Mistletoe and the Lost Stiletto

CHAPTER NINE

‘ARE you telling me that you didn’t have a clue?’

‘Not until today,’ she admitted. ‘Dumb or what?’

‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. You saw what he wanted you to see.’

‘What I wanted to believe. Until today. I was late and, since I didn’t have time to go home and pick up my copy of the wedding file, I decided to borrow the one in Rupert’s office. That’s when I stumbled across the one labelled “The Cinderella Project”.’

She still remembered the little prickle at the base of her neck when she’d seen it.

‘But the romance, the engagement?’

She understood what he was asking. ‘There is no sex in fairy tales, Nathaniel. My Prince Charming okayed the plan, but only with the proviso…’ written in his own hand ‘…that he didn’t have to “sleep with the girl”.’ More of those quote marks.

‘So he’s gay?’

She blinked. ‘Why would you say that?’

He shook his head. ‘Just thinking out loud.’

She stared at him for a moment. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? That the only reason a man wouldn’t want to sleep with her was because…?

‘No…’

He responded with a lift of those expressive eyebrows. ‘You’d have thought someone so good at the details would have made a little more effort. That’s all I’m saying.’

‘Yes… No…’ She blushed. ‘I wasn’t exactly throwing myself at him.’

‘No? How come I got so lucky?’ She dug him in the ribs with her elbow. In response, he put his arm around her. ‘You throw, I’ll catch,’ he said and, without stopping to think, she stood on tiptoe and put her arms around his neck. He didn’t let her down, scooping her up so that she was off the ground, grinning as he spun her around, kissing her before he set her back on her feet.

‘Thanks,’ she said.

‘Entirely my pleasure,’ he assured her, still holding her close. ‘But I don’t understand. If there was no great romance, no passion, why did you accept his proposal, Lucy?’

‘Because I bought the fairy story.’

She was still buying it, she thought, glancing up at Nathaniel. She really needed to get a grip on reality.

‘The breakup scenario is already written, by the way,’ she said, before he could say anything. Pulling away. ‘Apparently, I’m going to call the wedding off because Rupert is a workaholic, too absorbed in business to spend time with me. True, as it happens. Sadness, but no recriminations. Nothing sordid. Just a quiet fade out of the relationship once the stores are open and the brand established.’

‘You went seriously off message this afternoon.’

‘I lost the plot big time, but that’s what you get for employing amateurs.’

‘I can see why he’s desperate to get the file back. The tabloids would have a field day with this.’ And, from looking deep into her eyes, he was suddenly looking at something in the distance above her head. ‘I’m not just talking about his underactive libido.’ She didn’t miss the edge to his voice as he added, ‘You could make a fortune.’

‘Yes, I could. I could have phoned one of the tabloids this afternoon. But I don’t want a drama, Nathaniel. I just want to disappear. Get my life back. Be ordinary.’

‘But you’re Lucy B,’ he pointed out.

‘I know. That’s why I can’t let him get away with what he’s doing. Why I can’t just disappear. Because that’s not the end of it.’

‘There’s more?’

‘He wants his file back because all that lovely stuff about fair trade fashion is a bunch of baloney.’

‘Baloney?’

‘Lies, falsehoods, untruths. There is a fair trade company, but it’s just a front. The actual clothes, shoes, accessories will still be made by the same sweatshop workers he used for the old stuff. That’s why he’s desperate to retrieve the file.’

He said just one word. Then, ‘I’m sorry…’

‘No need to apologise. You’ve got it. The man has all the morals of a cowpat.’ She stuffed her hands deep in her pockets. ‘That’s why I was so angry. Why I couldn’t think straight. When the media circus took off like a rocket, bigger than anything they had imagined, and a headline writer shortened my name to Lucy B, Marketing ditched the names they’d been playing with and grabbed it. He’s going to use my name-on the shop fronts, on the labels, everywhere-use me to sell his lie. That’s what today’s press conference was about. To unveil the look of the stores. Tell the world about the jobs he’s creating, both here and in the Third World. Impress the public with his new caring image, impress the shareholders with profit forecasts.’

