper lady, and emotionally refined, I’d pick at a handful of grapes and sip weak tea, and brood about John and his fucking ex-girlfriend, for whom he buys pictures at Sotheby’s … But instead I’m just me, Ms Lizzie Average, and I’m so sodding hungry that I’m going to eat the breakfast of champions!

She wasn’t sure scrambled eggs and bacon would help her forget her suspicions and insecurities, but she was damned well going to give them a shot at it.

When the bathroom door swung open and John appeared, robe-clad and rubbing his hair with a towel, she was halfway through her plate of eggs and bacon, and convinced they were definitely working.

‘Mm, that smells good …’ Beaming, he tossed his towel over the back of the chair and surveyed the trolley. ‘How is it?’ He glanced at her plate.

‘Fabulous!’ She surveyed the damage herself. She’d eaten quite a bit. ‘I’ll have to hope the others go out tonight, so I can do some Zumba or something, in front of the telly.’

John winked. ‘I’d pay good money to see that. Wonder if I could rearrange my schedule?’ She watched him fill his plate, ruefully noting he didn’t take as much food as she had.

‘I’d rather you didn’t. I look like a hippo when I’m exercising.’ She picked up a crispy strip of bacon and nibbled it, Zumba be damned.

‘Not during any of the kinds of exercise I’ve shared with you,’ John said, giving her an arch look. ‘You always look like a goddess of grace and beauty when you’re with me. Especially when you’re in the throes of ecstasy.’

‘Please … I’m eating!’

Chuckling, he pulled up a chair to the trolley, and began his breakfast. They ate in silence for a few moments, but it was a companionable one. John topped up her coffee cup; she handed him the marmalade, then realised he hadn’t asked for it, but clearly wanted it.

It could be like this, every day. Breakfast together. All the other stuff, as well as sex. It was so tempting. So wonderful, yet scary too.

Pushing her plate aside, she swirled her teaspoon in her cup, even though she didn’t take sugar. When she looked up, John was watching her, his own plate abandoned.

‘You’re amazing, you know that, don’t you?’

Lizzie blinked. What had brought that on? The expression on his face was admiring. She saw affection there, desire quiet for the moment.

‘Er … not really. I’m just me.’

‘That’s what’s amazing. I love the way you are. I can see you’re making a conscious effort not to ask me about something.’ His eyes were very clear, very blue. He could see everything. For a moment, panic swirled. Was he going to ask her if she’d read his appointments? He hadn’t once
looked at the laptop himself since he’d returned from the bathroom, though.

‘You can ask, you know,’ he went on, a little smile playing around his lips. ‘You’re important in my life, Lizzie … entitled to know things … yet you still don’t push.’

Yes, why didn’t she push? Good God, she wanted to know who this Rose was. ‘It’s just not my way, I suppose. I prefer to let things come to me. People only get cranky when you pester them. Especially men … And who needs a cranky man?’

He leaned forward a little, and she caught a whiff of lovely cologne. ‘You’re as wise as you are gorgeous, sweetheart, and I’m very lucky. But I don’t mind a few questions, you know. I might not give you the answers, but still, you should ask. Really.’

Lizzie took a deep breath. What simple question could she ask? The words ‘Who’s Rose?’ drummed in her brain but she pushed them aside. In their place, she recalled a conversation. Their Skype chat. Hadn’t he told her then that he’d tell her what had been troubling him?

And if it was Rose-related, well …

‘You said you’d tell me about stuff from New York. You were tired, and you seemed out of sorts, and you said you’d tell me about it when you got back.’

‘So I did.’ He cocked his head on one side. His blond hair was drying from his shower and looked very soft, very youthful. ‘It’s OK if you don’t want to,’ said Lizzie quickly, her nerves thrumming.

‘It’s not only women who’re entitled to change their minds.’

‘No, it’s all right.’ He paused a moment, and took a sip of coffee. ‘I saw my ex-wife while I was in New York. She and her husband have a rather nice place on the Upper East Side, and I called in for drinks.’

Caroline? Was that it?

‘But I thought you and she were still good friends? Still fond of each other.’

‘We are, and it was cool. I was glad to see her, and she’s very well.’ He smiled, and Lizzie could see the affection in his eyes. She tried not to feel a pang. Jealousy was stupid, and for the immature. And it didn’t do to be immature with a man who was … mature.

‘I was glad to see that, because she had a little bit of a heart scare last year. But she’s fine now. Fitter than ever.’

One question
had
to be asked. ‘How old is she?’

‘She was seventy last month,’ he said with a quirk of his blond brows, challenging her reaction.

