Teacher's Pet (2 page)

“Thanks, Mr. Richmond.  Cool,” said Harry, taking the bag and heading out to his father’s car.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Johnson.”

“McCoy,” said James, giving Paul Richmond’s proffered hand an energetic shake.  “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Richmond.
  And thanks for dropping that off.  Come on, George.”

“But dad!  I need Gilbert!” 
Gilbert was George’s teddy bear.  Even at eight, he still slept with him.  Not even the presence of his new teacher was going to stop him fetching his bedtime companion.

“OK.  I’ll wait for you in the car.  Thanks again, Mr. Richmond.  Bye Allie.”  And he leaned towards her and gave her a rare peck on the cheek. 
Another male arrives on the scene and suddenly I’m his property again
, thought Allie. 
Great.

As
James strode towards his aggressively oversized Land Rover, Allie glanced up at Paul Richmond.  He looked puzzled.  She smiled briefly and then looked back towards James’ car, which was already roaring into life.  She could feel herself getting warm.  Not too sure of what to say, she repeated what had become the mantra of the past five minutes:

“Thanks, Mr. Richmond.”

“No problem, Mrs. Johnson.”

Allie’s vague feeling of awkwardness was swept away as George thundered down the stairs and ran out of the
door towards his father’s car.  “Bye mum!  Bye Mr. Richmond!”

She watched the car speed off almost as soon as Ge
orge shut the passenger door.  “Good God,” she muttered under her breath.

There
was a chuckle from beside her.  “Fast car, that.”

She turned her head.  Paul Richmond was smiling steadily at her.

“Especially when my ex-husband is driving,” she said, angrily.

“Oh.” His smile faded.
“I’m sorry.” 

Suddenly, she fe
lt she owed him an explanation.  “No,
I’m
sorry.  Don’t worry, it was mutual.  The….” 
The what?  The betrayal?
 
Certainly not.

“Mutual.”  He nodded.  “I see.”

For a moment she thought she saw a glimmer of concern in his eyes.

“Anyway,” she rushed to put the record straight.  “We’re fine now.  James has the children most weekends.”  She glanced down.  “They like being with their dad.”

“Boys usually do.  It’s good for them.”

Paul Richmond showed no signs of wanting to leave.  Her eyes were drawn to him anew, although she tried not to stare.  He was leaning against the wall by the door, gazing at her.  She was once again aware of his impressive height and powerful build.  He was a little different to James: Greek God as opposed to Brick Shithouse.  He made the porch look tiny.  She was also conscious of just how good-looking he was.  Dark-lashed hazel eyes swept over her in a broad gaze, gentle yet intense at the same time.  She felt momentarily uneasy on her own doorstep, and decided to break the silence.

“Would you like a cup of something, Mr. Richmond?”

“That would be very nice, Mrs.
Johnson.”

“For a Canadian, you have a very English turn of phrase.”

He laughed.  It was a deep, comforting sound.  Immediately, she began to relax.  “I’ve been working on it,” he said.

As he stood back a little to let her pass, Allie felt her arm brushing his.  He made no effort to move away.  She headed straight for the kitchen and started filling up the kettle.

“Tea or coffee?”

“Coffee please.”

He sat down at the table without being asked and glanced at the papers covering it.  “I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

You have no idea
, thought Allie, opening the fridge and pulling out a packet of coffee.  “Not at all,” she said.

“You get marking too, then?  You don’t just watch people teach?”

She nodded, spooning coffee into the cafetiere as she spoke.  “If only that was all my job consisted of.”

And they began to talk easily about their common ground: teaching.  Before she knew it, Allie was sitting down, blowing on her drink, telling Paul Richmond all about her
job and asking him about his.

“I couldn’t teach kids,” she said, grinning.  “I don’t know how you do it.”

“It’s not that bad,” he replied, picking up his mug slowly. “I’m sure you’d be very good at it.”  He looked directly at her.  “Your boys seem…. How shall I put it?  Very well-behaved.  You’ve obviously done a good job there.”  He hesitated.  “You and your ex-husband, of course.”

