The Accidental Mistress (8 page)

Oh, for heaven’s sake.

Sitting up in the dark, she shook her head. As if that might dislodge the stupid thoughts. Peering down towards the bottom of the bed, she looked to see if Mulder jumped on, but there was no sign of the little feline. Probably with Shelley, whose cat she really was.

Just about to lie down again, even if hopes of sleep were very thin, Lizzie jerked in surprise at a familiar sound, ringing at an unfamiliar time. Her mobile. She snatched for it, stabbed the icon and a text opened.

No need to reply. Just wanted you to know I’m thinking of you. J.

Just that? She smiled. It was enough. Gloomy speculations dispersed like mist, and settling down again, and hugging the quilt around her ears, she let the tiredness that had been chasing her since she’d got home catch up with her.

I’m thinking of you too.

She didn’t text it, but she drifted off, knowing that he probably knew that anyway.

The next day was hectic, and she was glad of it. New Again was bustling, with lots of ladies shopping for ‘gently worn’ designer items, and a lot of them falling in love with frocks that just didn’t fit them. All of which required a lot of tact and finesse on owner Marie’s part, or the plying of Lizzie’s dressmaking skills in order to bring dress and woman together in a flattering marriage.

The agency mostly stocked fairly recent items, but the odd vintage ‘special’ sometimes came along. Today’s had been a beautifully constructed Jean Muir dress and coat that Lizzie had fallen in love with, even though it was far from her own usual style. Sadly, a rather overweight solicitor’s wife from Kissley Magna, the ‘posh’ suburb of the Borough, had fallen
in love with it too. Unlike some of their other, more status-conscious clients, this lady was a sweetheart, and Lizzie had felt desperately disappointed for her.

‘Couldn’t you perhaps just make me one a bit like it? I’d be happy to pay.’

This had led to a discussion, and a promise that Lizzie’d try to find a pattern.

‘We should do that. Properly,’ Marie had said, her clever eyes bright. ‘Recreate classics, but with a twist. You could do it, Lizzie, I know you could. Let me do some costings … we’d need to do some new advertising. Invest a bit … I wonder if I could get a loan from the bank?’

A thought had popped into Lizzie’s head, but she’d pushed it away again, not sure. There was no doubt in her mind that she only had to ask … but could she? She’d mull it over, while he was away.

While she was on the bus, going home from New Again, with a dress bag containing a couple of items to work on in the evening, Lizzie thought about John travelling too. Was he in New York yet? She didn’t even know the time of his flight. It would have been first class all the way, no doubt, unless he had a jet of his own. He certainly didn’t have a helicopter, because he’d once had to borrow one for that anxious night flight, racing home to be with Brent at the hospital.

No, if John had an executive jet of his own, he would surely have mentioned it then.

When she’d reached her bus stop, and was walking the last bit of the way home along St Patrick’s Road, Lizzie’s phone chimed, almost as if her thoughts had summoned her lover’s message. It was a text again, and she stopped dead in the middle of the pavement to read it.

Busy day, my sweet? I wish you were here. I’ve got boring meetings ahead, but they wouldn’t be half so dismal if I knew you were waiting back at the hotel for me, all warm and ready. P.S. Which of your new knickers are you wearing? Thinking of you, your very own dirty old man, J.

Lizzie smiled. He was incorrigible. Why hadn’t she gone with him? Just thrown caution to the wind to be with the man she loved? But that wasn’t in her nature. Even though she’d let them down badly in some ways, her parents had instilled a sense of duty in her, and Marie had been expecting her in the shop.

Who is this?
she texted back.
Who are you, you disgusting old perv, texting innocent young ladies with improper enquiries about their underwear? I’ll report you to the police. P.S. I miss you too … and I’m wearing the pink ones. L.

She tapped in,
I love you
, then deleted it, and pressed send.

Mmmm … I love pink things.;) Have to go now, gorgeous. Talk later. J.

Feeling hot, Lizzie stuffed her phone in her pocket, swooped up the dress bag, and hurried along the road, her mind running riot. It didn’t take much to get her going, where John was concerned. She loved pink things too … Well, a certain thing that was ruddy, more than pink, and that got very big and stiff with alarming frequency.

‘Your bloke’s been sending you things,’ announced Shelley when Lizzie walked into the kitchen.