‘That’s…’ For a moment he didn’t seem to be able to find a word. And then he did. ‘Dangerous.’

Not reassuring-she’d been a lot less bothered by the expletive-and, despite the down jacket, she shivered.

‘You’re cold,’ he said. ‘Let’s go home. Get you back in the warm.’

Diary update: I have to admit that when Nathaniel asked me if I was hungry I didn’t anticipate a hot dog from a stall on the Strand, but it was junk food at its finest. And the onions were piled up high enough to bring tears of joy to the eyes of the government’s diet Tsar. But then it’s been that sort of day. Surprises all round. Horrible ones, delicious ones and a man a girl could love. Not fairy tale falling in love, but the genuine article.

Will everything be back to normal tomorrow?

Can anything ever be normal again?

What is normal?

Nathaniel didn’t say anything until they were near the store, then he reached out and, hand on her arm, said, ‘Out of sight, I think.’

She didn’t argue, but ducked down until the barrier clanged behind them and he’d pulled into a parking bay and switched off the engine. Released his seat belt.

‘You saw something?’ she asked as she slid down from the seat without waiting for him to help her.

Nat shook his head, put his arm around her shoulders and swept her towards the lift, wanting her inside, out of sight. Regretting the crazy impulse to go out in the snow. Anyone might have seen her.

The guy at the hot dog stall wouldn’t forget two idiots who’d gone out to play in the snow, stood for ever, eating hot dogs and talking.

‘What’s bothering you?’ she asked.

‘I hadn’t realised… This is a lot more serious than I thought, Lucy.’

He keyed in the code and breathed more easily when the door clicked shut behind them, shedding his coat and gloves, kicking off his boots. It was probably the first time he’d actually been glad to be home since he’d moved into the apartment. The first time it had felt like home. A sanctuary.

‘You’re scaring me,’ Lucy said, cold hands fumbling with her zip.

He stopped her. Not cold, just shaking, he discovered and, instead of unzipping it for her, he put his arms around her, held her, because he was scared for her.

This wasn’t simply some romance gone wrong. It wasn’t even just an amoral PR campaign that meant heads would roll right up to boardroom level.

‘Nathaniel? Now you’re really worrying me!’

He let her go, unzipped her jacket, helped her out of it. ‘Okay. While the fake romance would be an embarrassment to Henshawe, I’ve no doubt he could contain the damage, but the fair trade thing is fraud.’

‘Fraud?’

‘It’s going to seriously damage him and the Henshawe Corporation when it gets out. The Lucy B chain will be history, his shareholders will want blood and he’ll be facing a police investigation.’

‘You’re talking jail time?’ she asked, shocked.

‘He’s probably shredding papers as fast as he can right now. Talking to his suppliers to cover his tracks. But, while you’ve got his file, written proof of what he did, he’s not safe and I believe that a man who has the morals of a cowpat would go to any lengths to stop that from happening.’

‘You’re saying that I’m in danger?’

Before he could answer, the phone rang and he unhooked it from the wall. ‘Hart.’

‘Nat, it’s Bryan. Sorry to disturb you, but I’ve just had a call from the police.’

His heart rate picked up. ‘And?’

‘It seems they’ve had a missing person report. A woman called Lucy Bright. The WAG of some billionaire. She was last seen heading this way just after four this afternoon and appears to have vanished off the face of the earth. I wouldn’t have bothered you, but the timing is right and the description matches the woman you saw this afternoon.’

‘Did you mention that to the police?’ he asked, reaching out a hand as he saw the colour drain from Lucy’s face.

‘No. It might not have been her and I assumed that you wouldn’t want policemen crawling all over the store talking to the staff. Or the ensuing press invasion. Not until we’re sure, anyway.’

‘Good call.’

