Sweet Temptation (33 page)

‘Hi, Lauren,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard all about you.’

‘Hi,’ I gulped, hoping I didn’t have chocolate round my mouth. ‘I was just going. I . . . um . . . just popped round to borrow something and I have to go now. Tired. Must sleep. Nice to meet you.’

‘He’s lush,’ I whispered to Patrick as we hugged goodbye at the door moments later. ‘Well done you.’

‘Cheers,’ he said. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

I nodded, even though I wasn’t. ‘I’ll be fine,’ I told him, and went home with my Dairy Milk, where I managed to finish off the entire bar all on my own.

I almost didn’t make it to FatBusters the following Monday after my wine and chocolate binge, but I forced myself to go along and step on the scales of doom. I’d put on a pound and blamed Joe for it entirely. Stupid bastard, it was all his fault for boring me off the wagon. Well, I wouldn’t be doing
that
again. Maddie didn’t turn up, which wasn’t like her. I hoped she hadn’t given in to temptation like I had. Jess, however, had a better night – she’d lost another two pounds, bringing her grand total up to a whole stone. She let out a big cheer and turned bright red. ‘Well done, mate,’ I said, hugging her. ‘A stone – that’s fab. It’s all that salsa dancing, I’m telling you.’

‘That, and running about like a blue-arsed fly for work,’ she said with a grin. ‘Are we still on for tomorrow night, by the way? My friend Phoebe is going to come and give me a hand, so we can do double the work between us.’

‘Sure,’ I said. I was holding a pre-Christmas pamper party for some of my long-standing singletons in the hope that a mini-makeover would give them the confidence boost they needed to make it all the way under the mistletoe for some Yuletide lip action. ‘Looking forward to it.’

I said ‘looking forward to it’, but in truth I wasn’t holding out a lot of hope for some of these clients. They had all been on our books for a few months now and were knock-knock-knocking on Desperation Door. I’d sent them on plenty of dates, but none of them had particularly gelled with anyone else. (Still, I was a fine one to talk, so I could sympathize.) They were a timid lot on the whole, all slightly nervous in large groups, so I’d kept the numbers down and made sure that none of the louder, more in-your-face clients would be there. Hopefully the softly-softly approach would bring them out of their fragile little shells, and they’d all be perked up and feeling good about themselves with the help of Jess, Phoebe and the free-flowing cava.

And no, Joe Smith was
not
invited. Funnily enough, he hadn’t called since my imaginary sister’s car crash had interrupted his
Aren’t I great?
monologue on Saturday night, and I certainly hadn’t phoned him. I felt a tiny bit mean about deceiving him, but not enough to get in touch and arrange a second date. I’d already filed him in my mental ‘Mistakes – Don’t Go There Again’ file. Ho hum. It would be another Christmas with just me and Eddie in the bed, but I’d come to the decision that that wasn’t so bad. Not bad enough for me to compromise, anyway.

On Tuesday evening, Patrick and I decorated the office with gold tinsel and some holly sprays that I’d picked up for a song from the farmers’ market. I plugged in some fairy lights and hung sprigs of mistletoe in discreet corners, just in case, then put on some party music. ‘Sim-ply having a wonderful Christmas time,’ I sang cheerfully, ignoring the pained looks from Patrick.

Jess and Phoebe arrived and began setting up at the far side of the room. They’d be offering express manicures, mini-facials and head massages for a fiver a go, which sounded a bloody bargain to me. ‘And I’ve printed some twenty per cent discount vouchers too, in case the clients want to book further treatments,’ Jess said, whipping out a pile of cards and setting them prominently on the table.

Phoebe looked impressed. ‘Blimey, Jess, you’ve thought of everything,’ she said. A wistful expression came over her face. ‘You
are
lucky, having your own business. I wish I had the guts to leave. Karen’s decided not to come back from her maternity leave, so Louisa’s got the manager’s job now, worst luck. She’s even more unbearable to work for these days.’

Jess gave a shudder. ‘Best thing I ever did, walking out from there,’ she said, arranging nail varnish bottles in a line. ‘The thought of having to put up with her and her horrid comments . . . I don’t think I could do it now.’ She blushed. ‘Listen to me, I’ve got all feisty in my old age. I don’t know how that happened!’

