Perfect Strangers (7 page)

‘Bloody hell, if you’re right that’s a fantastic story,’ he said. ‘Not just for the
Tribune
, but for the Germans, for us, for anyone. I can’t believe he doesn’t want to follow it up.’

Ruth stabbed at the lemon in her drink with a swizzle stick.

‘We’re both on trial for the bureau chief job, remember? And I have more to prove because he’s already in the job. He’s not going to want me to get the glory, is he?’

‘So don’t tell him,’ said David. ‘Write it under the radar. Smile sweetly, do the Angela Ahrendts profile and whatever else Jim throws at you. In the meantime, you find your scoop, then file it directly to Isaac.’

Ruth shook her head. She had already thought of that approach and dismissed it.

‘I don’t know. Isaac is going to see right through that. And Jim will go ballistic. In fact he’ll probably have me fired.’

David gave a low, slow laugh. ‘It’s every man for himself now, sweetheart. And as for Isaac, if he’s got a shit-hot story on his hands, he won’t give two hoots who you shafted to ring it in.’

Ruth smiled. She knew they were talking about dirty office politics but David made it sound acceptable.

‘You’re a ruthless sonofabitch, you know that?’

‘I’ll accept that as a compliment,’ he grinned.

Ruth finished her vodka. She was already feeling better, that stupid little PR girl a distant memory. She looked over towards the restaurant hopefully.

‘Aren’t you hungry?’ she said.

David slid his hand up her thigh.

‘Yes I am,’ he whispered. ‘Why don’t we go back to mine and get a takeaway?’

‘Let’s go,’ she said, reaching out and taking his hand.

David lived in one of the anonymous modern apartment blocks a short distance away from the restaurant. Ruth had enjoyed the walk along the river, her arm looped through his, not talking, just relishing the intimate air of expectation. They rode up in the lift, then David stopped to push the key in the lock, fumbling and cursing as he failed to get it in. Smiling, Ruth came up behind him and brushed her lips across his neck. He smelt good – a familiar tang of soap and expensive cologne.

‘Can I help?’ she murmured. After feeling frustrated at work, paranoid about the girl at the bar, suddenly Ruth felt sexy, in control. David turned and she kissed him, slowly at first, teasing him, barely touching his lips, until the kiss grew deeper, more fervent. Groaning, David twisted the key and they stumbled through the door into the darkness of the small foyer, kissing, laughing, needing to touch, taste the other. Her hands held his face and he moved his mouth to suck the tips of her fingers, sending urgent shots of lust round her body.

‘Get this dress off me,’ she purred, feeling the heat between her thighs.

‘You need to get pissed off about work more often,’ smiled David as he unzipped it, slipping the fabric from her shoulders, stroking her bare skin with his palms.

Unhooking her bra, she crawled on to the bed, feeling his hands behind her, peeling down her panties and slipping them off over her long, slim legs. She lay back, watching him undress, and stretched her arms above her head, closing her eyes in lazy, lustful anticipation of what was to come.

Kneeling on the mattress, he parted her thighs, then dipped like a cat to take a long, slow lick between her thin strips of pubic hair. She gasped as his tongue entered her and seared across her swollen nub.

He worked his way up her torso, slowly sucking and kissing each nipple in turn, then eased himself on top of her, his scrub of chest hair brushing against her breasts, as his hard cock pushed into her wetness.

‘Yes,’ she gasped, arching her back as his lips brushed her neck. She circled her hips, her hands pressing against his back, feeling his skin bead with sweat under her palms. They moved in perfect motion until slowly, teasingly, he pulled out of her, stroking her clitoris with the tip of his cock as he moved position. He gave a deep, animal thrust back into her and she moaned in desire. She felt so exquisitely full of him, a hot, rippling arrow of lust ripped through her core. And when she came, the orgasm shook her like she had touched a live cable.

Finally David cried out and collapsed on top of her, his muscles shaking. For a moment they lay there in silence, then they both smiled, slowing their breathing.

‘You’re a wildcat sometimes, Boden, you know that?’

‘I try,’ she smiled.

She felt her breath regulate, feeling much more calm, the stresses of the day all but gone. David rolled over to face her, propping his head up with the pillow, and looked at her earnestly.

‘Why don’t you move in here?’ he said, his voice unusually hesitant.

