From Paris With Love This Christmas

JULES WAKE

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HarperCollinsPublishers

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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2015

Copyright © Jules Wake 2015

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Cover design by HarperColl‌insPublishers Ltd

Jules Wake asserts the moral right

to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is

available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

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Ebook Edition © October 2015 ISBN: 9780008164317

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Praise for Jules Wake

'A delicious Christmas delight'

Katie Fforde

‘All the best things about Christmas wrapped into one gorgeous, romantic read’

Philippa Ashley

‘A unique and vibrant read about learning to be the ‘driver’ of your own future’

Honeybear Books

‘Such a fun ride with as many twists and turns both in the story and on the road…Laughs all the way’

The Book Trail

'An excellent escapist read from start to finish'

Chicklit Chloe

'This epic road-trip is full of glamour, romance and sizzling sexual tension, but at its heart is a truly heart-warming tale of self discovery – you’ll not want to miss a moment of it'

Chick Lit Love

This book is dedicated to Nick, Ellie & Matt with all my love.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise for Jules Wake

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Acknowledgements

Coming Soon from Jules Wake

Also by Jules Wake

Jules Wake

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Far below, the bends in the river Thames were outlined by the lights of the city, shimmering and winking through the thinning clouds like elusive diamonds. Siena’s fingers clutched the armrest as the knots in her stomach tightened.

‘You OK?’ asked the older woman next to her in a soft drawl of an American accent. ‘Nervous flyer?’

Ever since they’d left Charles de Gaulle airport, Siena had been convinced her next seat neighbour was Mary Steenburgen but it wouldn’t have been cool to initiate conversation with a celebrity if you let on you knew who they were.

‘Nervous,’ Siena laughed, the pitch a little too high. She was absolutely bloody terrified, but it had nothing to do with the flight. ‘No. This is hardly a flight is it?’ She put on her best twinkly, smiley face. ‘Straight up. Straight down.’ She had enough air miles to get to the moon and back. Her third set of Louis Vuitton luggage was looking positively shabby these days.

‘Been to London before?’

That gentle voice. This woman had to be her.

‘Once or twice.’

‘Sorry you’re British. Stupid question. I can tell from your accent. You going home for Christmas?’

Stoopid, as ‘perhaps Mary’ pronounced it, wasn’t so stupid. Officially, Siena was as British as Marmite and Twinings tea which Maman insisted on having for breakfast every day, but she’d lived most of her life in France. She thought she felt French but then how would she know if what she felt was French or English? Sometimes, quite often really, she had no idea what she should feel about a lot of things.

‘No I’m going to stay with my sister. I have to be back in France for Christmas,’ she blurted out. Back at the Chateau for Harry’s sixtieth birthday party on the twenty-third. She looked at her watch and worried at her lip. They’d have missed her by now. The dinner reservation was for eight thirty. Yves, her almost fiancé, would be cross, her mother furious and Harry, her stepfather, disappointed perhaps.

‘How lovely, dear.’ Mary’s face dimpled with a gentle smile. ‘I love spending time with my sister.’

Siena flushed. Mary would think she was a terrible sister. She hadn’t seen Laurie for two years despite the open invitation. Resolutely ignoring that chain of thought, she focused on her possibly celebrity neighbour. Had she read somewhere that Mary Steenburgen had a sister? Siena did know she was married to that guy from Cheers and CSI. There’d been pictures of them out walking their dogs in Hello or Grazia.

‘She older or younger than you?’

‘Sorry? What?’

‘Your sister, older or younger?’

‘Older. Eight years older.’

‘You close?’

Siena swallowed. ‘We text. Facebook a bit.’ That sounded rubbish. With a sigh she added, ‘It’s a bit complicated. A lot complicated actually. My parents split up when we were young. I lived with my mother in France. Laurie stayed with my father in England. I only met her properly for the first time two years ago.’ So no, not close at all.

‘Oh, my!’ America’s perfect mom actress, if it was her, looked horrified. ‘That’s an unusual arrangement.’ Then with a sympathy laden smile she added, ‘How lovely that you’re going to see her. Will you be staying long?’

That was the million dollar question. Siena crossed and uncrossed her legs, staring down at her recent manicure, admiring her Santa Scarlet glossy nails. The text she’d sent Laurie asked if she could stay for the weekend. The note she’d left her mother said she’d be back in a month. Neither was quite true.

‘I don’t know yet. Until I’m ready to go home, I guess. Spur of the moment thing, you know.’

That sounded better. Spontaneous. Fun. Not a desperate and pathetic escape. Sisters hanging out. Spending quality time together. Not arriving completely out of the blue with only five hours’ notice.

‘You gotta stay for Christmas. I love London at this time of year. The stores. Hyde Park. The lights.’ Mary gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘What am I talking about? You come from Paris. Now there’s a city at Christmas.’

Siena closed her eyes at the quick punch to her heart. Galeries Lafayette’s exterior, encrusted with the brilliance of thousands of sparkling lights and of course, the tree. The fir lined Champs-Élysées lit up and glittering, refracting diamond shards of white into the night. That swoosh of skates on ice at the Eiffel Tower and the breathless bump when you hit the sides. Tartiflette, hot and warming, from the Christmas Markets at Notre-Dame and the Trocadéro.

She loved the build-up, but somehow every year when Christmas finally arrived, the sparkle had burnt itself out. The actual holiday itself never seemed that enjoyable.

So why had she stupidly promised in her note to go back in time for Christmas when she could be lonely anywhere?

In the meantime she had a few weeks’ grace to give herself time to breathe and work things out. Everything seemed to have crowded in on her recently, until she couldn’t think straight anymore. Surely her mother would understand.

With the change of air pressure in the cabin, her ears popped. The captain announced they were due to land in ten minutes and the flight was on time. She glanced back down the aisle still fearful a hand might clamp down on her shoulder and someone utter the words, ‘You need to come with me, mademoiselle.’

She looked at her watch. It might take a while to get through passport control, it always did at Heathrow but at least she didn’t have to wait for baggage. The potential disaster of only having two pairs of boots and a capsule wardrobe was more than outweighed by being able to make a speedy getaway from the airport. Once out of there she’d be home free.

With that consoling thought she gave the American, who probably wasn’t Mary at all, a smile and turned back to the copy of Hello spread out on her lap. A picture caught her eye and she couldn’t help a tut escaping.

‘Big mistake,’ she shook her head. What had the young movie star been thinking?

‘Sorry dear?’

Siena showed her neighbour the double page spread in the magazine.

‘I mean seriously, would you? Off the shoulder, one side only. Seriously passé. Although the Dolce & Gabbana shoes are nice, almost save the outfit, even if they are last season’s.’

The woman studied the picture with a thoughtful serious gaze.

‘Sometimes, dear, you don’t get any choice in the matter. There’s so much that goes on behind the scenes. Agents. Publicists. Poor girl, her life is probably not her own. Imagine dancing to someone else’s tune, all the time.’

Siena didn’t need to do any imagining.

‘Especially when you’re so young. She should be out having a good time. It gets easier when you get older and you can tell them to go hoot.’

Bonté divine, Siena hoped so.

Just as she’d finally decided to ask the woman if she was Mary, the sudden roar of the plane’s engines signalled their descent and despite her stockpile of air miles, Siena couldn’t help clutching the seat rest, again. In no time at all, the wheels touched down with a bump and a hiss. They’d arrived.

England.

Siena closed her eyes. Here she was. The captain’s voice welcomed them to London, announcing that it was eleven o’clock in the evening local time.

Eleven o’clock. Was that all? It seemed a lifetime ago since she’d tiptoed out of the Chateau like a thief in the night clutching her hastily thrown together cabin bag.

Despite the lateness of the hour, Heathrow was rammed. All around, voices jabbered in a multitude of languages.

Her phone beeped. Another text from Orange mobile welcoming her to England, the third since she’d got off the plane. Nothing from Laurie. Then again, it always took a while for your mobile to sync with a new network. Siena might not know her sister that well, but one thing she did know – Laurie was one hundred percent reliable. She’d be here.

In the last two years she’d kept in touch, like she’d promised. During two fleeting days, when they’d met as adults for the first time, Laurie had made the incredibly generous promise that there would always be a room for Siena in her house. Now, Siena was counting on it.

Flicking through the touch screen on her phone, she brought up her favourite picture. The first one Laurie had sent to her. It had been a talisman in recent weeks.

She enlarged the picture with two fingers on the touch screen, bringing the small double bed framed by a brass bedstead into focus. Its pure white duvet looked as soft as a mound of freshly fallen snow, dotted with a pastel palate of scatter cushions in lilac, pale blue and silver grey. Behind the bedhead, the wall had been papered with a pretty toile wallpaper. White painted tables flanked the bed each with a bedside light.

If this picture had been a photograph, it would have been worn thin where she’d touched it, marvelling at the thoughtfulness of the sister she barely knew. She smiled as she looked at the digital image, reducing it in size as if tucking it carefully away. Tonight she’d be sleeping in that bed. Safe. In her own room. If it hadn’t been so sad, Siena could have laughed at the fanciful direction of her thoughts. She was hardly little orphan Annie. She had her own room in several houses in France, one in Mustique and one in New York.

This one was different. Her sister hadn’t had to do that for her. Laurie owed her nothing, not really, despite what Maman always said.

‘Passport, miss,’ snapped the uniformed man in the little booth. ‘Please put your phone away.’

‘Sorry.’ She gave him a brilliant smile which surprisingly had no effect at all. Miserable little man. Still smiling, determined to win him over, she pushed her passport under the glass toward him and shoved her phone in her bag.

No point phoning Laurie now, when she’d see her in a few minutes.

With a bored glance, the terse passport officer stared at her, back at her photo and then pushed the passport through a barcode reader. He studied something on the screen for a longer moment. For a brief second, Siena’s heart beat faster. Surely nothing would have been flagged up; not this quickly?

He looked at her face, then back at the passport. When he looked at her face again, she tried to keep her face utterly impassive, just like her photo. Her heart thumped uncomfortably hard. Yves’ family had contacts throughout the French legal system. Did they extend here?

After the longest thirty seconds in history, the passport was finally pushed back under the glass. Siena almost sagged with relief as she tucked it into her bag and strode without looking back through the Nothing to Declare channel.

Done. Through this point and she was home and dry. Officially in England.

As she neared the double doors, she slowed. Would Laurie look the same? Was her hair any different? Inside her chest, Siena’s heart did a little squiggly jump and she pushed through the doors, another smile already lighting up her face as she scanned the waiting faces. A blur of faces peered back at her, eyes anxious and hopeful.

She quickly smoothed her hands down her denim-clad thighs, the palms ever so slightly damp. In her hurried departure, there’d been no time to visit the hairdressers or have a facial. Although her jeans were 7 For All Mankind and her top was Stella McCartney, it was a going shopping outfit rather than a stepping off a first class flight into the international arrival hall at Terminal 4. Thankfully she hadn’t seen anyone she knew on the flight and it didn’t look as if there were any paparazzi here.

Siena’s gaze flitted backwards and forwards with the eagerness of a spectator at the Roland-Garros tennis final. Where was Laurie? It was difficult to see everyone. There were quite a few smartly dressed men, holding up signs with names handwritten in misshapen capitals. How much nicer was it, being met by family? Someone to hug and kiss like they always did in the films. Usually when she arrived anywhere with her parents, they’d have a driver waiting.

Again she scanned the faces. Had she missed Laurie? She looked back.

Maybe her sister was late. Just parking the car. Nearly quarter to twelve. Traffic should be good now, although perhaps not. The Arc de Triomphe at this time on a Saturday night was bedlam. She checked her texts again. Had she given her the right time of the flight landing? Maybe in her rush she’d told Laurie the plane left at eleven instead of landing at eleven. Nope, there it was, the last text she’d sent earlier this afternoon.

Hey Laurie. You know you’ve been inviting me to come stay, forever, and how I was welcome any time and that you’d come pick me up? Don’t faint. I’m coming. My plane lands at 11.00pm tonight. Heathrow. Air France. Flight 1080. Can you pick me up? Can’t wait to see you and to finally get to stay in my room.

Where was Laurie?

Even if the number of people hadn’t thinned in the last half hour, she would have noticed him straight away. Anger and irritation rolled off him in waves. Like an angry Moses, his strides ate up the floor, people melting out of his path. From the inside pocket of his black leather jacket he pulled out a white piece of paper and held it up, then slumped against a pillar.

Siena almost laughed out loud. This guy needed to learn a thing or two about customer service. His eyebrows had merged into one angry slash across his forehead. With a scowl like that he’d scare his passengers back onto their plane.

His face now held a look of bored resignation, the sheet dangling from his hand as if it was too much trouble to even lift it to chest height like the other drivers did.

She checked her phone again. Still no word from Laurie. It was now ten past twelve.

Siena shifted her bag and her weight from foot to foot.

The movement caught the attention of the dark-haired guy at the barrier as he briefly turned around. How could a grown man pout like that and still look attractive? He should have looked ridiculous but that fuller lower lip was really rather cute. She sneaked another look at his face and he swung around properly to give her a baleful glare. As he did, she caught sight of the name on the sheet he held.

Ah merde!

He’d spelt her name wrongly but then most people did, so she could hardly hold that against him. Flashing her best million kilowatt smile, she took a step forward, her head inclining towards her name. He looked down at the name and then back at her, not saying a word. His face didn’t warm one iota, if anything he looked even more forbidding.

Like a Mexican standoff, both of them stood waiting for the other to break and say the first word. They stood there as the seconds ticked away, neither saying anything. Clenching her hands to her sides, the tiredness she’d been fighting won. ‘I’m Siena. Just one ‘n’.’

‘How do you know I’m not here to pick up Sienna, two ‘n’s?’ he grumbled.

Damn, that hadn’t occurred to her. She shrugged, ‘Sorry, my mistake.’

She’d only taken two strides when a hand grabbed her arm.

‘I’m guessing you are Laurie’s sister?’

‘Yes.’ Siena observed him with curious eyes. Piercing blue eyes bored into her, the wide mouth with its full lower lip had flattened into a mutinous line. Gorgeous and grumpy, without an ounce of charm.

‘I had to pick you up. Laurie isn’t around at the moment.’

‘Oh.’ Siena felt a bit put out. ‘Where is she?’

He raised an eyebrow. She hated it when people could do that. ‘Where is she? You’re asking that?’

‘It wasn’t a trick question.’

‘Seriously? You text at six in the evening. Expect her to drop everything. Pick you up and then you ask, ‘Where is she?’’

‘I don’t see what it’s got to do with you.’ Whoever this man was, he had a cheek.

He stood and considered her for a moment, she felt like a model being sized up to see if the designer’s clothes would fit.