‘Well, good for you, feisty Jess,’ I said, pouring wine into glasses. ‘Now then . . . we have booze, we have M&S canapés, we have you two and your beautifying potions . . . all we need now are some clients and we’ve got us a party!’

The buzzer went and we all giggled.

‘And as if by magic . . .’ Patrick said, grinning. ‘Let’s get this party started!’

In came the clients, looking around tentatively at first, but visibly warming up as Patrick and I made a fuss of them, plied them with drink and introduced them to Jess and Phoebe. I noticed with delight how kooky Eloise McGregor, wearing an off-the-shoulder knitted blue mini-dress with red and black striped tights and biker boots, got into an animated discussion with soft-spoken Jacob Farleigh, a self-confessed misfit who played the trumpet when he wasn’t driving the number 23 bus. And there was geeky Graham Cartwright, who was terribly clever with numbers but rather inept when it came to social skills, managing to keep a conversation flowing with Leah Adebole, who had such low self-esteem that she could barely lift her eyes to meet another person’s gaze.

Then something interesting happened. A little Christmas miracle. In walked Matthew Baines – shy, lovely Matthew, who was the sweetest man you could wish to meet, but who was always getting trampled over by insensitive dates – and he stopped dead when he saw Jess across the room. I watched him curiously. Did he know her? A light had flared in his eyes – a look of joy was shining from his face. And then he was striding over – cautious Matthew actually
striding
! – to where she was sitting, patiently painting Annalisa Binari’s fingernails crimson.

I tried not to stare as I waited for Jess to notice him. And then, when she looked up and saw him hovering in front of her, a huge smile broke on her face. A proper smile – eyes sparkling, dimples flashing in her cheeks. Seconds later, they were talking to each other still with those surprised, happy smiles, as if they were old friends.

Now
that’s
interesting, I thought to myself.
Very
interesting . . .

Chapter Nineteen

A Taste of Honey

Jess

‘I’ve got a favour to ask you, Jess,’ Lauren said the next Monday evening. It had been the last FatBusters session before Christmas, and she, Maddie and I were in the Feathers as usual. Maddie was rather quiet, I noticed; almost secretive, in fact, as if there was something she wasn’t telling us, but she kept saying she was fine, just tired.

‘What is it?’ I said, turning to Lauren.

‘I’m a bit stuck,’ she confessed, spreading her hands wide. ‘I’ve set a client up for a lunch date tomorrow, and the girl he’s meant to be meeting has pulled out. I’ve gone through my client list, and the only people who are suitable are saying it’s too short notice. I’d cancel the date, but unfortunately I can’t get hold of the guy in question, and I really don’t want him sitting on his tod there tomorrow. It would knock his confidence even more.’

‘Ri-i-ight,’ I said suspiciously, not sure where this was heading.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘if you’re free, I was wondering if you would mind going along to meet him for lunch? Just to keep him company – nothing else,’ she added quickly as I opened my mouth to protest. ‘He’s really nice, I promise. Quite shy, not a creep at all, just a sweet professional bloke who’s not had much luck with the ladies in the past.’

I felt confused. She knew very well I was engaged to Charlie. ‘But . . . Well, I’ve already got a—’ I began.

She cut me off before I could finish. ‘Oh, don’t worry, I know you’ve already got a bloke, it’s not like
that
,’ she put in quickly. ‘It’s more that you’re so good at talking to people, Jess, and I think he could really do with some dating practice. No funny business. And it’s only lunch in a nice restaurant. It’s not like I’m asking you to go to a sleazy club or anything.’

I frowned. It was all very well her telling me ‘no funny business’, but the whole thing sounded decidedly odd to me. ‘Um . . .’ I said, stalling for time.

‘He’s booked a table at San Carlo . . .’ Lauren wheedled.

‘Oh
yum
,’ Maddie put in. ‘He’s got good taste, at least. You might as well go, Jess – you’ll get a lovely lunch out of it. The salmon ravioli is sensational there, believe me.’

I was wavering. I really did love Italian food, and San Carlo was meant to be
the
best place to get it.

‘Go on, please,’ Lauren said. ‘Say you’ll do it. For me? And for my poor, shy client? And because you’re the kindest, nicest friend, and . . .’

I laughed, unable to bear the pleading in her eyes for another second. I’d never been any good at saying no. Besides, she’d done plenty of favours for me by now – I did owe her.

