The One You Really Want (17 page)

‘I haven't.' Zac was busy fiddling with the coffee machine and setting out little silver cups. ‘Now, do you take sugar?'

‘The thing is, my daughter needs work. She'd be perfect.'

Zac paused, spoon in hand, and spun round to look at Nancy. Under the impression until now that her mother had already suggested her for the job, Nancy realised that he'd had no idea; it was a complete bolt from the blue.

‘Um . . .' said Zac.

‘You wouldn't regret it,' Rose went on proudly. ‘She's punctual, efficient, good at dealing with people. She wouldn't sit around painting her nails and reading magazines, either.'

‘Mum—'

‘But you
wouldn't
,' Rose told her. ‘You'd be great at this job.'

Nancy squirmed; this was truly mortifying. It was like being a sixteen-year-old wallflower at a party and having your mother march up with some boy she'd found to dance with you. In fact, having already declared several times what a lovely boy Zac was, this was probably Rose's attempt at matchmaking.
Oh God.

‘Well . . .' floundered Zac, who clearly didn't want to dance either.

‘And she could start as soon as you like,' Rose went on encouragingly.

Right, that was enough.

‘Mum, stop it,' Nancy blurted out. ‘I can sort this out myself, OK? Let me speak to Zac. Why don't I see you back at the house?' And strangle you then, she added silently. Honestly, what was her mother
on
, these days? Had she secretly been attending assertiveness classes?

‘Good idea.' Rose nodded and looked pleased with herself, evidently satisfied that her matchmaking skills had paid off. ‘I've a spot of shopping to do anyway. You two have a nice chat, get to know each other. I'll hear all about it when you get back.'

‘I'm so sorry,' Nancy groaned as soon as the shop door had clanged shut. ‘It's OK, you don't have to give me the job. I had no idea she was going to spring it on you like that. I've never been so embarrassed. Here, let me do that,' she added, because Zac was making a complete pig's ear of trying to spoon sugar into his coffee. Most of it had spilled onto the tray. His hands were shaking, Nancy saw as she re-sugared, stirred and handed him the silver cup. ‘Are you OK? You look a bit . . .'

‘Overwrought? Knackered? Suicidal? It's OK, you can say it. No need to be polite.' Gesturing for her to follow him, Zac led the way through to his work studio, behind the shop. He was wearing ultra-baggy orange combats, a white long-sleeved T-shirt and a customised navy gilet awash with zips and odd-shaped pockets. He was in his late thirties, Nancy guessed, and his thin face was taut with the effort of containing whatever was currently on his mind.

‘Here, take a seat.' Zac hastily gathered up a mass of fabric swatches and gestured for her to occupy the red velvet upholstered two-seater sofa. ‘Rose is a nice lady. If she thinks you'd be good at the job, you probably would be.' He paused and took a gulp of scalding hot coffee. ‘She tells me your marriage just broke up.'

‘My husband was cheating on me.' Nancy decided that if he could be blunt, so could she. Although he probably knew all the details already, from her mother.

‘Yeah. Well, I know how that feels.' Zac managed a wry smile. ‘If you're wondering why I look like something that crawled out of the gutter.'

It was easier for women, Nancy realised. At least they could hide the ravages of misery with make-up.

Sympathetically she said, ‘Did it just happen?'

‘
Just
happen? It's
always
happening.' Zac heaved a heart-felt sigh and perched on the velvet arm of the sofa. ‘It happened again last night. Story of my life. If there was a category in the
Guinness Book of Records
for Most Hopeless Love-life, I'd be in there. Talk about a walking disaster.' He shook his head dejectedly, combing his fingers through his long hair. ‘I don't know how I do it, I just get it wrong every time.'

‘I only got it wrong once,' said Nancy, ‘but it was a pretty big once. And now I'm here in London,' she added, ‘five hundred miles away from home. I was only supposed to be staying down here for a couple of weeks with my friend Carmen. Now she's trying to persuade me to move in for good.'

‘Aren't you the lucky one,' said Zac. ‘It's the other way round for me. I meet someone, they move in with me and - I'm sorry, I
know
I'm deluded - I honestly imagine we'll be together for ever. Then next weekend they pack their bags and move out. After that, I never see them again. I mean, how pathetic is that?'