‘No, I guess you don’t. You’re right, it has nothing to do with me.’ Despite agreeing with her, he still managed to make it sound like an insult. ‘She’s up in Yorkshire.’

‘Yorkshire!’ Siena felt a bit stupid echoing his words but she didn’t actually know what or where Yorkshire was or why it was up. That sounded decidedly odd, as if it were in space or something, which she was pretty sure she would have heard of, if any part of the world had colonised space.

‘Norah had a fall, Laurie’s been at the hospital for most of the day. She asked me to pick you up. She can’t get a great phone signal there, so couldn’t contact you to let you know she wasn’t around. I’m to take you back to the house for tonight. Laurie will speak to you in the morning.’ He bit out each sentence as if he had a mouthful of tacks he was scared of losing.

Siena vaguely remembered the mention of a Norah from some of Laurie’s recent emails.

‘I thought Norah worked for Uncle Miles. Wasn’t she the housekeeper?’ mused Siena out loud which was stupid because the driver was hardly going to know.

Could a scowl get any deeper? ‘She still is. He’s dead obviously but she’s still the housekeeper at the house.’

‘OK,’ said Siena still doing her best to keep her smile up despite his quelling expression and the confusing information.

Siena felt she’d strayed into very dangerous territory but had no idea what had tipped it over into a fully operational minefield. Any minute now, this rather scary but gorgeous man, might blow. It unnerved her. People were usually nice to her. Most people. It seemed safest to keep smiling and not irritate him further by saying anything. Although her smiles didn’t seem to be having much effect on his mood. The silence stretched out between them until eventually with an exasperated huff, he spoke.

‘Norah is eighty-six,’ he said it slowly followed by a laboured pause, ‘Laurie said she couldn’t just abandon her.’

‘Yes, of course not.’ Siena’s cheeks were starting to hurt but she persevered.

‘So she asked me to pick you up.’

‘Ok, well … Hi, I’m – you know who I am. Laurie’s sister.’

‘I know exactly who you are,’ he replied dryly.

Did he have to make it sound as if she were so unsavoury? She was house trained.

‘Is that your luggage?’ He pointed to her cabin bag and the bulging duty free bag.

She nodded. The cabin bag did look a bit sad on its own but there’d been no time to pack properly. Luckily she’d been able to stock up on all the essentials in duty free.

‘Yes, it’s not much but I need to buy my spring wardrobe soon anyway, so I figured I might as well do it while I’m here. So, yes that’s it, I’m afraid.’

He gave her a dirty look. ‘It’s not a problem, I promise you.’ Without another word he set off, deliberately walking at speed as if to keep a healthy distance between them.

‘Er, excuse me?’ she called after him. He turned. ‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ He might be a poor excuse for a driver but he should still do the basics. ‘My bags?’

Blue eyes burned bright with indignation and he shook his head, muttering under his breath. He snatched the bags up and marched off. No tip for him then. Oh hell, they used sterling in England didn’t they? There were only euros in her purse.

Following, she tried to keep up with his long-legged stride.

Maybe this had been a terrible idea. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she snatched it up. Laurie? No, Maman. Her diaphragm tensed and for a minute she couldn’t breathe. Flash. Flash. Flash. Like a lighthouse, the beam on her iPhone pulsed with urgency. She stopped and stared down, her finger hovering over the screen.

Ahead of her the man had stopped and turned.

‘Going to get that? Or just stare at it all night. Some of us have places to be in the morning.’

She sighed and caught up with him. Once they got to the car, he would be driving and she could get in the back and sleep until they got to Laurie’s house in Leighton Buzzard. She had no idea what part of London that was or how long it would take to get there but it felt easier not to ask him.

Siena skidded to a halt but didn’t dare open her mouth. He had to be kidding. What sort of Mickey Mouse outfit did this guy work for?

‘Come on,’ he growled over his shoulder as he unlocked the boot of the mud-covered Land Rover. ‘It’s already after midnight.’

‘Seriously?’ She stared at the dirty green paintwork, unconsciously echoing his earlier phrase. ‘This is your car?’

‘Seriously yes. It’s my car. But don’t worry, there is an alternative.’

‘Thank goodness for that.’ She looked around the car park and spotted a pristine black Mercedes parked two bays along. ‘Where?’

He looked down, his eyes travelling the length of her legs to the floor. She followed his gaze.

‘What?’

‘You’re looking at them.’

She flushed. Tossing her head she crossed to the door of the car, with as much froideur as she could manage, opened it and hauled herself in. It was a long way up. Half way, she realised her mistake.

He stood by the door grinning holding a set of keys. ‘Missing something.’

She slid back out, refusing to look at him, keeping her face totally impassive and walked around the back of the car to the passenger seat. So, she was used to left hand drive cars, he didn’t need to be mean about it.

This horrible thing looked Spartan and uncomfortable. Unlikely she’d be taking a nap. Even climbing up was ungainly and her tight jeans protested, cutting sharply into her thighs. Immediately her feet were buried ankle deep in white paper bags, Coke cans and disposable coffee cups.

A pervading scent of manure and sweaty socks filled the vehicle. You couldn’t call it a car; it wasn’t civilised enough.

Years of being instilled with impeccable manners didn’t prevent her involuntary shudder. His eyes sharpened for a moment and she thought she’d offended him again. Although he seemed pretty easily offended.

‘Sorry about the mess. I wasn’t expecting passengers today.’

‘Were you ever?’ The words slipped out before she could stop them.

His head shot round and his dark eyes flashed with the closest thing to approval she’d yet seen. He gave her a rueful smile. ‘You got me there. No, this is my work horse.’ He patted the dashboard affectionately as he glanced down at her feet which she’d used to push the mass of litter to one side. There was a rustle as a couple of Coke cans tumbled together.

‘Ugh,’ she clutched her knees in her hand lifting her feet above the mess, ‘you haven’t got rats in here have you?’

A mischievous glint danced in his eyes and his face lit up with a sudden cheerful smile. ‘It’s a distinct possibility.’ And with that he started the engine, which coughed into life with a noisy, diesel fuelled rumble.

Siena sneaked a surreptitious look at his profile as he concentrated on manoeuvring the beast out of the car park. Now they were in the car his temper seemed to have abated. He seemed a tiny bit more human and, she had to admit, very good-looking in an unpolished way. Not that he was her kind of man. Too scruffy and masculine. Butch. Far too butch. Dark stubble shaded his chin and cheeks, emphasising the strong lines of his face and heavy jawline. Put him in a decent suit and he’d brush up nicely, although his arms and legs seemed rather muscular. Powerful. She tucked her hands under her legs and shrank into her seat.

Yves had a completely different build; slim and slender and of course, much older.

She checked out his clothes. Double denim. A fashion fiasco. She suspected he wouldn’t care if she pointed out that some people believed it was an unpardonable offence to wear jeans and a denim jacket unless you were a member of Status Quo.

Clean hair; nice and silky even though it might as well have been cut by a near-sighted trainee with a pair of blunt hedge clippers. Breathing in, she took in his scent, slightly earthy but not unclean. Siena could bet he didn’t do aftershave.

‘There isn’t an exam you know.’

Siena started and blushed. What was wrong with her? This man had caught her sniffing him, or as good as. Her face burned. At home she would have apologised profusely. It was rude to stare and plainly even ruder to overtly smell people but for some reason, maybe being away from home gave her tongue licence to say what she really thought for a change, she said, ‘Just checking out my surroundings and getting my orientation.’

‘I’m Jason. I’m twenty-nine. That do you?’

‘And are you always this fache?’ she shrugged as she grasped for the proper word. (Cross, that was it.) And then very nearly spoilt things by gasping at her own boldness. She never said things like that to people and she’d certainly learned not to with Yves. That sort of thing did make him cross.

‘No, only when I’ve been up since half past five this morning and I have to be up again in five hours.’ He slipped a silver foil packet out of his pocket, easing out a tablet with one hand and popping it into his mouth.

‘I guess you’re a bit tired then.’ No wonder he was knocking back the energy tablets or whatever they were.

He shot her an incredulous look. ‘No shit Sherlock.’

Siena snapped her mouth shut. She’d been about to add, that she was grateful for him coming out. These people worked incredibly hard. Was it any wonder he was cranky with those hours? Although it was probably a hazard of the job, early morning airport runs were probably the most lucrative. She wrinkled her nose.

‘You know,’ she smiled to show she was being helpful rather than rude, ‘you might get more customers if you cleaned up in here. Maybe got a better car.’

‘I can’t see how.’

‘You mean your customers don’t mind?’

‘None of them have complained so far.’

Siena pulled a face to herself in the dark. Maybe British people were less fussy about their taxis.

With an ungainly swerve, the car rocked at speed around a bend taking the slip road. Alain, the family chauffeur, would have been appalled.

Weren’t they now going in the opposite direction to the signposts for London? Her stomach followed suit and nausea churned in the pit of her stomach.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, rather proud that her voice sounded normal. She should have asked this Jason man for some kind of identification. Thierry Deneuve’s seventeen-year-old daughter had been kidnapped in Italy last June. Everyone knew he’d paid a hefty ransom demand to get her back, even though the police warned them not to.

‘Home?’

‘What, your home?’ Siena sat up straighter, clutching her bag closer to her chest and eyed the passing lights outside. They were going by pretty quickly now. She probably looked ridiculous but if she had to make a run for it, she had everything she needed in there.

Jason turned his head and gave her a funny look. ‘Strictly speaking, I guess it’s Laurie’s house.’

‘I might have just stepped off the plane but I can read.’

‘Good for you.’

Did he think she was stupid? ‘So why are we headed in the opposite direction?’

Occasionally taxi drivers in Paris took her on a circular route if they heard her speaking English, making the assumption she was a tourist.

‘We’re not.’

‘So why did it say London that way?’ She pointed back up the motorway.

‘Because. It. Is.’

‘So why are we going this way towards Slew?’ She pointed to the overhead blue sign, which had handily appeared at exactly that moment. He didn’t need to know she didn’t have a clue where Slough was.

Jason snorted and said in a strangled voice, ‘Where?’

‘Slew,’ she said her eyes narrowing. Wait ‘til she spoke to Laurie; she’d tell her to not to use this cab company again.

Despite his bone-deep tiredness, Jason shook with laughter.

‘Oops.’ He wrenched the wheel and they veered off the M4 onto the slip road towards the signs for M25 Gatwick and M25 Watford.

‘Nearly missed it,’ he said still chuckling to himself. How in hell’s name was this spoilt brat related in any way to Laurie? It wasn’t possible.

‘So,’ he snorted again, ‘where,’ another snigger, ‘where do you th-think Laurie lives? Not Slew obviously.’ He wheezed and started slapping the steering wheel trying to regain some equilibrium.

‘Leighton Buzzard.’ Siena folded her arms across her chest and stuck her chin in the air.

‘Good,’ he wheezed again, ‘because that’s where we’re headed. And it’s pronounced Slough as in bough.’

‘I think it’s very rude to laugh. How was I supposed to know that? If you were in France, I wouldn’t laugh at your pronunciation.’

He gave her a dry look. ‘But I’m not French. So why would you? You’re English.’

With a pout she folded her arms.

He gave her a closer look. She looked damn good, if you liked that sort of thing. A babe but too high maintenance. Skyscraper, Fifth Avenue, Mayfair type maintenance. He knew the type. Knew them well. Trust fund babies who expected the world to drop everything at their bidding. Incapable of doing anything for themselves. Been there, done that and he wasn’t going to be anyone’s gravy train again. Stacey, his ex, had boarded that ride and then left him the minute he chose a new route.

And yet, despite all his best intentions, here he was again, knight to the rescue. At six o’clock this morning he’d been in Glasgow. If anyone else had asked him to race to Heathrow he’d have told them where to stick it but he owed Laurie. She let him rent her house at a ridiculously low rate and as she was shacked up with one of his best mates, she couldn’t be all bad. Cam had very high standards when it came to women.

‘So you thought you’d pop over to see your sister,’ he asked, still cross on Laurie’s behalf.

‘Yes. Fancied spending some time together.’ The cheery, shallow smile made him grit his teeth. He wasn’t about to enlighten her. Laurie had been quite specific in her instructions. If anyone from her family enquired, he wasn’t to mention she’d gone to live in the house she’d inherited from her Uncle Miles. Apparently her mother was very unhappy about the terms of the will. And Jason would not betray Laurie’s confidence … especially for his spoiled, snobby – and rather hot – passenger.

Chapter 2

When the noisy Land Rover finally drew to a stop, they could have been anywhere. It was pitch black and Siena only had Jason’s word for it that they had arrived at the correct destination.

Jason opened the door, and waited for her, his breath rising into the icy air in a plume of steam. She followed quickly. This was the house she’d grown up in. She lived here until she was six. They’d been a proper family here. A mum, a dad and two sisters. Nails digging in her palms she looked around. A narrow hallway opened up in front of them, with a beautiful wooden staircase leading upstairs.

Siena blinked as he flicked on lights and smiled at the sight of the natural oak spindles on the staircase, which had a striped runner lining the centre of each step with brass stair rods. A large mirror, framed in rustic oak, reflected the antique brass light in the centre of the ceiling. This was lovely and not at all how she’d pictured the house from her mother’s dismissive comments. She waited for a moment. Not a shred of recognition. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

‘Lounge. Kitchen.’ Jason nodded to closed doors on the right.

‘Your room is upstairs at the back. Bathroom in the middle.’

Siena blinked and picked up her bag, back ramrod straight as she held back the sudden inexplicable tears. They had no business here. She needed sleep. That was all. Today had been lots of things, none of which she wanted to tax her brain with at the moment. All she knew was that her eyelids felt heavy, her head felt heavy and her stupid heart heavier still. What had she been expecting? A sense of homecoming? If she didn’t get to bed now, she’d never make it up the stairs and she had to see her bedroom.

Rummaging through her bag she pulled out her purse. Euros would have to do.

‘Thanks,’ she said thrusting a ten euro note into Jason’s hand. Without looking back she clattered up the stairs. She heard the front door slam with some force but she was too intent on her room to look back. She took the last four two at a time.

Perhaps it would feel different up here. In her room. The room her older sister had decorated for her. The room she’d slept in every night until she was six and ten-twelfths, before her mother took her to France, leaving Laurie and the father she didn’t remember behind.

Stopping at the closed door, she took a deep breath, grasped the handle and stepped into the warm glow cast by one of the bedside lights. Someone had left it on for her. The soft light made her feel welcome, as if she were expected, as did the bed, piled high with cushions with shadowed furrows in the deep feather duvet. It made her want to dive right in. The room looked perfect. She touched the little white painted chest at the foot of the bed as she took in every bit of the English cottage-styled loveliness, from the shiny spars of the brass bed, to the delicate lacy curtains at the window, through to the sanded floorboards and the pretty rug under her feet. The room looked exactly as it had in the photograph. But that was her only sense of recognition.

