A Winter's Wish, page 13
‘Convenient.’ Her hands went to her hips.
It was hard not to react to the sight of her in a dark red tie-dye shirt, open at the neck, revealing a flash of illuminated skin. She looked… hot. As in, heat. Nothing else, of course. Who was he trying to kid?
Ignoring her outraged expression, he turned back to Alfie. ‘Nice chatting to you. Good luck with everything.’
‘Cheers, mate. You too. See you around.’ The boy returned to devouring his lunch.
Jamie side-stepped Sam, who refused to move.
‘You’re welcome to come with me.’ He headed for reception. ‘Something’s arrived you might like.’
‘The only thing I’d like is to throttle you,’ she said, marching after him. ‘What the hell was that all about on Tuesday with my parents?’
Good question. ‘I was trying to be charming.’
‘I noticed.’ Her voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘Mind telling me why?’
‘Just trying to be nice.’ He pushed through the door leading into reception.
She followed him. ‘Nice? At one point, I was about to suggest you and my mother booked a room.’
He winced. ‘I wasn’t that bad.’
‘Excuse me?’ She was right behind him, nipping at his heels like an infuriated terrier. ‘I’m honoured to meet you, Mrs Tipping… I mean, Christina,’ she said, imitating his voice. ‘Your charitable work is so worthy, Christina. Let me lick your feet, Christina.’
He spun around to face her. ‘I did not sound like that.’
‘Yes, you bloody well did. I wanted to throw up.’ They were trapped alone in the lobby. ‘And what was all that crap about, Sam’s told me so much about you? I’ve done no such thing.’
‘Poetic licence.’
‘Complete bullshit, more like!’
He backed away. ‘I thought it might help.’
‘Help?’ She advanced on him. ‘Help how, exactly?’
He held up his hands, trying to keep her at bay. ‘You clearly have a difficult relationship with your parents. I could see you were thrown by their visit and I thought a friendly mediator might ease the tension.’
‘Mediator?’ Her eyes flashed with rage.
‘You know, like an impartial go-between.’
She threw her hands in the air. ‘There was nothing impartial about your behaviour. You sided with my mother. You were fawning all over her.’
‘I was not.’
‘Yes, you were.’ She moved so quickly, he had to back away. ‘You intruded on a private family moment and then shoved me under a bus.’
‘How did I shove you under a bus?’
‘By bullying me into going to my mother’s blessed soiree tomorrow.’
‘Don’t you want to go?’
Oh, if looks could kill. ‘What do you think?’
His back was against the front door. She was right in his face. She had him cornered.
‘Anyway, I didn’t side with your mother,’ he said, struggling not to stare at her exposed neck. ‘I defended you, didn’t I? I told them what a great job you’re doing with the shelter.’
She looked incredulous. ‘Someone’s changed their tune. The other day you were full of criticism. You said I didn’t know what I was doing.’ She pointed a finger at him. ‘You accused me of being spoilt and privileged—’
‘No, I didn’t.’ A twinge of guilt tugged inside his chest.
‘Yes, you bloody-well did!’ She jabbed him in the arm. ‘You’ve done nothing but find fault ever since you got here. You shamed my car, told me I wasn’t helping these kids, and implied I knew nothing about what homeless people needed.’
‘I was wrong.’
She stilled, her face so close he could feel her breath on his cheek. ‘What?’
He struggled to swallow. It was hard to focus when a beautiful woman was so up close and personal. Especially an irate one. ‘I said… I was wrong. I misjudged you.’
There was a long-drawn-out moment where she stared at him. He was backed against the door with no means of escape. Her cheeks were red from yelling and her wide blue eyes pinned him with such force he couldn’t move if he wanted to. And he didn’t want to.
Then his phone rang.
‘Sorry, but I really need to be outside.’ Fumbling behind him for the door handle, he almost fell through the front door.
‘I’m not done yelling,’ she said, following him outside.
‘Then you’ll have to do it out here. Your new washing machine has arrived.’
