Instruction in Seduction (18 page)

So back in the days when Ailsa had been nineteen and swooning over Nick he’d already been involved with this woman. There had, apparently, never been anything in it other than a mutually amicable arrangement. The article confirmed and hyped this at great length, before it went on to describe how her love affair with Mark Brodie, soon to be ‘Agent Ironfist’, had been sparked over a crowded room and crackled ever since.

So why did seeing the gorgeous Amanda hurt exactly? Why did the insides of her eyes turn green?

“What’d you think of her?” she asked Lisa.

“Amazing bone structure,” said Lisa – the Best Friend Bible’s number one wrong answer.

“Suppose,” Ailsa flicked the page with a ping. Pretended to have her interest ensnared by an advertorial on nylon sofa covers. “Collagen and nip tucks.”

Yes, Amanda was pretty. She managed to look come to bed even with her neck swaddled in medical padding and gauze. Ailsa tried not to obsess about it but it wasn’t an easy task with Amanda’s face grinning from most magazine covers in the northern hemisphere.

“What I’d give to look as good as her,” said Lisa.

And Ailsa wanted to throw the picture, and her friend, at the wall.

***

So Ailsa did the only thing she could under the circumstances; threw herself into work.

Recently she’d filmed her ‘new look’ set of Sofa City ads, complete with dark, slick male model suitor. They’d nuzzled on the leather three piece. They’d posed for ‘loved up’ glossy shots for the Sunday Supplement adverts. The focus groups had given the ads sky high consumer ratings. All they did was make Ailsa miss Nick. Gavin was a great guy but he was camp as a row of caravans.

At work she cleared her in-tray. She updated her C.V., polished and preened a few applications. A whole new era for Ailsa Murray.

‘The Witches Nest’ project was near to completion; the pilot weekend launch just over a week away. She busied herself with the final arrangements and forced herself to add that extra sparkle to what already promised to be a polished event. Most of the arrangements were in place but there was always last minute rearranging, fine tuning. Adding dash and extra value was Ailsa’s forte.

Her relations with Sally had managed to stay on a light, friendly footing. It seemed Nick’s sister had no idea of the circumstances under which she’d parted company with her brother and Nick wasn’t coming back to Scotland for the event. His invitation had gone unanswered.

“Fancy catching a movie tonight, Ailsa?” Sally asked when she went over to deliver newly printed programmes and menus for the event.

“I’m up to my eyes decorating the new flat,” she told her. It was no lie. She was decorating the small flat she’d bought in Trinity; half heartedly so the paint pots really could wait. But she didn’t want to risk hearing about Nick.
It hurt.
Her mind would be on him for the duration of the film; not knowing and drowning her sorrows in paint fumes was an easier option.

“Shame,” said Sally. “Another night?”

“Definitely.” She hated lying, but she had to. Sally may have shrugged in a vaguely hurt kind of way but it was for the best; getting involved further was pointless.

Two days before ‘The Witches Nest's' 'Dine With The Past’ event it hit her like a hammer. She’d have to forget Nick Palmer; banish him from her mind, her past, her consciousness. If she was to have any hope of surviving, her life must go on.

So banish him she did. And it might almost, nearly have worked.

***

“What is that?” asked Ailsa.

Lisa looked sheepish. Sheepish to the point of baaing, bleating and gambolling down a hillside in Spring.

“A present. To soften the blow of my news. The news I’m about to break,” said Lisa in a voice that smacked of ‘I’m about to deliver big news so brace yourself’. Andy and I have found a house; it’s set to go through quickly. Oh Ailsa, it’s a lovely little place, I’m so pleased.”

“So am I. That’s great.”

“It’s time to move on to the next level, Ailsa.”

And before they knew it they were both crying tears of sadness, tears of joy, tears of remembrance all rolled into one.

Ailsa hovered over the paint pot she’d been dipping her brush in before Lisa arrived, not caring that there were pools of drips collecting round her feet. There were tear streaks on her cheeks so what was a little paint added to the emotional melting pot?

Plus who would ever visit to notice now? Now that she’d have no Lisa.

No reason to socialise or bother with life’s niceties. Now she could turn into the bag lady hermit, live on fish pie and knit fisherman’s socks.

“I’m pleased. But I will miss you,” Ailsa confessed.

