Three’s a Crowd (35 page)

And Tom was the real thing, solid, eighteen-carat. Rachel's stomach did a flip right now just thinking about him. She couldn't get enough of him . . . literally. Though they talked on the phone every day, they hadn't seen each other all week, and the weekend was looking impossible. Sophie had a big assignment; she was going to be based at home for the duration, with all her friends in lockdown over the same assignment. Hannah was having her best friend, Ellie, over to stay, which meant Tom couldn't duck away even for a short time, and he'd also promised Sophie a long-overdue driving lesson, which would have to wait until Ellie went home. So he was going to be tied up for the entire weekend, while Rachel was free for the entire weekend. She tended to keep her weekends free now so that she was available on the off-chance . . . That sounded so pathetic, but she kept telling herself it was only temporary. And even if Tom only had half an hour spare – when he was supposed to be doing the grocery shopping, or popping out first thing in the morning for milk and the newspaper – that half-hour made her whole weekend. Sometimes Rachel even liked the fact that no one knew about them; they existed in their own little bubble when they were together, they didn't have to share their time with anyone else. Except when there was no time, like this weekend.

Oh bugger, was that hail?

Fortunately she was not far from her block, and she took off up the street, squealing occasionally as pebbles of hail ricocheted around her. They were only tiny yet; Rachel just wanted to get under cover before they got any worse. She rounded the corner
and raced up her driveway to the awning at the entrance of the building, taking a moment to catch her breath. There were none of the dramatic golf-ball-size hailstones the papers loved to report; instead it looked like someone had split open a bean bag on a balcony above, the little white balls bouncing playfully after they hit the ground. Rachel pushed on the security door; it was open, as usual. She stepped into the foyer, dripping, her shoes squelching as she mounted the stairs, which actually made her smile. Now that she was out of it, she decided it wasn't so bad. In a minute or two she would change into dry clothes, which was always such a cosy, comforting sensation after being caught in the rain. Then she would pour herself a drink and sit and watch the storm head out over the ocean.

She fished around in her bag for her keys and, retrieving them, she stuck the key in the lock, but the door gave way before she'd even turned it, which was odd. Before she had time to process what was going on, Tom was standing in front of her.

‘Surprise!' he announced.

And she screamed.

‘Rach,' he laughed, drawing her inside. ‘It's okay, it's only me.'

‘Oh my God,' she breathed, her heart racing in her chest. ‘You scared the shit out of me, Tom!'

He was still laughing as he gathered her into his arms. ‘You're soaked,' he said, recoiling.

‘What are you doing here?'

He pushed the door closed. ‘I wanted to surprise you.'

She was still catching her breath. ‘Were you also trying to give me a heart attack?'

‘I'm sorry, honey. Look at you,' he grinned down at her. ‘You look like a drowned rat.'

‘Sweet talker,' she returned. ‘You still haven't said what you're doing here?'

‘Sophie texted me at lunchtime with a likely story about how three of them were going to stay at Zoe's and work on their assignment together. So I did the stern father thing and told her it was okay as long as she was home by midday tomorrow and that she stays put for the rest of the weekend.'

‘What about Hannah?'

‘Well, once I'd heard from Sophie, I did a switch with Ellie's mum, so I'll have them next weekend instead.'

‘Did you know all this when you called me today?' asked Rachel.

He looked a little sheepish. ‘Not for sure. I wanted to check you were free before I talked to Ellie's mum, but I didn't want to tell you what I had in mind in case it didn't pan out. And when it did, I realised I could surprise you. I didn't mean to give you a fright.'

Rachel considered him. ‘Does this mean you can stay the night?'

‘Yes it does.'

She smiled, reaching her arms up around his neck. ‘Then you're forgiven.'

As they kissed, she felt his fingers hook under her top, slowly easing it up. ‘We really should get you out of these wet things,' he said in a low voice, his mouth close to hers, as Rachel dropped her bag on the floor and raised her arms again. Tom pulled the top up and over her head, tossing it aside. He smoothed his hands over the damp fabric of her bra. ‘You really are wet through,' he murmured.

‘Indeed.'