‘I searched the name on the internet and I’m about to send you a photograph as an email attachment. In the meantime, I’ve initiated a sweep of the premises, just to cover ourselves.’

‘Right…’ Then, ‘You were in the force, Bryan. Isn’t it unusual for them to get involved in something like this so quickly?’

‘It depends who’s missing. And why.’

Nat listened as he detailed all the likely reasons why the police had got involved so quickly. Suspected violence, theft… He never took his eyes off Lucy who, her free hand to her mouth, was watching him with growing apprehension.

‘I’ll get back to you. In the meantime, keep me posted.’

Lucy was numb. The minute Nathaniel had picked up the phone she’d known something was wrong. And when she’d heard him say the word police she’d known the game was up.

‘The police? They’ve been here? Looking for me?’

‘Just a phone call.’ Just!

‘You’ve been reported missing and they’re following up on a suggestion that you were last seen entering the store.’

‘They’re not going to give up, are they? I’m so sorry to have involved you in this, Nathaniel, but I can’t believe that Rupert had the nerve to involve the police.’

‘You stole a file,’ he pointed out. ‘One filled with sensitive commercial information.’

‘I know, but…’ Then, ‘Are you saying that he’s had the nerve to accuse me of stealing?’

‘Not officially.’

‘So what?’

‘He could be using the fact that there has been a campaign by your fans on the social media sites to put pressure on them. Apparently, the most used hashtag in the last few hours has been #findLucyB.’

‘Well, colour me surprised.’

‘You’re not impressed that you inspire such devotion?’

‘Not desperately. I have no doubt that it was instigated by the Henshawe PR team. Why waste time looking for someone when you can persuade half a million people to do it for you? Get a little hysteria going. But I still don’t understand. The police don’t normally bother about missing persons unless there’s blood on the carpet. Do they?’ she pressed when he didn’t immediately answer.

‘Not normally. Not this soon. It must have been the call from your mother that did the trick.’

Lucy froze.

‘My mother?’

‘She gave an emotional doorstep interview, pleading with anyone who knows where you are to call her. It’s probably online if you want to see it.’

‘No! I don’t. She’s not my mother,’ she said. ‘I told you. I don’t have a mother.’

‘Lucy-’

‘She’s a fake,’ she said quickly, all the peace, the pleasure of their evening together dissipating in that bitter reality. ‘Just another lie dreamed up to keep the press engaged.’ The worst one. The cruellest one. The rest she might abhor, but they, at least, had a purpose. ‘What’s a fairy tale without a wicked witch…?’

Except that she hadn’t been wicked. She’d been fifteen. Abandoned by an abusive boyfriend. Alone and afraid. Lies…

Before she could move, Nathaniel had his arms around her, holding her rigid body, murmuring soft calming sounds that purred through her until she finally stopped shaking. He held her while her silent, angry tears soaked his T-shirt. Held her until the tension seeped from her limbs and she melted against him.

Just held her.

It was a technique she used to calm distraught children, holding them tight so that they’d feel safe even when they fought her-her promise that, whatever they did, she would not let go. And, even as she broke down, buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed like a baby while his hands gently stroked her back, in the dark recesses of her mind, she recognized that this was something he’d done before.

That she shouldn’t read more into it than a simple gesture of comfort and gradually she began to withdraw. Ease away.

She was a survivor. She’d taken everything that life could throw at her and she’d take this, come through it. She lifted her head, straightened her shoulders, putting herself back together, piece by piece, something she’d done times without number.

But never before had the loss of contact felt so personal, the empty space between two bodies quite so cold.

Then, as she brushed her fingers, palms over her cheeks to dry them, Nathaniel took away her hands, tugged up the edge of his T-shirt and used it to very tenderly dab them dry.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly, pulling away from him before the tears began to fall again. ‘I didn’t plan to weep all over you.’

His response was a crooked smile and, making a pretence of wringing out his T-shirt between his hands, making a joke of it, he said, ‘Is that the worst you’ve got?’

