The Man in the Buff Breeches (4 page)

He chuckles. “Yes, I thought they would look better in your room. Did you sleep well?”

“No, not really
.” I was grappling with a man in breeches in the room opposite.
I decide not to share this with him as I don’t want him thinking I’m a head case. “How did your breakfast meeting go?”

“It was very successful. Sorry I left you in such a hurry.” His voice softens. “I need to see you again—soon.”

“Me too.”

“How about tomorrow night? Let me have your address, and I’ll pick you up.”

“Umm…let me see.” I delay for a respectable ten seconds. “Tomorrow, yes, that’s good for me.” I tell him the address.

“Great. Is seven thirty okay?”

“Look forward to it.” I glance at the clock—only another thirty-two hours.

The first day of the working week grinds into action at Shore Market Solutions. But I am in a good non-Monday mood.

We have just filed out of a stimulating meeting full of enforced blue sky thinking. For once, I have no problem with this as I am meeting Nick later, and the sky could not be bluer. Therefore, I was able to use the time far more productively mentally sorting out my outfit for tonight.

Back at my corner of the open plan office, I take my jacket off, hang it on the back of my chair, and open the window. The office is stifling; the central heating cannot be controlled, because it is programmed by the computer and not by a little knob like it used to be.

I check my diary for the day and then glance at the clock on the wall. Time has stood still since the last time I looked. I consider covertly pushing the hands forward an hour but decide the action would be a little juvenile, especially as I am supposed to be the one in charge of this section.

There are two e-mails flagged urgent that demand my attention. I am eager to finish and get home early, so I plunge into the task with unusual enthusiasm and goodwill. Whatever or whoever is requesting something from my small department is in luck today.

I leave the office half an hour earlier than normal, take the tube back to Hammersmith, and briskly cover the half-mile walk back to my flat. It is situated on the third floor of a purpose built block that stands like an awkward intruder at the end of a row of Georgian houses.

My insides do a somersault as I recognize the person bounding down the steps of the entrance to the flats.
Him again!
The golden mane of hair is unmistakable. He is dressed in a black sweatshirt, and thankfully the provocative breeches have been replaced by faded jeans. What is he doing here? London is huge enough for this not to be a coincidence.

We cannot avoid each other, and as he spots me I detect a flash of confusion cross his face before he displays the customary smirk. He looks different in the bright sunshine—older, despite his youthful physique. There are lines etched around his eyes and across his forehead which I didn’t notice yesterday.

“Miss Bennet.” He gives a mock bow.

“Mr. Horse.”
Oh no—why did I say that?
I am just feeding his ego
. “And the name is Shona, as you well know.”

“Ah yes, Shona,” he mutters, as he takes out his mobile and checks the screen.

I scowl at him. “Visiting or have you moved in here? Please don’t tell me you are the new security.”

The smirk broadens into a smile. It is damn irritating the way my insults always seem to entertain him.

“No, sorry to disappoint you,” he finally replies, and then he starts to walk away.

But I am not prepared to let him just leave without an explanation. I need some answers, so I swiftly move to block his path.

“So what are you doing outside my home? Are you stalking me?”

His dark brown eyes look hurt. “Just visiting a friend.” He waves a hand towards the building. “I had no idea you owned all thirty-five of these flats.” He resumes his departure walking carefully around me.

“Where are you going?” I shout after him.

He turns back to face me. “Starbucks. Want to come?”

“No. I’m busy.”

“A hot date?”

He looks annoyed at the thought; so I reply, “Scorching, actually.”

“Pity. I thought you might treat me…” He jumps forward and pulls me towards him as a bike whips by an inch from my back.

“Get off the damn pavement,” he shouts after the cyclist. I am held tight against his body, and I can feel his breath on my neck. Although I know he has just saved me from being mown down, I can’t help but wonder about the coincidence of being manhandled by this man twice in a matter of days.

“Any damage?” he says, putting me at arm’s length.

“No! The bloody idiot,” I mutter. “What do they think the cycle lanes are for?”

“Language! Miss Bennet.”

I glance up in exasperation, but my breath catches at the way his eyes bore into me. “You should take more care of yourself,” he says before he turns and leaves me in a state of total bewilderment. A shiver courses through me as I watch him disappear around the corner. And I am totally disgusted with myself for not finding out why he was lurking outside my flat.

I consider following him to Starbucks but am diverted as Lyn pulls up in her car.

“And what happened to you yesterday?” she demands, as she jumps out.

“You will never believe it,” I mutter.

I hand Lyn a cup of coffee and then settle down to tell her what transpired since our last meeting.

She screws up her face as if she is mentally sifting the information,

“So you and Nick hit it off and you are seeing him tonight—that’s brilliant.” She pauses and gives me a congratulatory hug before continuing. “The guy with the tight breeches was with Bo Peep in the room opposite. You thought he was dead but he wasn’t. Now you think he is stalking you. Just a normal day then,” she grins.

“Oh, definitely. But seriously, Lyn, he was lurking outside the flats just before you pulled up. He said he was visiting friends, and then he was going to Starbucks.”

Lyn frowns. “If he was visiting friends, you’d think they would have given him a coffee.”

“See? You think it is weird behaviour as well. I’m sure he’s a criminal.”

“Maybe, but going to Starbucks isn’t a crime. If he turns up again tomorrow, we better inform the police. Meanwhile, don’t let it spoil tonight.”

She looks at her watch. “You haven’t long to get ready. Not that you need much time; you always look fabulous with those big green eyes, elf bones, and skinny figure. Which is more than I can say for this place.” Her gaze wanders around my lounge. “It needs a bit of tidy up.”

“I have tidied,” I growl.

“You should pack those books away and get rid of some of these.” She picks up one of my collection of elephants which are displayed on various surfaces throughout the flat.