‘My what?’
The large delivery truck had backed up to the doors. A man was unloading the wrapped unit onto the rear platform. He pressed a button and the platform began to lower.
Sam stared in disbelief. ‘What’s going on?’
He took a deep breath. ‘You’re spending a fortune on laundry bills, right?’
Her frown didn’t let up. ‘So?’
‘So… I thought this might help.’ He gestured to the large package. ‘It’s an Electrolux semi-commercial washing machine.’
Sam didn’t move. Or say anything. She just stood there, stunned.
Jamie wasn’t sure whether this was a good sign or a bad omen. Maybe she needed convincing. ‘It’s suitable for washing bedding and duvets and has an extra-large drum. It has an excellent energy rating efficiency and is especially designed for small businesses.’
The colour drained from her face. ‘I didn’t order this.’
‘I know you didn’t. I did.’
Her head turned slowly to face him. ‘Why?’
‘To make amends.’ He shrugged. ‘I knew I’d stepped over the line the other day. I’m sorry. I’ve been a bit of a shit to you since I started here. Unfairly so. This is my feeble way of apologising.’
Her confusion didn’t lift. ‘By ordering me a washing machine? A washing machine I can’t afford? It must’ve cost a packet.’
‘I’m not expecting you to pay for it.’ His words rushed out. ‘It’s a present.’
She recoiled. ‘A present?’
‘A gift. From me to you… I mean, the shelter. I got it off eBay. A bed and breakfast was closing down and they were selling it off. They bought it new six months ago for over a grand, but I got it for two hundred quid.’
Still no reaction.
‘Bargain, huh?’
A few seconds passed.
A few seconds more.
And then she burst out crying.
Like, really crying – the dropping to her knees, letting out huge sobs, and wailing kind of crying.
Oh, shit. What had he done?
Buying her a washing machine was supposed to be a nice gesture. An apology. A way of showing her he was in the wrong and that he wanted to make amends. It wasn’t supposed to make her cry.
He glanced at the delivery bloke, hoping he might spring into action and come to his aid, but he looked as alarmed as Jamie did.
What the hell should he do? …Comfort her? Or steer well clear? He was torn.
But before he could make a decision, the delivery driver held out the clipboard. ‘I need a signature.’
‘Right. Sorry.’ Jamie went over to sign the docket, watching in dismay as Sam dragged herself to her feet and stumbled towards the building, mumbling an apology.
He was desperate to go after her, but he needed to deal with the delivery driver.
The driver handed Jamie the clipboard and nodded towards Sam’s retreating back. ‘What’s her problem?’
Jamie winced as the door slammed shut behind her. ‘No idea.’
But whatever it was, he’d been the trigger.
And that wasn’t a great feeling.
Chapter Twelve
Saturday, 24th November
Sam stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked like a dismembered swan. What had her mother been thinking? She swivelled one way and then the other, hoping the sight of the ankle-length white feathered gown might improve on closer inspection. It didn’t. She didn’t have enough cleavage to keep the dress up, the feathers made her skin itch, and it was so wide she could barely fit through the doorway. There was no way she was wearing this dress to her mother’s soiree.
She reached behind and eased down the zip, letting the heavy garment drop to the floor. Placing it back inside the box, she re-covered it with the tissue paper and shoved it under her bed ready to return to her mother, along with the sky-high white Manolo Blahnik stilettoes she couldn’t stand up in, let alone walk in.
Her mother would be disappointed, but it wasn’t like she hadn’t tried. The dress just wasn’t for her.
Sam wasn’t like her mother. She didn’t feel glamourous or confident wearing fancy clothing – she felt self-conscious and awkward. A white-feathered ball gown would invite attention. Comments. Stares. And that was the last thing she wanted when being forced to attend one of her mother’s social events.
Hiding in the corner was more her style. The party wallflower. Happy to avoid scrutiny and let everyone else take centre-stage.
