Love and Liability (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 2) (24 page)

But every time he called — and he tried several times — Holly’s mobile rang three times, then went straight to voicemail.

Oh well
, he reflected as he pocketed the phone,
she’s probably out celebrating with her mates
.

“Jamie,” his hostess said briskly as she thrust her head in his office, “the fellow’s here to fix the walk-in.”

“About damned time,” Jamie grumbled, and stood up. “Thanks, Maura, I’ll be right there.”

And as he made his way out to the front to meet the repairman Jamie hoped that, wherever she was, Holly was having herself a proper celebration.

“Holly?” Alex said into his mobile.

There was a pause. “No. This is Kate Ashby. Alex?”

“Yes.” He paused, puzzled. “Sorry, I could’ve sworn I rang Holly’s work number—”

“You did. She’s not here any longer. She was sacked yesterday.”

“What?
Sacked?
” he echoed, stunned. “What happened?”

“She was let go yesterday afternoon. There was a mix-up with her article. Didn’t she tell you?” Kate said, puzzled.

“No, she didn’t.” Alex was taken aback. “But… Holly’s article was just published. She was very excited about it; she talked of nothing else. Things were going so well—”

“They were,” Kate agreed, “until a photo of Zoe — the homeless girl she interviewed for the article — was printed in the magazine. It showed her face, after Holly promised it’d be pixelated. The shit, as they say, hit the fan. And unfortunately, it blew all over Holly.”

“But how could something like that happen? Holly would never be so careless. That article was very important to her.”

“Not important enough for her to double-check the details, evidently. It’s always the bloody details that get you. Poor Hols.” Kate sounded genuinely sorry. “She was so excited about that article. I imagine she’s gutted over this.”

“Is she at home, do you know?” Alex asked tersely.

“I doubt it. From the looks of things last night, she’s scarpered. She must’ve packed up and left before I got home. She never came back, at any rate.”

“Have you any idea where she might have gone?”

“Well, if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say Holly went to her parents’ place in Chipping Norton.” She sniffed. “That’s usually her bolt hole whenever things go wrong—”

Too late, Kate realized that Alex had already rung off, and she was talking to empty air.

Every day, the man in the black Maserati drove the streets of central London, his eyes behind their dark sunglasses missing nothing. He showed the girl’s photograph to rough sleepers, passers-by, store clerks and car-park attendants.

Every day, the answers were the same. No one had seen her.

He was growing impatient. He had to find her, and, more importantly, he had to find that bloody phone, or he’d have all sorts of trouble to deal with.

Most likely she’d changed her hair colour, or cut it short to avoid recognition. He let out a short, irritated breath. She’d eluded him thus far; yet he was convinced she was still somewhere in central London. With no money and no friends, her options were limited.

Ah, well…she was clever; he’d give her that.

But so was he.

Chapter 35

There was a lot to be said for watching television alone, Holly decided.

You could be panda-eyed from crying, dressed like a tramp — the homeless kind, not the streetwalker kind — and not bother with a bath or a leg shave for a whole day…and there was no one to see, or to care.

She pushed aside a bag of half-eaten Mint Imperials and glanced at the sweet wrappers strewn on the sofa with only the tiniest twinge of guilt. She grabbed the tissue box from the coffee table and blew her nose. Between catching up on episodes of
Hollyoaks
and
Emmerdale
, she’d done a fair bit of crying, but at least she wasn’t sobbing over her own mess of a life. Perhaps an episode of
Strictly
would lighten her mood…

As she reached listlessly for the remote, one of the dogs sprawled near the sofa lifted its head and growled. A car door slammed outside. “What’s wrong, boy?” Holly murmured as she put the remote down and leaned forward to ruffle Caesar’s ears.

Caesar leapt up and erupted into frenzied barking and growling as someone knocked on the front door. With a sigh Holly shushed him and got up to pad, barefoot, to the door. “Mrs H,” she said with exasperation as she swung the door open, “thanks for checking up on me, but there’s really no need. I’m fine—”

But it wasn’t Mrs H who stood on the doorstep, hand upraised to knock again. It was Alex.

Alex
omigod I look like shit I’m wearing Powerpuff Girls
jammies and my nail polish is chipped and my eyes are red from crying
Barrington.

Holly stared at him. “Alex?” she whispered.