He was putting on a brave face but there were tears glistening in his blue eyes.

‘Not pathetic at all,' Nancy fibbed, to be kind. ‘You just haven't met the right one yet.'

‘Just an awful lot of Mr Wrongs.' As Doreen pattered down the stairs and into the workroom, Zac held out his arms to the little dog. ‘Just as well I've got you, sweetie pie, isn't it? At least you'd never leave me, run off with my entire CD collection and my favourite pair of Jean Paul Gaultier trousers accidentally packed in your bag.' Giving Doreen a cuddle, he said hopefully, ‘Were you devastated when you and your husband broke up?'

‘I thought I would be. And I know you probably want me to say yes, but I wasn't.' Nancy struggled to explain. ‘It was a huge shock at first, but then I kind of felt . . . well, relieved. Like when you've been invited to a party you know you
have
to attend but you don't actually want to go to. You're quietly dreading it but putting on a brave face, then all of a sudden something happens out of the blue and you realise you don't have to go any more.'

‘So if he turned up on your doorstep this afternoon and begged you to take him back?'

‘I wouldn't. It's over.'

‘Would you not even be tempted?'

‘No.' Nancy shook her head and meant it. ‘Not for a second.'

‘You're so strong.' Zac sighed and stroked Doreen's silky ears. ‘I wish I could be like you.' Brightening, he said, ‘You can be my role model. Stop me being such a hopeless pushover. Give me pep talks every morning, hit me over the head whenever I—'

‘Hang on,' said Nancy, ‘does that mean you're offering me the job?'

‘Of course.' Zac sounded surprised.

‘But . . . don't you have other people to interview?'

‘No.' Zac looked faintly embarrassed. ‘To be honest, I hadn't got round to organising anything. I'm a clothes designer,' he protested. ‘Admin isn't my thing. I kind of hoped Jacintha might come up with someone.' Brightly he added, ‘But I'd much rather have you!'

‘Because it would save you the bother of having to advertise, ' Nancy said drily.

‘No! Well, yes. But Jacintha's friends are . . . how can I put this? . . . just like Jacintha. And Rose did say you'd be perfect for the job.'

Nancy rolled her eyes. ‘She's my mother. She thinks I'd be perfect for the Olympic relay team, for the position of Chancellor of the Exchequer
and
to represent my country in the Eurovision song contest.'

‘Blimey. If you can do all that,' said Zac cheerfully, ‘you can definitely handle working here. How soon can you start?'

Nancy smiled. ‘As soon as I've taken off my gold medal and finished preparing my Budget speech.'

‘Next Monday then?'

This was unlike any interview she'd ever attended before. Working for Zac Parris was going to be an education.

‘Next Monday,' Nancy said happily.

‘You won't meet any men,' Zac warned. ‘That's why Jacintha's leaving, because there's never anyone to chat up.'

‘Not meeting any men,' said Nancy, ‘is what's going to make this job perfect.'

 

Rennie was still asleep when the doorbell rang. Groaning, he rolled over in bed and covered his head with a pillow.

Rrrrinnggg
.

God, he hated doorbells. They could seriously damage your health.

But since he was now awake, and appeared to be the only one in the house, he may as well answer it.

Naked, carrying his jeans in one hand, he made his way downstairs and pressed the intercom. ‘Yes?'

‘Um . . . is that Rennie Todd?' It was a girl's voice, one he didn't recognise.

Rennie paused. Could he get away with pretending to be the butler or something?

Finally he said, ‘Who is this?'

‘Look, I'm sorry,' the girl sounded nervous, ‘but I need to speak to you about, um, Carmen.'

‘Why?'

‘Please. It's important.'

Rennie heaved a sigh and climbed into his jeans, almost sticking his foot through the frayed hole in the left knee. Opening the front door, he saw a girl with ash-blond hair pulled back from her face in a tight ponytail to reveal dark roots. She was pretty, in her mid-twenties, and huddled up against the cold in a red leather jacket, smart black trousers and high-heeled boots.

