Best of Bosses 2008(59)

When she got off the Tube again, she called the letting agency. Yes, the insurance was paying up; they had her claim in progress; and the money should be with her next week.

Which meant she could go and buy new furniture now. On her credit card. Because by the time the bill came in the insurance money would be there. And even if it was late that wasn’t a big deal, because she still had her redundancy money in a high-interest account.

Organising was what she did. Really, really well. And keeping busy was a good way of not letting herself think about the way her personal life had just disintegrated. Even so, by the time she reached her flat, Fran was thoroughly dejected. She unlocked the door and took a cursory look around.

Home.

It didn’t feel like home. Wasn’t her space any more. It was just a very small studio flat. The walls were magnolia, perfectly liveable with. The carpet was beige. Also liveable with. And the neutral décor meant it wouldn’t matter what colour she chose for her furniture.

She didn’t actually care what colour the furniture was. As long as it was delivered quickly. And there was one way to make very sure that happened. She went to one of the furniture showrooms that let you take things away there and then instead of waiting six to eight weeks for it to be made and delivered. Bought curtains and cushions, chose a sofa bed and shelving and talked the store into delivering it all the following morning.

And one night sleeping on the floor wasn’t going to hurt her, was it?

She went back to Gio’s flat and packed her things. Called a taxi. And was in the process of writing him a note to explain where she’d gone when the front door opened.



‘Fran?’ Gio stared at the suitcases next to her. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Moving my stuff back home,’ Fran said simply.

She was leaving already? But…‘Hang on, don’t you need to sort out some furniture first?’

‘Done.’

That was the problem when someone was as efficient as Fran. They could sort things out at the speed of light. Anyone else would’ve had to wait at least six weeks for the furniture to be delivered. Not her. ‘What about paint? I was going to help you paint the walls.’ It would take at least a day to do that, and they’d need another day to air the place to get rid of paint fumes. That would give him two days—with any luck, enough time to work out how to get her to stay.

‘Paint’s not a problem. I can live with magnolia walls.’

So he didn’t even get the two days he’d been banking on?

Oh, hell.

He stared at the suitcases in dismay. ‘You’re going now? Right this very minute?’ She’d been planning to leave without saying goodbye to him?

‘You’ve been very sweet to put me up while my flat’s been uninhabitable. But everything’s fine now. So it’s not really fair to put you out any longer.’

She hadn’t put him out. Far from it. She’d turned his flat into his home instead of just a place to sleep and maybe eat. ‘Fran—’

But what he’d intended to say was cut off by a beep from outside.

‘That’ll be my taxi,’ she said.

He really didn’t want her to go.

But she clearly couldn’t wait to leave, or else she wouldn’t have packed so fast, would she? So although he’d thought that the last couple of weeks had changed everything between them, maybe it hadn’t been the same for her.

She was leaving.

And their relationship was back to being a fake. Something to stop other people being hurt.

He hadn’t bargained on getting hurt, himself.

And he didn’t know if he could go through with this. Pretend in front of his family that everything was fine, when it was very far from fine. He raked a hand through his hair. ‘Look, do you want me to make some excuse for you at Nonna’s dinner on Thursday?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I’ll be there. I want to be able to say goodbye.’

Another blast of the taxi’s horn. The kind of length that meant, I do have other fares to pick up, you know, so will you stop messing about and hurry up?

‘I’d better go,’ she said, picking up her suitcases. ‘Apologies for the short notice, but I’ll need to take tomorrow morning off. I’m expecting some deliveries. But I’ll work late to make up the time.’

‘Whatever.’ He was too numb to protest.

‘Thanks for everything, Gio.’ She picked up her suitcases. ‘I’ll see you later.’

‘Let me take those.’ He didn’t want her to go—but he wasn’t going to stand by and watch her struggle. His hand touched hers as he took the cases from her, and the contact made his heart contract sharply.