‘Oh, all right,’ I said. ‘If I must. But . . . What if I don’t like him?’

‘You will,’ she promised. ‘Trust me, he’s a sweetheart. It’s just one lunch, Jess. No strings. And he’s a businessman, remember, so you can always look at it as a fact-finding mission – you know, getting a few tips, some free financial advice . . .’

‘All right, all right, I’ve said yes, haven’t I?’ I reminded her. ‘I’ll have to rearrange one of my bookings, but it’s only my friend Gemma, so she’ll be cool with that . . .’ I bit my lip, suddenly nervous at the thought of Charlie finding out. There was no way I could tell him I was having lunch with another bloke. He’d go absolutely mental. I shuddered just thinking about it.

‘Come on, don’t look like that,’ Lauren said bracingly, seeing the change in my expression. ‘Broad daylight, nothing sinister, just a chat and some nice food for an hour or so. You never know,’ she added with a wink, ‘you might even enjoy yourself.’

It hadn’t seemed such a massive ask the night before – it was only
lunch
, I’d convinced myself, and a favour for a good mate – but the next morning I woke up with jitters, not sure I could go through with this stupid pretend date after all.

‘What’s up with you?’ Charlie asked as I spilled milk all over the kitchen worktop.

‘Nothing,’ I lied, deliberately turning my face away so he wouldn’t see the guilt in my eyes. I passed him his coffee. ‘Just . . . got a busy morning. Lots of clients.’

‘Hmmm,’ he grunted, munching into a piece of toast. ‘Not seen any other jobs yet, then?’

‘No,’ I replied, sprinkling half a spoonful of sugar onto my cornflakes. (I had cut down from three spoonfuls but couldn’t quite give up the last bit.) ‘But I’m doing all right on my own, Charlie, aren’t I? I don’t know if I’ll need to go back to a job now, business is so good.’

‘Hmmm,’ he said again. He sounded begrudging. ‘You can’t count on it, though. Especially in a recession. People might have booked you in the past because they felt sorry for you, but they’re not going to keep forking out on beauty treatments for ever, you know. And come January, when everyone’s skint, what then? Nobody’s going to be splashing the cash on face creams and what-have-you when there are bills to be paid.’ He shrugged, his message clear:
You’ll be down the dumper, love.

I tried not to feel too disheartened by his words. Because so far, much to my surprise, business had been better than I ever could have imagined. And yes, friends and former clients
had
rallied round and booked me in for treatments, but the fact that I was taking repeat bookings surely meant they weren’t all just treating me as a charity case? Bookings were coming in now from complete strangers who’d had me recommended to them by other clients. Word of mouth was proving to be a brilliant thing. In fact, I was seriously thinking about getting myself proper business premises in the new year. It was all very well being a mobile beauty therapist and going to people’s houses, but that wasn’t always convenient for clients who wanted to get a treatment in their lunch-hour, say, especially if it was the sort of treatment they needed to undress for.

I ate my breakfast in silence, doubts trickling in after Charlie’s doom-mongering. Maybe he was right. Maybe the bookings
would
tail off in the new year when everyone was paying off their Christmas credit-card splurges and the party season was over for another eleven months. Maybe I was being too ambitious with my plans for my own work space . . .

I sighed, wishing that, just for once, Charlie could say something positive or encouraging. That he could be upbeat for a change, or dish out some praise, say well done for getting so far. Instead, Maddie and Lauren had become my cheering-on squad lately, supporting me and holding my hand through the whole business set-up. Shelley and the girls had been fab too, spreading the word and getting me loads of clients, telling me how proud they were of me for going it alone.

It was a shame Charlie didn’t feel able to do the same. He seemed more bothered about what I was going to cook him for tea every day and whether he’d be able to get his leg over that night. That wasn’t right, was it?

I got to my feet, feeling disloyal. I loved Charlie, of course I did, but . . . But . . .

I deliberately pushed the ‘but’ away as I zipped up my boots and put on my coat. I didn’t want to think bad things about Charlie.

‘See you later,’ I called as I opened the front door. ‘Have a good day.’

He barely looked up and I felt a sadness welling deep inside me. It was a few days before Christmas and we would have been married now if we’d stuck to our wedding date, I thought, leaving the house and walking towards the bus stop. We’d be man and wife, on our honeymoon. Would it have changed things? I wondered. Would he treat me differently if we got married?