Total pages in book: 214
Estimated words: 202638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1013(@200wpm)___ 811(@250wpm)___ 675(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 202638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1013(@200wpm)___ 811(@250wpm)___ 675(@300wpm)
As ten thirty approaches, I gather my things to go on a few site visits. ‘Sal, tell Patrick I’ve gone to check on a few sites. I’ll be back about four thirty.’
‘Will do.’ she sings enthusiastically, while filing some invoices. Yep, she’s definitely had some male interest. Do men really have that impact on us women?
I pass Victoria and Tom at the door.
‘Darling, how was your weekend?’ Tom croons.
‘Great,’ I say, accepting his air kiss. ‘I’ve got to dash. I’ll be back about four thirty.’
‘Excuse me.’ Victoria barges past me.
‘What’s up with her?’ I ask Tom.
Tom rolls his eyes. ‘Oh, bugger me if I know. She rang on Saturday declaring she was in love, then I meet her this morning and she has a face like a slapped arse!’
‘Drew?’ I ask. What’s gone wrong?
Tom shrugs. ‘She doesn’t want to talk about it. Not a good sign. I’ll see if I can pump any info out of her. Speak to you later.’
I make my way to the tube and stop off at the chemist to replace my depleted gloss. I’m drawn to the vitamins, remembering reading about deficiency when I was doing my research on the internet about alcoholics. Standing and reading the backs of a million pots, I decide to speak to the pharmacist.
After a vague chat, he recommends a few things, but strongly advised seeking medical help if I’m worried. Am I worried? Jesse insists he’s not an alcoholic and he certainly doesn’t scramble for the hard stuff when he sees it. I buy the vitamins, anyway. They can’t hurt.
When I’m walking up Kensington High Street, I hear Bill Withers singing Ain’t no Sunshine from my bag. Oh, I bet he thinks he’s clever. I don’t think twice about answering it. I don’t need him flying into panic over a few missed calls and bombarding me during my client visits. I need to keep him stable and if that means a quick telephone conversation, then so be it.
‘Hey.’ I greet.
He sighs. ‘God, I miss you.’ He sounds so forlorn. It’s only been four hours since he had me spread on the kitchen worktop.
‘Why did you send John to pick me up?’ I ask.
‘You didn’t have your car.’ he says it like I’m stupid for even asking.
‘Why didn’t you take me?’ My tone is accusing. I didn’t mean it to be.
‘Would you have preferred that?’
‘Of course, but it’s not necessary.’ I’m approaching my destination. I need to wrap this conversation up. ‘Where are you?’ I ask.
‘At The Manor. Everything is under control. I’m not needed here. Do you need me?’
I can’t see him, but I know he’s pouting. ‘Always.’ I know that’s what he wants to hear.
‘Now?’ he asks hopefully.
‘Jesse, I’m at work.’ I try not to sound tired, but I have a ridiculously busy day ahead of me and I could do without providing him with the reassurance he needs to get through his. I wonder if he’s taken his running kit to work with him.
‘I know.’ he grumbles dejectedly. ‘What are you doing at this precise moment?’
Why this precise moment? ‘I’m on my way to a client and I’ve just got here, so I’ll have to sign off.’ I prompt. He might not be needed, but I have a diary to keep.
‘Oh, okay.’ He sounds so miserable, and I feel guilty for brushing him off.
I stop outside my destination and look up to the heavens. ‘I’ll stay at yours tonight.’ I say, hoping this will placate him.
He scoffs down the phone. ‘I would hope so, you live there!’
I roll my eyes. Of course I do. ‘I’ll see you later.’
‘You will. What time?’ he presses.
‘Six-ish.’
‘Ish.’ he counters. ‘I love you, lady.’
‘I know you do.’ I hang up and make my way up the steps to the front door of Mr & Mrs Kent’s new home. I’m way too busy today to be sidetracked with my challenging man and his challenging ways.
***
‘Nice flowers.’
I look up and see Victoria standing at my desk. She is less orange, but no less miserable than she was this morning. ‘Are you okay?’ I ask, wondering if Tom managed to extract any information.
‘Not really.’
‘Do you want to elaborate?’ I prompt.
She shrugs. ‘Not really.’
I try not to look bored, but it’s bloody hard. This is a typical case of someone wanting desperately to elaborate, but also wanting the dramatic buildup of someone pleading with them for information. I’ve had the longest day in my twenty six year history. I haven’t the energy to tease information out of her. I get up and head for the kitchen to get some biscuits. I need a sugar hit.
I find Sally washing up.
‘Hi, Ava.’ she says happily.
Now, I really am prepared to push Sally for information. I’m dying to know what’s put a huge smile on her face and provoked the introduction of scoop neck tops. ‘What did you get up to at the weekend, Sal?’ I ask casually as I dunk the biscuit tin. I catch her blushing again. I’m definitely onto something here. If she says she’s done a cross-stitch and cleaned the windows, I’ll hang myself.