“You can visit lots. You don’t still hold things against Andy do you? I know he often outstayed his welcome before.”

“I’d suffer him to keep you with me for life. No, I’m kidding. I used to think you were too good for him. But I know now he’s a diamond at heart. He took me in in my hour of woe.”

What else could happen to further hamper the fracturing skeleton of her life?

Who else could she lose?

Pessimism was her current watchword; her motto, life’s black side.

“What’s in the box? It’s scary.” As Ailsa watched, it wobbled slightly.

It was a strange shaped box that kept moving every few seconds.

Lisa proclaimed. “A pet. He’ll be a great companion for your new home.”

The grumpiest, plumpest cat with attitude took his moment to appear. His scowl as notable as his fighting credentials; his splodged nose sniffed the air with a haughty air. Ailsa would have cried had it not been for the shock.

“He’s called Bogey. He’s house trained but only eats boiled chicken or fish. He’s partial to anchovies and adores ripping newspaper. He chews human hair.”

Ailsa scowled. “Quite a list of specifics.”

“His owner died last week; lived alone. She was a Humphrey Bogart fan. She was also hot for Rudolph Nuryjev so think yourself fortunate.”

Was this the life Ailsa was preparing herself for - hair chewed by mad cats?

“Welcome Bogey. Scratch the furniture and you’re toast, you hear?”

***

And then as if by magic life got better. Was it Bogey’s charmed presence?

Alas no, it was the arrival of an email from Nick Palmer that wound its way to her computer screen twenty four hours before ‘The Witches Nest’ event.

Ailsa’s inbox immediately became a happy place to be.

“Hi Ailsa,” the email read:

“Just a quick mail to say hi and wish you good luck for Sally’s event. Sally is ecstatic about all your hard work. I hope we can put how things ended behind us and agree to be friends. I’ll see what your response is. But this really is a plea.

Here’s a pic of Jake at cubs (dorky Dad on the left). Take care and don’t settle for easy. You’re worth more. Nick.

Ailsa clicked on the attachment and felt rainbows rise in her chest, bluebirds sang in her stomach. Jake stood grinning with his Dad’s dark hair and lashes. The picture showed him clutching a trophy. Just seeing the tableau poked at emotions she’d locked away in a private tin box.

She hit reply:

“Hi Nick,” she typed.

“What a talented boy. Hope you’re recovered from your ordeal. I have to go as your sister is still a slave driver. Glad you want to be friends. Ailsa.”

At four p.m. she was just about to leave the office to head for ‘The Witches Nest’. As she was pulling on her coat a courier buzzed and delivered a box for her.

A helium balloon smiled from its carton. The label said – Break A Leg. Nick.

Ailsa looked at her computer screen, toyed with sending a line of thanks then thought the better of it; they were being grown ups now. She clicked Shut Down and buttoned her coat.

***

“Either you’re going through the male menopause or you’re in love? Which? I’ve a nose for these things.”

Amanda was just out of hospital and still on crutches. Unfortunately her sense of humour had returned in abundance. All Nick wanted to do was tell her to go away. As fast as her annoying tapping crutches would carry her.

“Neither,” Nick said dryly. “But thanks for the concern.”

Perhaps it was the florist shop extent of the bouquets from fans that had been delivered since her discharge. They’d run out of buckets, vases, pots and jugs.

Maybe it was because having a woman around reminded him of Ailsa.

“I saw you were watching that DVD again. Is she the one from Scotland?”

Nick flicked the TV to off and mussed his on end hair. “What?”

He’d somehow been sent a DVD (Andy Ferguson suspected as culprit) of Ailsa’s latest screen adverts. And no doubt, spurred by Lisa to give him a poke.

The reclining on the sofa ad. Unmissable. Five stars.

The crooking her finger, get down her to the sales, number. Something about the pout there – four stars. Maybe four and a half.

The one where she had her legs crossed, stocking tops just visible all smooth décolletage and spiky heels. A stellar six point six.

“Don’t know what you’re getting at.”

He swivelled in his desk chair. Of course he damn well did; but getting lectured on the barren wasteland of his love life and his hankering senselessly for a woman four hundred miles north by his one time ex was not a good plan.

“Phone her,” said Amanda. “You give in too easy. I should know.” Andy had said exactly the same thing on the phone two nights before.

