Someone Like You (24 page)

‘We will,’ said Pam, a self-satisfied woman who was oblivious to all subtle and not-so-subtle innuendo.

‘Nice place,’ Stuart said, throwing himself on to the couch and testing how springy it was. ‘Got yourself a man yet?’

Hannah remembered why she and Stuart had fought like cat and dog as children. Although they looked alike he was tall with dark hair and eyes the same colour as his sister - they were utterly unalike on the inside. Stuart was lazy, careless and, as he proudly put it, ‘spoke his mind’. In Hannah’s book, that meant he was blunt verging on rude.

They brought out the worst in each other. She thought he was one of life’s takers, while Stuart clearly thought his sister was an uptight cow. When she’d been working for the Triumph Hotel, Stuart had thought nothing of asking for comped rooms for all his pals on wild stag nights, yet if she asked him to have a look at her car - as he was a mechanic - he’d procrastinate until she got angry and paid someone else to do it.

‘Yes, I do have a man, Stuart,’ she snapped. ‘He’s an actor, but he’s away,’ she lied. ‘There are sheets in the spare room, towels in the hotpress and I’m going to bed.

Good night.’

‘Don’t you want tea?’ asked Pam, appearing at the door of the kitchen with a pot of tea and a big packet of biscuits on a tray.

‘No.’

At least they went off early the next morning, after a lot of arguing in the bathroom about who’d steamed up the mirror, and Pam complaining that Stuart never said she looked nice in anything.

Hannah, awake but remaining in bed in case she had to get involved, could hear everything through the thin walls of the flat.

‘I got this hat specially for the wedding,’ Pam roared at Stuart. ‘The least you could do is say that it’s nice.’

‘It’s not!’ yelled Stuart. ‘You can’t wear a red hat with red hair. You look stupid.’

When they’d banged the door loudly on the way out, Hannah finally relaxed. She got up, made herself a cup of coffee and planned her day. Grocery shopping, the gym and a trip to the cinema with Leonie and the twins tonight.

It was only then she remembered that she had forgotten to give Stuart and Pam a key to the flat. Tough bananas, she thought grimly. She’d be out until at least eleven and if they wanted to get in before that, they could go hang.

Serve them right for being too mean to pay for a hotel bedroom.

She got home at half eleven, tired but relaxed. Mel and Abby had been so funny that she hadn’t been able to be miserable. Watching them checking out good-looking blokes in the cinema had been much more fun than watching the movie. When she got to the top of the stairs in the house, Pam and Stuart were sitting outside her flat door looking furious.

‘How did you get in?’ asked Hannah, not pleased that any of the other tenants had let them in.

‘Never mind that,’ snarled Stuart, who was obviously plastered. ‘Why the hell didn’t you give us a key so we could get in? Or why couldn’t you be here to let us in?’

‘I was out with my boyfriend,’ Hannah said sweetly, ‘and I didn’t think you’d be home so early. The free bar ended, did it?’

She let them in and Stuart immediately threw himself on to the couch, shoes and all, and went to sleep. His drunken snores reverberated about the flat and Hannah looked at him with disgust.

‘I don’t know why you stay with him,’ she said to Pam, staring at her brother’s prone figure. ‘He’s a drunk, like his father.’

‘He’s not, he’s nothing like your father,’ Pam protested.

‘Isn’t he?’ said Hannah bitterly. ‘He’s just the same, if you ask me: useless and bone idle. I’m amazed he’s still going to work. I thought he’d have you earning it all by now, with him only venturing out to the bookies.’

‘Stuart doesn’t gamble any more and he isn’t a big drinker,’ Pam protested. ‘We were at a wedding, after all.

I can’t remember the last time he got drunk. Just because you’ve got a hang-up about your father, don’t tar Stuart with the same brush.’

‘I don’t,’ snapped Hannah. ‘I merely see Stuart heading the same way. Like father like son.’

‘What about like mother like daughter?’ said Pam pointedly.

Hannah whirled round. ‘I am not like my mother. I refuse to be tied to some useless lump of a man who’s good for nothing.’

‘What was Harry?’ asked Pam nastily.

Hannah’s lip wobbled. That was below the belt.

‘You’re the one who keeps going for useless lumps of men,’ her sister-in-law continued mercilessly. ‘At least Stuart married me,’ she sniffed. She pulled a protesting Stuart from the couch and dragged him into the spare bedroom, leaving Hannah furious and upset behind her.

