Naked Truths (40 page)

He turned and cringed. ‘Oh, God!'

‘Do you know her?' Harriet asked in confusion, but the fuming blonde woman was already upon them, car keys in hand.

‘I knew I'd find you here!'

Everyone turned to observe the commotion, but the woman didn't seem to care. ‘Up to your old tricks again! I can't trust you for five minutes!'

Samuel had transformed into a cowering wreck. The woman turned her furious glare on Harriet.

‘In case you're wondering, I'm Samuel's wife.'

‘But he told me you were divorcing,' stuttered Harriet.

The woman rolled her eyes. ‘That's what he tells all the silly bitches who fall for his crap! I tell you, if he weren't about to get his bonus and put all our kids through university I'd leave him right this moment.' She yanked on his collar. ‘Come on, you. Home!'

Samuel stood up like a naughty schoolboy. He didn't even look at Harriet as he was pushed out of the restaurant.

Harriet could feel thirty pairs of eyes on her. She literally wanted to cry with embarrassment. Out of nowhere, a waiter glided up with a large glass of white wine.

‘On the house, madam,' he said sympathetically.

Saffron was working late again. Partly because she had loads to do, but mostly because she couldn't bear to go back to Tara's cramped little flat, with its damp washing hanging everywhere and dirty dishes in the sink. No wonder the place was such a mess: Tara and Tim spent most of their time in the bedroom. Saffron had even found an old used condom under one of the sofa cushions last night. She had probably been sleeping on it for weeks. The thought made her feel quite sick.

Britain was in the grip of a cold, dark winter. The black night loomed in through the office window, making the strip lighting inside even harsher. Saffron's skin felt dry and dull from the air conditioning. For a moment, she longed to be in Churchminster, with its fresh air and wide-open country spaces. But she could never go back there. It was another thing that woman had ruined.

Saffron gave herself a mental shake. She wasn't going to let herself think about that. Tim and Tara were out tonight; at least she'd have the place to herself. They'd been really good about it, but she knew she'd outstayed her welcome. A wave of depression washed over Saffron. She couldn't stay on friends' floors for the rest of her life.
On this salary
, she reflected glumly,
I can't even afford a shoebox in Surbiton
.

The building was deserted as she made her way out. A security guard was at the desk fast asleep, his mouth wide open. So much for Valour's stringent security measures. Saffron stepped on to the street, meeting an icy blast of wind. God, this country was miserable! Maybe she should emigrate . . . she had loads of mates in Australia. Thinking wistfully of barbecues and volleyball games on Bondi Beach, Saffron pulled her coat around her and set off.

A few minutes later she turned off the main street to take the familiar short cut to the tube. It was such a foul evening there weren't many people about, but she could hear footsteps behind her.
You have my sympathies,
Saffron thought.
What are we doing out on a night like this?

The blow to her face took her completely by surprise. Her knees buckling from shock more than anything, Saffron fell back on the pavement. Her attacker leant down and tried to grab her handbag. He was wearing a dark hat pulled down low over his face.

‘Get off me!' she shouted hysterically. As the man lunged again, Saffron brought her fist up and, as hard as she could, punched him in the groin.

It worked. The man let out a shriek of pain. ‘Bitch!' His hands clasped over his nether regions, he staggered off into the darkness.

Too shocked to move, Saffron lay still on the ground. She was soaking wet and probably filthy, but at least she still had her bag. ‘Calm down,' she gasped to herself, ‘you're fine.'

But then the shadow leant over her again.

‘Police! Help! Fire!' she screamed.

‘Saffron, it's me!'

It was a familiar voice, but she couldn't place it. As she stared, Tom Fellows's features came into focus.

‘Are you all right?' he asked concernedly. It had started to rain, and drips were running down his glasses.

Saffron rubbed her cheek where she'd been hit, and winced. ‘I'll live.'

Tom awkwardly pulled her up by her arm, and she brushed herself down with shaking hands. She was still breathing heavily. ‘What are you
doing
here?'

‘I left something at the office.' As if it was the most natural thing in the world Tom gently lifted her chin with his giant hand and peered at her cheek. ‘You shouldn't be out by yourself.' Saffron just stared at him, taken aback by the gesture. Blushing, Tom dropped his hand, pushing the bottle-tops back up his nose.

Saffron was starting to feel a bit silly. She'd probably been screaming like a complete freak, but it was just her luck that she had been rescued by Tom, and not some really fit stranger. ‘I'm a big girl, don't worry about me,' she declared. ‘See ya.' Picking up her bag she sauntered off, leaving Tom standing there uselessly.

Once round the corner, however, Saffron's chutzpah dissolved as her legs went completely. Leaning against the wall, she fumbled around in her bag for her phone. Her hands were shaking so much, it took several attempts to dial the number.

‘Aunt Velda?' she sobbed. ‘Can you come and get me? Someone's just tried to mug me.'

An hour later, Velda's old Beetle pulled up at the entrance to Montague Mews. The boot was full of Saffron's things, hastily retrieved from Tara and Tim's. As Saffron got out of the car outside No. 3, she had never felt so glad to be home.

Velda put the key in the door. ‘I was just making a stew when you called, would you like some?'

Saffron stepped in behind her, savouring the rich spicy smell filling the house. ‘Yes, please.'

She put her suitcase down, and for a moment they just stood inside the front door, not sure what to say.

‘Saffron, I—' started Velda.

