MILLIE'S FLING (44 page)

‘That's the business.’ Hugh smiled slightly. ‘It's an Internet café on Wardour Street. I’ve been overseeing the technical side.’

Oh. Not washing up then.

‘Her name's Anita,’ he went on. ‘She's one of the waitresses.’

‘She's going to have a crack at you tonight.’ Millie didn’t know whether or not she should be saying this, so she said it anyway. Well, what the hell.

Hugh laughed and pulled up a chair.

‘I’d gathered that much.’

‘I heard her talking about you in the loo. She's a thirty-six double D,’ Millie added recklessly. God, what was she, some kind of masochist?

‘I knew that too. She told me.’

‘Shouldn’t you be over there with her?’

‘Come on,’ Hugh said dryly. ‘The whole point of coming over here was to get away from Anita.’

How deeply flattering. Miffed, Millie wondered if he had any more tricks up his sleeve. Like asking her to dance with him to something slow and smoochy, perhaps. Not because he fancied her or anything; just to get Sooo Sad off his back.

This was a scenario familiar from her teenage years, an effective way of letting someone know you weren’t interested in them. The trouble was, when you secretly fancied the boy who was using you to get the message across, it hurt like anything when the music stopped and he declared with satisfaction, ‘Right, that's her sorted out, you can go now.’

Or even—ugh—‘Cheers Millie, you’re a sport.’

Not the kind of words you could forget in a hurry. Especially when you were fifteen.

‘Actually, that's not true,’ said Hugh.

‘It is true! That's what he called me!
And
he clapped me on the back as he said it.’

Hugh gave her an odd look.

‘What?’

Too late, Millie realized that they hadn’t actually been talking about the ritual humiliations of her teenage years. Now he was going to think she was completely loopy.

As well as the girl you wouldn’t want to sleep with twice.

Shaking her head, trying to appear sane, she said, ‘Sorry, sorry. What isn’t true?’

Thankfully, he decided to overlook her moment of madness.

‘I mean I didn’t just come over here to get away from Anita. There's something we need to talk about.’ Hugh hesitated, searching for the right words. ‘I owe you an apology.’

Damn right you do, matey!

‘Look, there's no need,’ Millie lied. ‘Really. It's fine.’

‘It isn’t. I have to explain why—’

‘Hugh?’ Anita, clearly tired of waiting, had materialized in front of them. ‘Will you dance with me?’

Just like that, Millie marveled. No hesitation, no shilly-shallying about. Sooo Sad wanted him back, so she’d come to get him. Like a three-year-old bluntly demanding the return of her favorite toy.

‘Actually,’ Hugh replied, ‘I was—’

‘
Please?
This is my favorite song.’

The DJ, who prided himself on his quirkiness, had replaced pounding techno-rap with Celine Dion warbling that her heart must go onnnnnn.

‘Actually,’ Hugh repeated, ‘I was about to ask Millie if she’d like to dance.’

The years fell away; all at once, she was fifteen again. With braces on her teeth and a whopping crush on Andy Trent. Millie knew she didn’t mean a thing to Andy—he was only asking her to dance to make Stefanie Chambers jealous—but turning him down was easier said than done. If she said no to Andy, he’d simply shrug and laugh and ask someone else. If she said yes, she’d have three minutes of bliss to hug to herself for weeks to come, three minutes of heavenly physical contact before the music ended and he gave her a matey clap on the back before heading back to his friends.

Which was why she never had been able to bring herself to say no. Who cared about pride anyway? Three minutes of unimaginable bliss were better than none. Saying no was simply cutting off your nose to spite your face.

Stop it, stop it, I’m not fifteen any more. I’m twenty-five. I’m a mature adult with buckets of pride
and
metal-free teeth.

‘Okay,’ Millie blurted out.

‘Sorry.’ Hugh shrugged and smiled up at Sooo Sad.

Sooo Sad shot a withering glance in Millie's direction and stalked off.

‘We’ll have to go through with it now,’ murmured Hugh, which boosted her self-esteem no end.

‘No need. In fact, I’d rather stay here.’

‘Don’t be daft.’

Millie was no longer sure she wanted to dance.

‘I thought you had something you needed to tell me.’

Smiling fractionally as he reached for her clammy hand, Hugh pulled her to her feet.

‘It can wait.’