‘Ohmigod!’

An ex-wife of seventy and a mistress of twenty-four. What about the women in between, how old were they? How old was Rose?

‘I guess you can say I’ve always thrived on age gaps,’ he said softly.

‘So it was her health that had you worried?’

Suddenly, his beautiful mouth thinned, and a plume of anger filled his eyes. Hypnotised to stillness by him, Lizzie inwardly reeled back. But then he smiled again, and reached out to place his hand over hers, sweet reassurance.

‘No, I wasn’t out of sorts about Caroline, and I don’t mind you asking about her. It was something else that had put me in a shitty mood. Someone else …’

Who? Rose? Shut up, Lizzie!

‘Another ex, alas.’

‘Oh dear.’

John’s hand tightened over hers. ‘It wasn’t so great to see her. Too much history between us. I’m afraid I got angry
inside. I tried not to show it, but underneath, I really let her get to me.’

Despite her intention to play it cool, Lizzie frowned. Who the hell was this one? Could it be this mysterious Rose, or was it some other woman? The entries in his organiser suggested he saw Rose on a regular basis, and the gifts, at least, suggested fondness, not antagonism.

Good grief, the man’s forty-six. He’s bound to have had dozens of women in his time. Get real, Lizzie. It’s no big deal.

But it was a big deal. Well, biggish …

She opened her mouth, to ask she knew not what, but before she could get a word out, the sound of her mobile ringing cut off her train of thought. Who the hell was ringing at this time? Astonishingly, it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet!

Mum
, said the caller ID.

‘Oh bollocks, it’s my mother. I’ll have to answer.’

‘Do you want me to leave?’ said John quickly. ‘I can throw on some clothes and slip downstairs. I need to see Signor Guidetti about a few things anyway.’

‘No, it’s OK. I won’t be long.’ At least she hoped not. She loved her mother dearly, but she knew her parent constantly worried about her.

John nodded, and Lizzie answered the call. ‘Hello, Mum, how are you?’

‘I’m perfectly fine, Elizabeth, but as I haven’t heard from you in a week or so, I just wanted to check that nothing was wrong … I thought I’d ring early, just in case you had a busy day ahead. I’m not even sure what you’re doing these days … now that you’re not temping any more.’

Lizzie suppressed a sigh. That was the constant bone of contention with her parents. Her lack of some clearly definable career. The ‘future’ that they believed would
have been assured by her getting a good degree, even despite the fact that graduate unemployment was at an all-time high.

‘I’m fine, Mum. I’m doing a lot of sewing, remember? And I’m working in New Again with Marie, which I also told you about. It’s regular work now … you mustn’t worry. I won’t starve.’

She glanced across at John, and her heart revved. She wasn’t sure whether he was being deliberately provocative or not, but he’d slipped off his robe and was reaching for his clothes. When he reached for his boxer briefs, stepped into them, then adjusted the disposition of his cock inside them, Lizzie zoned out of her mother’s conversation completely for a second, and didn’t snap back into it until she registered a concerned demand from the phone’s speaker.

‘Elizabeth, are you there?’

‘Yes … just got distracted a minute. Sorry, what were you saying?’

Across the airwaves, Lizzie sensed maternal antennae pinging. ‘Are you alone, Lizzie? Is there someone there? You’re not with a man, are you?’ Her mother huffed out a breath. ‘Is it your friends, or is it … someone else?’

Another bone of contention. Her parents weren’t old fossils, far from it. But they were a touch old-fashioned on some issues, and neither of them seemed to be quite able to get their heads round her continuing relationship with Brent. Both conveniently forgot their own apparently fairly wild student days, and expressed mild disapproval of her living with a man she’d once had a romantic relationship with.

Lizzie wanted to tell her mother to leave it, but she knew that was pointless.

‘I’m with a friend, Mum. It’s … um … somebody I’ve been seeing a while. His name’s John and don’t worry, he’s very
steady and he’s got a proper job and everything.’

The man with the proper job grinned at her from across the room, pausing in the action of slipping in his white gold cufflinks. He was decent now, wearing the trousers of one of his breathtaking suits and a powder-blue shirt.

A machine-gun volley of questions issued from her phone, and Lizzie wished she’d told a fib. She’d been settled comfortably in the armchair, but now she perched on the edge, grinding her teeth as she listened.

‘He’s a businessman, Mum, and yes, he’s quite well off … Yes, of course he’s single! Oh, I don’t know … stuff … he has a lot of different business interests … Shouldn’t you just be asking if he’s nice, rather than cross-questioning me about his bank balance?’