Pitch Imperfect(35)
Anjuli looked at the sofas longingly. Soon the old busybody would be asking questions about her love life and whatever she answered would somehow become proof she was back in Heaverlock because of Rob. She had to get her to stop gossiping, but she could hardly be rude. Mrs. P. was a friend of her parents’ and in spite of her tongue-wagging tendencies she’d always been kind. Pushy, but kind.
Mrs. P. considered herself an expert in all things, from gardening to astronomy. You name the topic, Mary Peterson knew more about it than anybody else. She had a PhD in nosiness and many a villager had received her unsolicited advice, Anjuli included. However, Mrs. P. had been the first to recognise Anjuli’s singing talent. In a way, she had been her first fan, constantly praising her voice and pushing her to sing at everything from coffee mornings to village concerts. Her penchant for gossip though, was unforgivable.
“Make yourself at home, dear,” Mrs. P. said, gesturing to the waiting area. “Once you two are alone I’ll brew a fresh pot of tea and bring in some bannock, and my double-chocolate brownies.”
Anjuli’s mouth watered. Maybe Mrs. P. could be forgiven after all. She smiled and headed to the waiting area. The mirror showed a poised, confident woman ready for business, not a former singer worrying about stage fright when the time came to perform, or a woman who’d taken the whole night to decide what to wear only to agonise about it all over again the next morning.
She’d tried on her favourite clothes; twisted and turned, sucked in her tummy and discarded item after item, leaving her bed a bundled mess of rejects. Pressed for time, she’d gone with the ensemble Reiver had barked at the most. Anjuli smirked at her image. Years of celebrity stylists, and a stray dog was now her wardrobe advisor.
Was she sending the right signals? There was nothing sexy about Reiver’s silver-and-burgundy choice, at least she hoped not. The silky top had a square neckline and accentuated the curve of her breasts without screaming “look at these.” Yes, the skirt hugged her hips but all of her clothes did that. That’s what happens when your hips are wider than the Suez.
Anjuli fidgeted. She didn’t want Rob to get the wrong idea, especially after his blatant invitation in the car on Monday. His arrogant suggestion, tossed out like feed to a herd, still rankled. For three days she’d stewed over his insult, finally concluding that Rob had indeed wanted payback for wounding his ego.
Except Rob had never been the petty type. Anjuli stared down the opposite corridor. He hadn’t retracted his statement so maybe he’d changed. Maybe the solid, monogamous man she used to know had become a womanising bastard. Someone who nonchalantly handed out his number for no-strings-attached sex and promptly moved on to the next best thing.
Anjuli grabbed the visitor copy of The Borders Chronicle and used it to fan herself. No matter Rob’s comments, she couldn’t believe he lacked sex. Why would he? He was dangerously handsome and successful to boot. Women probably propositioned him all the time, like the reporter in his office was doing right now.
Eleven twenty-three...twenty-five. What were they doing in there anyway? A throaty laugh and a whiff of expensive perfume preceded Sarah and Rob from the corridor. He said something and she ate it up as if she’d just come off the Cabbage Soup Diet. Not that she needed to diet.
Go away, Anjuli told the pesky stab in her chest. She had no reason to feel jealous. She forced her fingers to uncurl, frowning at the small crescents her nails had dug into her palm. When Mrs. P. called Rob over to the reception desk, Sarah noticed Anjuli waiting and walked over.
“Sarah Brunel,” she said, extending her hand.
Anjuli stood and crossed her arms. She may have provided Sarah with an article and some Chardonnay she’d wished was laced with arsenic, but she’d be damned if she pretended to be happy about it.
Unperturbed, Sarah took out her mobile and tapped the screen. “We don’t get celebrities of your calibre in these parts very often, Miss Carver. You must allow me to interview you. Let me check my calendar to see when I’ve got a spot. I’m sure that everyone would love to know why you moved back to Heaverlock.”
“It’s my home,” Anjuli said coldly.
Sarah’s smile grew predatory. “Our quaint country ways must be difficult to adjust to after your incredible lifestyle. You could tell us what it’s like to live without staff or Michelin restaurants and designer shopping. Or how it feels to mix with the great unglamorous.”
Bitch. “I’ve always found Heaverlock to be lacking in pretence if that’s what you mean about unglamorous,” Anjuli said smoothly. “Adjusting again will be a pleasure, especially with the help of family and friends.”