Between The Sheets (10 page)

'See if Ian knows, will you?' Dana asked, looking suddenly very vulnerable. 'I need to know if it's real or not.'

'I'll talk to him,' Sylvie promised.

'Don't tell him I asked,' Dana said hurriedly.

'No, of course not.'

'Right. Good. Okay, then, let's go.' Dana drained her glass and put on her sunglasses. 'Time to hit the shops again.'

Gus slumped at his desk and stared miserably out of the window. He'd only been in the office an hour and already it was promising to be a really shitty day.

It had started almost as soon as he'd walked through the door. Carla's face had lit up as she wished him a bright good morning, her eyes all hopeful and her smile shy as she brought him his coffee. He had groaned inwardly as he remembered — through the fog of his hangover — how he'd flirted with her. Tom would throttle him if he knew. What he couldn't understand was why a lovely young girl like Carla would be interested in a separated man so much older than herself.

He'd been rooting in his desk for some painkillers when the girl had returned, flung the papers down in front of him and left again without a word.

As Gus had sipped his coffee and waited for the tablets to take effect, he'd flicked quickly through the papers, almost choking when he reached the double-page spread in the
Daily Journal.

'For fuck's sake.' Gus studied the pictures of himself and Terry Andrews before turning his eyes to the copy. He'd scanned through all the drivel about the party but could find no details of the interview he'd given her. Just a ridiculous piece about him and Terry that implied she was his girlfriend. 'The bitch set me up,' he'd muttered, feeling stupid and furious in equal measure.

Grabbing the paper he'd marched into Tom's office and flung it down in front of him. 'Have you seen this shit?' he'd said, dropping into the chair opposite Tom and drumming his fingers on the arm.

'And good morning to you too,' Tom had said calmly.

'Is that all you've got to say?' Gus had been incredulous.

Tom had shrugged. 'It's no big deal.'

'You are kidding? You do realize that girl is the reporter for the
Daily Journal.
I bandaged her foot, I organized interviews for her. I even let her interview me. And all they've printed are lies. I should sue.'

'You'd be better off ignoring it. It's not as if you'll be seeing her again, is it?' Tom's eyes had held his.

'No, of course I bloody won't!'

'Well, then, the story is as good as dead.'

'Maybe,' Gus had admitted grudgingly. 'I just hate being stitched up like this.'

'Especially by a good-looking woman'. Tom had grinned.

'I'm glad you find it so funny, Tom Gus'd snapped,' 'What will Dana think if she sees this?'

'Does that really matter?'

'Well, of course it matters! Just because we've split up doesn't mean I want to hurt her.'

'She was in the papers first,' Tom had pointed out.

'Yes, but not with a man on her arm.'

Tom had picked up the paper and looked at the photographs. 'She is a gorgeous-looking woman, and you do look more than a little interested.'

Gus had rolled his eyes. 'What man wouldn't? And you know the state I was in last night.'

'Yes, so I hope you've learned your lesson. You may not have been plastered, but you were still too jarred to realize you were being taken for a ride.' He had grinned. 'You weren't, were you? Taken for a ride, I mean.'

Gus had smiled ruefully. 'No such luck. No, she just got what she came for and disappeared.'

'Good.' Tom had tossed the newspaper back to his partner and bent his head over the file in front of him. 'Then forget about it and let's get on with some work. Don't you have a new client coming in at ten?'

Gus had groaned as he glanced at his watch. 'God, yes, I had totally forgotten. And don't -' he'd held up a hand as Tom had opened his mouth — 'say another word about drinking too much.'

'Wouldn't dream of it.'

Gus had retired to his office, picking up more coffee en route and studiously avoiding Carla's reproachful gaze as he passed her desk. The new client was a middle-aged lady who wanted to turn her three-bedroom semi-detached house in suburbia into a country cottage, complete with flagstones and inglenook fireplace. Gus had tried to be both patient and persuasive but the woman wasn't interested in his views, only in how soon he could achieve her dream and how cheaply he could do it. Fed up and irritated — his head still ached a bit — Gus had deliberately inflated his estimates simply to get rid of her.