His mouth covered hers and he brought his arms around her, scooping her up so her feet left the floor and striding into the bedroom. He lowered her to the floor again, tugging at the zip of her skirt, before slowly sliding it down. But the wet fabric clung to her, not moving, so Tom dropped to his knees, running his lips and his tongue across her belly as he peeled the skirt all the way down. Rachel gasped. She raked her fingers through his hair and drew him up again. ‘Come here, you,' she said, pushing him down onto the bed and straddling him. She started to unbutton his shirt, from the bottom up, while he lay back, gazing up at her. She loved the way he looked at her; he made her feel as though she was incredibly sexy, and Rachel hadn't felt like that in a very long time. She got to the last button and opened his shirt back, lowering herself down to press her body into his, skin against skin. That was almost her favourite part. Almost. He wrapped his arms tightly around her as their
mouths locked and their urgency started to build. She felt his hands on the catch of her bra –

Rachel jumped as a knock sounded at the door.

‘Don't answer it,' Tom whispered, their faces close.

They didn't move, didn't make a peep, though Rachel's heart was beating so hard she wouldn't be surprised if it could be heard all the way outside.

Another three knocks sounded, loud and clear. ‘Rachel, I know you're in there, I just saw you walking into the building.'

It was Catherine. They gave each other a bewildered look.

Rachel sighed. ‘
Fuck
.'

‘Not any more.'

She burrowed her face into his neck to stifle a giggle.

‘Rachel!' Catherine called again, like an angry schoolteacher, before thumping the door three, no, four more times.

Rachel lifted herself upright. ‘Okay,' she sung out. She looked down at Tom, mouthing ‘Stay here' as she climbed off him.

‘Where else am I going to go?' he whispered.

She held her finger to her lips as she grabbed her robe from the hook on the back of the door and slipped it on. She stepped out into the hall, closing the door firmly behind her.

Rachel wrapped the robe around her as she hurried up to the front door and opened it. Catherine was standing there, poised to speak, but Rachel cut her off at the pass.

‘You saw me walk into the building? What, are you carrying out surveillance on the place?'

‘Don't be so paranoid,' Catherine said, sweeping past her, brandishing a bottle of champagne. Rachel groaned inwardly. How was she going to get rid of her? She closed the door and followed in her wake, down the hall into the living room.

‘I saw you running up the street as my taxi pulled up on the other side,' Catherine was explaining as she dumped her bag in an armchair. ‘What took you so long to answer the door?'

‘I was just getting out of my wet clothes. I was drenched through.'

‘Yeah, I noticed. I tried to call out to you to wait, I had an umbrella. I left it out there on the landing, I hope it's safe,' she said, frowning as she glanced up the hall. ‘Your security door doesn't seem to close properly, you know.'

Yes, unfortunately. Rachel tied the sash around her robe. ‘What are you doing here, Catherine?'

‘Do I have to have an excuse to visit my best friend?' She leaned forwards to touch cheeks with Rachel and kiss the air. She'd been drinking, Rachel could smell it.

‘I have had the worst day,' she said, tearing the foil from the neck of the bottle. ‘You remember that gold-digger, Alannah Cresswell, I told you about? Her settlement came through this week, and it's customary for the partners to take the client out to lunch after such a big win. So I've just sat through two hours with that conniving little tart, while she flirted with all the partners and they lapped it up, because she's blonde and perky, and they haven't had to put up with her for the past few months.' She popped the cork off the bottle. ‘So I decided to come and get drunk with you.'

Rachel shrugged apologetically. ‘Catherine, I can't, I've got plans tonight.'

‘You're kidding?' Her face dropped. ‘How come you've suddenly got a social life? What's going on?'

‘I've always had a social life, Catherine. You don't know everything I do and how I spend my time.'

Like, for instance, that she was hiding a man in her room that very moment.

‘What are you grinning about?' Catherine was watching her suspiciously. ‘You look like the cat that got the cream.'

‘Nothing,' said Rachel. ‘Look, I suppose I have time for one drink, and one drink only, but then I really have to get ready.'

‘Well, it appears I'm the beggar and you're the chooser,' she said, a little miffed.

Rachel padded off into the kitchen. ‘I'll get some glasses.'