She was determined to remain cool, despite the surprise of his offer.

‘Because you’ve never asked,’ she replied calmly.

His lips curled into a half-smile.

‘I’m asking now. It makes sense.’

She laughed. ‘You mean sex and home-cooked dinners all on tap within a one-mile radius of work. You’re such a caveman.’

He laughed.

‘You’d never make a home-cooked meal.’

‘You’re right there.’

There was a long pause.

‘So what’s your answer?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said finally.

He looked hurt.

‘You don’t . . . know?’ he asked.

Ruth pulled a face. Wasn’t this exactly what she’d wanted from him earlier in the evening?

‘I can’t give you an answer because I don’t know what’s happening in my life right now,’ she said. ‘If I lose my job, there’s a good chance I’ll be leaving London.’

‘That might not be such a bad thing.’

It was her turn to look wounded, but he put out a hand to stroke her cheek.

‘I’ve always wanted a spell working Stateside,’ he said. ‘New York, Washington. It could be good for us both.’

‘It might not be that simple,’ said Ruth. ‘If they close down the London office, the only job I know of is in Shanghai, not Washington.’

He frowned.

‘I don’t want to go to Shanghai,’ he said, smoothing her hair back. ‘And I don’t want you to go to Shanghai.’

‘Neither do I.’

Her words surprised her. Five years ago, maybe even two, such an opportunity would have made the hairs on her neck stand up. But things had changed,
she
had changed. She was tired; she had no more desire to go racing off to China than she had to go to the moon. The truth was, her battle to impress Isaac wasn’t just about keeping a job – it was about keeping the job she had now. She looked into David’s handsome face. Was it time to settle down, put down some roots? And suddenly she knew: what she really wanted was to make a home, not just a base from which to work. It was as if she had floated right around the world, and like a feather falling to the ground, she had chosen to stop here. She pulled David closer, nuzzling into his chest.

‘Right now, I don’t want to be anywhere else.’

7

There was a note leaning against the marble counter-top in the kitchen. Sophie put down her suitcase and picked it up.

Make yourself at home! The fridge is stocked – help yourself to anything you can find, and if you get bored, there’s a few things on the mantelpiece you might enjoy. Have fun! Lana xxx

A slow smile spread across Sophie’s face.

‘Bloody hell,’ she whispered. ‘This really is home.’

The Filipino housekeeper cleared her throat, standing by the front door.

‘Madam, is it okay if I now leave?’ she said, picking up her canvas tote.

‘Sorry, of course it’s fine,’ said Sophie, a little too enthusiastically.

‘I be on holiday now for a few days,’ she continued in her halting English. ‘But there is food in house, okay?’

‘No worries. No worries at all.’

She waited until she heard the front door close shut before she let loose an excited scream.

‘I don’t believe it,’ she said to herself as she began to look around the house. ‘I just don’t believe it.’

Lana’s home was a palace. The drawing room was like something from a more genteel age, with hand-painted wallpaper, cream carpets, long mint-green drapes and an amazing mottled green and white marble fireplace that looked as if it had been carved from Stilton. There was a piano room, a dining room with a table that seated twenty, and a luxurious sunken living space, with sofas not much smaller than Sophie’s Battersea flat. The studio in the basement was better equipped than a hotel gym, and there was even a plunge pool down there. It wasn’t just a house that said money; it said taste or at least an expensive interior design job. Sophie couldn’t believe Lana wanted to change a thing.

She moved upstairs to explore the master bedroom with its emperor-size four-poster and views over the square. The guest rooms were equally impressive, effortlessly fitting modern furniture into the period features of the house. There was even a nursery with a fairy-tale mural along one wall and a cot in the shape of a carriage. In the final bedroom, a huge suite in the eaves with a claw-foot bath under the skylight, Sophie threw herself on the bed, laughing out loud at the crispness of the expensive linen.

She felt giddy with excitement. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t experienced luxury before, but she supposed her brief brush with relative poverty had made her appreciate the beauty of Lana’s home all the more. Pulling out her mobile phone, she scrolled to Francesca’s number, desperate to share her excitement with someone.

‘Fran, is that you? It’s Sophie.’

‘Darling, can I call you back? We’re in Browns Bride and I am about to try on the most amazing Alberta Ferretti dress.’