But she knew turning up wearing casual clothes wasn’t an option either. She’d stand out even more than wearing a ball gown – like the only person at a fancy-dress party not in costume.
Therefore, it was just as well she had a back-up dress stored away in her wardrobe.
She’d bought the garment a couple of years ago from a charity shop in Kensington. It was amazing what you could pick up second-hand in the posh areas of town. The purchase itself had been a spur of the moment decision and one that was completely out of character. But she was glad she’d splashed out now as it meant she could wear something to her mother’s event she actually liked.
Plus, it was designer, so her mother couldn’t complain, right?
She unhooked the dress from its hanger and lifted away the protective covering. She held it up, hoping it was as special as she’d remembered.
It was.
The gown was a gorgeous dark teal colour and made from heavy silk that shimmered under the lighting. It was floor-length, with a fitted bodice and bias-cut skirt. Understated. Sophisticated. Not a feather in sight.
Unearthing her ancient black strappy sling-backs from the wardrobe, she slipped them on. They’d been worn so infrequently they still looked new. And besides, no one would see them under the long dress.
Stepping into the dress, she eased it up over her hips. The bodice was boned and off the shoulder, but it fitted perfectly and didn’t dig in anywhere. Unlike the swan monstrosity, there was an extra sweep of material cut diagonally across the bodice to create a single shoulder-strap, so there was no danger of the dress slipping down and her flashing her mother’s guests. Which was just as well. Her mother liked notoriety, not scandal.
Sam turned to face the mirror. Her up-do hairstyle still worked with the new dress, and her late grandmother’s diamond-drop earrings provided a hint of glamour. She’d chosen a muted red lipstick and squirted on the Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue eau de toilette Max had bought her for her birthday. There was absolutely no way her mother could accuse her of ‘not making an effort’ with her appearance.
Right. Time to go.
She dropped her phone and twenty quid cash into her black clutch bag, and had just picked up her car keys, when someone knocked on the door.
Frowning, she went to answer it. She wasn’t expecting anyone. It was probably the Deliveroo driver for next door. They were always getting the flat numbers mixed up.
But it was Jamie Lawson.
He was wearing a smart black tuxedo suit, with a white dress shirt and a hand-tied silk bow tie. His hair was fashionably styled and he was clean-shaven… and if she’d ever been in any doubt about the level of his attractiveness, she wasn’t now.
He looked… gorgeous. And hot. So much so, words failed her. All she could do was stare – open-mouthed – which would normally have been excruciatingly embarrassing and evoke a sarcastic retort from the man standing in front of her looking all… James Bond, but he appeared to be suffering from the same affliction as her.
His eyes widened. His lips parted. And his gaze travelled slowly downwards and then back up, settling on her face. ‘Wow,’ he said, swallowing awkwardly. ‘You look… beautiful.’
‘Thanks.’ Her hand came up self-consciously to touch her exposed neck. ‘You don’t scrub up so badly yourself.’
It wasn’t the most sophisticated of compliments, but her vocabulary was seriously impeded by the sight of him all dressed up. Not to mention the humiliation of him witnessing her emotional breakdown yesterday.
‘What are you doing here?’ she finally managed.
‘I’m your plus-one.’ His eyes were fixated on her bare shoulders. ‘I’m here to escort you to your mother’s soiree.’
‘Escort me? This isn’t the eighteenth century.’
‘It’s still good manners for the man to pick up the lady.’ Then he flinched. ‘Sorry, woman. I wouldn’t want you to accuse me of being sexist as well as old-fashioned.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Heaven forbid.’
‘And after yesterday…’ He paused, as if fearful of setting her off again. ‘I wasn’t sure if you were still angry with me. I didn’t want to show up at your parents’ house and risk another… you know…’ he trailed off.
‘Meltdown?’
He nodded. ‘Also, I have no idea where your parents live.’
‘Blast.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Did I forget to tell you?’
He gave her a wry smile. ‘I get it. You didn’t want me to come, which I totally understand. But I promise to be on my best behaviour. No judgemental remarks. No sarcasm. Just someone who has your back.’