Oh dear, was there any form of torture more exquisite than this? As they danced together every cell in Millie's body clamored for more, shamelessly urging her to move her thigh against his thigh, allow her hand to slide over his back, tilt her head an inch closer to his shoulder… and then another inch… and another…

Come on
, squealed her overexcited hormones, let's get this show on the road! It's him, isn’t it? Don’t try and pretend you’ve forgotten! This is the one we had so much fun with last time, so what are we waiting for?

They were only hormones; they didn’t understand. Millie, employing every last ounce of willpower, concentrated on the music instead. When she’d gone to see
Titanic
with Hester, the manager of the cinema had been forced to ask them to cry more quietly. Apparently other members of the audience were complaining that they couldn’t hear the film. Don’t think about Hugh, don’t think about
Hugh, it’ll be over soon, just keep going and don’t think about Hugh. Oh good grief, he just pinched my bum!

‘What?’ said Hugh, all innocence.

‘Why did you
do
that?’

‘Do what?’ he teased.

‘That!’ It was such an inappropriate, unromantic thing to do. He hadn’t even been gentle.

Outraged, Millie pinched his backside—hard—in return.

‘Ow, that hurt.’

‘Good.’

A split-second later she felt it happen again. Twisting round, Millie saw Jed happily smooching away behind her with the nurse of his dreams. He gave her a broad wink and a deeply inappropriate and unromantic double-thumbs-up.

For his sake, Millie hoped he was gentler with his patients.

‘Sorry. Thought it was you.’ Mumbling the words, she avoided Hugh's dark eyes. She had a horrid feeling he was laughing at her. She also wished Celine Dion would hurry up and finish; this song was dragging on for longer than it had taken the
Titanic
to sink.

More than anything else though, she wished Hugh didn’t have to be wearing that aftershave, the one he always wore. It reminded her so strongly of their night in bed together that she knew the rest of her life would be haunted by it. Her body was programmed to react to that particular smell.

It wasn’t funny, Millie gloomily decided, realizing you were at the mercy of a bottle of aftershave. Not funny and not fair. If she could drag Hugh through to the cloakroom, strip off his clothes, and scrub him all over with a stiff-bristled brush, she would do it in a flash.

Then again, there was always the possibility that she might complete the first two tasks and then… oh gosh… get distracted…

‘Are you all right?’

‘What?’

‘Your breathing's gone a bit funny,’ said Hugh.

Oh crikey, it had too. Realizing she’d been getting carried away, practically hyperventilating into his ear, Millie took an abrupt step backwards.

‘I’m okay. Just feeling a bit, um, faint.’

He looked alarmed. ‘You idiot! Why didn’t you say something?’

‘I’m saying it now.’ Millie swayed on her feet for added authenticity, then let out a shriek as they abruptly lost contact with the ground. ‘Jesus, what are you
doing
?’

‘Getting you out of here before you keel over.’ Having lifted her into his arms, Hugh moved swiftly through the crowds on the dance floor and headed towards the exit. Behind her, Millie heard an ear-splitting wolf-whistle and a raucous—inappropriate, even—whoop of approval.

Aware of her handbag dangling from its strap and bashing less than glamorously against her bottom, Millie wailed, ‘Put me
down
. I didn’t mean I
was going
to faint—I’m not a fainty person!’

‘This place is enough to make anyone pass out. It's okay,’ Hugh told the smirking bouncers on the door, ‘I’m not kidnapping her. She just needs some fresh air.’

OUTSIDE, HE SAT MILLIE down on a bench and tried to persuade her to put her head between her knees. Feeling this was undignified—and not wanting to look any sillier than he’d already made her look—Millie flatly refused.

‘I’m fine, really. See?’ She waggled her head at him like a top-heavy sunflower. ‘Never felt better.’

‘Give yourself a couple of minutes. Then you can go back in.’

Millie thought this was an unenticing prospect. Jed had his nurse to occupy him now. And Sooo Sad, no doubt, was in there waiting to reclaim Hugh. Glancing up the street, she saw a taxi slow down and disgorge a gaggle of rowdy clubgoers.

‘Actually, I think I’ll call it a night. Catch a cab home.’

‘I’d give you a lift, but I don’t have my car,’ said Hugh. ‘No, don’t.’ He placed a hand on Millie's arm as she made a move to flag down the cab. ‘Don’t go yet. We still need to talk.’

Millie winced. She wasn’t really in the mood just now for one of those you’re-a-great-girl-but lectures.