Allie could feel her f
ace getting warm.  “I wouldn’t go as far as to say that,” she said, looking down.  “But thanks anyway.”

There was a short silence.  Allie heard him get up.

“Perhaps I should go,” he began.

“Oh, no.
”  She looked up again.  “I mean….. Stay if you like.”  He was still gazing at her.  There was fleeting recognition in his eyes. 

“But you have such a lot to do,” he said, gesturing towards the pile of marking in front of him.  As he moved his arm, she noticed the perfectly sculpted form of the muscles, the smoothness of his golden skin.  Chasing away a vision of his hands on her body, she looked quickly out towards the garden.

“That can wait until Sunday,” she said.  “I’ve got nothing planned.  You’re welcome to stay for tea, if you want to.”  She was amazed at her own boldness.  She felt as though she had known him for a long time.  When she dared glance at him again, there was a new warmth in his dark eyes.  She smiled at him.  “Only if you’re not busy,” she continued.  “And if you like pizza.”

“It’s my favourite meal,” he laughed, sitting down again.  “With red wine, of course.”

“No problem,” Allie said, getting up to turn on the oven.

Picking up his fork, Paul Richmond allowed himself another glance at Allie.  Once he was certain she wasn’t looking.  He was fascinated by the way the evening sunlight played on her thick, wavy hair, turning the blonde to spun gold.  The smooth skin of her arms positively glowed and he fought a sudden urge to reach out and touch her.  Abruptly, he focused on his half eaten pizza again. 
What was he thinking?
  He couldn’t get involved with anyone.  Not while Caroline was still a warm, vital memory.  He wasn’t ready for another woman.  Not to mention the fact that Allie was the mother of two of his pupils, it was his first week at the school, and he had only just met her.  Some things just weren’t ‘done’, as the British would say.

“Mr. Richmond?”

He looked up into Allie’s questioning, light blue gaze.  Her eyes seemed to be looking into him rather than at him.  Focusing swiftly on her mouth, he took a sip of wine before answering.  Gradually, the Spanish red began to warm his chest, giving him another sensation to concentrate on.

“I’m sorry.  I was miles away,” he said, studying the contours of her lips. 
Damn.  This old tactic wasn’t working
.  Every part of her was demanding his attention.  “Please, call me Paul.”  He put down his wine glass.  “Except when the kids are in earshot, that is,” he added, drawn to her eyes again.

“Sorry…. Paul.”  Even the way she said his name was sexy.
Something to do with the English vowel sounds, no doubt,
he told himself hastily. 
Or the wine.  Nothing more
.  He had to focus on what she was saying, rather than her voice.  Otherwise, he was doomed.

“Yes, Mrs.
Johnson,” he managed, eventually.  She smiled and shook her head slowly.  Chasing away the rather worrying idea that she might be able to read his mind, he continued.  “Sorry. 
Allie
.  I’m all ears.”

“So I see,” she laughed.  “I was just wondering whether you’d like some more salad.”

“More salad.”  Repeating the words helped him direct his thoughts.  “Yes.”  He pulled the bowl towards his plate.  “Thanks.”

As he helped himself, Allie got up to refill the water jug.  Paul found his eyes drawn to her legs: smooth, tanned and shapely under her cotton skirt.  Much more interesting to look at than salad tongs and lettuce.

Her voice cut into his musings.  “So how long are you planning on staying in England?”

He took a deep breath. 
“I’m not sure really.  I’ll see how it goes.  At least one school year.  For the kids’ sake.”

She poured him a glass of water and sat down.

“And what brought you here?  I mean, from Canada to London….. Why would anyone want to do that?”  Her eyes were twinkling now.  “It doesn’t sound logical to me.  Canada’s a beautiful country.  Or seems to be.  On the telly, I mean.  I’ve never been there.”

He felt himself smile. 
“London has its fair share of beauty.”  He grimaced inwardly. 
Where were these lines coming from?
“It’s…quaint.  Old fashioned.  Er, cute.  It has soul.”