‘Sorry,’ said Sophie, her excitement fading a little.

‘I’m just freaking with the choice,’ said Francesca in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘The Lanvin I’ve just had on was incredible. The Valentino with the cap sleeves was adorable too and I’ve not even started with Wang or Monique Lhuillier.’

‘You carry on,’ said Sophie brightly. ‘Do you want to meet up tonight? You can tell me more, and besides, I’ve got something fabulous to show you.’

She could hear Fran’s mother in the background, ordering Francesca to get off the phone. Francesca was her only daughter and she was taking the wedding
very
seriously.

‘I don’t know, Soph,’ sighed her friend. ‘All I’ll want to do tonight is flop.’

‘Come on, Fran. You’ll like it.’

‘All right,’ she said after a long pause. ‘Where? Don’t think I’m coming all the way to Battersea, because I’m exhausted as it is without trekking south of the river.’

‘You don’t have to,’ said Sophie, trying to suppress her smile. ‘I’ve moved. To Egerton Row.’

‘
Really?
’ replied Francesca, her interest clearly lifting a notch.

Smiling, Sophie gave her friend the address and said she’d expect her later.

By the time Sophie made it back down to the kitchen, she felt quite light-headed. She crossed to the fridge, an enormous American-style brushed-steel refrigerator with two doors. One side was filled with fresh fruit and vegetables, much of it in the distinctive brown and green Whole Foods packaging; the other was given over to exotic-looking fruit juice, bottles and bottles of sparkling water and at least a dozen bottles of white wine. Sophie pulled one down and looked at the label.

Château Olivier 2005
.

‘Gosh,’ she said.

At her mother’s insistence, Sophie had taken a wine-tasting course a few years back – ‘You don’t want to look stupid at a dinner party, do you, darling?’ Julia had said – and to her surprise, she had really enjoyed it, partly because it was run by a handsome older man named Charles whose enthusiasm for grapes was infectious, and partly because Sophie discovered she had a natural flair for tasting. Encouraged by Charles, she began reading up on grape varieties and the history of vineyards. She was only a keen amateur, but she enjoyed her little hobby: the imagination she’d always wanted to channel into writing or art had found an outlet in wine appreciation. And if she remembered correctly, Château Olivier was one of the finest Sémillons in France.

She looked around the fridge for something cheaper, as she did not want to abuse Lana’s hospitality, but every bottle reeked of quality. And Lana
had
said to help herself, hadn’t she?
I’ll only have a glass, anyway
, she thought as she rummaged in the drawers looking for a corkscrew. She quickly opened the bottle and splashed the wine into a big glass. It was delicious; clean and flinty. She held on to the glass as she lugged her suitcase upstairs. Lana hadn’t specified where she should sleep, but there was something magical about having a bath under the stars, so she chose the room in the eaves.

She unpacked, hanging her few outfits in the empty wardrobe as she ran a bath, then when it was ready, climbed in, sighing with pleasure. There was only a shower at her little studio, and she could no longer afford the pharmacy of bath oils Lana had sitting next to the tub.
I feel like Julia Roberts in
Pretty Woman, she thought, sipping her wine and giggling to herself. She stayed there, topping up the water, until her fingers started to crinkle, then towelled herself dry and pulled on her best underwear. It felt appropriate to the surroundings, after all. It was just then that the doorbell began to ring downstairs. It took Sophie a moment to remember she had invited Francesca over.

Wrapping herself in a robe, she padded downstairs, opening the door to her wide-eyed friend.

‘How the bloody hell can you afford this?’ said Fran as she pushed her way inside.

Sophie laughed.

‘Don’t get too excited, I’m only house-sitting.’

Sophie filled her in on her new domestic arrangement as she took her on a guided tour of the house, loving every squeal of delight and envy that Francesca let out as she showed her the bedrooms, Lana’s huge dressing room, even the long garden at the back of the house. Finally, they sat down at the breakfast bar in the kitchen and Sophie poured her friend a glass of the Sémillon.

‘So you’re going to live this Lana woman’s life for the summer?’ said Francesca, sipping her wine. ‘Who is she?’

‘She’s Spanish. Or Majorcan, I think. Beautiful, anyway, and very stylish, very nice. Her husband has some money markets job, works in Geneva apparently.’