She had just left when Ann had phoned to tell him that Terry Andrews was on hold. He had momentarily considered taking the call and giving the girl an earful but common sense prevailed, so instead he had told Ann to say he was unavailable. Altogether Terry had left three messages asking him to call — two with Carla — but Gus had balled up the yellow Post-its and tossed them in the bin.

At four-thirty, Gus decided to call it a day. He was achieving nothing here and maybe after a strenuous workout in the gym he'd be in a better frame of mind to work.

He found that the evening sunshine that poured through his hotel window, and the lively scene below, inspired him. Most evenings he would sit at the table in front of it, sketching furiously until the dusk forced him to abandon his pad, and then he'd go out for something to eat.

With a tight, polite smile at Carla, Gus wished her goodnight and swung out of the office. As the day progressed she had thawed slightly when he didn't return any of Terry's calls. Still, he was terrified of even looking the girl in the eye in case he gave her the wrong idea.

'Wimp,' he muttered to himself as he tossed his briefcase into the car and climbed in after it.

'Mr Johnson?'

He jumped as someone tapped on the window and he frowned with irritation when he saw it was Terry Andrews. He lowered the window and made a great show of looking around. 'Where's the photographer, behind a tree? Or perhaps you've one in your bag.'

'Look, I can understand that you're angry—' she began.

'You've got that right.'

'Yes, I was too. I did all those damn interviews and they didn't print one of them.'

'Are you trying to tell me you knew nothing about this?' he said, his mouth twisting into a contemptuous smile.

She looked horrified. 'Of course not! Why on earth would I do something like that?'

'To get a story? To impress your editor?'

'Look, I'm training to be a serious journalist and I would never get involved in that sort of thing—'

'Yeah, sure.' Gus fired up the engine.

'I am really sorry, Mr Johnson, but please believe me, I had nothing to do with it. I'm gutted that they didn't use any of my stuff and as embarrassed as you are. How do you think I feel, being portrayed as some kind of bimbo?'

She turned away slightly and he saw her surreptitiously wipe her eyes.

'So ask them to print a correction in tomorrow's newspaper.'

'I did, but—'

'Yeah, I know, lies sell more papers. If you really want to become a journalist, you should find yourself a job with a more reputable publication.'

She nodded miserably. 'I agree. That's why I handed in my notice.'

'What?' He stared at her.

'I can't work for them now, not after this.'

'There's no need to be hasty,' he backtracked. God, this was the last thing he needed. 'Why don't you find yourself another job first?'

'Too late.'

Gus studied her, wondering if he could believe this girl or if this was just another ruse. Still, the slump of her shoulders and the desolate look in her red-rimmed eyes persuaded him she was telling the truth. 'Go back and grovel,' he told her. 'Tell them you changed your mind. They won't want to lose someone with so much potential.'

She looked surprised. 'You think I've got potential?'

He grinned. 'Well, you managed to wangle a fair bit of information from the people you interviewed last night.'

'That was just because you persuaded them and they'd all had a few drinks.
You
didn't give much away.'

'I never do. I'd better go.' Gus glanced back at the office. The last thing he needed was for Tom or Carla to appear.

'Yeah, sure, sorry for delaying you. But please tell me that you believe me. I promise you, I had nothing to do with those photos.'

'I believe you.'

'Thanks.' She looked up as big drops of rain started to fall.

'Where's your car?' he asked.

'I don't have one. Don't worry, the bus stop's not far.'

Gus hesitated for a moment. This really wasn't a good idea. He should say goodbye and drive away. It was the only sensible thing to do. He leaned over and opened the passenger door. 'Get in.'

'Oh, no, I couldn't ask you to—'

Gus looked around nervously. 'You didn't. Now please get in before someone sees us, puts two and two together and comes up with five.'

Terry hurried around to the passenger side and climbed in beside him. 'This is very kind of you.'

'It is, isn't it?' He looked at her and couldn't help smiling. She was very pretty in a messy, bohemian sort of way. She had a cheeky grin and a way of looking at you that seemed both direct and honest. How could he have thought she was behind those photographs? 'So, where to?'

She shrugged. 'Drop me anywhere in the city centre.'

'Where do you live?'

'Oh, town's fine, thanks all the same,' she said quickly. 'I have some shopping to do.'

He shot her an amused look. 'I wasn't hitting on you.'

'Oh, God, no, I know—'

'Calm down, I'm kidding.'