Saffron caught her aunt's hand and squeezed it. ‘Don't. It's me who should be apologizing. I know you only had my best interests at heart.'

‘Your mother is dreadfully upset—'

Saffron interrupted again. ‘Can we please just forget about it all? I want to go back to how things were, just you and me.'

Velda seemed to want to say something, but stopped. She put her arms round her niece and hugged her. ‘Just you and me. Now go and get those wet clothes off, and I'll get dinner ready.'

As Saffron lugged her bag upstairs, she felt her spirits lift for the first time in weeks. She was home again. Everything was back to normal.

At least, for now.

ASH HAD BEEN
living at the Maltings for almost a month, ensconced in the little granny annexe that had been converted at one end of the stable block. It was warm and generously furnished, but Ash couldn't get used to all the different noises outside every night. He had grown up to the backdrop of ambulance and police sirens, loud music and people who didn't care about keeping their voices down. Here, there was a whole new cacophony of noise: birds hooting, the wind howling through the eaves, the insistent ‘caw caw' of the peacocks. Ash thought the countryside was meant to be quiet! He'd nearly had a heart attack the first night. There had been a fearful screaming right outside his window. When he'd eventually plucked up the courage to peek outside, he'd been confronted with the grisly sight of a huge barn owl dismembering a mouse.

Angie invited him to the ‘big house' for dinner every night, but Ash preferred to heat something up in the microwave at his lodgings. It wasn't that he didn't like the Fox-Titts, they'd been nothing but hospitable (aside from not being able to understand what he was saying, sometimes), but Ash had been out of a family environment for so long, he'd forgotten how to act in one. It made him uncomfortable, to say the least. At least they had Sky, and he had his iPod.

The place he had really taken to was Angie's shop. From the moment he had walked into the crowded, low-beamed building and smelt the history in the air, Ash had felt like he had found his own personal heaven. It triggered so many happy memories and thoughts, and whatever job Angie gave him – whether it was cleaning and waxing bits of furniture, or listing new items – Ash threw himself into it. Angie, who had been rather worried about her withdrawn protégé until then, was encouraged by his progress.

That morning Ash was in the shop alone for the first time. Angie was out at a house clearance, seeing if there was anything worth picking up. Although he didn't show it, Ash was really flattered Angie had thought him good enough to look after things. Though he was a bit worried about having to serve a customer. What if someone asked him a question and he couldn't answer it? Angie had said to call her mobile if he had any problems, but it still made him feel anxious.

Mercifully the first hour or so he was undisturbed, and Ash had busied himself with polishing an old mahogany chest Angie had recently brought in.
It really was beautiful
, he thought, as his hands ran over it, savouring every detail, wondering how many owners it had passed through.

Suddenly the doorbell jangled. Ash's heart jumped. He stood up to find a tall, grey-haired woman with a rather severe facial expression. Ash gulped.

‘You must be Ashley,' said the woman. She sounded really posh, like the Queen. Ash felt tongue-tied. Unperturbed, the woman stuck out a hand encased in a leather glove. ‘I'm Clementine Standington-Fulthrope. I live at Fairoaks. I expect Angie has told you about me.'

Ash had no idea what she was going on about. ‘Hi,' he muttered, turning puce under her steely gaze.

‘I must admit, I thought I would have seen you about the village by now, but you've obviously been keeping yourself busy.'

Ash shifted on to one leg. ‘Yeah.'

‘I see.' Clementine wasn't quite sure what to make of this pale, spotty youth with a gold stud in one ear. ‘Well, do tell Angie I dropped in. Goodbye, Ashley.'

Ash nearly gave a bow, but stopped just in time. ‘Bye, Mrs Stanley – er.'

‘Standington-Fulthrope,' said Clementine, and swept out of the shop.

Despite the hopeful start, an uneasy gloom had settled over the
Soirée
office. Catherine seemed permanently to have a face of thunder, and most of the staff were keeping out of her way. They had received a terse email from her, saying the January issue hadn't performed as well as expected, and that she needed even more effort from them from now on.

‘As if we aren't working hard enough,' grumbled Saffron to Harriet one evening. It was half past five and Catherine had already left the office. Her overworked staff were making the most of it, and packing up for the day.

Harriet sighed. ‘I know, that email didn't sound too good, did it?'

Saffron looked round the office; there wasn't a happy face in sight. ‘I'm sick of all this doom and gloom!' she declared. She raised her voice. ‘Does anyone fancy a drink?'

Sure enough, quite a large group of them descended on the Snooty Fox, a nice little pub down the road. Saffron secured a large table at the back and Alexander slapped his company credit card on the bar to buy a couple of bottles of the house champagne.

‘I'll put it through on expenses,' he said conspiratorially.

‘Where's Catherine?' someone asked.

‘She left early to go down to the
Soirée
Sponsors office,' said Harriet. ‘I'm not sure what's going on, but she had a face like a wet weekend in Wales. I hope there's not a problem.'

‘Oh, great,' said someone else. ‘That's all we need, she's stressed enough as it is.'

‘I don't know why she bothers with that stupid scheme anyway, they're a bunch of wasters,' announced Annabel. Despite declaring she had a very exclusive party to go to, she had followed them down the pub for ‘one quick drink'.

Saffron looked at her in distaste. ‘Shut up, Annabel.'

Annabel bristled. ‘How dare you! I could have you disciplined for that.'

‘More champagne, anyone?' asked Harriet hastily, as Saffron looked like she was about to wrap Annabel's Alice band around her throat.