She viewed him sceptically. ‘For real?’
‘You have my word. Think of me as your wingman. Someone to help you get through the evening. Plus, I thought you might want to drink. It’s a party after all, and I’m guessing you don’t get to socialise much these days. Wouldn’t you like to relax and enjoy yourself and not have to worry about driving?’
He was right.
Not that spending an evening at one of her mother’s soirees was her idea of fun, but she could certainly do with a distraction. Her stress levels had reached boiling point. As evidenced yesterday when she’d burst into hysterical tears over a bleedin’ washing machine.
‘Fine.’ She stepped out of the door. ‘But one snarky comment and we’re done, okay?’
‘Okay.’ He smiled – a big open smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes – the impact of which nearly knocked her off her feet.
Christ, and she hadn’t even started drinking yet.
She closed the door behind her and accepted the offer of his arm as he led her down the pathway to the street.
‘It’s not a patch on your car,’ he said, opening the passenger door of the black Vauxhall Corsa parked by the kerb. ‘But I promise it’s clean.’
‘It’s fine,’ she said, climbing in. Contrary to what he might think, she wasn’t someone who judged a person by their mode of transportation.
She rubbed her arms. The good weather of late had tailed off and she wondered whether she should have brought a coat. Not that she owned anything suitable. Her wardrobe was seriously devoid of evening wraps. Funny that.
Jamie climbed in the driver’s side and started the engine. ‘Are you cold?’
‘A bit.’
He turned up the heater.
As he pulled away, she noticed he didn’t have a satnav. But he seemed to be heading in the right direction, so she kept quiet.
They turned onto Tooting Bec Road and headed past Clapham Common, the expanse of greenery and trees masked by the darkness.
‘So, about yesterday…’ He glanced in her direction. ‘You rushed off and I never got the chance to check you were okay. I searched for you, but Norah said you’d gone home. She said you weren’t feeling too good.’
Understatement, if ever there was one. When Norah had found her in the toilets, Sam was curled up on the floor, spent from crying her eyes out. Talk about humiliating. But Norah had assured her it was just exhaustion and told her that she should go home and get some sleep. Which is what Sam had done. Mostly because she hadn’t wanted to face Jamie.
‘Sorry about that. I was feeling a little stressed.’
‘Do you mind if I ask why?’
How much should she divulge?
She supposed there was no harm in admitting she was struggling. ‘A combination of things, I guess. I haven’t taken much time off over the last year, what with trying to get The Crash Pad up and running.’ She’d been working twelve-hour days, seven days a week, for a long as she could remember. ‘I don’t get much sleep when I’m covering the night shift. And even when I’m not working nights, I lay awake at home worrying about the shelter. Worrying about what happens to the people we turn away. Worrying about not having enough money to keep the project running. And worrying about the safety of those who do stay at the shelter. It’s exhausting.’
‘It sounds it.’
She focused on the lights flickering on the Thames as they crossed Wandsworth Bridge. ‘No matter how much we do, there always seems to be another challenge to overcome.’
His fingers tapped thoughtfully against the steering wheel. ‘Not helped by dickheads like me making snarky comments.’
‘It doesn’t help, no.’
He grimaced. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s not just you. My stress levels have been building ever since we opened. And then yesterday… Well, I think my pressure valve finally erupted.’
‘I’m sorry for making you cry.’
‘It wasn’t your fault. You were trying to do something nice. And it was nice. It was thoughtful and kind… it’s just—’
‘Just what?’
She paused. ‘It made me feel inadequate.’
‘Inadequate? How so?’
‘Replacing the washing machine for an industrial unit was on my to-do list. Along with a load of other things I need, but haven’t bought yet, because I’ve almost run out of money.’ She fiddled with the fabric of her dress. ‘And then you show up with a fancy-pants commercial washing machine, like it’s no big deal, and… I…’
He glanced at her, but didn’t say anything.