She smiled shakily. 'Yeah, sorry, it's just I'm still feeling a bit raw. I'm not used to being in the news-papers.'

'It's not nice, is it?'

'No,' she agreed. 'I definitely prefer being behind the camera.'

'What got you into journalism — and I use that word loosely.'

'That's not fair—'

'I'm kidding again.'

'Oh, sorry.'

'If you want to be a serious reporter, you're going to have to stop apologizing or no one will give you an interview.'

'You did,' she reminded him with a grin.

He laughed. 'True. You must be good. Please go and beg for your job back, Terry,' he added as he pulled into the kerb.

'I will, but I am going to start looking for another job.'

'Glad to hear it.'

'Thanks for the lift.'

'Nice to meet you, Terry, despite the circumstances.'

She leaned back in the car and smiled. 'You too.'

He watched for a moment as she walked away, hips swinging and head held high. If things were different ... He sighed and pulled back into the traffic, feeling guilty at his attraction to the girl. He was still married, he was still in love with his wife — despite everything. He had no business looking at another woman, especially a bloody reporter.

Putting Terry out of his mind, Gus headed for the gym. He focused his energy on exhausting himself to the point where he was too tired to think or worry about anyone or anything. On the way back to the hotel, he picked up a Chinese takeaway — there was only so much hotel food he could stomach.

Later, sprawled in front of the television, a beer in his hand and his dinner congealing in cartons on the table in front of him, Gus decided that maybe it was time he talked to Dana. Maybe it was even time he told her exactly why he had left. It would be better if he had talked to Ed first but he felt he couldn't afford to wait any longer. It was over a month now since he'd seen her and it appeared she was getting on with her life. Perhaps, though, she was the victim of press fabrications just as he had been. Feeling better now that he'd reached a decision, he switched off the TV and decided to have an early night. Tomorrow morning, bright and early, he would pay Dana a visit. And he wouldn't leave until he got some answers.

Dana sat in the VIP section of the hottest new Dublin club, smiling politely as the conversation buzzed around her. She was bored out of her mind and would have left long ago if it wasn't for her PA. Sylvie was in her element. She looked stunning in one of Dana's cast-offs and was obviously enjoying herself immensely. A rich, portly man stood close by, leering at her in a way that made Dana feel slightly sick.

The whole scene sickened her really. Dana had fully enjoyed socializing in the past but now it all seemed fake and faintly ridiculous. The champagne flowed, the men wore silk suits, the ladies clutched designer bags and they were all playing the same game. The single women were after rich men, and the ones who were already married just wanted to flaunt the fact that they'd made it. Made what exactly? she wondered, taking a sip of champagne and nodding her thanks when her glass was immediately topped up.

The man at her side, who did something in theatre, was talking — in fact he hadn't stopped since they'd been introduced — but he seemed satisfied if she nodded occasionally, which suited her just fine; it had been a long and busy day.

While it had served its purpose, distracting her from the photos of Gus and that woman, her husband was never far from her mind. When they'd finished shopping, Sylvie had persuaded her that they should stop off at the beauty salon and she could have a relaxing head and neck massage. It had been a good idea really; Dana had felt tense and a little sleepy after the wine at lunch. Rather than leave the girl waiting, Dana had treated Sylvie to a pedicure and manicure and she had been thrilled. After their beauty treatments, they'd taken a taxi home. As Dana arranged her new clothes in the wardrobe, she'd tossed several of her old ones on to the bed, inviting Sylvie to help herself to anything she wanted. Sylvie hadn't needed to be asked twice. She'd pounced on the clothes, inspecting labels, feeling fabric and muttering happily to herself. Dana had sent her off to the guest suite to try the clothes on and prepare for the night out while she took a long, hot bath.

Dana tuned back into the drone of the man at her side and then stood up abruptly. There was only so much a body could take. I must go to the bathroom,' she said sweetly, and with her bag tucked under her arm she pushed her way through the crowd. Instead of going to the Ladies, though, she slipped out on to a balcony that the smokers used. Thankfully, she had it to herself. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of crisp night air. It was a little chilly and she pulled her wrap closer around her bare shoulders. Her eyes still shut, she imagined herself at home in the privacy and solitude of her own garden, wishing she'd never come out in the first place.