She didn’t fall for useless men, she didn’t. She’d been unlucky. That was all. Pam didn’t know what she was talking about. If Hannah had been married to someone as unmotivated as Stuart, she wouldn’t have boasted about it. Honestly, some women thought that wedding rings were the be all and end all of life. How stupid could you get?

Tired from two nights tossing and turning, thinking about what Pam had said, Hannah overslept on Monday and woke up to hear the news at eight.

‘Shit, shit, shit,’ she groaned, dragging herself out of bed, knowing she wouldn’t have time to wash her hair.

She showered quickly, threw on the first thing she came to in her wardrobe - a plain brown dress that really only looked good with washed, fluffy hair and plenty of make-up - and was out the door in fifteen minutes. She brushed on some eyeshadow and lipstick at traffic lights and cursed for not having time to do her hair. She hated greasy roots.

‘Had a nice weekend, Hannah?’ asked Gillian loudly, looking at her watch pointedly as Hannah burst through the office door at ten past nine.

Hannah sniffed in reply. She refused to get riled by Gillian.

She grabbed a cup of coffee and sat at her desk, trying to sort her brain out. She’d been so distracted on Thursday and Friday thinking about Felix that she really was behind with work. By half ten, she’d only managed to drink half of her coffee. Ravenous after having no breakfast, she rushed over to the percolator hoping to get a fresh cup and maybe a biscuit. The percolator was empty and so was the biscuit tin. Weary, hungry and miserable, Hannah felt like crying. The whole world was against her.

Her phone rang and she marched back to her desk to pick it up.

‘What are you doing tonight, Ms Campbell?’ purred Felix.

Hannah nearly dropped the phone with shock.

‘Er … nothing,’ she said, too astonished to revert to her make-him-suffer plan.

‘Good. Would you like to go to the theatre with me?

We could have a little supper afterwards.’

‘I’d love to,’ Hannah said, weak with a combination of longing and sheer delight that he’d phoned. ‘What time?’

‘I’ll meet you in the pub across the road from the Gate at seven. Can’t wait.’ And he was gone.

Her stomach was a mass of butterflies as she thought about Felix actually phoning her. Then the butterflies turned to knots as she realized she had greasy hair, was wearing completely the wrong outfit and wouldn’t have time to go home and change before the theatre.

And she hadn’t even asked what play they were going to see. Talk about the strong feminist type who thought marriage was for wimps. ‘I’ll make him suffer? Yeah, right.

She was like an affectionate cat - rolling over so that someone, anyone could rub her tummy. Still, the faintest glimmer of a smile lit up her face. If it was Felix rubbing her tummy, she wouldn’t mind.

Determined that thinking about him wouldn’t put the kibosh on yet another working day, Hannah did her best to work steadily. She decided to tell David she had to leave early: that way, she could race home, do her hair and find something drop-dead gorgeous to wear.

But Cupid was having none of it. When five o’clock came, David called the senior staff into his office for a meeting. While he discussed sales targets, his master plan, and talked about how well everyone had been doing, Hannah wriggled in her seat. She wasn’t listening to a word he was saying. She was mentally running through the contents of her wardrobe, trying to remember if she’d ironed her new silky red shirt from Principles, the one with the tie-waist. And what about underwear … ? If the beige lace bra was in the laundry basket, she’d shoot herself. It was the sexiest bra imaginable and looked wonderful with the rich red shirt with a couple of buttons left open so her cleavage could peek out. Hannah didn’t usually leave any buttons open, but she’d practised at home in front of the mirror and that particular look was very sexy. She’d even left her glasses off and was wearing contacts for a change.

‘I know we’re running a bit late,’ David said, with a glance towards a fidgety Hannah, ‘but an old colleague from the States is here and she’s kindly agreed to give us a talk about the real estate business in the USA and what’s going on there. Her advice could be useful because of all the clients we’re getting from the States who are relocating here. Can I introduce you to Martha Parker …’

Normally, Hannah would have been fascinated by the elegant and beautifully groomed Ms Parker, with her bobbed, frosted hair, exquisite fitted cream suit and a shimmering air of self-confidence. Tonight, she wanted Martha to get off the stage so she could race home and primp.