Panic clutched at her chest.

Once she’d seen a rescue team on the mountainside digging desperately for survivors. She felt like one of them, frantically shovelling through her memories, desperate to find one that confirmed she’d once played with toys, got dressed and slept in this room. But there was nothing. Bleakness settled on her. Had this been a stupid mistake?

She took a deep breath and pushed her shoulders back. Crazy thinking. So she didn’t remember the house. It didn’t matter. Tomorrow, Laurie would be here and they’d be sisters together. They could have a proper sister sleepover with wine, chocolate, a chick flick like in real chick flicks and she could forget about Maman. And Yves. And engagements. And weddings. And letting the family down. And everything. She closed her eyes. Maman was bound to have found the note by now.

But she was an adult. She didn’t have to ask permission to go away. She’d told Maman she’d be back for Christmas. For Harry’s party.

With reluctance she pulled out her phone and looked at the series of missed calls. Ignoring the anxiety spiralling through her chest, she switched it off and buried it deep in her handbag.

The double bed looked so plump and inviting. As she turned back the covers, the feather duvet rustled and shifted with a siren call promising comfort.

Stripping off her clothes and scattering them on the floor, she pushed the pile of cushions aside and slipped between the sheets, immediately sinking into the mattress. Did it feel like coming home? She lay cocooned in the crisp white cotton and listened. Outside, a few cars rumbled past. They sounded very close and so loud. So different from the Chateau.

As her head sank into the pillow and she drifted in that half-awake, half-asleep dream world, she thought she heard footsteps on the stairs but it was too much effort to open her eyes again. Laurie was home. She fought sleep for a minute but it overcame her. They could have breakfast together.

Chapter 3

The bathroom, with its Victorian styled sink and bath, had a damp used-not-so-long-ago taint to it but there was no sign of Laurie.

Siena’s eager tour of the downstairs of the house had taken precisely eight minutes. She almost checked the walls to make sure she hadn’t missed a secret passageway or a door leading to another wing. Nope. The hallway of the Chateau had more furniture than this whole house.

Where was Laurie though? Siena figured she must have gone out to get some groceries as the fridge was almost bare apart from something called shepherd’s pie, although it didn’t look like any pie she’d ever come across, and a tiny bit of milk in the oddest glass bottle she’d ever seen.

Conscious of the dryness of her mouth, she squeezed past the pine table big enough to seat four, stopping to take a closer look at the cheerful place mats covered in jaunty chickens in reds, yellows and oranges before switching on the enamel red kettle. The cosy country kitchen made you want to stay awhile, sit at the table and chat. It was easy to picture evenings in here, sitting in the spindle-backed chairs, sipping wine at the table with her sister. She sighed. She couldn’t wait to see Laurie. They were going to have so much fun and hopefully she wouldn’t mind her staying a bit longer.

Reaching above into the distressed cream-painted wooden cupboard, she found an assortment of china mugs, each patterned with different flowers. Making herself a cup of tea, she leant against the counter and studied the eclectic collection of china egg cups and pottery jugs which lined the shelves of the wooden dresser on the other side of the room.

Taking her tea, and crossing the terracotta tiled floor which felt cold under her feet, she went through to the tiny, tiny lounge. The whole room was smaller than her dressing room in the Paris apartment but despite that, the cottage style sofa with its floral print purple wisteria trailing across the plump feather-cushioned sofa strewn with perfectly co-ordinated fat cushions in muted colours, was charming. The room even had a proper open cast-iron fireplace with a surround of flower painted ceramic tiles and a clutch of brass fire-tools in a stand beside it. Twists of newspaper piled with coal sat in the grate waiting to be lit. Feeling a little bit like Goldilocks but sure that Laurie wouldn’t mind, she picked up the box of matches from the crowded wooden mantle. There were several framed pictures including one of Laurie and her boyfriend Cam laughing their heads off at something out of the shot and a faded black and white photo of an older man. Siena studied it for a moment and put it back hurriedly.

The flames had caught. Nice going on the fire making front. With a happy sigh, she snuggled down and picked up her magazine, one of a collection she’d bought at Charles de Gaulle. It was hardly a taxing prospect, whiling away the time waiting for Laurie by flicking through the pages of party themed sequinned dresses, shimmering eye shadows and gorgeous clutch bags and listening to the snap and crackle of the fire. She turned another page. So, she’d miss Claude’s Christmas soirée at the Musée d’Orsay. Possibly the best event in Paris and the only thing she’d miss. With a moue of acceptance she shrugged. No matter. She’d have fun with Laurie.

And as if she conjured her up, her mobile phone vibrated into life.

‘Hi Sien … son texted me … picked you up OK.’ Laurie’s Dalek voice snapped in and out of range.

‘I can hardly hear you.’ Siena winced at the plaintive whine in her voice. It sounded so pathetic and needy, not the image she wanted to portray. ‘Are you still in Yorkshire?’

‘Yes. Sorry. Really bad line. At …pital. How’s the room? Do you … Can’t leave N … hospital at least … Don’t worry Jason will—’ The signal died leaving a long buzzing tone.

Her heart bumped a little uncomfortably and she worried at her lip. So who had used the bathroom this morning? And when was she going to get the chance to explain properly to Laurie how long she planned to stay? Laurie probably assumed Siena finally had a free weekend and had taken up the invitation originally extended over two years ago.

She winced. That sounded crap. It was crap. One hundred and four weekends that she’d failed to come and see her sister; she should have managed at least one. She glanced back at her phone, now registering all the missed calls and voicemails. She could go through and delete them but keeping them was like keeping a wasp in a jar. Safely contained and fine as long as it stayed in there.

Nestled in her hand the phone felt like a time bomb ticking.

‘Time to finish up, Ben.’

As if someone had pulled the plug on the power, Ben dropped the hose he was using to wash down the concrete floor and pulled off his beanie hat, stuffing it into his pocket. The hose flailed wildly for a second, hitting Jason’s trousers before Ben managed to get to the tap to switch it off. Jason stared down at the dark wet patch running from crotch to knee. Yup, looked exactly like he’d wet himself. He shook his head and rolled his eyes behind Ben’s back. No point bawling the boy out. He only had himself to blame. By now he should know full well that Ben took everything quite literally.

Jason sighed out loud. The plus point meant you could be incredibly direct, the downside was that you had to be extremely careful what you said.

‘If you wash out the pipes on the bottling line, then you can finish.’ He took a quick look around the small barn area, feeling that familiar sense of pride. The gleaming fermentation tanks, the bottling line and the stores of grain lined up in the old stable area. The high roof of the barn made it a cold, but light and airy environment to work in, one that he had never failed to want to arrive at every morning.

‘Good work today. Now that lot’s bottled, we can start again next week.’

They’d worked like stink today, so hard neither of them had felt the cold of the barn, until he’d got soaked. Now the cold stung and the chill seeped below his layers. They could wrap up for the day. Today’s backbreaking pace had paid off. Back on schedule, all ready to start brewing tomorrow. Ben had managed to fix the miller, so that they could grind down the malt barley and get it together with the water into the mash tun. Brewing was a magical process. It never ceased to amaze him that you could get so many infinite flavours from the simple combination of water and grain

He rolled his stiff neck. A satisfying day, which would be all the better for a long hot shower, an instant meal and bed. All he had to do was finish up in the office, nip over the courtyard to see Will, enjoy a quick post work pint and head home. It was handy having his business partner running the pub next door and of course owning a convenient barn that was perfect for a micro-brewery.

‘Jason, what you having? Busman’s holiday?’ Will slid off the bar stool, lifted the wooden flap and went round to the other side of the bar. Ben was already ensconced comfortably at the bar, halfway down a pint.

‘Corona, please.’

‘Seriously …’ Will rolled his eyes at Ben. ‘Young Ben here is loyal to the cause. Drinking a pint of Chiltern Glory. It’s your money. If you buy a pint of your own, it’s win win.’

Ben raised his glass. ‘Tastes good, boss.’

Jason laughed. ‘Go on then.’ He had just wanted to neck something cold. ‘I’ll have a half.’

‘Ironed out all the problems?’ Will was the perfect business partner, silent when he needed to be and hugely supportive and enthusiastic at all other times. They’d known each other since university when they’d played rugby together but they had more in common than their shared passion for beer. Both of them had lost their fathers in recent years which had strengthened their bond of friendship, although unlike his, Will’s relationship with his father had always been strained, which Will put down to the fact that he suspected they weren’t actually related by blood at all.

‘Yup. One of the tanks sprang a leak but Ben sorted it out.’

‘Pretty handy at welding, aren’t you Ben? You coming tonight?’

‘Yeah.’ His brown eyes lit up with enthusiasm. ‘You get posh totty in wine bars don’t you. They go in for all that malarkey, don’t they?’

Will nodded, veiled amusement in his eyes, like an elder statesmen with a young buck.

Jason rocked his head back. ‘Oh shit, I’d forgotten about that. I’m knackered. I had to go on bloody rescue mission last night for Laurie.’

‘I thought she had a boyfriend for that sort of stuff. Cam’s a lazy bastard’

They both laughed. Cam had been at university with them too and neither of them could quite get over the fact that he’d found his soul mate and settled down.

‘Laurie’s sister decided to pop over for the weekend from Paris. Like you do. No warning or anything. So I had to rush to the frigging airport to collect the spoilt brat.’

‘So where is she now?’

‘I bloody hope on a flight back to where she came from.’

‘That’s alright then. So what time will I see you?’

Jason rubbed the back of his neck. ‘When I get there.’

‘Might be a new customer for the brewery. And I want to check out the competition,’ Will grinned, ‘and Ben wants to check out the hot chicks.’

Leaning back against the front door, Jason kicked off his wet boots on the large square doormat he’d purposely bought to protect Laurie’s carpet and began to peel off his clothes, dropping them onto the floor. He dried out a bit in the pub but invariably he came home dirty and wet, an inescapable aspect of the job. It had become a habit to strip off his outer clothes at the door, less distance to carry them to the washing machine later.

He padded quickly up the stairs, already anticipating the first jet of hot water pouring over his aching shoulders. No doubt about it, showers had to the best invention of the modern world. Along with ice-cold beer drunk straight from the bottle. He’d missed a trick, he should have snagged a bottle before he’d come up.

Thoughts of condensation, dripping bottles and the shock of the cold on his throat were abruptly terminated by an outraged shriek as he took his third step into the room.

Bloody hell fire. Lying completely naked – why wouldn’t she be in a bath – was a vision of rosy tipped nipples, magnolia skin, long legs and a narrow strip of strawberry blonde that declared the owner was a natural blonde. He swallowed hard, unable to take his gaze from her pert high breasts, which she was doing her best to cover by crossing her arms.

‘Get out, get out!’ She flapped her hands at him.

‘Shit, what are you doing in here?’

‘Taking a bath, you espèce d’imbécile? What are you doing?’

Jason tried to avert his gaze to focus on her face. Even at the height of her embarrassment, the flush that outlined her high cheekbones was dainty pink.

‘I was hoping to take a shower.’

‘Turn around. Stop looking.’

He bit his lip and turned around. ‘I was trying.’ Not as hard as he was trying not to snigger now.

‘Try harder,’ she snapped.

He heard a slosh of water and the slide of skin on plastic and a thud as she manoeuvred out of the bath.

When he turned round, she had a towel firmly wrapped around her, toga style.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘What do you mean what am I doing here? What are you still doing here? As Laurie’s not here I thought you’d be on the next plane back.’

There was a silence and all he could see was the crown of her head. It gave him a momentary feeling of victory. Then she tipped her head up, her chin thrust upwards.

‘I thought I’d stay until she comes back.’

She was in for a very long wait then. He sucked in his cheeks trying to bite back a smirk. ‘When did you last speak to her?’

‘This afternoon.’

Jason almost laughed out loud as he caught the reflection in the mirror of her quickly crossing her fingers and slipping them behind her back. With her head tilted slightly to one side, her eyes watching him warily, she reminded him of a defiant teenager, except that there was nothing teenage about her body; she was all woman.

‘Funny that she didn’t mention she’d moved to Yorkshire permanently.’ There didn’t seem much point trying to hide it any more. Siena would realise soon enough that her sister now lived in the house in Yorkshire.

Her eyes clouded and he could see her weighing up what to say next. He wanted to laugh, but something in her face made him aware for the first time of a slight hint of vulnerability. Not as self-possessed as he’d assumed. It made him pause.

‘It was a really bad line,’ she tossed her chin in the air, ‘but it doesn’t answer my question. What are you doing here? You said she’d moved to Yorkshire. So, what? You thought you’d move in?’

She folded her arms, giving him a hard stare before realising it’s pretty difficult to hang on to a towel and fold your arms. The towel slipped, revealing one very erect and perky nipple. Desire shot to his groin. He narrowed his eyes and glared at her, trying to quash the unruly thought that he wanted to reach forwards and touch her naked breast. What the—? Where the hell had that come from? He was in danger of embarrassing himself in his boxers.

Flushed from her bath, her chest rising and falling with fast breaths of indignation, her pink, pink mouth pursed in imperious indignation, she looked very cute. The kind of cute he’d long since given up on. The kind of cute that needed a lot of looking after which, as he’d so disastrously proved, he was not capable of.

‘If you leave now, I won’t report you to the police. I took your registration number down last night, you know.’ The way she lifted her chin, trying to hold his gaze, told him she had a nice line in bravado but was making every word up.

‘The police will find you. I texted my mother. Go now and I won’t tell your company.’

Jason frowned as she carried on talking complete gibberish, taking perverse pleasure in her rising determination to appear in control, which he knew wasn’t very nice of him but he didn’t want to be nice to this girl. He wanted her out of his house.

Two spots of colour burned fiercely on her cheeks, giving her away.

‘Won’t tell them what exactly?’ He leaned his hip against the sink and folded his arms.

What was she on about? He was the company, Will was a silent partner, so there was him, and Ben, but most of the time Ben was away with the fairies. She obviously meant some other company, although he wasn’t sure where that came in.

‘That you’re,’ he could see her struggling to find the word, ‘squatting.’

‘Squatting?’ He spat the word out. No one accused him of not paying his way, especially not these days when money was tight. How many times had he tried to pay Laurie more in rent than the ridiculously low amount she charged? Every time she insisted he was doing her a favour keeping an eye on the house.

‘Yes.’ She shrugged her wide but fine boned shoulders. ‘I bet you used the same key as last night when you let me in.’

‘And how did I get that key?’

Her mouth shut with a tight snap. The silence yawned between them and he left it hanging there, stringing out her uncertainty.

Her mouth firmed in a mutinous line and her eyes narrowed.

His mouth quirked as he imagined the Sergio Leone music from A Fistful of Dollars and a standoff between two cowboys.

