‘Ooh, promises, promises,' she said.
‘You're my good-luck charm, that's what you are,' he said, pulling her into his arms and kissing her lovely juicy lips.
‘You'd better not be long,' she purred. ‘Although I might have slipped into something more comfortable by the time you get back. My, it's so hot in here,' and she unbuttoned her shirt a couple more notches.
He shot out of the door to the car with a smile as big as his erection, although both reduced a little when he saw the light filtering through the blinds across the lane. A kind thought slipped through all the black ones that said he really should give Stevie some money from his winnings towards the cancelled wedding and what he owed for Danny's holiday.
But then again, if she could afford to live in that cottage … And Jo said he had to be cruel in the short run to be kind in the long run.
In a trice Matthew had justified keeping his winnings for himself and Jo, and he drove to the off-licence for their champagne.
Chapter 27
There was a message waiting for Stevie after she had come back from an Adam MacLean-free hour on the weights at the gym.
‘Bea darling, it's Crystal. Just ringing to see if everything's okay,' which was her boss Crystal Rock's (yes, really) way of saying, ‘Where the fucking hell is your manuscript? It's overdue and I never have to chase you – so what's wrong?'
Stevie bit the bullet and rang her back immediately.
‘Darling!' Crystal said, when her latest PA (Danielle?) put her through. Stevie tried to learn their names, but none of them seemed to last more than a week. Crystal was scare-ee, although somehow she and Stevie had always managed to get on just fine.
‘Hiya, Crys, sorry I've not been in touch.'
‘I was worried about you, darling,' said Crystal, who had a voice like an expensive smooth cocktail.
‘I was just ringing to allay your fears and say that my manuscript is nearly ready.'
‘Nearly? Oh now, darling, you've been neglecting me for your wedding plans, haven't you?' said Crystal, with a heavy threat tangled up in the light banter.
‘There isn't going to be a wedding,' said Stevie, who was quite aware she was using her distress to buy herself some time. She couldn't lose this job, and if she could sell her soul to MacLean in exchange for her man, she could sacrifice her pride for her work. She could virtually see Crystal shifting forward at her desk and putting her Pomeranian, called ‘Eiffel', down on the floor, as she did when chat became serious.
‘No wedding? What on earth do you mean?'
‘Matthew has … has found someone else.'
‘Oh darling, the absolute … '
Stevie winced at the word she used, although even she had to admit it actually sounded quite classy being issued via Crystal's Swiss-finishing-school-educated voice-box.
‘Look, it's fine. When can you get it to me?' said Crystal in a rare moment of leniency.
‘I'll email it Tuesday first thing. It's nearly finished, I promise,' gushed Stevie, issuing a silent prayer of thanks upwards. She was out of the frying pan.
‘I'll expect it, darling. Oh, and start thinking about the next one. We've had an absolute glut of Mediterranean heroes and yet our own Scots and Irish boys have been totally neglected.'
‘I'll do an Irish.'
‘No, I've given Paul the Irish. I want you to take the Scot. Call it Highland Fling – you know the format. But let's have some red hair and Gaelic testosterone and plenty of it.'
‘Absolutely,' said Stevie, who suddenly felt herself being catapulted out of the pan and thrown into a very hot fire. How the hell could she make a sex symbol out of a red-haired Scot when she would be imagining that … that man? He would end up killing the heroine with a giant-handed slap in Chapter One – and how flaming romantic was that?
Matthew rose from bed feeling incredibly sick. Sick in head, stomach and heart. The line to Camelot hadn't been engaged after all, it had been faulty, although they hadn't known that when they were ringing excitedly at five-minute intervals. After seven more attempts, they cracked open the first bottle of champagne, and after that was drained they started dancing. After the second bottle of champagne, to which they had added brandy and brown sugar to make cocktails, Matthew had carried Jo upstairs and attempted to make love to her, failing dismally – not that either of them cared. They were going to be rich – well, rich enough to have a bloody good spend and a fantastic holiday au soleil. More importantly, he could put off that ever-looming money talk with Jo. The fates were smiling on him.
He was woken up by Status Quo playing in his head, a stomach like a cement-mixer and Jo shaking on his shoulder to say she had eventually got through to Camelot to find he had won five hundred and fifteen quid, which he could collect from a post office.
Five bloody hundred and bloody fif-bloody-teen quid for five bloody numbers. They weren't the only f-words that crossed his mind and that was from a man who hated swearing.
‘A record number of winners on that draw,' Camelot had said, with a copious amount of sympathy.
Four hundred and seventy five quid ‘profit' then, if you took off the price of the champers. It wouldn't even make a small dent in what he owed so there wasn't much point in chucking the money to a Visa company. It would be like throwing a microscopic blob of plankton into the mouth of a ravenous Great White shark. No, they might as well enjoy it with something frivolous. Ironic really – having to spend the money on something to take the pain of such a win away.
Jo brought him Paracetamol and coffee and he threw them up so she brought more. She was such a sweetheart and he loved her for caring, especially because she was as sick as he was and kept saying over and over again to him that it really didn't matter. He rang in work for them both, getting much sympathy for the food-poisoning excuse he used, but was too ill to care if he was believed or not. Then he crawled into bed, falling asleep as soon as his arm had encircled the gorgeous, but limp, woman at his side.
‘Hello,' said Stevie, picking up the phone.
‘Adam MacLean. Hreyooo?' boomed his voice. Why did he have to be so loud all the time?
Stevie felt her whole body stiffen. ‘Fine, thank you. How are you?'
‘Okay. So, anything to report?'
‘Not really,' said Stevie, ‘unless you want to know that his car is still outside. So they haven't gone to work today presumably, although that's a very trivial detail and I'm almost sorry to have mentioned it.'
She could sense his jaw muscle tighten and twitch with annoyance at the other end of the line and she got a little thrill out of that. Yes, writing about a Scot in her new book might be fun. She could have him jumping like a puppet to her call. She could have him trampled by a beautiful white horse, ridden by the gorgeous young strawberry-blonde heroine. She would call her Evie. Evie Sweetwell.
‘I rang to say I think we should initiate the next stage,' he said, smilingly polite, although he was probably crushing the skull of some small animal to offset the pain of trying to be nice.
‘Whatever you say, Mr MacLean.'
‘Can you get a babysitter tomorrow?'
Uh-oh, this was sounding ominous. A siren was going off in her head and there were so many warning flags they were doing a very long Mexican wave down her spinal column.
‘Er … not sure, why?' she asked, but knowing Catherine would help out in a crisis. Kate wasn't courting at the moment and saving up madly for whatever seventeen year olds save up for and would gladly welcome twenty quid, full access to a blackcurrant cheesecake and a sly couple of Bacardi Breezers.
‘Because I think you should go oot, it being Saturday night an' all.'
‘Me – out? Where?'
‘With me.'
Oh farts! ‘With you?'
‘Get yer best clobba on, lady,' said Adam MacLean. ‘I'll pick you up at seven-thirty. We're aff to the picturehoos.'
Chapter 28
‘So, what are you going to wear?' said Catherine.
‘Dunno, what you do think?'
‘That green crossover top, definitely. That was Matthew's favourite so that's bound to strike a chord if he sees you.'
‘If? How do I make that a definite, so all this will be worthwhile? What if they don't see us? What if they don't happen to be looking out of the window watching us go off together? I mean, it's highly unlikely they will be, isn't it really? It's mad, totally mad.'