She felt an answering tug at the corner of her own lips. She was still embarrassed at bawling her eyes out, but somehow it didn’t seem to matter so much. Nothing seemed to matter when Nathaniel smiled at her.

And that was dangerous.

Not because he was trying to fool her, but because she was capable of fooling herself. Seeing only what she wanted to see. Hearing only what she wanted to hear.

‘You have to call the police, Nathaniel. Tell them I’m here.’

‘Do I?’ he asked. ‘I’m perfectly capable of looking a policeman in the eyes and telling him that you’re not in the store.’

‘No lies,’ she insisted. ‘Nobody lies…’

‘So long as I do it before the store opens tomorrow, it will be the truth.’

‘But it wouldn’t be the whole truth and nothing but the truth, would it?’

‘You care about that?’

‘I’ve been living a lie for the last six months. This afternoon I lied to Pam…’

‘You didn’t actually lie to her.’

‘I didn’t tell her the truth, which is the same thing.’ She’d actually congratulated herself on her cleverness, which, considering the way she’d berated Rupert for doing the same thing, was double standards any way you looked at it. ‘You’ve been kind, Nathaniel. Not some fairy tale Prince Charming; you’re the real thing. A “parfit gentil knyght”. But you have the store to think about, your reputation. This is going to be messy and I don’t want you involved.’

‘It’s odd, Lucy, but that’s exactly what I told myself this afternoon when I delegated one of my staff to find you, return your shoe, offer you a pair of tights, whatever else you needed. Leave it to someone else to deal with, I thought. Don’t get involved.’

‘You did that?’ For a moment she felt as if she was bathed in a warm blast, like opening an oven door. ‘Well, I guess I will need a pair of tights-’

‘I was still saying it when I had Henshawe’s bullies evicted from the store,’ he continued, taking her face in his hands.

‘-and shoes. The boots are great, but-’

‘And all the time I was driving Pam home and couldn’t think of anything but the fear in your beautiful kitten eyes.’ Instinctively, she closed them and felt the butterfly touch of his thumbs brush across her lids. His fingers sliding through her hair as he cradled her head. ‘I was telling myself to forget it. Whatever it was. That it wasn’t my problem. Don’t get involved-’

‘But, as to the rest,’ she cut in, forcing her eyes open, refusing to succumb to his touch, his voice so soft that it seemed to be lost somewhere deep in his throat.

Forcing herself to take responsibility for what had happened. Step away.

‘As to the rest,’ she said as her retreat was halted by the bulk of the island unit, ‘I’ll swallow my pride, borrow some clothes and call that taxi. Go to the nearest police station and tell them the truth.’

It was fraud. A crime…

He’d moved with her, his hands still cradled her head, his train of thought unbroken.

‘-don’t get involved. Telling myself that by the time I got back you’d be long gone.’

‘And in the morning,’ she persisted, shutting her ears to temptation, ‘you can tell the police that I’m not in the store.’

‘And that’s not being economical with the truth?’

‘Only slightly.’

‘The truth, since you’re so keen on it, Lucy Bright, is that I was involved from the moment I saw you ahead of me on the stairs. Your hair floating like a halo around your head.’

‘Well, that’s history…’

She was trapped against the island. His hands were a gentle cradle for her face, his body was warming her from breast to knee, the silver glints in his eyes were molten.

‘Now I just look like Harpo Marx…’

Not that she could have moved. Every cell in her body had given up, surrendered and, as his gaze slid down to her lips, it was only the counter at her back that was holding her up.

‘Your neck…’ His thumb brushed her jaw as his hand stroked her neck in a slow, lazy move that sent a wave of heat rippling down to her toes. ‘Did you know that the nape of the neck is considered so erotic that geishas leave it unpainted?’

She managed a small noise, nothing that made any sense because, forget necks, napes or any other part of the anatomy, his voice, so low that only her hormones could hear, was doing it for her.