She tossed her head. ‘I don’t know but I’d like you to leave.’

‘For the record, sweet cheeks, I live here. And newsflash, I’m having a shower right now.’ He turned his back on her, switched the shower on and pulled his boxers down.

With a startled gasp, she fled from the bathroom and he heard her bedroom door slam.

Jason stomped down the stairs ready to strangle someone. Preferably Siena with one ‘n’. No judge in the land would see him go down. The spoilt brat had used every last drop of hot water. He felt chilled to the bone and three seconds of lukewarm water had almost finished him off. She was still hiding in her room and just as bloody well. Hopefully she was packing her bags, although she could organise a taxi herself to the airport this time.

He stormed over to the fridge about to yank open the door, when he did a double take. Surely not. A plastic container sat on the side by the microwave, ringed with what looked suspiciously like the remnants of a shepherd’s pie. His stomach rolled, the familiar twinge of acid burning. Bugger, he needed a proper meal. Slowly he opened the fridge door. ‘I don’t bloody believe it,’ he yelled and slammed the door shut. Trust fund Barbie had helped herself to his dinner and to add insult to injury had left the plate, cutlery and packaging on the worktop.

Scrap all previous thoughts, he’d happily drive her to the airport, with her fancy pants designer wheelie bag and stuff her and it on the first plane back to Paris. What time was she leaving?

Was it really only this time yesterday, he’d got Laurie’s panicked call? How could he refuse to dash up to Heathrow to pick up her sister, who’d apparently decided upon an impromptu visit? Personally he thought an impromptu visit was bullshit for self-centred and thoughtless visit but hey, what did he know. Laurie sounded thrilled about it, if a little sad that she couldn’t get away. Of course she couldn’t get away, not with a houseful of builders ripping the place apart, Cam away and now poor Norah rushed into hospital. He’d only met the rather elderly Norah and her husband Eric once but if she’d been hospitalised it had to be serious as she was one tough old bird.

He opened the fridge again and grabbed a beer and stared desolately at the empty shelves. After a knackering day working, he did not want to go to the supermarket but it was preferable to another ulcer. With reluctance he put the beer back. Best not down that on his tender empty stomach and then drive. He needed his driving licence. Grabbing his jacket, he tucked his wallet into his pocket and walked into the hall, as Siena came down the stairs.

‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you.’

‘What?’

‘You ate my dinner.’

‘How was I supposed to know it was yours? I thought it had been left by the housekeeper for me.’

He raised one eyebrow in silent sarcasm.

‘Look, there was no one here. I didn’t know you lived here, did I? I thought you were a taxi driver and you didn’t say anything about it last night.’

OK, he now felt slightly bad because he hadn’t done much to disabuse her of that thought.

‘That’s because I thought you would have gone by the time I got back tonight.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘I can see.’ This was becoming slightly farcical and mad as he was about having a cold shower and no supper, his childishness was starting to prick his conscience. This was Laurie’s sister and he owed Laurie big time. She’d helped him out when he was starting up the business. He softened his voice and asked more gently, ‘So what time are you leaving? Do you need me to help organise a taxi to get you to the airport?’

‘That’s OK. I don’t need a taxi.’

‘Right,’ he smiled. ‘Train? You haven’t got a lot of luggage so crossing London shouldn’t be too bad. I can give you a lift to the station in the morning if you like.’ He shrugged into his jacket.

In a gesture that was fast becoming familiar, she lifted her chin. Warrior Princess Barbie. ‘I’m staying for a while.’

His head shot up. That was not part of the plan. He liked living alone. Not being responsible for anyone but himself. It had taken a long time to get here, confident that his mother and sisters were financially secure. As for his ex-girlfriend Stacey, the guilt about her still burned a hole in his stomach.

‘A while? I don’t think so.’

A mutinous line flattened out her mouth. ‘It’s not your house.’

‘But you can’t stay here.’

Up went the chin again. ‘Laurie said I could.’

Jason almost growled. ‘When did she say that?’ It was news to him.

‘It doesn’t matter when she said it, I have a room here.’

‘Yes … but—’

‘I’ll stay out of your way.’

Yeah, right.

‘So how long’s a while? Long weekend?’

She shrugged and he caught her swallow. Not as sure of herself as he’d first thought. ‘What about work?’ Wouldn’t it be nice to just take off for a few days? ‘Won’t they be expecting you?’

She shook her head, amusement lighting up her face. ‘I don’t work.’

‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ he muttered. In spite of himself he had to ask. ‘So what do you do all day if you don’t work?’

She drew herself taller. ‘I do loads of stuff. Go to fashion shows. Meet my friends. Go out to the theatre, exhibitions, shopping. We go to parties. Ski. I’m really busy. All the time.’

‘Nice life if you can get it,’ he observed dryly. ‘Not so much of that going on in Leighton Buzzard, I’m afraid.’ Which guaranteed she’d be bored and on a plane home within the next twenty-four hours.

She gave him a dazzling beam which almost knocked him for six. Christ, she might be bloody annoying but she was one hell of a babe.

‘Thanks Jason. You won’t know I’m here. I promise.’

He had a feeling, he might.

Taking her to the supermarket had seemed a brilliant idea. Ensure she bought her own meal for the night and stop her nicking his. What he hadn’t counted on was how long it took her.

As he stacked a six-pack of Becks in his basket, he looked around. Where had she got to? He was about done. Siena obviously went in for more complicated stuff. He’d left her for dust on the first aisle when she started feeling up peppers. Seriously? He wasn’t a complete philistine, he got the concept of five a day but did you need to check them out so carefully? This was supposed to be a smash and grab raid. Pizza. Beer. Pizza. More beer and a couple of ready-made shepherd’s pies and spag bols. And a shaving gel and deodorant periodically.

Turning back and re-tracing his route, he spotted her at the far end of the aisle in front of the refrigerated cheese cabinet. Her sodding basket empty. She stood there, looking too cute for her own good, attracting some excited second glances from two young guys who had suddenly developed a strong interest in the yoghurt section next to her.

Completely oblivious, Siena picked up different cheeses and read the labels, her head tilted to one side like an enquiring sparrow.

For crying out loud, why hadn’t it occurred to him? She probably couldn’t cook. Wouldn’t have a clue. This had been a complete waste of time. He strode down glaring at the two guys who suddenly decided that maybe yoghurt wasn’t their thing after all.

‘What are you doing?’ He shook his head. ‘Come here,’ he grabbed her elbow and firmly escorted her round the corner into the ready meals section. ‘Do you like pasta?’

‘Wow.’ She turned to him, her eyes wide. She looked like fricking Alice in Wonderland. ‘Look at all this.’ Shaking him off, she wandered along the aisle inspecting the packaging. ‘Four cheese sauce? Cannelloni? Barbecue pork noodles? Beef rib in ale?’ She turned to him, eyes alight with enthusiasm. ‘They’ve got everything. It’s amazing. I didn’t know you could buy it all ready-made like this.’

Jason bit back a retort. Probably never been in a supermarket before in her life.

‘Yeah, who knew?’

‘Gosh, I’ve never seen this before.’ She reached out her hand and picked up a plastic container of bolognese sauce.

He realised that her wonder had turned to amusement. ‘Doesn’t anyone in England know how to cook?’ She raised one eyebrow with a demure smile.

Typical Frog. Always thought they owned cooking. Hadn’t she heard of Jamie Oliver or Gordon Ramsay?

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought her saw her mouth twitch. Was she having a laugh? She certainly looked amused but he wasn’t, far from it.

‘Plenty of people cook, but they might not have time, when they’re working.’ He said it with the emphasis on working. ‘Princess, I am starving. You ate my tea, remember? I want to go home and eat. Right now, I don’t care whether you live on bread and cheese or rice pudding but pick something to eat. I’m leaving.’

OK, so now he was being a complete bastard, but he was bloody starving and absolutely knackered having had less than five hours sleep in the last twenty-four. He was running on empty, and still had this bloody wine bar opening thing to go to, while madam looked as cool as a cucumber and was quite probably laughing at him. It pushed too many buttons. ‘I suggest you get your sweet little arse into gear and get a move on, otherwise I’ll leave you here.’

With a cheeky smile, she looked over her shoulder down at her backside. ‘Do you think so? Thanks.’

He gritted his teeth. Giving into the overwhelming sense of sheer exasperation he made a deep guttural noise in his throat at her and stomped off, the basket swinging painfully into his shins.

‘I growled at her. Physically growled.’ He rested his forehead on the edge of the kitchen table. What the hell had got into him? He prided himself on a bit of sophistication, even if he was now, to all intents and purposes, a manual labourer.

‘And then I felt guilty. So when she asked what I was doing this evening …’

Ben sniggered, snorting out some of the lager he’d swigged from the bottle. ‘Seriously. You growled. At a chick?’

They were sitting in the kitchen waiting for Siena to come down. He knew as soon as he’d uttered the words, ‘You’re welcome to come too,’ which he hadn’t meant at all, that he’d strayed into foolish, downright stupid territory. That’s what lack of sleep and lack of food did to your brain. And now they were still waiting for her to emerge from her room. Yup he really, really regretted opening his mouth.

‘Chick? Her? She’s Barbie to the power of ten. Seriously. It’s like she’s been beamed down from planet airhead.’

‘So how long’s she staying with you?’

‘She’s not staying with me. She came to see her sister. She’s leaving tomorrow. It won’t take long for her to realise Leighton Buzzard can’t match the entertainment of Paris.’

Tonight’s wine bar opening was possibly the most exciting thing that had happened this year. He realised he was pulling faces.

‘Really got under your skin, this one,’ observed Ben.

‘No. She’s just very …’ Jason motioned wringing her neck with his fingers, ‘irritating.’

‘Like that Shakespeare bloke said, you complain too much.’

Jason cocked a very surprised eyebrow. Ben was a great lad and his talents in fixing mechanical faults on the bottling line and washing out pipes couldn’t be faulted but it took all of his literacy skills to manage to read The Sun as far as page three. Quoting the bard seemed rather out of character.

‘The original quote was protest—’

‘Perzactly. You’re protesting, so it means you fancy her really.’

‘How do you figure that?’

‘Mate, you haven’t stopped talking about her since I got here. You don’t even talk about Claire this much and you’re shagging her.’

Jason wasn’t about to correct Ben’s blithe assumptions. He knew he was sleepwalking into a relationship and he ought to nip things in the bud but at least Claire was relatively low maintenance and had her own place. Unfortunately, she seemed very good at engineering things so that from the outside it appeared as if there was more going on than there was. So far it was OK but at some point he was going to have make it clear he wasn’t interested in a long-term relationship.

He wanted a nice easy life. Work, come home, eat, go to the pub. Watch a bit of football at the weekend. And that was the way it was going to stay. He was not going to worry about anyone else’s problems. Siena was Laurie’s problem. Not his. His phone buzzed. A text from Claire. Where are you? We’re here.

Ben’s phone buzzed almost a second later.

‘Mate, she’d better get a move on. There’s free food there. I don’t want to miss out.’

‘I thought you’d eaten. Scrub that.’ Stupid observation. Ben could eat his body weight in carbs and still go back for seconds. Lean and muscled, which came in handy, he used up a lot of energy, with his regular rugby training and playing for the local team every weekend.

‘At la—’ the words died in his throat and he heard Ben mutter, ‘Holy fuck.’

Siena appeared in the doorway, rippling blonde hair, ten foot long sooty lashes, skin tight jeans which accentuated every inch of her legs that seemed to go on forever and a top that, while it wasn’t particularly low cut, certainly made sure you couldn’t miss how perfect her boobs were. Which he knew were perfect because he’d seen them for real, not so very long ago. For a minute he thought he’d swallowed his tongue. Jeez she packed a powerful punch, as did the perfume that filled the air around her. His groin threatened to give him away.

On high, high heels, which added a sashay to her walk, she came into the kitchen, a wide smile showing off perfect, Daz-white teeth that any American cheerleader would be proud to own.

Ben had clearly died and gone to heaven and he hadn’t even seen her naked. There was absolutely nothing subtle about the unabashed admiration shining in his eyes.

‘Siena, this is Ben. He’s an idiot. He works with me.’ Jason gave him a sharp jab in the ribs.

Ignoring him completely, she stepped forward and with what he felt was unconscious charm, politely held out a petite hand, tipped in some dark purpley colour.

‘Hi Ben.’ She smiled up at him and he smiled goofily back.

‘Hi Siena.’ His meaty fingers dwarfed her hand as he shook enthusiastically for at least ten seconds too long. ‘Nice to meet you.’

‘And you. What do you with Jason? He hasn’t told me much.’

She shot him an amused look. In the face of her flawless manners, he felt like some uncouth lout.

‘We make beer.’ Ben seemed totally hypnotised like some dopey cartoon character. Man, it was pitiful.

‘Brew beer,’ snapped Jason and then regretted it. Ben might not be the sharpest tool in the box but he was a damn good worker, kind-hearted and mostly harmless. Certainly not someone you’d want getting caught up with the likes of Siena. ‘Right. Shall we go?’

They trooped out of the kitchen, Siena in the lead.

‘Put your tongue away.’ Jason muttered into Ben’s ear. The stupid boy turned around and grinned. Jason shook his head. Oh God, she would chew him up and spit him out as a slight aperitif. Ben was a good-looking lad, and as a local rugby hero had plenty of fans of his own, but he was not rich enough for Siena’s blood. Any man she went out with would have to have a billionaire bank balance; Ben definitely didn’t fall into that category. Neither did Jason, thankfully. But he didn’t want her deciding to amuse herself with someone during her brief stay.

Siena would rather have died than admit to anyone how long it had taken her to step out of the bedroom and go downstairs. When she’d heard the two deep voices downstairs, her nerve had almost failed her. She found Jason’s grumpy disapproval disconcerting. It seemed as if everything she did annoyed him and she had no idea why.

At home she knew everyone, knew what to expect. For the first time in her life she felt horribly out of depth. What if Jason’s friends didn’t like her either? What if they were all like him? She’d only said yes to his invitation to the wine bar because she’d been a bit bored today. At home, she could always go down to the kitchens and chat to Agnes or the other members of staff.

Now as they walked into the wine bar, she could let some of the tension go. What a relief that Ben had been so sweet. At least she could talk to him all night, and this bar was lovely. You could almost imagine you were in London or Paris. She didn’t like to admit it but what she’d seen of the town so far hadn’t lived up to what she’d imagined. Luckily this place was more what she was used to. The décor reminded her of a place in Monaco, although without the presence of Johnny Depp or Cameron Diaz.

‘Jay, over here.’

A tall blond guy with a scrubby ponytail hailed them from the bar and Jason led the way over to a fabulous Perspex bar which sparkled with embedded crystals. Fascinated, Siena reached out to touch it, probably Swarovski.