‘Carmen isn't here.' Rennie shivered too as the icy wind blasted his bare chest.

‘I know. I wouldn't be here if she was.'

He watched her inwardly registering the fact that she was talking to Rennie Todd, someone who up until now she had only seen on television. It was something he was used to. Briskly - God, it
was
cold - he said, ‘Is this going to be quick?'

‘Um . . .' The girl shook her head apologetically. ‘Not that quick, no.'

Typical. No chance of getting back to sleep then. In which case, caffeine was called for.

‘You'd better come in. Coffee?'

‘Thanks.' The girl followed him through to the kitchen. ‘Sorry if I woke you up.'

‘Let's just hope it's worth it.' Filling the kettle and managing to splash icy water from the tap all over his chest -
ugh
- Rennie said, ‘What's this all about then?'

As if sensing that he wasn't yet awake enough to listen and simultaneously perform simple domestic tasks, the girl took the kettle from him and said, ‘Why don't I do that?'

Rennie sank gratefully onto a kitchen stool. There was a KitKat in the fruit bowl, which would do nicely in lieu of breakfast.

He held up the KitKat. ‘Want half of this?'

‘No thanks. You have it.'

Good. Correct answer. ‘So what's your name?' said Rennie.

‘Tina.'

‘And you know Carmen from where?' It occurred to Rennie that she might be something to do with the homeless shelter.

‘I don't know Carmen, I just know
of
her. Here.' Tina plonked a far-too-strong coffee down in front of him and said, ‘OK, here we go. I'm Joe James's ex-girlfriend.'

‘Oh.' Bloody hell, this was all he needed. A jealous ex, come round to stir up trouble.

‘No.' Tina was evidently able to read his mind. ‘It's not what you think. I just need to warn you about Joe.'

‘Shouldn't you be talking to Carmen?' Bleeurrgh, no sugar either. The woman was trying to poison him.

‘I don't want her to know this is coming from me. She'd tell Joe and he'd go mental. Anyway, from what I hear, she's mad about him. Sorry, you should have said.' Tina handed him the sugar bowl and a teaspoon. ‘I don't want you to tell her I've been here.'

Frowning, Rennie said, ‘But Joe gave you this address?'

‘No, he didn't. I knew it was Fitzallen Square, because he mentioned it before he came round the first time to see you. When I turned up this morning, I thought I might be able to guess which house it was.' Looking slightly embarrassed, Tina smiled and said, ‘You being who you are, know what I mean? I sort of expected yours to be the house with all the Lamborghinis and stretch limos parked outside, the rock music blasting from every window, the groupies queuing up at the front door.'

Gravely, Rennie said, ‘Sorry. The groupies don't get here until midday. So how did you find us?'

‘Asked the postman.'

Oh well. Rennie nodded and began peeling the silver foil off his KitKat. ‘Carry on.'

‘Joe is only with Carmen because she's rich,' Tina said bluntly. ‘He's after her money.'

‘Did he tell you that?'

‘We went out together for almost a year. Last week he dumped me. And yes, I was upset.' Tina shrugged. ‘I'm being honest here, OK? I thought we'd stay together, get engaged, the whole thing, so of course I was upset. Anyway, yesterday I rang Joe and told him I'd found his car insurance and MOT certificates in my bag, from when we'd been to the post office to tax the car. He dropped round at lunchtime to pick them up.'

‘And you ended up in bed,' Rennie guessed. Well, it's what he would have done.

‘No! But Joe was so pleased with himself, he couldn't help bragging about him and Carmen, and how crazy she is about him.' Tina paused, then went on, ‘He said his life was about to change, big time, which got on my nerves a bit. I told him he wasn't that great a catch, and
he
said he wasn't about to let a chance like this slip through his fingers. You see, his dream is to start up his own plumbing business, but you need money to do that, which Joe doesn't have. Anyway, he boasted that he was going to persuade Carmen to help him set up on his own. He said twenty grand would be nothing to her, she wouldn't even miss it. Which I think is a pretty crappy thing to say, even if it
is
true. And I think Carmen deserves to know what he's up to. There, now I've said it. You don't have to believe me if you don't want to, but it's the truth.'