She giggled. 
“Now you’re beginning to sound like an American tourist.”

“I sound nothing like an American.”  He raised his eyebrows in mock outrage.  “There is a world of difference between that accent and mine.  Mine, if you’ll notice, is much softer.”  His smile became broader.  “Much nicer.”

He noticed her expression darken fleetingly.

“So Melanie tells me.”  She looked away for a moment.  When she looked back, the darkness was gone.  “Billy’s mum,” she added softly.

“Yes.  I know Mel…. Mrs. Hampton.”  He checked his voice, injecting just the right amount of casualness.  Or so he hoped.  “Billy’s a great kid.  So happy.  And he’s adjusted really well to me being his new teacher.  Considering how hard it is for children like him to accept change of any kind…” 

And he steered the con
versation in a new direction, as they began to talk about children with special needs, their inclusion into mainstream schools and the differences between Canada and the UK. 
An objective debate, he
thought.
Safe subjects.  And nothing at all to do with Melanie Hampton.

“Would you like more coffee?”  Allie knew she would pay for the espresso-induced buzz at 8pm with a sudden awakening at 3am, but she no longer cared.  She was enjoying talking to Paul so much that she didn’t want him to leave.  If caffeine was what it took to keep him in her house, then so be it.

He pushed his plate away and smiled.  “Yes please.”

“Shall we sit in the garden?  It’s warm enough.”

He nodded, got up and began to rinse out the cups.

“You’re very domesticated,” she said, taking her place beside him to dry up.

“Canadian men are.  It’s how our women like us.”

How our women like us.  Our
women.  Beautiful, tall Canadian women.  Like
Melanie
, Allie mused, putting the cups onto a tray.

There was a short silence as he leaned back against the dresser to watch her make the coffee.  She no longer felt uncomfortable, just puzzled.  If he liked Melanie, then why was he staying?  And why did he keep looking at her?  She noticed he seemed momentarily lost in his own thoughts, and decided small talk was the remedy.

“Do you use these in Canada?”

“Use what?” He laughed.  “Cups?” 

“No, cafetieres.”  She liked his sense of fun.

“Sometimes,” he said, switching his gaze to the window.  “You have a beautiful garden.  Very colourful.  Are you the gardener?”

“There’s only me here,” she reminded him. 

She placed the cafetiere carefully onto the tray and walked towards the door.  As he leaned over to open it for her, she caught the smell of something earthy.  A delicious combination of his body, soap and aftershave, which excited her senses and made her want to breathe him in.  She thought she could feel his eyes on her back as they went out into the warm night air. 
But then again, maybe she was imagining it.

She was justifiably proud of her garden.  It contained pots, baskets, window boxes and all manner of containers filled with bright red geraniums, and had long borders full
of night-scented stock, forget-me-nots, roses and lobelia.  She always felt calm when she was in the garden.  Sitting on her patio with the sun on her skin was her idea of paradise.  If she ever got to Heaven (and, to be honest, there was some doubt in light of her recent thoughts about the lovely Melanie) her garden would have to go with her.

“I like this.  Now
this
is nice,” Paul said, sitting down at the wooden table and turning his gaze to the lawn.  The fading sunlight caught his face, emphasising his handsome profile.  “It reminds me of our family garden back in Canada.”  He paused, taking in the profusion of flowers around him, and the row of leafy trees that screened them from the rest of the world.  “Except it’s totally different,” he added, smiling at her suddenly.  His eyes were twinkling.

“The same, yet totally different, I see.”  She laughed.  “You’ll have to explain that one, I’m afraid.  You’ve lost me there.”

“Yeah.  When I try to wax lyrical, it soon descends into nonsense.  Sorry Allie.”  He sat back and stretched.  It was a luxurious, sexy movement.  Allie tried not to stare and turned her attention to pouring out the coffee.  He continued.  “I suppose I mean it has a good feel to it.  It’s a place you want to be.  Especially after a hard day.  Is this where you unwind?”