“I emailed her. And don’t get personal; I could have those crutches confiscated to a padlocked cupboard. The doc said bed rest.”

“You said,” Amanda gave full thespian emphasis to the two words, “you acted in haste. We women are wily creatures. Maybe she just doesn’t know her own mind yet. You need to bring her round.” Amanda picked up the remote and reverse played through the disk. “Jakey says he thinks Sofa Girl seems a good enough sort. But he is only young. He said she was pretty; gave her eight out of ten.”

Nick tried not to notice Ailsa pouting expertly in reverse; she even looked good backwards at high speed. Though not as good as she did straddling him, nipples like swollen peaks, hair loose and free as she urged on for more...

“I don’t do repeat knock backs, she made herself clear.”

“I’ll call Sally for her number,” said Amanda. “I can’t believe you sometimes – where’s your chutzpah?”

It was Amanda’s brazen Jewish gutsyness that had attracted him. Only Amanda took chutzpah to another realm. Nick rose and grabbed the receiver.

“Don’t foist forevers on the rest of us.”

“Go up there this weekend. You don’t need to nursemaid me. Take Jake and go show him the sights. There’s an Australian rugby match on. What’s to lose?”

“No point.”

“You’re still bored out of your skull now you’ve sold the business. You need to move on and find that new direction you said you were finding.”

Nick flicked papers and resigned himself to giving up arguing and ignoring Amanda instead. She’d done too many cop dramas.

“I’ve air miles; I could book you from London City.”

Nick heard her pit a pat out of the room on her crutches and pull the door to as a final instruction.

“Ailsa,” he wrote via email before his fingers could let his brain stop them.

“If I said I’m coming up to Edinburgh next week to catch the rugby would you consider donning your country’s colours and braving Murrayfield? Fancy lunch, just a catch up? Meeting my son and taking a pasting from the Aussies is part of the deal. Your call? Nick.”

His finger lingered on the mouse.

Then he clicked and technology did its thing.

Nick could only wait and see.

Chapter Thirteen

Johnny and Sally were justifiably impressed with the pilot ‘Dine With The Past’ event because its success promised a sure-fire future gold-run. They had plans to roll it out for the international tourist market right throughout from Spring to close of the Edinburgh Festival.

“It’s gonna be a winner,” Johnny opined, rubbing his hands. And he was right. The Spiritualist Guide they’d struck up a deal with added extra pull to the event because he was a recognised name with a following. Guests had given glowing commendations of the restaurant and entertainment.

The end result was twenty satisfied customers, a successful programme and takers for a second event. Johnny was fired for further expansion.

“You’ve proved yourself, Ailsa, well done,” said Johnny. “We’ve return bookings, deposits already taken. Sally’s thrilled. I’m delighted.”

“Thanks,” Ailsa faltered sensing her timing was about to bomb. “I’ve news though,” they may be sitting in the afterglow of her success on Monday morning but her current decision pressed heavy on her heart. “I’m leaving.”

Johnny looked up from his mail and the smile faded. “What?”

She finger fanned her face. “You know I’ve always loved it here but I have to go. My career needs a kick start. I’ve been offered a part time college job teaching drama. Plus I’ve got backing for a drama club project in the evenings – my own business. Greg’s given me space at his climbing centre to run it.”

Johnny was visibly shocked. “How about a twenty per cent raise to stay?”

She wrinkled her nose. “We know that’s not the answer.”

“We’ve only just started making things happen.”

Ailsa flicked into her email and scanned Nick’s message. Her breath quickening in her chest, her heart jumping fast. The reason she had to start grasping life was he’d made her see it had to be done. She couldn’t hide forever and end up with regrets and nothing to show for her passions. If Greg could move on so could she.

Ailsa straightened her in-tray with finality. “I’ve needed to spread my wings since Mum died. It’s past time I took a leap of faith. Someone made me see that.”

Johnny nodded. “I’ll miss you. Loads. Don’t make me get tearful. You’re ruining my butch, fast moving business mogul reputation. Fancy a trip to the pub so I can lean on you more?”

Ailsa hugged her soon to be ex boss. “I’ve too much to sort out. Anyway I have a hunch Sally will keep you right. I’m leaving you in safe hands.”