‘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.
‘Oh, you know. I went for a drink.’ She’s trying to sound casual and failing miserably.
I knew it! ‘Nice. Who with?’ I feign disinterest. It’s hard. I’m desperate to discover that our Sal – dull as dishwater, plaid skirt wearing, high necked bloused, office dogsbody – is a dominatrix or something.
‘I had a date.’ she says, maintaining her failing casual tone.
‘Really!’ I blurt. That came out so wrong. I didn’t mean to sound shocked, but I am.
‘Yes, Ava. I met him on the internet.’
Internet dating? I’ve heard nothing but bad things about it. They look like an underwear model on their profile picture, but when they turn up they are more akin to a serial killer. Sal seems quite happy, though. ‘Did it go well?’ I ask, biting into a chocolate digestive.
‘Yes!’ she screams. I nearly choke on my biscuit. I’ve never seen her so animated. ‘He’s perfect, Ava. He’s taking me out again tomorrow.’
‘Ah, Sal, I’m really happy for you.’
‘So am I!’ she sings. ‘I’m off now. Do you need anything before I go?’
‘No, you get going. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ She dances out of the kitchen and I remain lent against the counter as I work my way through another three chocolate digestives. I should replace them with wine. I’ve had a mad day, and I’m not looking forward to stopping by Matt’s to collect the last of my stuff, but it will be a good job done and Jesse will never have to know. I’ve not forgotten his demand to not see Matt again.
I pull up outside and the first thing I do is look for Matt’s car. It’s not there. He can’t have forgotten; I only called this morning, and I can’t wait around for him because Jesse will be on the phone soon wondering where I am. I pull my phone out of my bag and dial his number.
‘Ava?’ he answers swiftly.
‘Matt, I’m at yours.’ I say flatly and with clear annoyance.
‘Ava, I’m so sorry. I would have called, but I was in a meeting I couldn’t get out of. I’m going to be at least an hour.’
I throw my head against my seat. I can’t wait for an hour. ‘Fine, tomorrow?’
‘I’m in Birmingham tomorrow and Wednesday. Can we do Thursday?’
I inwardly groan. I wanted to get this out of the way. ‘Sure, same time on Thursday.’ I hang up and toss my phone on the passenger seat in disgust. Irritating prick.
When I pull up outside Lusso, the gates open immediately. Jesse’s car isn’t here, which would explain why he’s not called to see why I’m not here yet.
I enter the foyer, weighed down with flowers and bags, and see Clive clicking various buttons on his high-tech surveillance system. I might just sit in one of the comfortable leather sofas and wait. What else can I do?
‘Hi, Clive.’
He looks up and smiles. ‘Ava, how are you?’
Rubbish! I’ve had a ridiculously busy day, I want to shower, get into my sweats and have a glass of wine. I can do none of those things, and I’m pissed off that Jesse’s made a big fuss about me being here and he’s not even here himself. ‘Tired.’ I mumble, heading for a big sumptuous sofa. I might fall asleep.
‘Here, Mr Ward left this for you.’
I look up and see Clive holding up a pink key. He left me a key? So he knew he wouldn’t be here and he didn’t even ring to tell me.
I walk over to Clive and take the key. ‘When did he go?’ I ask.
Clive continues clicking and switching while studying the monitors. ‘He dropped by at around five to leave you a key.’
‘Did he say when he would be back?’ I ask. Am I just expected to hang around and wait?
‘Not a word, Ava.’ Clive doesn’t bother looking up at me.
‘Did he ask you about the woman who stopped by?’
‘No, Ava.’ He almost sounds bored. No he didn’t, I know he didn’t because he bloody knows. And he’s going to tell me.
I leave Clive playing with his equipment and make my way up to the penthouse, letting myself in with my pink key and heading straight to the kitchen. I go to the fridge and yank the door open, being immediately confronted with rows and rows of bottled water. Oh, what I would do for a glass of wine. I shut the fridge door with more force than it deserves – it’s not the fridge’s fault there’s no wine in it. Will I ever have a drink again?
I sit myself on a barstool and gaze around the immense kitchen that I designed. I love it and never in a million years did I imagine I would have the opportunity to live here. Now I have, though, I’m really not sure about it. I love him, but I fear living with him will just encourage his controlling behaviour and challenging ways. Or would he be better? More reasonable?