Alas, Ms Parker had a lot to say and it took her half an hour to say it. As the staff filed out of David’s office, it was five past six. There was no way Hannah had time to go home now. She’d have to do wonderful things with make-up and deodorant, and pray the lights were dim in the theatre. What was that thing she’d read about in women’s magazines about talcum powder hiding greasy hair? You shook a bit on your parting, let it get rid of the shine and then brushed it out. Couldn’t be easier. She’d buy some en route.

What with asphyxiating herself with deodorant in the ladies’ loo and having to spend five minutes shaking talcum powder off her dress when she applied it too liberally, Hannah ended up ten minutes late. She was sure she was sweating as she reached the bar, despite all the deodorant and a generous spray of Donna’s Opium.

Even in the pre-theatre crowd that thronged the small bar, Felix stood out. His blond, noble head was visible from the door and Hannah could see he was talking to someone. In profile, he was even better looking: the straight nose could have been lifted from a medieval portrait of some arrogant young king, and the strong jaw jutted out in a gloriously masculine way. He threw back his leonine head and laughed. She felt herself smiling in sympathy as she crossed the room. Then he turned and saw her and the velvety mahogany eyes creased up in an appreciative smile.

Hannah felt her insides melt. She reached the group.

Instead of taking her hand or kissing her on the cheek, Felix pulled her to him with strong, lean arms. When she was standing in the circle of his embrace, he lowered his golden head to hers and kissed her full on the lips. Utterly unexpected, it was utterly incredible. Forgotten bits of her body moulded against his in excitement. His lips were hard “against her full mouth and their tongues entwined in passion.

‘Why don’t you see if they rent rooms by the hour?’

enquired a dry voice.

They broke apart, Hannah red-faced and Felix laughing.

‘She’s beautiful, can you blame me?’ he demanded of the group, keeping one arm round Hannah.

‘How are you, my love?’ he asked her in a low voice.

‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.’

Some demon in Hannah’s head made her say: ‘Really?

You took long enough phoning me-, then.’

‘Ouch,’ he grinned, pinching her waist with one hand.

‘She bites. I deserved that, I guess.’

Hannah cringed at what she’d said. Talk about clingy and insecure. Why hadn’t she just told him she’d spent two days moping by the phone while she was at it.

‘I had a couple of hectic days filming,’ Felix was explaining.

‘That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it. Now, what do you want to drink?’

She was already high and didn’t need alcohol, so she asked for mineral water.

‘Have a real drink,’ said Felix. ‘I’d have thought you were the type of tough girl who’d kick-start her vibrator, roll her own tampons and drink straight Scotch.’

The crowd guffawed again.

‘I’m only tough with men,’ Hannah retorted sweetly, thinking that two could play that game. ‘The rest of the time, I’m all woman.’

‘Oh, baybee,’ growled Felix. ‘You’re my kind of girl, all right. Mineral water it is.’

He didn’t introduce her to the group, which was just as well, Hannah felt, as he seemed different with an audience than he had alone in the office. She preferred having him to herself.

At half seven, they made their way to the theatre. It was the first night of a new production of Lady Windermere’s’

Fan, Hannah realized as she saw the posters. She wasn’t much of a theatregoer and felt nervous in case she let this fact slip out. As an actor, Felix obviously went to the theatre all the time. She hated the thought of her lack of culture being made public. Hannah’s efforts at improving herself hadn’t stretched to the theatre yet. In the Campbell house when she’d been growing up culture was something found in yoghurt. Well, it was with Stuart and her father, anyway, who both felt that reading anything more taking than the racing results was a waste of time.

Almost as soon as they’d made it inside, Felix said he had to disappear for a moment. ‘I see someone I must say hello to. I won’t be long,’ he said, leaving her in the throng of the foyer.

Feeling a little lost, Hannah looked around her, hoping she could adopt the air of one who fitted in perfectly but was gazing about her with interest instead of nerves. Two women beside her were talking volubly about the arts, braceleted arms jangling as they knocked back white wine.

‘… I hear the Lubarte Players are thinking of putting on a performance of Vera,’ one said.

‘Really, how terrible,’ the other replied. ‘What a dreadful play. You’d hardly believe it was Wilde, I always say.’

They laughed.

When Felix returned, they made their way to their seats.

‘I love Wilde,’ Hannah sighed. ‘I’m sure I remember hearing somewhere that some theatre group are trying to put on Vera,’ she added. ‘I’ve never liked that play; always felt it wasn’t really classic Wilde.’