“I heard what happened,” he said quietly. “I came here as soon as I could.” There was a duffel bag at his feet.

Holly began to cry as Alex enfolded her in his arms and stroked her hair and made comforting little shushing noises. He smelled of aftershave and, vaguely, of petrol. They clung together for some time, until Holly was cried out and Alex’s collar was damp, because eventually even the dogs lost interest and wandered back into the lounge.

“How did you find out I got sacked?” Holly asked him with a sniffle when she finally lifted her head to look at him.

He looked uncomfortable. “Word gets round,” he said evasively.

“Not from Shaftesbury Avenue to Canary Wharf, it doesn’t. Who told you?” she persisted.

“Kate,” he admitted with a sigh. “I rang your work number and she answered. She told me what happened.”

“Cow,” Holly said, but without conviction. “So she’s already taken my job, has she? She didn’t waste any time.” She put her hand in his and drew him forward. “Have you eaten yet?”

“I had some crisps at a motorway station about an hour ago. Cheese and onion,” he added. “I wouldn’t recommend kissing me.”

“I’ll — what is it you solicitors say? — take it under advisement,” Holly said, and kissed him anyway. She made a face. “Hope you brought some breath mints, then. Come on, I’ll make you a sandwich.”

He followed her through to the kitchen and took a seat at the refectory table. “Where is everyone? I thought your parents would be here, and your sister. Although I’m rather glad they’re not.”

“Normally they are.” Holly reached down plates and rummaged in the fridge for sliced ham and cheese and a jar of Branston pickle. “But Dad has some kind of an awards thingy tomorrow night, so they’re staying in London. And Hannah left for Norwich yesterday.”

“Ah,” Alex said as he helped himself to bread and a generous wodge of razor-thin sliced ham, “so you have the entire place to yourself…for the whole of the weekend?”

Holly nodded and spread brown mustard liberally on her bread slice. “Mrs Henley won’t be back until Monday morning.”

He indicated the seat across from him. “Sit down,” he commanded, “and tell me exactly what happened.”

Obediently Holly sat. “Someone swapped Will’s photo and published a picture of the homeless girl, Zoe, instead. It wasn’t pixelated, and you could plainly see Zoe’s face.” Holly took one bite of her sandwich and set it aside, her appetite gone. “Valery was furious. Zoe’s not speaking to me. And now Kate has my job.”

Alex frowned. “Who was the last person to see the article before it was published?”

“Sasha. I always turn my work in to her, and she makes sure it goes to Valery to be included in the book.”

“The book?”

“The magazine mock-up,” Holly explained. “All of the articles, photo shoots, features, ads, everything are in there, arranged just as they’ll appear in the final issue. There’s an electronic book, and a paper one. Valery likes to have both.”

“And where does Kate fit in? Does she have access to this book?”

Holly shook her head. “No. No one touches the mock-up but Valery, and sometimes the fashion or art directors.”

“So it’s down to Sasha. Does Kate ever assist her?”

“Sometimes she asks Kate to courier things over to Valery, usually at the last minute—” Holly broke off, her eyes wide as she stared at Alex. “That’s it!”

“That’s what?” Puzzlement clouded his expression.

“Valery wanted to include my article at the last minute. Sasha must’ve asked Kate to take it over to Valery to go in the book,” Holly said with growing conviction. “Kate could’ve easily swapped out my stock photo for Zoe’s picture in the taxi on the way over, or on a memory stick before she left, and no one would ever know.”

“No one but Kate,” Alex agreed thoughtfully. “And Sasha, if she’s in on it.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt she is, the conniving, back-stabbing cow. She hates me — she always has.”

Alex stood up and collected their plates. “The problem is, you need proof. Without it, there’s nothing you can do.”

“I’ll never prove it, unless I can find that photo of Zoe stashed somewhere in Kate’s things,” Holly agreed. “It’s not right, Kate and Sasha getting away with this, and trashing me in the process. I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ll never try and help anyone again,” she added bitterly.

“Well, if it’s any consolation,” Alex said as he deposited their plates and knives in the sink, “you did the right thing.”

“Yes, I did, more fool me. And no, it’s not much consolation.”

“Kate and Sasha will get exactly what they deserve, eventually. You know — karma, what goes around, et cetera.”