‘The way your dress was slipping from your shoulder-’

‘It was just a look,’ she said in a last-ditch attempt to hang onto whatever sense she possessed. ‘A once-in-a-lifetime, never-to-be-repeated look-’

‘What are you prepared to risk on that, Lucy Bright? Truth, dare, kiss, promise…’

Her desperate protestations died as, not waiting for her answer, his eyes never leaving her lips, Nathaniel looked at her with that same intensity, the same liquid silver eyes that had turned her core molten, before slowly lowering his mouth to hers.

She watched in slow motion, knowing that it was going to happen, knowing that all she had to do to stop it was answer him.

Say just one word.

If only she could remember what it was. But her brain was lollygagging around somewhere. Out to lunch. Make that dinner…

She slammed her eyes shut a second before he made contact and her world was reduced to touch. The soft warmth of a barely-there kiss. A tingle as her lips demanded more. A breath-his, not hers. She’d sucked air in and it was stuck there as she waited for the promise.

The warmth became heat.

Her lower lip began to tremble.

Someone moaned and her tongue, too thick for her own mouth, reached for his. Touched his lip. Another moment of this torture and she was going to slither between his arms and melt into a messy puddle on the floor at his feet.

Was this the kiss? The promise? Or was it about the truth?

Right now, it didn’t seem to matter much. It might be ‘just a kiss’ but she wanted it. Wanted it and everything that followed.

‘You win,’ she murmured against his mouth, her eyes still closed.

‘Not entirely,’ he replied, his voice more a growl than a purr as his hand abandoned her neck to capture her hip, pull her close, as the kiss became the briefest reality before he took a step back, leaving her hot and hungry for more. ‘But you most certainly lost and I’m not going to be a gentleman about it. I’m claiming my forfeit.’

At which point her knees gave up the struggle and buckled beneath her.

Nat caught her as she slithered into his arms. ‘Hey,’ he said, ‘it isn’t going to be that bad.’

Her throat was thick and she had to clear it. ‘It isn’t?’

‘What did you think? That I was going to demand your body?’

‘Noooo…’ Dry and thick with disappointment which if she could hear, so could he…’ The police,’ she muttered, grabbing for reality. ‘We have to call them now.’

‘You surrendered, Lucy. I won. Remember? Or shall we try that again?’ He mistook her hesitation for reluctance. ‘I’m going to call my lawyer,’ he said, one arm propping her up, the other retrieving his phone from his jacket pocket. ‘He’ll call the police, reassure them that you’re safe. That you’ll be available for an interview, at a time convenient to you, if they want to talk to you.’

‘Can you do that?’

‘I can do that.’

And he did. Right after he’d caught her behind the knees and carried her through to her bedroom, set her down on the bed and pulled off the boots, taking the three pairs of socks she was wearing with them.

He’d stared at her toes for a moment, then flipped open the phone, got some lawyer out of his bed and told him exactly what he wanted. Not just straightening things out with the police-without revealing her whereabouts-but the retrieval of her belongings from the apartment in the Henshawe house.

‘I’m running up a big bill, here,’ she said when he’d finished.

‘True. You’re going to have to work right through until Christmas Eve.’

‘That’s not work. That’s fun.’

He grinned. ‘Christmas Eve two thousand and twenty.’

‘That big, huh? And if I volunteer to cook Christmas lunch for you?’

‘Christmas Eve two thousand and fifty.’ And his smile faded. ‘Here,’ he said, handing her the phone. ‘Keep this with you. Post the rest of your photographs. Give Henshawe a sleepless night.’

She would rather give Nathaniel one, she thought, but for once held her tongue, just watching him as he adjusted a dial on the wall and the glass darkened, blotting out the lights, the planes passing overhead.

‘I’ll find you something to sleep in.’

‘I’ll manage.’

‘No doubt, but I’m not sure my blood pressure can take the strain.’