‘Isn’t it gorge?’ The petite girl who had bounded over to give Ben a big hug and greet Jason with a brief kiss on the cheek, all the while managing to studiously ignore the blond man, grinned at Siena.

‘It’s amazing,’ agreed Siena.

‘The whole place is amazing. Not very Leighton at all. I love it.’

‘Pretentious if you ask me,’ said the blond guy, narrowing his eyes as he looked at the other girl.

No tension there then, thought Siena watching the body language between the two of them.

Around her the group exchanged hellos, hugs and kisses until Ben came to her rescue.

‘Guys, this is Siena.’ Ben put his arm round her and pushed her forward into the group moving away from the bar as he made the announcement. Siena almost giggled, he made it sound as if he’d made some huge discovery. Then as all eyes turned his way, he flushed pink and rattled off a series of names with the speed of a machine gun. ‘Lisa. Claire. Will. Katie. Tom.’

‘Ben!’ admonished the friendly girl. ‘Hi Siena. I’m Lisa. This is Claire.’ She pointed to a girl in black jeans with a blonde bob, ‘Katie.’ Siena quickly registered blue jeans, pink silky shirt. ‘Tom.’ He winked. Clearly Katie’s boyfriend from the way his hand casually rested on her hip.

Lisa’s mouth tightened fractionally. ‘And that’s Will.’ She inclined her head towards the blond guy who had turned to talk to the barman

‘Nice to meet you.’ As she said the words, Siena realised that in Lisa’s case she actually meant them. The bubbly woman, with her sparkling eyes and wide mouth seemed to want to put Siena at her ease without asking or wanting to know anything more.

‘Wow,’ Lisa’s eyes widened as she looked downwards. ‘OMG. If I knew you better I’d be down on my knees kissing those babies. Your boots are awesome. Where did you get them? Oh God, I bet they were really expensive, weren’t they?’

‘Not really. A couple of hundred euros.’ Siena shrugged and smiled. She couldn’t actually remember. At home no one ever asked that sort of question. For a second she had that stepping out on ice feeling, wondering whether it would hold up or if cracks would radiate out from where she stood.

‘Of course, darling. So you bought two pairs,’ drawled Claire.

Siena felt herself blush. She had actually. She particularly liked this pair of Gianvito Rossi two-tone fringed ankle boots, so had bought them in the other colour.

Lisa frowned at Claire. ‘They’re absolutely lush.’

‘Thank you.’ Siena smiled back. Compliments she could handle.

‘Where did you get them, then if you paid euros? Not that I could afford them. They’re so nice.’ Lisa stretched out her hand as if she wanted to touch them.

‘Paris.’ And even saying that had her praying the ice would hold up.

‘Paris.’ Claire rolled her eyes. ‘Gosh, how the other half live. Pop over to buy shoes, do you?’

‘I’d love to go to Paris,’ said Katie hurriedly and then looked at Tom. ‘Not hinting. Definitely not hinting. No need to worry that I’m expecting you to whisk me off for a romantic weekend.’

‘We can go to Paris,’ said Tom with a cheeky grin. ‘Two months’ time when England plays France in the Six Nations.’

‘Ha, ha.’ Katie smiled and Tom pulled her towards him and kissed her neck.

Siena looked away, unused to the display of open, easy, affection.

‘So how do you know Ben?’ asked Lisa with a friendly smile, tossing her tawny blonde hair over her shoulder, her eyes guileless.

‘I don’t really.’ The other girl’s warmth was irresistible. Siena definitely wasn’t in France any more. Normally newbies on the block were circled like prey. Weighed up in whispers as their credentials were checked out. Subjected to a gamut of interrogative conversations full of nuance and ultra-polite queries. Lisa’s uncompromising acceptance made her feel warm and funny inside.

‘I met him tonight.’

‘Quick mover,’ Tom chipped in, nudging Ben. ‘Nice work mate.’

‘She’s with Jason,’ explained Ben shaking his head and mock punching Tom’s arm. He inclined his head towards Jason who had finished talking to Will at the bar and had come to join the group. ‘Staying at his place.’

‘Really?’ The girl called Claire managed to get plenty of loaded inference into the one word.

Jason’s lips tightened into the forbidding expression she was rapidly becoming used to. ‘Siena is my landlady’s sister. She’s here for the weekend.’ He gave Siena a pointed look.

He didn’t need to sound quite so pissed off about it. Good job she hadn’t told him how long she planned to stay. Laurie was bound to be OK with it. When they’d talked before about Siena’s dream of studying fashion design, her sister had been so encouraging.

Will started handing out drinks, obviously ordered before they’d arrived. ‘Look there’s a table over there, with a couple of stools.’ He nodded over the vacant table and the group started to move that way.

‘What do you want to drink?’ asked Jason, including both Siena and Ben in the question.

‘Half a lager, please.’

‘I’ll get mine thanks,’ said Siena reaching into her handbag for her purse and following him to the bar.

‘I can stand you a drink.’ Jason scowled again.

Really, what was his problem? She’d never met anyone quite so grumpy.

‘I wasn’t worried about that.’ She smiled ultra-sweetly at him. What would it take to get him to crack a smile once in a while? ‘But I’d like champagne.’

‘Of course you would.’

She ignored his sarcastic tone. ‘And as they probably only sell it by the bottle, I’ll pay.’

It gave her a childish satisfaction when the barman responded to her before Jason who had waved first. ‘What champagnes do you have?’

After consulting the bar menu, she placed her order and handed over her American Express. Not a great selection, but the Lanson would do. The barman made a great show of filling the ice bucket and removing the foil and wire. With the explosive pop of the cork, he glanced at the machine terminal, his face darkened.

‘Sorry madam, your card’s been declined.’

Siena looked down at the card machine. ‘How annoying. C’est la vie. Try this one.’

She leaned on the Perspex bar, tracing the pattern of crystals. It really was very pretty. If it weren’t for keeping off the radar she would have put a photo on Snapchat to show her friends in Paris, although half of them had probably gone to Cannes this weekend.

‘That’s been declined too.’

‘Are you sure? That’s odd.’ She gave him a what-can-one-do smile. He looked a lot less friendly all of a sudden. ‘Do you want to try again? It’s never happened before.’

‘Did you tell your credit card companies you were popping over to England for the weekend? Maybe that’s why they’re not working,’ suggested Jason.

‘Don’t be silly.’ She patted his arm. ‘I was in New York last month, Whistler two months before that. I don’t need to tell them. I’m always travelling.’

‘To have one declined …’ His lips twitched.

She shot him a withering look.

‘I might be,’ she was going to use the word impetuous but paused, ‘spontaneous,’ that sounded better, ‘but I’m not careless. And yes I have read Oscar Wilde.’

Digging into her bag again, she pulled out her Credit Lyonnais debit card. ‘How about this?’

‘Not an English bank, so do you have your passport?’

How annoying, she’d only taken it out of her handbag five minutes before she left the house, thinking it would be safer left in the bedside drawer.

‘You do realise I’ve opened a seventy quid bottle of fizz that you can’t pay for.’ Goodbye customer service, hello pissed off barman. His earlier smiling obsequiousness had been replaced with sharp-eyed cynical scepticism.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She shrugged and rolled her eyes at him with a half-laugh. ‘Of course I can pay for it. Your card machine can’t be working properly. I’ve travelled all over the world and this has never happened before.’

‘It’s happened now.’

She opened her purse again. ‘Look, I’ve got euros. You can have those.’

The barman’s lip curled. ‘Do I look French? Does this place look like we’re in Spain? Does it say euros accepted here?’ He paused, lifting his chin with a pugnacious sneer. ‘No. It does not.’

He didn’t have to be quite so mean. ‘Look, it’s a genuine mistake. I can afford it, easily.’ For goodness sake, her stepfather owned a vineyard and estate outside Epernay and her monthly allowance would more than cover the cost of several cases of vintage Dom Perignon.

‘Doesn’t look like it from here.’

‘I’ve tried to pay. It’s not my fault nothing is working and you won’t accept euros or my bank card. I really don’t know what you expect me to do.’ Siena kept her tone low and reasonable, trying to ignore the curious glances and open stares being sent her way.

‘Obviously,’ the man’s voice had got much louder, as if he deliberately wanted to humiliate her, ‘I want you to pay up.’ He leaned over the bar towards her, his eyes sparkling with sudden malice. ‘Otherwise it’s going to have to be a police matter.’

Her heart rate rocketed. Her palms were suddenly clammy. She’d never been in this sort of situation before. His angry face reminded her of Yves when he didn’t get his own way.

‘Enough.’ Jason’s voice cut through with strident authority, making her jump. ‘She’s not exactly a hardened criminal and you are being unnecessarily unpleasant. Stick it on this card and while you’re at it, I’ll have a large glass of house red and a pint of Becks.’

The barman frowned and took Jason’s card, shooting Siena a look of disgust.

‘Thank you,’ she said letting out a huge breath, she hadn’t realised that she’d been holding on to. The relief was almost painful. ‘That’s really kind of you. I will pay you back. I promise.

‘I’m sure you will.’ He shook his head. ‘Prick.’

‘I suppose he had some right to be cross.’ Her legs felt slightly shaky.

‘He didn’t have to be such a dick about it or be so horrible. I hate bullies and I hate men that bully women even more. Are you OK?’ He studied her face with a penetrating look and she very nearly said, ‘You wouldn’t like Yves’.

Instead she nodded ducking her head, not wanting him to see her face.

His voiced softened and nearly finished her off. ‘Why don’t you go join the others, send Ben over and we’ll bring the drinks back?’

Giving him a tremulous smile, she did as he suggested.

It wasn’t until she’d almost finished the first glass of fizz, she started to felt more like herself again. Everyone else had loosened up too. The volume in the bar had increased five-fold since they’d arrived and it took considerable effort to wriggle through the crowd to get to the very plush toilets.

‘So Siena,’ Ben came and stood next to her, ‘Jason says you live in France. How come your English is so good?’

‘Because she’s English, you pillock,’ Jason ribbed him.

‘Are you?’

Siena nodded her head, amused by the relationship between them. ‘But I’ve lived in France since I was seven.’

‘What?’ Jason sounded startled. ‘But you’re Laurie’s sister. She grew up here. Went to school here. How does that work? ’

Siena shrugged. She’d rather not air the family laundry in front of an audience.

‘So say something in Frog,’ said Ben, completely oblivious to the nuances of the conversation. ‘It’s a real turn on when women talk foreign.’

Across the other side of the table, Claire rolled her eyes. ‘Only to a cretin.’

Ben ignored her. ‘Go on.’ He bounced in his seat, his enthusiasm infectious.

‘What do you want me to say?’ For some reason she felt self-conscious and Claire’s hostile stare wasn’t helping.

‘Anything. I dunno. Something like voulez-vous couchez maverick moi?’

‘That is French, you numpty.’ Claire’s scathing words spilled out.

‘I think you’ll find it’s avec moi,’ interjected Jason with a reluctant smile.

Siena sneaked a peak at him, it wasn’t the first time he’d taken the sting out of the other girl’s sharp observations.

‘Whatevs.’ With a good natured grin, Ben added, ‘Come on, speak some Froglish. Geddit? Because you’re half and half.’

‘Ben, grow up,’ snapped Claire. ‘You’re so stupid.’

‘Bonjour Ben. C’est un plaisir de vous rencontrer,’ Siena blurted out, wanting to defuse the toxic atmosphere Claire seemed determined to create. Temptation shimmered like a naughty fairy for a second. It would be quite cool if she said in French, ‘stop being a bitch,’ but Siena had a feeling that with his probing looks, which seemed to see right through her, Jason would probably get the gist.

‘Phwoar. Say some more.’ Ben moaned in pretend delight completely oblivious to the other girl’s displeasure. ‘What’s it mean?’

Siena punched him on the shoulder laughing, as Jason shook his head and the others all burst into gales of laughter. Lisa giggled like a loon. Only Claire remained unamused. She tutted.

‘Ça ne veut rien dire en particulier,’ she obliged.

‘So, what are you saying? Something really sexy I bet. It had to be. Maybe I should learn French, pull the birds. I could get one of those lesson things on my iPod. Learn while I’m at work.’

‘Oh God, please don’t,’ said Jason with a heartfelt groan. ‘It’s bad enough when you’re murdering Coldplay with your headphones on.’

‘I could teach you,’ offered Siena.

‘Seriously?’ Ben bounced in his seat like an overenthusiastic puppy. ‘Couple of chat up lines? That would be so cool.’

‘She’s not going to be here long enough,’ said Jason.

‘No,’ said Claire with a derisory snort. ‘Besides she’d be in her eighties before you picked it up.’

Ben’s face crumpled for one swift second before a cheerful mask slid into place as he said to Jason, ‘So boss, what’s the plan for Monday?’

Embarrassed for him, Siena pulled out her phone on the pretext of checking it for messages. Scanning it quickly she stuffed it back into her handbag as a fresh conversation started up. More missed calls, all from the same two numbers. She couldn’t bring herself to even text them, knowing it would unleash a flurry of communication. Normally her iPhone never left her side but lately she wanted to bury it at the bottom of her bag. She couldn’t visit Facebook, go on Twitter, post on Snapchat or Periscope. Everyone was asking where she was, with some impertinent acquaintances drawing their own conclusions. No she wasn’t in Switzerland having a secret abortion nor on an exotic island in the Pacific with a well-known tennis pro and most definitely not in hiding after a botched eyelift.

Lisa let out a squeal. ‘And you’ve got a Prada handbag and purse. They must have been a gazillion euros.’ She reached out and touched them with reverence. ‘I bid on a Prada purse on eBay. Nearly got it for forty quid and then some bitch pipped me at the last second.’

‘Don’t you hate it when that happens?’ said Katie.

The conversation focused on eBay. Siena kept quiet, not wanting to volunteer that she’d never been on eBay in her life.

Chapter 4

‘You’re sure?’ she asked for the second time.

‘Oui, Mademoiselle. We received the instruction from the account holder. I suggest you speak to them.’

‘And I can’t use the card?’

‘No, it has been cancelled. A new one will be issued to the account holder’s address.’

Siena shook her head. Not careless then. Both her cards had been cancelled. She’d known Maman would be angry at her leaving, especially when they were due out to dinner that evening, but not this angry. What had Yves been saying to her? He could be so convincing.

With resolute determination, she switched off her phone. She wasn’t going home. Not before Harry’s birthday. She had a plan and exactly a month to get everything lined up. In the meantime, she could easily survive on this month’s allowance. Admittedly she couldn’t buy a complete new wardrobe for spring, but she could make a start.

For a minute she stared out of the window. An idea popped into her head and grabbing the pad she always kept to hand, she quickly sketched a tall willowy figure and outlined the dress. Cowl neck. Mid length pencil skirt, with hem dropped at one side. Three-quarter-length sleeves. After ten minutes, she put the pad down.