‘I see you've tidied up a little around here,' Catherine called from the other room.

Rachel had been somewhat more attentive to the housekeeping now that she was entertaining, so to speak, on a regular basis. She also found it quite therapeutic when she got twitchy waiting for the phone to ring.

‘Gorgeous flowers,' Catherine remarked, leaning over a vase of tulips as Rachel came back with the glasses. ‘From an admirer?'

She couldn't collect her wits in time, her face froze with her mouth open, but nothing came out.

‘Oh my God,' said Catherine, watching her with a look of surprise laced with admiration. ‘I was only kidding, but they are, aren't they?'

Rachel sighed, but she was still mute, apparently. Catherine grabbed a glass out of her hand and filled it with champagne.

‘Why didn't you tell me?' she said, handing the full glass back to Rachel and taking the other one. ‘We really do have something to drink to now.'

She actually sounded genuinely pleased for her. It was a nice change.

‘It's only early days, I didn't want to make a big deal.'

‘Tosh,' said Catherine. ‘It is a big deal, this is so exciting!' She held her glass up in a toast. ‘To you and – what's his name?'

Rachel froze again.

‘Rachel?' Catherine prompted. ‘He does have a name?'

She glanced around, looking for a hint, a cue, something. Her eyes landed on the square of carpet in the doorway to the kitchen. ‘Matt,' she said finally. ‘His name is Matt.'

‘Ma-
tthew
, please, Rachel,' Catherine corrected her. ‘Matt makes him sound like a plumber. He's not a plumber, is he?'

‘No, Catherine. But what would be wrong with that anyway?'

‘Well, granted, they do make good money, but please, you know the kinds of places they have to crawl into.' She grimaced. ‘They say they never get it all out from under their fingernails.'

Rachel pulled a face, before taking a good gulp of her champagne.

‘So tell me all about him.' Catherine put the bottle down on the coffee table and made herself comfortable in one of the armchairs. ‘Where did you meet?'

Oh, God, now she had to start making up details. Actually, the trick was probably to avoid making up too many details, keep it as close to the truth as possible. Then hopefully when it all came out she wouldn't look completely ridiculous.

‘I actually knew him a long time ago, back at uni,' said Rachel, perching on the arm of the couch, making it quite clear she wasn't settling in.

‘Then I must know him as well.'

‘He wasn't in your year.'

‘Still, I might know him. What's his last name?'

Oh shit. Rachel glanced around the room for another prompt, trying not to look obvious. Catherine reached for the bottle again, and Rachel got a fleeting glance of the label. ‘Hardy . . . ing. Harding,' she announced.

‘Matthew Harding,' Catherine mused. ‘He's not one of the Point Piper Hardings, is he?'

‘How would I know?' Rachel watched Catherine refilling her glass. ‘Hey, I said one drink.'

‘I'm only topping it up,' she dismissed. ‘Anyway, I haven't heard of a Matthew Harding, he is working as a lawyer?'

‘Uhuh . . . for legal aid.' This was turning into a miniseries.

‘That'd be right,' Catherine shook her head. ‘You realise he'll have no money to speak of, Rachel?'

‘See how much we have in common?'

‘What have I always told you?' she sighed. ‘It's just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one.'

‘I thought you didn't like gold-diggers?'

‘That's entirely different, I said fall in love, not take them for everything you can get.' She sat forwards. ‘Anyway, seeing as we're sharing, I've met someone too.'

Rachel blinked. ‘What are you saying? You're married. Remember Martin?'

She shrugged. ‘The spark's gone.'

‘There was a spark?'

‘Oh, there was something, certainly he used to be more enamoured of me, which helped. Now he just annoys me.' She sipped her drink. ‘Then a few months ago, last year actually, I was at a conference, and there was this man . . . We've known each other a long time too, I think there's always been a mutual attraction, but we were both married.'

‘You still are,' Rachel reminded her.

Catherine ignored that. ‘So we got to talking, and turns out we were both feeling pretty disgruntled with our lot, and we commiserated, and well, one thing led to another as they say, and we ended up in bed together. It was pretty heady stuff, I think it caught us both by surprise.'