Hate to Love You(64)

Vulnerable and afraid.

I had run out of ideas to break the communication barrier but there was no way I’d do the new African magic that Kahlu suggested. Although...

No, it was out of the question.

It’s called “secret weapon” and she swore it worked but she also stressed that it should be used with extreme caution. My cheeks got hot as I remembered Kahlu’s advice. She’d been at the checkout counter, swathed in an African tribal print of black on yellow, her face kind as she asked me why I looked so glum. When I told her she’d clucked sympathetically.

Her yellow plastic bracelets hit the counter as she leaned in to give me advice, glancing at where her husband, Remy, was restocking pot noodles.

“You find de tea leaves your boss likes de most,” she said, sotto voce. “And then you make ‘eem a cup.”

I was disappointed. “That’s it?”

She looked at Remy and back again, leaning in further. I met her halfway.

Her voice was a whisper. “You strain ‘ees tea through your knickers.”

My mouth dropped open, my face grew hot and I burst into giggles. Kahlu tapped me on the hand like a mother would a disrespectful child.

“Your boss will become addicted to you and eager to make you happy. That is how I got my Remy to propose.”

“You are shi—kidding me, right?”

“I had to beat de man off with a stick. Ee was so hot for me.”

“No sugar magic?”

She straightened and gave me a conspiratorial wink. “Only de natural honey should sweeten this tea.”

So now I couldn’t help it. Every time James had a cuppa of his poncy Harrods tea leaves I imagined him sipping Paisley Tips, getting on all fours and panting after me like a randy dog. I would titter and he would frown and sip, sip, sip his tea.

Today I felt positive. A satisfied client of James’s had gifted us with two tickets each to Les Miserables on Saturday and I was planning to sort of, maybe, kind of in a roundabout way ask James if we could meet there. Not a date, mind, just two people who share a son watching a play so we could talk about said son.

Every time I was about to broach the subject the phone would ring or Greg would come back from a meeting and demand my attention. Finally we were alone, James munching on my Hobnobs and talking on his mobile to someone called Vanessa. She was staying in London for the weekend and he was sending the chauffeur to Heathrow to pick up her up. I turned up the volume on Classic FM—James’s station of choice—and didn’t listen to their conversation.#p#分页标题#e#

Hold on a fu...fudging minute, James was making dinner for this Vanessa woman? I glared at my screen until the little black letters merged together. Caroline had never said anything about James cooking, had she? Was he one of those smooth-talking “come to my place and I’ll feed you some meat” types? And where was Ryan when James was seducing women?

Ignoring his son so he could have sex wasn’t right, was it? And something else that wasn’t right was James taking Vanessa to Ryan’s rugby game on Sunday. My heel tapped on the floor. Francesca exerting her grandmotherly influence over Ryan was understandable, but Vanessa? Who the hell was she? What if she was only pretending to like Ryan so she could become the next Mrs Scott-Thomas? An image of James at the altar with a beautiful blonde flashed through my mind and I quickly replaced her features with my own.

Whoa!

I stopped pretending to type. Marcia was right. I had to start dating regardless of my freaky ability because my mind was playing tricks on me. What did I care if James had just invited Vanessa to Les Miserables tomorrow? Or if they were going to a Moroccan restaurant for a pre-theatre meal?

I couldn’t breathe. I had to filter some air though my lungs and the only place I could do that was the kitchen. James’s deep voice followed me out of the office, full of the sort of charm and warmth he never graced me with. When I got to the kitchen I opened the cupboard and stared at my Hobnobs pack. Before I knew it I’d whacked it on the counter a few times and flung it into the bin.

It was just as well I hadn’t asked James to Les Miserables. What was I thinking? He considered himself above me; he always had and he always would. Wanting to win James over so I could see Ryan was one thing; asking him out was plain ridiculous. I would find a real date and forget about James and his...whatever she was. That wouldn’t be too hard, would it?



Cambridge Circus, the heart of London’s theatre land, was alive with people eating out before a show, meeting friends for drinks or queuing for theatre tickets. I looked at the sad, elfin face on the Les Miserables billboard. Tonight I would find out if a former Valencian colleague was right.