She groaned out loud. It wasn’t right. What she saw in her head didn’t translate onto paper.

Which is why she needed so desperately to go to college. This week she’d arrange an appointment at the London School of Fashion. With her fashion knowledge and contacts in Paris it shouldn’t be too difficult to get accepted on one of their courses starting next year. Then she could go back and present Maman with a fait accompli. She was too young to get married yet.

In the meantime, she needed to find a bank and withdraw some sterling.

She grabbed the last clean towel from the guest stack – she’d have to ask Jason for some more – headed into the bathroom and ran smack into him.

Her mouth dried. Ça alors! With a white towel wrapped very, very low around his waist, dark hair dusting a mighty fine, firm chest and then tapering down there, he brought her to a dead stop. Her heart jumped in her chest, the irregular rhythm vibrating like a Mexican jumping bean. Last time he’d been half naked, she’d been too worried about her own nudity to take much in.

She took in a breath to steady herself. How ridiculous. She’d seen, almost seen, naked men before. She’d even slept with one or two. It wasn’t like she was some blushing virgin, although her experience was pretty limited. Before Yves, they had been lights off, fleeting encounters. Certainly never up, close and personal with a tank load of raw virility chucked in.

‘Seen enough?’ The initial irritation on his face, half covered in white shaving foam which accentuated his tanned skin, had given way to suppressed amusement.

‘Sorry. I didn’t realise you were in here.’

Almost mesmerised by his chest, she realised she’d clenched her hands tight to her sides, to stop her reaching up to touch the smooth skin. The cramped room meant there was very little room to manoeuvre with him standing in front of the sink.

‘I think we might need to establish some ground rules. Starting with not barging into the bathroom without knocking.’

‘You did it to me the other day.’

Jason did that double take thing, which wasn’t funny or clever, eyes bugging out in exaggerated disbelief. ‘You weren’t supposed to … Oh forget it. Ground rules. Don’t …’ his voice trailed away.

‘Seriously, you want to do this now?’ She put her hand on her hips. His eyes seemed to have gone a bit glassy. ‘Can’t it wait until I’ve had a shower and a coffee? I’ve spent the last twenty minutes on the phone to credit card companies.’

‘Good idea,’ his voice sounded suspiciously strangled and he turned his back on her, rather abruptly as if he’d definitely finished talking to her. How rude. What was wrong with him now?

With a sniff, she backed out of the bathroom, shutting the door with a bang, narrowly missing catching the hem of her nightie in … nom d’un chien! She looked down. She really needed to invest in some new nightwear.

Jason took a slug of milky coffee and leaned back against the draining board. Maybe he needed to go out and get laid; it had been a while since he’d had sex but Siena wandering around in that see-through thing wasn’t helping. At this rate, living with her, he was going to burst a blood vessel or set his stomach off again. Correct that. He wasn’t living with her. Her stay was strictly temporary and he needed to find out when she was going home. She couldn’t stay here; she’d drive him insane. Only one day and two nights and already she seemed to have spread a detritus of belongings about the house. Ankle boots, sexy high-heeled fuck-me numbers, now littered the hall. OK, so two pairs, but that was still two pairs too many. A scarf draped over the banister might not be much, but it was the start of things. Like the leather jacket slung over the back of the chair opposite him. As for the bathroom, he was surprised he could still get in there. A lorry load of Clarins products had staked their claim along every available surface. He liked things tidy. In their place. He liked … the image of her exquisitely perfect body popped into his head. Only two days and he’d already seen far too much of that too. He didn’t seem to be able to dislodge the image from the loop in his head.

‘Morning.’

And there she was, as if he’d conjured her up; her complexion glowing. He wasn’t prone to fancy imaginings but her skin did appear to have its own luminosity. Then again, hardly surprising given all those expensive lotions and potions upstairs.

Deciding to be on his best behaviour and follow her civilised lead, he said ‘Morning. Would you like a coffee?’

A smile lit up her face. Damn, it really did light it up. ‘I’d love one.’ She sank gracefully into the chair.

She certainly was easy on the eye. Last night’s gorgeous vamp had been replaced with this daisy-fresh dewy-skinned natural beauty. No doubt the simple lavender blue T-shirt which highlighted the clear tones of her blue eyes cost a fortune but with pristine white jeans hugging long legs and skimming very neat ankles, she looked like some supermodel in from a long country walk.

Dropping into the chair opposite he watched her take a cautious sip of coffee and wrinkle her nose. ‘Is this instant?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh no, really?’

‘Seriously? You’re complaining about my coffee?’

‘I wasn’t exactly complaining.’ She shrugged her shoulders.

‘Sounded like it to me.’

‘I wasn’t. Surprised, perhaps. I didn’t think people really drank instant.’

‘They do, but feel free to buy your own fresh coffee.’

‘Sorry,’ her smile faltered and he felt as if he’d drop kicked a kitten. ‘I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s a cultural thing. In France most people drink filter coffee or from a cafetière. I wasn’t complaining.’

Jason sighed. ‘Look. I’m sorry. We got off to a bad start. I haven’t had much sleep recently and I wasn’t expecting a houseguest. When Laurie asked me to pick you up, I’d driven back from Scotland. It’s further north than Yorkshire and takes at least six hours drive.’ Siena nodded and he was glad he’d explained. Her knowledge of British geography seemed to be rather sketchy. ‘I’m happy to agree a few house rules for the next couple of days. And then if I’m around I can take you back to the airport. But I’m not here to babysit you, you get that? I picked you up as a favour to Laurie. I’m not responsible for you. You’re on your own. Not my guest. Not my lodger. A temporary visitor.’

He needed to stress that. Temporary. Not like bloody Stacey who’d imperceptibly drifted into his flat like the whisper of a ghost, imprinting herself bit by bit, until one day she’d moved in. If he’d been more observant at the outset, he wouldn’t have had to be such a bastard at the end.

Siena leaned one forearm on the table and took another sip of coffee. He felt his nerve endings go on alert at her studied casualness.

‘House rules.’ She nodded at him, her smile dazzling. It did dazzle him too. He found it difficult to concentrate when she smiled like that, all attention on you. Distracting. Even so, why did he get the impression she was hiding something? That sunny smile certainly made it hard to remember that she was a royal princess pain in the butt. He’d already lost his dinner to her, parted with seventy quid on her behalf and driven several hundred miles on five hours sleep.

‘Do you know I’ve never shared a house with anyone before? Well, that’s not strictly true, obviously I live with my parents and the staff.’

‘We’re not sharing a house,’ he bit out. ‘You are a temporary guest. Temporary. Got it—’ He stopped. ‘You have staff?’ No wonder she was so clueless.

She stiffened. He held up his hand in apology, it had come out sounding rather judgemental. ‘Sorry, even Will’s family never had real staff. All sounds a bit Downton Abbey.’

‘Hardly, times have changed.’ The innocent smile belied her tart words. ‘We even give the staff holidays these days.’

‘Right. Back to the rules. I’m out of the house by eight most mornings. You can use the bathroom after then.’

‘Trop d’honneur, merci!’

‘I suggest you learn to knock on the bathroom door if you don’t want any more surprises. You’ve probably realised there’s no lock on the door. I don’t mind sharing my instant coffee for the next couple of days but you’ll need to pitch in and buy milk and your own food. I’m going to be away for a couple of days, so if you’re booking your flight home, I can take you to the airport before or after then. Anything you need to know?’

‘I was wondering when I might get some clean towels.’

‘About the same time you put the dirty ones in the washing machine, I guess.’

Siena coloured and he felt like the kitten-kicker again, so he swallowed down his next comment. ‘If you bring them down, I’ll show you how the washing machine works. And the dishwasher. If you fill it up, put it on. If it’s full, empty it. All the usual.’ Was that a dumb thing to say? What was usual for her?

She was nodding like one of those crazy dogs in cars, so he assumed she was following.

‘So,’ he stood up and rinsed out his coffee mug. ‘When do you think you’ll be leaving?’

There it was again, the evasive study of her fingernails and the slight tension in her jaw.

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Are we talking not sure, tomorrow, or the end of the week?’

Siena opened her mouth and closed it again. ‘I need to speak to Laurie.’

It was doubtful Laurie would want her up in Yorkshire. She and Cam had the builders in big time at the moment. There was no way they’d want Siena under their feet. Jason smiled. He’d be shot of her by the end of the week.

Siena let herself out of the front door, pocketing the front door key that Jason had handed over, after carefully sliding it onto a little Lego man key ring, so she wouldn’t lose it. When he wasn’t being grumpy, he could be quite kind. Although, that would go up in smoke if he found out what she was really planning.

Guiltily she looked back down the street. Satisfied she was out of earshot, she pulled out her phone, dialled and then carried on walking briskly, trying to warm up. A layer of frost coated the windscreens of the parked cars lining the street. It felt cold enough for snow and the tip of her nose tingled in the freezing air.

‘Siena.’ Laurie’s voice rang with pleasure.

‘Hi Laurie.’

‘How are you? I am so sorry I’m not there. If you’d given me a bit more notice I could have made arrangements. It’s chaos up here, otherwise I would invite you. We only got the water back on yesterday. And I can’t leave Norah.’ Laurie paused before adding. ‘Do you remember Uncle Miles’ housekeeper? She should have retired but she insists on coming to,’ there was another awkward pause, ‘to Merryview to help out.’

Siena winced at Laurie’s careful mention of her inheritance, the house which had left their mother incandescent with affronted rage. A weaker woman might have taken to her bed. Not Maman. No, she’d called in a team of Paris’s finest legal advocates to query the veracity of her brother’s last will and testament.

Siena swallowed. ‘It was sort of a spur of the moment thing.’ That sounded much better than a nowhere-else-to-go flight.

‘Next time, you idiot,’ the warmth of Laurie’s voice made the insult affectionate, ‘phone me first. I’m gutted I can’t see you. When are you heading back?’

Siena stopped and leaned against the nearest garden wall. ‘Here’s the thing.’ She kept her tone shiny bright and upbeat. ‘You know how you said I’d always have my own room,’ she left the pause, hoping that Laurie would fill it with effusive acceptance.

Unfortunately Laurie didn’t oblige.

‘Remember, you said it was mine, ‘whenever I want it’?’

‘Yes,’ Laurie sounded hesitant.

‘And you decorated it and everything. Your house is gorgeous inside by the way. I love the way you’ve done it. I can’t believe you did the bedroom for me. I’ve been dying to see it and,’ she took a breath, ‘I want to stay for a while.’

‘Wow. I didn’t see that coming. How long’s a while?’ Trust Laurie, Miss Practical Pants to get straight to the point.

‘Quite a while, like a year or two or three.’

There was silence.

Siena rushed on. ‘I’ve decided to do a fashion degree. In London. I need to apply. Maman won’t be too keen but I figure if I go back, all signed up, with somewhere to stay and a place, she can’t really stop me.’ She didn’t add that she hadn’t realised that Leighton Buzzard was so far from London but she’d worry about that later.

‘Siena, that’s great. You said that’s what you wanted to do. Good for you. I’m sure your, I mean, our mother will be fine.’

Siena pulled a face. She wasn’t so sure.

‘Of course you can stay. Although what about Jason? I can’t kick him out. It’s been quite handy having him there, looking after the place.’

‘Oh Jason’s fine. He doesn’t mind.’ Siena looked back over her shoulder.

‘Really? I guess it makes sense. There’s plenty of room and the two of you can share the bills. The council tax is a killer and I’m sure he’ll be grateful to share that as well as the electricity, gas and water.’ Laurie lowered her voice. ‘Nice for him to have company too. I don’t know him that well, he’s a uni friend of Cam’s so he must be alright.’

‘And how is the lovely Cam?’ asked Siena grateful to change the subject.

‘Fine,’ said Laurie matter of factly. ‘In fact when we’re a bit straighter you must come and see us.’

‘Just fine?’ teased Siena. ‘Mighty fine, I seem to recall.’ She might have met him only once but as men went, he was more than fine.

Laurie laughed. ‘He’s gorgeous, stubborn, opinionated, absolutely lovely and a pain in the arse in equal measure.’

Once they’d wound up their conversation. Siena started walking again, a grin on her face. Looked like everything was working out perfectly.

Electrical Assembler. What the heck was that? Experienced assembler required.

That counted her out. Her finger scanned down the rest of the column as she leaned on the dresser, studying the back pages of the local paper.

UK driving licence required. Perhaps they might consider a French one.

A possible.

Must be fully conversant with Word/Excel and have some knowledge of accountancy packages.

No, not suitable.

Car owner.

‘You’re back.’ She jumped at the sound of Jason’s voice and folded the newspaper quickly.

‘Yes, I popped into town,’ she said brightly as if sounding upbeat might dispel the leaden lump in her chest. ‘I’ve got your money for you.’ She handed it to him.

‘Thanks.’ He put the money on the side, leaving it there as he began to pull clothes from the yawning mouth of the washing machine.

It hurt that he left the crisp bank notes so casually on the side. They represented a third of all she had access to at that moment.

Her bank account wasn’t as flush as she’d thought. Of course there’d been the first class flight to London, the new dress and boots from Printemps and this winter’s collection new Prada handbag and the matching purse this month. Asking Maman for an advance on next month’s allowance appeared to be out of the question.

‘I really appreciated you lending me the money.’ She fingered the ribbing on the sleeve of her fine knit jumper not looking him in the eye.

‘No problem.’ He shook out a pair of jeans.

‘So the bills here. Are they quite expensive?’

‘They’re alright.’ Jason picked up the basket and hummed to himself.

Hesitantly she watched as he started pegging out his washing on a rack besides the rather feeble radiator.

‘So,’ she said brightly, ‘how much do you pay?’

He looked up from the task and glared at her. ‘If you want to know how much rent I pay your sister, spit it out and ask.’

‘No. I wanted to know what kind of expenses are involved in owning your own home. I’m thinking about buying an apartment in Paris.’

‘It’s probably different there but here, there’s council tax which is a hundred and thirty-three pounds a month,’ as he spoke, he flipped the clothes over the rack with efficient quick movements, ‘electricity is thirty-five pounds a month, gas varies but again about thirty-five pounds and water is about three hundred pounds a year, plus the telly licence which obviously you wouldn’t pay in France.’

‘Right.’ Her stomached flipped. ‘That’s really helpful.’

He raised a sceptical eyebrow and she gave him a half-hearted smile. Over two hundred pounds a month, so half of that was a hundred pounds, plus food and other expenses.

When his back was turned, she tucked the paper behind her back and slid out of the kitchen to head upstairs.

Settling on her bed she opened the paper again and sighed. The jobs either looked terribly dull or you needed previous experience.