‘What do you mean, sending things? What things?’

Oh, he was so extravagant! She liked it, but it still made her a bit uncomfortable, being used to paying her own way. On and off, all day, she’d been thinking about the diamond earrings too, torn between thinking they were just too much, yet at the same time wallowing in the excitement that she,
Lizzie Aitchison, wearer of plastic beads and the occasional bit of Swarovski, could own something so divinely beautiful and costly. Currently, they were in safe keeping, stowed away in the little home safe Brent had installed beneath a floorboard in the coat cupboard, a holdover from his escorting days when he’d mostly dealt in cash.

Oh, how easy it would be to slip into pampered mistress mode … and keep the diamonds.

‘Well, I finished early today and I was home just after lunch,’ Shelley went on, ‘and it’s a good job too. A chap came from Virgin and installed a cable box with about a zillion channels and hyper super-duper fast broadband. I said we hadn’t ordered it, and we couldn’t afford it, but he said it was
paid for
already.’ The blonde girl beamed, like a kid at Christmas. ‘Then a courier came with more stuff. Looks like a laptop for you, and more tech stuff, and some other boxes.’

‘Oh John! You swine!’ Lizzie threw down her bag on the kitchen table. ‘Where’s this cable box?’

They marched through to the sitting room, and surveyed the technical miracle.

‘It’s fabulous … it’s got everything. I’ve already watched two movies on the premium channel.’ Shelley flung herself down in a chair, snatched up the remote and started flicking through the choices. ‘
Please
don’t say we have to send it back. I know he’s your billionaire, but think of your friends, woman! These are some pretty nice crumbs from your table.’

Lizzie smiled. At least she wasn’t the only one benefiting here, so that was less of a guilt trip.

‘And if you send the broadband back, Brent will kill you!’ Shelley continued, not taking her eyes off the screen. ‘You know how he’s always bitching and moaning about the
connection when he’s gaming … He’ll be in hog heaven now, at these speeds.’

But what was in the other boxes?

‘I’ll make our tea, then,’ Lizzie said. Shelley was obviously settled, blissful in her own hog heaven. ‘I’ll bring it in here on a tray.’

‘Ooh, yes, please do that.’ Shelley’s grin widened. ‘And next time you see the golden god, ask him whether he needs a second girlfriend, will you? Or, alternatively, ask him what he’s sending us next. A home cinema would be nice, and a new bathroom suite with a hot tub … oh, and one of those big American fridges, if he can manage it.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Lizzie said, though with no intention of doing so. She knew if she said as much as a word, there’d be workmen and more deliveries the next day.

Lizzie sat cross-legged on the bed, in pyjama bottoms and a vest. Her little clock radio said it was eleven-thirty. So what time was that in New York?

Shelley had been right about some of the gifts being tech. The screen of a glorious new laptop was glowing in front of Lizzie. It was huge, with a blindingly high spec, and all set up ready for her.

She’d just received her very first email, and it had simply said:

Hi, beautiful. See you on Skype later? John.

Was now
later
?

Back on the desktop, she eyed the Skype icon. It looked very small and innocent, but it made her nervous. Talking to John in person made her happy and excited; the prospect of a video call freaked her out, even if it was
him
.

She clicked the link and saw just one contact. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound. She waited while the system dialled or whatever it did, feeling impatient, and at the same time half hoping that he was still out at one of his meetings, and not available.

An anonymous-looking icon popped into the window, and John’s slightly processed-sounding but unmistakable voice said, ‘Hello, gorgeous.’ An instant later, there he was; a little bit pixelated, but still handsome as the devil, and smiling just as wickedly.

‘Gorgeous indeed,’ he said, eyes a little lowered. Lizzie didn’t know much about video conferencing, but she knew enough to know that he was looking at her image, rather than the camera at the top of the screen.

‘Eek! Oh God, I should have put something nicer on!’ Her own image, down in the corner, showed her less than new vest … and her nipples clearly visible through the white cotton.

‘What you’ve got on looks plenty nice to me.’ John’s gaze flicked down again, and she guessed he was enlarging the window. She did the same.