“I hope so. I hope karma bites both of them square on their arses,” Holly said with conviction, and stood up.

“Speaking of that,” Alex murmured as he leaned back against the sink and drew Holly into his arms, “did I mention that yours looks particularly fetching in those cute little jammies?”

She laughed. “Now I
know
you’re crazy. I’ve never looked worse in my entire life than I do right now—”

He cut off her protests with a long, lingering kiss. “I really think,” he said, his lips moving warmly against her throat, “that you should stop fishing for compliments.”

“I’m not,” she said, and bit her lip as Alex’s hands slid down her back and cupped the curves of her rear. “I look awful.”

“You look very fetching,” Alex murmured, and kissed her again. “But you’re upset, and it’s been a long day for both of us. Besides, your father wouldn’t like my being here. He’s just waiting for an excuse to hire a hit man and have me taken out. I really should go—”

“And drive all the way back to London?” Holly took his face in her hands. “I won’t let you,” she said, her words fierce. She blushed and dropped her gaze to his lips. They were lovely lips, chiselled and firm and yet incredibly soft at the same time… “I want you to stay, Alex. Please,” she added, and lifted her eyes back to his. “Save me from watching another episode of
Emmerdale
.”

He laughed, then grew serious. “You’re sure?”

“Never been surer of anything in my life,” Holly assured him, and pressed her lips softly against his.

His arms tightened around her as their kiss deepened. “Well, in that case,” he said when they finally came up for air, “let’s get you upstairs to bed, Ms James.”

And with that, Alex picked her up and carried her up the Georgian staircase. And this time, Holly reflected with a dreamy smile as she rested her head against his chest, she didn’t mind one bit.

They spent the rest of Friday night and most of Saturday morning in bed. Although, Holly had to admit, bed wasn’t the only place they made love. She’d never be able to look at the refectory table, or the Bedouin rug in the upstairs hallway, or the window seat in the library in quite the same way again.

At least her father hadn’t walked in and caught them in the act — the possibility of which, according to Alex, was half the fun. Holly had to agree. She felt wickedly, wickedly bad.

“So, you demanding, sex-crazed little creature,” Alex said as they finished under the desk in the morning room, “are you satisfied? Had enough? Because I’m quite done in, need a bit of rest.”

Holly stretched her arms over her head luxuriously. “I’ll let you off the hook for lunch. But at the very least, I expect a repeat performance tonight and tomorrow.”

“Matinee as well, I suppose?” Alex murmured as he traced a finger lightly across her breast.

“Yes.
And
an encore.” She leaned forward to kiss him, then sat up and brushed a tangle of hair from her eyes. “Come on, let’s go grab some lunch. I could do with some nice, greasy pub food. Then maybe we could go for a ride. There’s a folk festival in Widdecomb. How does that sound?”

“That,” Alex agreed as he manoeuvred himself out from under the desk, “sounds perfect.” He held out his hands and helped her up. “Greasy pub food and Morris dancers, here we come.”

The shrilling of Alex’s mobile woke Holly from a sound sleep early Sunday morning, after a night of wildly abandoned lovemaking — all of it, this time at least, in a proper bed.

“I’ve got to go,” Alex said regretfully as he rang off and tossed his mobile aside on the night table. “Dominic wants to see me as soon as possible.”

“But it’s your day off!” Holly protested. She sat up and crossed her arms against her sheet-covered chest.

“Sorry, darling, but it can’t be helped.” He leaned over and kissed her. “Dominic Heath is an important client, and if he needs me, I’ve got to go.”

“But I thought I’d make French toast for breakfast. With berries, and lots of syrup.”

“I tell you what,” Alex said, in between more kisses. “I’ll make you breakfast next Saturday, at my place. We’ll have a proper breakfast, with egg-white omelettes with cheese and spinach and mushrooms. And whatever else your heart desires.”

“The only thing my heart desires,” Holly murmured as she kissed the side of his mouth, “is more
you
. Lots more.”

“And you shall have all of me you like,” Alex promised her as he stroked her hair and returned her kiss. “Just not right now, unfortunately.”

After he’d showered, dressed, and grabbed his duffel, Holly followed him downstairs, clad only in a T-shirt and undies, to say goodbye. “Drive safely. Call me when you get back.”

“I will,” he promised as he shouldered the duffel and opened the door. “When will you come back to London?”