“They’re fine.” I snatch back the elephant and set it back in its place.

She strides through to inspect the bedroom. “And those will have to go. Talk about passion killers.” She points to my bunny slippers, side by side at the end of the bed.

“The bunnies and I come together. We are a package deal…” A cold ripple washes through me.
I never leave them like that
. I always kick them off one at a time in the morning, and they usually land under the dressing table.

“Are you okay, Shona?” Lyn is frowning at me.

I give myself a mental shake. I am being paranoid like yesterday. The flat was secure when I came in—no one has been here. “No I’m fine.” I pick up the slippers, and they gaze back with a
don’t you dare bin us
look. Of course I would never get rid of them, but I think until I get to know Nick better, I will put them to graze in the back of the wardrobe.

Lyn leaves me with a list of do’s and don’ts for tonight which I mentally discard as soon as she drives away. She has washed my shoulder-length blond hair and applied the straightness so that it falls in glossy, well-groomed obedience.

I wriggle into my knee-length, emerald satin dress. It is simple, stylish, and the colour brings out the green of my eyes. Waxed, washed, plucked, and perfumed, I apply a final coat of lip-gloss and study my reflection. Satisfied I cannot improve on what nature has given me, I go through and do a final check of the place.

The doorbell rings at exactly seven thirty, and I take a deep breath as I open the door. Nick is standing there, punctual and perfect. He is dressed in black chinos, a white shirt, and grey jacket. Out of Regency gear he looks even hotter.

“Hi,” I smile, enjoying the view for a few seconds before stepping back to let him through.

“Hi, you,” he says with a grin and ignores my invitation. Instead, he waits for me to lead the way and then follows me into the lounge.
He really has wonderful manners
. He produces a bottle from behind his back.

“I thought we could have a drink before we go out. I had a very successful day. A major contract signed and sealed. Now I have time to appreciate you properly.” He slowly trails his eyes over me, turning my bones to rubber.

“You made your meeting on time then?” I ask.

“Yes. How was the rest of your weekend?”

I consider telling him about the hotel, but it all sounds too weird.

“Fine. I left early the next morning and had a lazy Sunday.”

I go to the kitchen in search of two matching wine glasses. When I return, he is looking at my photos. He picks up one of my mother, sister, and me. It was taken at my eighteenth birthday party.

“Your family?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Do they live close by?”

“My mother died five years ago, and my sister lives in Canada.”

He replaces the photo. “I’m sorry, Shona. You must miss them.” The sympathetic cobalt eyes caress me, stirring a sorrow that I had under control years ago.

“Yes, I do.” To my horror I can feel moisture gathering in my eyes.
Pull yourself together.
“My Dad is still alive. He lives in Southampton—so not entirely abandoned.” I smile, trying to lighten the mood.

He moves on and picks up one of the elephants.

Oh, no—
perhaps Lyn was right. I should have culled them.

“I collect them,” I say feebly. “And people tend to give me them as presents. Everywhere I go, I bring back one as a souvenir.”

He chuckles. “So I see. I like this one.” He picks up a white onyx elephant rearing up on its back legs, its trunk raised.

“Yes, that one’s…” I just stop myself from saying, Alfred. Sadly I have names for them all. “From Kenya,” I add.

He reverently sets it down and studies the next one. “Fascinating,” he murmurs.

I send him a scolding look. “Don’t mock my collection. This is only half of it. If you are not careful, I will subject you to a resume of every piece.”

He places the elephant back and grins. “I love elephants—I have one myself.”

I giggle. “Indian or African?”

“I’m not sure. I bought it on a school trip to Paris.”

“You bought an elephant in Paris?”

“The shop ran out of Eiffel towers. I thought an elephant was a good substitute.”

I gesture for him to sit, but of course he waits for me to do so first. I put the glasses down; he picks up the bottle, twists the wires, and pops the cork with easy grace. Obviously use to champagne. He fills the glasses and hands me one.

“Thanks.” His fingers graze mine as I take the drink, and I just about stop my voice from wobbling. “I suppose your work has taken you to a lot of exciting places.”

“Europe and America mostly,” he says. “How about you? Henry said he met you and Lyn in the Caribbean.”

“That’s right, he did. It’s a beautiful place full of laid-back people. Definitely somewhere I must return to someday. Have you been there?”

“No. Not yet.” He narrows his eyes. His meaning is clear, and I am already back in the Caribbean, lying beside him on a sun lounger.

“Where else have you travelled?” he says, easing closer and sneaking a hand along the back of the settee. He smells of that delicious soap again, and I try to subdue my baser thoughts and search my brain for some intellectual travel conversation.

“The most exciting place I think I have been is Kenya. It was so beautiful and unspoiled.”

“Great place for elephants,” he says with a grin.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No, lots of people collect things. I think it’s cute.”

Cute! Hey, cute’s good,
I suppose
. I take a sip of my drink. It’s delicate, crisp, and expensive tasting.

He gestures towards the nearest elephant. “I’d love to see the whole collection sometime.”

“You are either being polite or quite mad. You have no idea how many I have. They are tucked away everywhere.”

He looks around the room. “Well, we must seek them all out some time.”

Really—someone actually wants to see my collection? We are obviously made for each other.

Nick checks his watch. “I have dinner booked for eight fifteen so we better make a move. Italian okay? Antonio’s was recommended.”

Antonio’s!
“Yes, I know it.” Never could afford to eat there, but I know it.

He helps me into my coat, and I am careful to lock the door securely as we leave. Outside, he leads me to a shiny black BMW. Not flashy, but classy, I decide as I sink into the leather upholstery. I’m surprisingly hungry, and my mouth is watering already at the thought of Antonio’s cuisine. However, I must remember one of Lyn’s instructions—no garlic.