John had got ‘something nice’ on too, one of his subtle blue shirts, and a very dark grey waistcoat. His hair was wild and tousled as if he’d been running his fingers through it, and she could see what looked like a natural wood headboard behind him. It looked as if he was sitting on his bed in his hotel suite.

‘It’s not. This vest is ancient, and you can see my tits right through it.’

‘That’s exactly what I mean.’ His smile, across an ocean, and the ether, was dazzling, ‘So, how was your day, honey?’ he enquired, teasing.

‘Oh, all right. Rather busy. Probably boring by your standards, apart from this degenerate old pervert who keeps sending me things, in the hopes that he’ll get into my knickers the next time he sees me.’

‘Such deplorable behaviour. I don’t condone it.’ John winked.

‘He’s very crafty too. Some of the things he sends are things to share with my house-mates, and if I were to try and return them, they’d be very upset.’ She fixed him with a mock glare. ‘That shows extreme deviousness, don’t you think?’

‘To a certain extent, but what if he just wants you and your friends to have nice things? With no ulterior motive?’

Gah, that made her feel even more guilty now. Because it
was
the real reason for the gifts. John was just a generous man, as plain and simple as that.

‘You’re probably right. I’m just being prissy.’ She gave him a quirk of a smile, and immediately felt better when she saw his own crooked smile, like the sun rising in a distant New York bedroom.

‘You’re not prissy, sweetheart. Just a very decent girl. What would make you feel better about receiving such gifts? I’m sure this deplorable pervert would be glad to know. A charitable donation perhaps?’

Exactly!

‘Well, our local Cats Protection branch is always in need of dosh,’ she said, wondering how worthy he might think that was when there was world poverty and cancer to be cured.

‘Consider it done. Well, I’ll try to persuade the pervert, on your behalf.’ The screen rocked as John shuffled and got comfy, leaning against the headboard. ‘Now, can we set these ethical discussions aside for a while, and get to the part where you and I have some sexy talk? I’ve had a helluva day, and I’ve spent most of it longing to see you again, if only on a screen.’

Lizzie felt a pang of concern. Even though he was a god to her eyes, John looked more weary and careworn than she’d ever seen him. There were dark smudges beneath his eyes; he looked shattered. It was more than physical, more than just a bit of jet lag, a sixth sense told her.

‘I’m sorry … and I really am grateful for all the nice things, even if you are a very naughty and very extravagant man.’ She ran her finger along the edge of the unfamiliar laptop, wishing she was touching his skin. ‘It’s just that I’ve never done Skype before. It’s a bit nerve-wracking. Sort of real but not real … do you know what I mean? I don’t know how to
be
.’

John smiled. ‘Don’t worry. You’re doing fine. Just be yourself, Lizzie, that’s all you have to do. You’re a breath of fresh air. You don’t know how glad I am to see you. In more ways than one.’ His grin broadened, and for the time being, at least, the weariness seemed to drop away from him. His blue eyes had that special twinkle again, the one she knew so well.

Have you got a hard-on, Mr Smith?

She’d bet good money that he did, but just from a fuzzed-up web image of her, and a few dark pixels indicating the location of her nipples? Obviously Skyping didn’t inhibit him the way it did her. Even so, a little coil of lust suddenly stirred.

‘You’re blushing, Lizzie.’

‘I’m not. It must be something wrong with the colour on your screen.’

‘My screen is fine, woman. Don’t try to deny that you aren’t the tiniest bit excited. I certainly am.’ He shifted position again. Was he touching himself, the dirty dog?

‘I am, sort of, but how do we know that there isn’t some tech support guy somewhere, monitoring this call, just waiting for us to do something rude?’ Why had she said that? It was perverse. She almost
wanted
there to be a tech guy to get an eyeful.

‘All the more reason not to be shy, gorgeous girl. Try and see it as philanthropy. A service to lonely nerds who might
never get a chance to see a goddess like you at play.’

‘Unlike the call girl you once thought I was, John Smith, I don’t dispense my favours to all and sundry,’ she announced pertly, expecting a laugh. But instead, that shadow passed across him again. ‘Look … seriously, are you all right? You look a bit tired and stressed out … maybe you should get some rest?’

With a slow, worldly smile, he replied, ‘Worried about the stamina of the old man, are we? I assure you when I get back, I’ll leave you in no doubt that I’m not past it yet.’