Let's face it, she never was going to be in the mood.

Watching the cab sail past, she said flippantly, ‘I’ve got a better idea. Let's not talk about it.’

Hugh ignored this suggestion.

‘The reason I didn’t contact you after that night is because I felt guilty about my wife. Then, before I had the chance to apologize, I found out about your arrangement with Orla.’ He paused. ‘I assumed you’d told her about us.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘I know that now.’

He was sitting next to her on the bench, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands loosely clasped. Was this what it had all been about? Millie held her breath and allowed her hopes to rise, by the tiniest of notches.

‘You could have asked me.’

‘I know that too. Look, I’m sorry.’

‘Okay. Apology accepted.’ Millie's stomach was off again, squirming away. Was Hugh going to kiss her now? She shifted round, just a fraction, to make it easier for him if he did. Ever the optimist, her hopes rose another semi-notch. But he wasn’t looking as if he was about to sweep her into his arms and kiss her. His gaze was still fixed on the pavement.

When he spoke, it was clearly with some difficulty.

‘I’m sorry about the other thing as well. That night. It shouldn’t have happened.’

What? What are you
talking
about?

Aloud, she murmured, ‘Oh.’

‘It's all my fault. I should never have turned up at your house like that. I don’t know what made me do it. You see—’

‘No, no, that's fine, it really doesn’t matter.’ Millie blurted the words out before he could get on to the bit about her being a great girl—possibly even a sport. ‘I know what you’re trying to say, and there's absolutely no need. It was one of those spur-of-the-moment things, that's all. A complete one-off. I’d practically forgotten it ever happened!’

‘Really?’

‘Really! Gosh, it couldn’t matter less. Now could we please change the subject? Talk about something else?’

Something easier to handle maybe, like quantum physics?

Hugh shot her a sidelong, crooked smile; there was no disguising his relief.

‘Could we change the subject,’ he echoed thoughtfully. ‘I usually hate it when people say that.’

‘Do you? I hate it when people say they’re off to a swanky restaurant.’ Millie knew she was babbling but she didn’t care. Babbling was a damn sight better than having to listen to someone explain just how much they didn’t fancy you. ‘I mean,
swanky
. I can’t bear that word! And going for a
slap-up
meal… what's that all about? How can a meal be slap-up?’

‘Munching a biscuit,’ said Hugh. ‘There's an expression I can’t stand. Munching's a hideous word. You just know it means really noisy.’

Delighted that he could play this game, Millie yelped, ‘And I hate it when people say, “Ooh, Blossom's playing up today,” and you realize they’re talking about their car. They actually think it's cute to give their car a pet name—and they always choose really nauseating names like Flossie or FunBun or Eric.’

‘Men don’t do that,’ Hugh pointed out. ‘Only girls.’

‘Go on,’ Millie urged. ‘Your turn.’

‘Mensa members,’ he said promptly. ‘People who slide the fact that they have an IQ of two hundred and fifty into the conversation to prove how intelligent they are. Because otherwise you might think they’re thick.’

‘I joined Mensa last year,’ said Millie. ‘Actually, I’ve got an IQ of over sixteen thousand.’

‘And my car's called Tinkerbell,’ Hugh riposted.

‘I always want to slap people who go: Oh. My. God.’

‘I cringe when someone says, “The world is your lobster.”’

‘In fact,’ Millie said happily, ‘between the two of us, we hate pretty much everyone.’

‘I know, isn’t it great?’

They grinned at each other. Hugh stood up and held out his hand.

‘We’re more likely to find a cab in the square, if you’re up to walking that far.’

‘Know what I really hate? People who make a big fuss of you when you’re feeling absolutely fine.’ To prove how fine she was, Millie pointedly ignored his outstretched hand.

‘Next time you collapse in a nightclub I’ll leave you in a heap on the floor.’ Glancing behind her, he added casually, ‘By the way, I’m not wild about walking down the street with a girl whose dress is tucked into her knickers.’

‘Nooo!’ Millie clapped her hands to her bottom in dismay. When she realized her dress wasn’t tucked into her knickers she gave Hugh a whack on the arm.

‘Two more things I can’t stand,’ said Hugh. ‘Violent women. And girls who can’t take a joke.’

‘I hate men who wear nasty, cheap aftershave.’

‘What really annoys me is getting phone calls from people putting on ridiculous accents, asking me the answer to crossword clues.’