‘Wanted: door-to-door canvassers who are highly-motivated, enthusiastic and professional. With a passion to meet and exceed targets. Quality individuals needed to represent our company.

Hello, this sounded promising.

Whether you have previous experience or not, as long as you have a passion to succeed, we’d love to talk to you.

This position requires excellent face-to-face communication skills with a positive and outgoing personality.

Basic pay negotiable with fantastic commission structure in place.

Siena sat up straighter. Oh, yes. She could feel it in her bones. This sounded like a great job. Maman thought she’d go running home, but Siena would show her.

Chapter 5

Monday morning and brewing day. With a yawn and a stretch, he rubbed his bristled chin. Shaving was a chore and it wasn’t like he worked in an office any more but after a few days, the stubble drove him crazy.

He staggered through to the bathroom and then stopped dead. The shower was running.

He knocked on the door. ‘Siena? Is that you?’

‘Yes, won’t be long.’

Bloody hell. He wanted a pee, a shave and a shower. No, he needed a pee. Right now. He wanted his usual morning routine. For a minute he waited but there was no fricking sign of the water abating. Did the fact she was up so early mean she had a flight to catch?

He’d avoided her on Saturday night by inviting himself along to the pub with Ben. That had backfired a bit because Claire had been there and had somehow ended up hip to hip with him all evening and he might have had a drink too many and might have kissed her. But suggesting lunch on Sunday had probably been his stupidest move. He didn’t want to lead her on and he had horrible idea that he might have given her the wrong signals.

Two full minutes later and his bladder was telling him he wasn’t a freaking camel. He could have burst in but catching Siena naked again felt wrong. Stomping downstairs, he barged into the kitchen, knocking a toe painfully against one of the wooden chairs.

‘For crying out loud,’ he spat through gritted teeth. Grasping the hot tap, he turned it on full and looked up at the ceiling. ‘Take that, madam.’ A second later, he heard a squeal of shock. He let the tap run for a good minute until he heard the shower door slam.

With a satisfied wrench he switched the tap off.

Knocking on the bathroom for a second time made no difference.

‘Siena, I need to get in there.’

‘I won’t be long.’

‘You already have been.’

‘I’ll be out in five.’

‘You’ve got five seconds before I go and pee in the wastepaper basket in your bedroom.’

There was no response.

‘One.’

He heard Siena sniff.

‘Two.’

‘Three.’

He opened her bedroom door, listening with satisfaction to its loud, familiar squeak.

‘Don’t you dare!’ She shot out of the bathroom, her hair bundled in a towel with another wrapped around her. ‘I’m out.’ She stuck her nose in the air. ‘Honestly, some people have no patience.’

‘Some people are trying to get ready to go to work. Alien concept I’m sure.’

She stopped, drew herself up and with a haughty stare looked right down her nose at him. If he hadn’t been so damn desperate for the loo, he might have found it cute. Her attempt at snotty would have worked better if she were a few inches taller but he topped her by three inches.

‘I’ve got a job interview, actually.’ With that she sauntered off to her bedroom.

He dived into the bathroom, so full of steam he could barely see a thing. Blessed relief. Now he could think straight. What the hell was she talking about? He shook his head and climbed into the shower, promptly slipping on the fragrant suds all over the shower tray and banging his knee hard on the tiled wall. Christ alive, she was a liability. A job? Doing what? Smelling people?

Stepping out of the shower he went to pluck the towel from the hook. Pushing wet hair out of his face he tried again, his hand scrabbling against the back of the door.

What? No bloody towel. No doubt the one wrapped turban style around her head. He’d kill her. Swear to God, he would.

Still dripping, he grabbed the hand towel, which was about as much use as a hanky. Sourly he rubbed a section of the mirror clear of condensation which promptly fogged over again. She couldn’t even open the damn window to get rid of the steam. His knee throbbed and he managed to nick himself shaving. Not even eight o’clock and this day was turning out shite.

‘Would you like some coffee? The real deal?’ Siena beamed at him and sipped at her mug with a beatific expression on her face as he stomped into the kitchen.

Unfortunately the rich smell of real coffee addled his brain and when he would have asked her what the hell was going on, all he could do was nod.

And bloody hell it was good coffee. Seriously good.

‘Not a morning person, are you?’

Clutching the coffee to his chest in case she turned nasty and took it away again, he glared at her.

‘You’ll find most men aren’t when the morning routine they’ve enjoyed uninterrupted for the last six months is hijacked by someone who doesn’t understand the concept that there are only sixty seconds in a minute and not three hours, and they’ve been left without a towel.’

‘I wasn’t that long. You’re exaggerating.’

‘I needed a pee.’ How did she manage to make him feel slightly inadequate?

‘Seriously?’ She looked incredulous.

‘Siena, may I remind you, there’s only one loo in this house. I’m sure you’re used to an en-suite for every day of the week but if you could remember that we need to share facilities and what’s this about a job interview?’

‘For a job.’

‘I get the concept of a job interview. What I don’t get is why you would want one.’

‘Gosh, is that the time?’ Siena darted around the table.

He blocked her exit, feeling a faint sense of unease when she tensed and a flash of something flitted across her face. ‘Not so fast. Job?’

‘Yes, I rang them on Saturday. In fact today’s more of a training day than an interview.’

Jason closed his eyes. Proper jobs did not fall out of the trees. What the hell had she signed up for?

‘A training day?’ He tried to sound interested. ‘Training to do what?’

‘I’ll be representing the company. Telling people about their home improvement products.’ She trotted out the phrases parrot fashion. ‘How they can make their houses look better. Offering them discounts. Today I’ll be learning about drawing up quotes. You never know, I might suggest they do this place.’

Jason pinched his lips together and stared hard at the wood grain of the kitchen table, fighting the snigger. It wasn’t for him to burst her bubble.

‘So you get paid for this job?’ he asked, the strain of not laughing showing in his voice.

‘Of course I do, silly. I wouldn’t be doing it otherwise. It’s commission based, twelve per cent on your first fifty thousand then fifteen per cent on your second. There’s the potential to earn up to one hundred thousand in your first year.’

‘What happened to the trust fund? Hang on.’ He shook his head as if trying to clear it. Once again she’d managed to distract him from his initial chain of thought. ‘More importantly. Why? Why have you got a job? Here?’

Siena’s perpetual smile slipped momentarily.

‘I’ve decided to stay for a while. I’ve cleared it with Laurie. It’s my room. This was my dad’s house. I’ve got every right to stay here. Besides we can share bills.’ She spat the words out so quickly, it took a minute to catch up. Good coffee or not, his brain was still in wake up mode.

‘Run that by me again.’

He watched as she rearranged her face into a smiling utterly-reasonable-won’t-this-be-fun expression.

‘I spoke to Laurie. It is my house too, sort of, and the room is mine. So I’m going to stay a while. I’ll keep out of your way. You won’t even know I’m here.’

At that he raised a deliberately sceptical eyebrow.

‘And just think, we can share the bills. That will help won’t it?’

‘Share bills?’ He had a horrible feeling her hot water consumption alone would double the bills.

‘Yes. You told me how expensive they all were. I’ll be able to help. Great isn’t it?’ she said with the confident sunny smile he was rapidly realising was her default. The real world was a concept she had yet to grasp. Her world seemed to roll along on sunshine and roses. ‘I’m sure it’ll be nice for you to have a woman’s touch about the place.’

The coffee sliding down his throat at that moment almost went west and he choked back a cough.

‘Pardon?’

‘You know, a woman’s touch.’

He closed his eyes, counted to five. Surely no judge in the land would send him down for strangling her.

‘What, the woman’s touch that means I can’t even find my own shaving gel in the bathroom anymore?’

‘My, you are a grumpy Gus in the mornings aren’t you?’ She stuck her tongue out at him, with a cheeky grin. ‘See you later.’

As she walked off, leaving his scrambled brain still trying to work out how he now had a lodger, he realised his eyes were glued to her backside, perfectly outlined in some smooth fabric and not a panty line in sight.

‘You lucky sod.’ Ben stopped for a second, lowering the sack of barley to rest on his knee. ‘She’s staying.’ Then he pulled a face of horror. ‘Claire’s not going to like that.’

‘It’s nothing to do with Claire.’ He regretted that drunken kiss on Saturday. She seemed to be very good at seeking him out at the wrong or right time depending on which way you looked at it. He shouldn’t have but it had been a while and when an eager, pliant body was offering, it seemed easy to take what was on offer.

‘You’re doing that protesting thing again.’

‘So would you if you’d had a morning like I’ve had.’

‘Doesn’t sound so bad. She made you coffee.’

‘She also decimated my bathroom.’ He shuddered.

Ben shrugged. ‘So, no one died.’ There were occasions when Jason admired the younger man’s horizontal approach to life; this was not one of them. When Jason got stressed about fulfilling an order, that bacteria might have tainted a brew, or the gravity wasn’t right, Ben’s calm ‘there’s always tomorrow’ attitude was an asset.

‘But the mess …’

Ben shrugged his wide shoulders, lifting the sack of grain.

Will wasn’t much better. He laughed. ‘She’s what?’

‘Selling double glazing.’ Jason stared morosely down into his pint, when he took a break at lunchtime.

Will pushed a ciabatta BLT over the bar towards him.

‘What’s the problem? You said yourself she won’t last five minutes.’

Jason brightened. ‘Yeah that’s true. But why? A job suggests she’s staying long term.’

Will sobered for a minute. ‘Seriously mate, a) is she that bad? and b) like you said she’s so flighty, she could get back to Paris under her own steam. She’s not going to stick around here. Paris. Cannes. New York. Leighton Buzzard? She came to see her sister. Her sister’s not here. She’s not going stay. Doesn’t know anyone … apart from you … and I think you’ve made your feelings clear. Transparent actually. Girl like that is hardly going to want to live with a baboon like you.’

Jason chucked a slice of tomato at Will, who promptly caught it and stuffed it in his mouth.

‘And how was the date with Claire?’

‘How the hell do you know about that? It was lunch.’

‘Jungle drums. You’re fresh meat round here. A lunch date is a considerable coup in someone’s campaign. She’s on a mission, that one. You want to watch yourself.’

Jason clapped him on the arm. ‘If you want the truth, I did it more to get out of the house on Sunday and away from her royal highness. I’m not about to get myself ensnared. Claire’s a nice enough girl but one lunch doesn’t make an engagement. I like her. I’m happy enough to take it slowly and if it goes anywhere, fine. I’m not in and out of girls’ knickers like some I could mention. ’

Will gave him a good natured punch on the arm. ‘Mate, I can’t help it if I’m a babe-magnet. They can’t get enough of me.’

After lunch Will walked back across the cobbled courtyard with him.

‘I love this smell.’

Jason agreed. One of the best smells in the world. Finest Kentish hops boiling in the large copper kettle. ‘I know what you mean.’

They laughed together. As far as most people were concerned, the smell of hops boiling up was pretty disgusting but Jason knew that to them both it signified a whole world of dreams and ambition.

‘Want a hand this afternoon?’ Will had the face of an eager schoolboy; it would have been cruel to turn him down.

‘You can’t keep away. Like having your own train set.’

‘Man this is way better than a train set. Who’d have thought eh? One minute I’m mashing your face in the scrum, the next we’re building a brewing empire.’

‘Empire’s pushing it a bit. Although the Chamber of Commerce have said there’s been some interest from a distributor in France.’

Will laughed. ‘Cool if you got one in Germany. Coals to Cologne.’

‘Apparently the French are going ape for boutique beers. We did win that award.’

‘Yeah we could do with winning another award.’ For all his effete, floppy haired, public schoolboy looks, Will had an extremely astute business brain.

‘I’m doing my best.’

‘You’re doing fine mate. Our second year, five awards. An international gong. Distribution is on the up and we’re almost solvent.’

Jason raised his eyebrows.

‘Almost, I said.’

‘As long as we don’t want to eat as well.’

‘Mate, you know I’ll loan you anything you need.’

‘I’m fine. Just need to be careful. Hopefully this week when I go up to the Lakes I can secure another deal. Keep going like that and in another year those tanks will be paid off. That’ll lighten the load.’ He paused and pulled a face. ‘Providing Stacey doesn’t start up again.’

‘I can’t believe that bitch. She sponges off you for three years. Then expects to get a cut of your flat sale. Your flat, man!’

‘I think she’s given up now.’

‘I should bloody hope so. Cheeky bitch. So when do you head off and when are you back?’

‘I’ll leave tomorrow, back Thursday, so I wouldn’t mind some help today. It’s going to be a late one. There was a leak in one of the bags. I’ve had to send Ben in the Land Rover to get some more barley. If you can pitch in for a couple of hours that would be great.’

‘I can help out until opening time and then it depends whether Michelle deigns to turn up or not.’

‘Still having problems with her?’

It was unlike Will to put up with that sort of thing from one of his waitresses. The blond ponytail might lull people into the false assumption that his real job was organising a summer music festival, but his was a tight ship. People came from miles around to eat at The Salisbury Arms. The pub itself had won several big food awards and Will had worked in some serious kitchens, with the celebrity chef burns on his arms to prove it.

‘Yeah, if she drops a shift again. I’m going have to sack her. I was hoping to hang on for a couple of weeks to get through Christmas. We’ve got a lot of big dos on. I might have to get you and Ben to pitch in.’

Jason snorted. ‘In your dreams. What went wrong? I thought she was the best waitress you’d ever had.’

‘I might have, er,’ despite being nearly thirty, Will pulled his aw-shucks I’m-so-innocent-face.

‘You didn’t.’ Will had a dreadful habit of being led by his libido. ‘I thought we talked about this.’

‘Come on Jay, she’s hot.’

‘She works for you.’

‘It was late in the evening.’ He launched into the Ed Sheeran song, doing a more than a passable falsetto impersonation.

‘You’re a dick sometimes.’

‘She was all over me, man. And no, I didn’t make any promises.’

‘You’re still a dick.’

‘I know, part of my charm.’

‘Being a dickhead is not a charm in anyone’s book.’

‘Must be my suave good looks then.’

Jason gave up at that point.

‘This week is all under control. Ben knows what he’s got to do. Once the mash is on it’s a question of maintaining the temperature. Ask him every day how it’s going. He’ll soon tell you if there’s a problem.’

‘Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. I don’t know why I keep you around.’

Jason thumped his arm. ‘Because, apart from giving you advice on your love life, which you clearly ignore, me and the bank own fifty per cent of those gorgeous silver tanks. You and the bank own the other fifty per cent, but you don’t know what the fuck to do with them.’

‘OK.’ Will conceded. ‘You stick to the brewery side and I’ll run the pub.’

Go me, thought Siena giving herself a little fist pump as she stood outside the entrance of the Hotel Enigma. She’d successfully negotiated not one but two buses, although how was she to know that five pound notes weren’t acceptable currency on a bus?

‘Hi. Good morning. You here for the training for the canvassing job?’

Siena nodded.

‘Welcome to Johnson Home Improvements. Name please?’

‘Siena.’

He ran a finger down a typed list.

‘Ah yes, Siena. I’ve seen your name on here somewhere. Like the film star Sienna Miller. No relative then?’

‘No,’ she shook her head a little bemused by the question, ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Ah, found you. Siena Browne-Martin.’

‘It’s Browne-Martin,’ she pronounced the tin as tan, ‘it’s French.’

‘Right, whatever. We’re all equals here.’ He peeled off a label and held it out to her.

‘It’s Siena with one ‘n’.’

He shrugged. ‘It’ll do for today.’ He continued to hold out the label.

Siena took it and held it between two fingers, looking down while she tried to decide where to put it.

‘If you could wear the badge, then the trainer knows your name.’

‘Right, it’s … this top is … Gucci. Dry clean only. Do you know what adhesive they use on the labels? Is it water-soluble?

‘Ad-what?’

‘The glue.’

‘Glue?’

‘Tell you what, why don’t I introduce myself to the trainer?’

‘That won’t be necessary.’ He sounded a bit more certain of himself now.

‘Oh?’

‘I’m the trainer.’

‘Right. But you know my name.’

He nodded.

‘So I don’t need to wear the badge.’

His brow crumpled. ‘I suppose not.’ A look of relief crossed his face and he shifted his attention to the person behind her. ‘Ah, good morning, welcome to Johnson Home Improvements. Can I take your name?’ He turned back to her. ‘Do go in. Help yourself to tea and coffee and take a seat.’

‘Thank you.’

Taking a seat, she took a sip and almost choked. The brown liquid bore limited relation to coffee, in fact the only relation she could successfully conclude was that it was wet.

She’d spent considerable time worrying about what to wear and had aimed for smart and professional. You couldn’t go far wrong with a pair of Joseph trousers, Gucci shirt and a cashmere cardie, especially when you only had a capsule wardrobe to choose from. The Missoni scarf added that jaunty look that stopped her looking really serious like a banker or a doctor.

The poor woman next to her seemed terribly nervous. She kept picking at a loose thread on her black dress, the fingers with nails bitten down to the quick, worrying at the seam with repeated staccato attacks.

‘Hi, I’m Siena. Are you here for the training too?’ asked Siena when the woman looked up.

‘I’m not here for a bleedin’ massage lovie. The Jobcentre sent me. That’s a laugh. I come to these things once every six months, to get them off my back.’

‘Oh.’ Siena nodded as if she understood but the woman had lost interest already and had gone back to picking at the seam of her dress.

‘Hello, earth to airhead.’ Siena looked up at the newcomer. ‘Can you move your bag so I can sit down?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Siena swept her handbag onto her own knee.

‘’S’alright, darlin’.’ He leaned forward in his chair, legs wide open so that one knee nudged her leg. She shifted and he promptly took up the fresh space.

Shifting again, she perched on the edge of her seat. He seemed completely oblivious. She turned her head away slightly to get away from the pungent smell of stale tobacco. A couple more people shuffled in, helping themselves to the tea and coffee and sat down. No one said a word to each other. It felt a bit like detention at school except without the nuns.

After a painful fifteen minutes of silent fidgeting, Alan Johnson finally strode in.

‘Morning everyone. Just waiting for a few stragglers. There are always a few and quite a few no shows. It’s difficult to get the staff, you know.’ He grinned to show he’d made a joke, which elicited some weak laughter.

He stood at the table, looking down at a folder he’d brought in for another five blank minutes. Finally he looked up.

‘I think we’ll make a start. My name is Alan Johnson, Staff Training Director and I’ll be introducing you to Johnson’s Home Improvements today. I’ll be telling you about our fantastic product range. Some USPs. Promotional tools you can use. Discounts and the like.’

‘It’s bloody door-to-door sales, mate. Just tell us what the fucking commission rate is,’ muttered the guy next to Siena.

‘Sorry sir, did you want to contribute?’

‘Nah, carry on mate.’

Alan nodded. ‘I want to emphasise we’re a family run company, not one of these big conglom corpalates. Family run. We care.’ He slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand. ‘We want to give our customers the opportunity to make significant improvements to their homes. Improve energy efficiency. Saleability of their property. I can’t begin to list the pros, they’re endless. And that, ladies and gentlemen, makes these products really easy to sell. Seriously they walk off the shelf. Walk off the shelf, I say. No hard sell needed. Although today I’m going to run through some handy tips for clinching that sale. We don’t want to hear those death of a salesman words, ‘I’ll think about it’. No, we want signatures on dotted lines. What do we want? Signatures on dotted lines. Deposits upfront. Commitment. So we’ll be doing some role-playing exercises. And developing some handy tips for clinching that sale. Overcoming objections. And in exchange we can offer you a fantastic commission on every sale.’

A hand shot up further along the row. ‘Excuse me. Is there a salary? I was led to believe this wasn’t commission only.’

Alan gave a non-jocular laugh. ‘It’s not commission only. We’re giving you training, free of charge, your own patch. Committed individuals, who stay with the company for six months, can achieve a monthly salary. Before lunch I’m going to teach you some of our trigger phrases. Keep you on-message.’

He stepped towards a flip chart and turned over the blank page to reveal a list of words.

Siena began to scribble in her notebook.

‘First is ‘Quality’. Customers love quality. And a good deal.’

Lunch came and went, and when he strode into the afternoon session, Alan seemed to think it was a virtue that half his audience had departed.

‘See, this job is for the bold, the fearless. You guys are up for the challenge. You want to do well. So, you will do well. And if you do well, you can earn a lot of money.’

‘Now, we’re going to do some role-play. Team up into pairs.’

Siena’s partner was an older black guy with the drooping jowls of a bloodhound and pudgy hands which gave her an enthusiastic, clammy handshake.

‘Don’t you worry darlin’,’ He patted her thigh and she flinched. He withdrew it smartly. ‘Sorry my love. Didn’t mean to be over familiar. I do apologise.’

‘It’s OK,’ she said, realising it had been an unconscious friendly gesture. She relaxed, letting the sudden tension dissipate. She realised it felt completely different to that stomach clenching sensation when someone kept deliberately touching when they knew you didn’t want to be touched.

‘I was trying to say, I’m an old hand at this. You look a bit green. Done much in the way of sales before?’

Siena shook her head. ‘Nothing. In fact,’ she lowered her voice to a whisper, ‘I’ve never even had a job.’

‘Good for you darlin’. No preconceptions then. That could be in your favour. The punters like a bit of honesty now and then. You need to be good cop and bad cop. Come on let’s get started and Uncle Gareth will show you how it’s done. I’m not sure Alan here could sell his own grandmother a box of biscuits.’

Siena turned the page and cleared her throat. This could be fun. She’d always rather liked drama at school.

‘Good morning sir, can I interest you in—’

Gareth held up a hand, palm towards her.

‘No, no, no, girly. Do you know the first thing I’m gonna do, if you turn up on my doorstep saying that?’

Siena shook her head.

‘Slam the door in your face, missy. No matter how good-looking you are, and excuse me for saying, but you are one attractive young lady. Now you can use those looks to your advantage. Me, I don’t have that advantage.’

Siena tried to pull a non-committal kind of face.

‘Don’t worry, I use my looks.’ He pulled a hangdog expression, his mouth turning down and his eyes sad. ‘Everyone loves an underdog. My patter is very much apology. “Hey I’m really, really sorry to bother you. It’s my job, it’s a lousy job but …”’

Siena stared at him, uncomprehending.

He patted her leg again, this time on the knee. ‘You gotta start by pulling them in, building empathy with them. Build rapport before you even go near the sales patter. Who wrote this crap?’ He shook his head. ‘Get your pen out. You need your own hook. You need to bat those baby blues. Flirt a little. Be supremely confident. A good-looking girl doing this job because she believes in the product. She don’t have no other job, not because she can’t get one, but because this is a good one. A good product. I tell you young lady, you have got a serious advantage here.’

Over the next hour, gorgeous Gareth as she renamed him in her head, shared every last scrap of wile and guile that he had with her and by the end of it, she felt she knew what she was doing.

Alan came to check up on their progress.

‘So Siena, with one ‘n’. Pretend you’re knocking on my front door.’

Gareth winked at her. ‘You go girl.’

‘Hi, sorry to disturb you, can I say this is a lovely house. I love what you’ve done with the garden. Have you ever thought of selling?’

‘No,’ said Alan with a smug smile on his face.

‘See, there’s that close down the question, the one I told you about,’ piped up Gareth. ‘Now remember what you do.’

‘And I don’t blame you,’ Siena was enjoying herself, blossoming under Gareth’s paternal gaze, ‘this is a lovely house. Although, if you don’t mind me saying so, you could make it even more appealing. I see next door is looking a bit tired. Their front door could do with a lick of paint, don’t you think?’

‘No, Siena remember. Open questions. Don’t ever give them the chance to say no.’

‘Sorry.’

‘And don’t apologise. You’re in charge here, if they don’t choose to buy your product, it’s their loss.’

Siena nodded, thinking fast.

‘Their front door could do with a lick of paint. If you were going to paint yours, what colour would you go for?’

‘Much better,’ said Gareth nodding at Alan, encouraging him to join in.

‘A door says such a lot about you. Creates first impressions. Says the people who live here care. Now if you paint your door, you’ve got to maintain it. Johnson’s Doors are virtually maintenance free. Guaranteed for twenty-five years. Now I think you could probably do a lot more with this lovely house. Show people in the neighbourhood that you care, unlike the neighbours who don’t or maybe they can’t afford to invest in what’s important. Now with a bit of TLC, you could really show your neighbours, friends, that you’ve got pride, dignity and money. People respect that.’

Alan straightened. ‘Hell yeah. Where do I sign on the dotted line?’

Gareth held up a hand and Siena high-fived him.

‘You go girl. You are ready to go out on the road.’

Alan nodded. ‘Yeah, I think you are. Do you know what, I think I can see a very long and successful relationship with Johnson Home Improvements for you, Siena.’

Jason returned as Siena was grating cheese, dancing around the kitchen and melting butter in the frying pan.

‘What the fu—’ Jason stumbled to a halt in the kitchen doorway.

‘Hi,’ Siena turned, pushing unruly hair away from her face.

Jason looked pained.

‘What’s wrong?’ She followed his eyes as he scanned the table, the kitchen counters and the sink which was piled high with saucepans.

‘It looks like Armageddon in here. What are you cooking?’

‘Omelette. I’m celebrating.’ Now she had a job, she’d been food shopping and treated herself to a bottle of wine.

‘Omelette? For five thousand? You must have used every utensil in the kitchen.’

Siena looked around. Surely he was exaggerating. She’d used a few plates, a couple of bowls, two chopping boards, several knives and one cast iron pan. ‘It’s not so bad.’

He came closer. ‘Have you ever cooked an omelette before?’

‘Yes.’ Typical English man, no clue about cooking.

‘Really? I’ve never seen it cooked like that before.’

Of course he hadn’t. Judging from the contents of the kitchen, he didn’t know one end of a frying pan from the other. He was used to eating meals from plastic trays in sleeves of cardboard. He was no judge.

‘Wait until you taste it. Have you eaten?’

He hesitated.

‘Go on, try it. What have you got to lose?’

He still looked reluctant, until she tossed the pancetta into a Le Creuset frying pan with a sizzle, the scent quickly filing the air. She saw his hesitancy fade as the red peppers and slices of new potatoes went in. She let them cook for a minute. Much as she loved to cook, she didn’t get the chance very much. A lot of what she did was trial and error but she certainly wasn’t going to admit that to Mr Superior. It would have been nice to impress him but a basic dish like this was hardly going to hit the mark.

Even though she did think that perhaps he might be coming around, when she saw his nose lifting in appreciation of the warm cooking smells.

As the vegetables and bacon softened in the butter, she folded in frothy whipped egg whites into beaten egg yolks.

Jason frowned. ‘Do you know you can beat the eggs and put them in? I’ve never heard of anyone separating them and then putting back together.’

Siena shrugged. ‘Your loss then.’ She winked at him. ‘I suggest you withhold judgement until you’ve tried it. Would you like a glass of wine?’

She asked him to pour as she concentrated on pouring the omelette batter into the pan. The trick was to cook the bottom and then slide it under the grill to cook the top.

When she whisked the fluffy omelettes onto warm plates with a side salad of leaves and popped one in front of Jason, she smiled at the look of pleasure on his face when he tasted them.

‘Wow, this is amazing.’

She smiled and took a happy slug of red wine. ‘Told you I knew what I was doing.’

‘I take it all back.’ There was a silence between them and then as if he’d suddenly remembered his manners, Jason asked, ‘So how did you get on today?’

‘It was great. I met some really nice people,’ she pulled a face, ‘and some not so nice people. But I’m all trained and ready to go out on the road.’

‘Trained?’

‘Yes.’ Siena felt rather pleased with herself. ‘Apparently I’m an active seller.’

‘And what’s one of those when they’re at home?’

She ignored his scepticism. What did he know? He hadn’t been there today. She was looking forward to going out, helping people improve their homes. Help them reduce and eradicate unnecessary maintenance.

‘An active seller is proactive. Forward thinking. Takes charge. We make the best sellers.’

‘You mean you’re pushy and don’t take no for an answer.’

‘No,’ Siena drew herself up. ‘We develop empathy with the customer and build a relationship.’

‘Good luck with that, you’re going to need it.’

Siena rolled her eyes. What did he know?

‘How’s the red wine?’

‘Good. No, great. I guess if you’re French you know a bit about wines.’

Siena shrugged. She knew what she knew. She’d never really thought about it before. ‘I’m not really French. I’m English. I just grew up there.’ Neither one thing nor the other.

‘I really like this one. What is it?’

‘It’s a Bordeaux Supérieur.’ The best the supermarket had to offer.

‘What’s that when it’s at home?’

‘A wine from the Bordeaux region obviously; but the grapes, mainly Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot, come from the older plots.’

‘It’s very nice.’ He toasted her and took a long sip and then spoilt it by adding with a naughty grin, ‘Would you usually serve this with omelettes?’

‘But of course,’ she toasted him back with a wry smile. ‘Eggs and red wine, always. Haven’t you heard of nouvelle vin? Forget all those stuffy principles of white wine with fish and red wine with beef. That’s all terribly vintage chapeau.’

‘Really?’ Jason looked half convinced until she gave a gurgle of laughter.

‘No,’ she raised her glass and took an appreciative slurp. ‘I thought I deserved a treat after today.’

‘So it went well, did it?’

Half an hour later they were still chatting as Siena emptied the last of the bottle into the two glasses. She was rather grateful that he got up to do the washing up. There did seem to be an awful lot of it.

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