True Colours (The You Don't Know Me Trilogy Book 2) (12 page)

I close the laptop.  For now, I’ve had my fill of Dan’s past and, anyway, time’s marching on.  Faced with a hideous trip to Harrods, I decide that I’m going to need some decent back-up.  And there’s only one person who’s capable of taking on that job.  Changing into combats and a T-shirt, I shrug on a denim jacket and head back downstairs where I find Beefy settled at the breakfast bar.  I collect my handbag, the new set of keys, and breeze towards the door.  In a sudden panic, Beefy shoots up from his stool, latching on like a limpet.

‘Where are we off to?’ he asks in the lift, taking his mobile out of his jacket pocket.

‘Why do you want to know?’

He looks up.  His heavy forehead furrows a little.

‘I like to think ahead.’

Even though I know exactly where we’re headed, I shrug my shoulders.

‘I’m not sure yet.  Let’s just treat it as a walk for now.’

As the lift door opens onto the lobby, he’s still tapping out a message, probably informing my control freak of a boyfriend that his woman is on the move.  Shooting out of the lift and giving a brisk wave to the concierge, I head for the revolving doors.  Beefy’s still with me as I come to a halt, waiting for a gap in the traffic before I sprint across the road and begin the now familiar walk eastwards along the embankment.  Staying a good ten feet behind me, he maintains exactly the same speed, whether I slow down or quicken up.  I cross the Golden Jubilee Bridge and track my way northwards, past The National Gallery and Nelson’s Column, aiming for Leicester Square.  At some point, I hang a left, hoping to stumble over the beginnings of Soho, but it’s evidently the wrong left.  Coming to a halt outside a deli and dodging a delivery van, I glance up and down an unfamiliar side street, realising that I’m completely lost, yet again.  I’d better sort this out pretty quickly.  The sky’s darkened and rain’s beginning to spot.  We’re going to have another downpour soon.

‘Are we still just having a walk, miss?’ Beefy asks, turning up the collar of his jacket, as if that’s going to stop him getting wet.

‘No …’  I squint at a sign.  ‘Actually, we’re going to Frith Street.  I think I might be lost.’

He produces his mobile.

‘Shall we use the sat nav?’

‘I think so,’ I mutter, feeling like a total idiot.

He enters the details and finally points in the direction of the receding van.

‘This way, miss.  It’s not far.  I’m afraid I’ll have to walk next to you.’

‘That’s not a problem.’

With an embarrassed smile, I set off again, strangely reassured by Beefy’s presence by my side.  Along the way, I decide to find out more about my new companion but he’s giving very little away.  By the time that we make it onto Frith Street, I know that he used to be in the army, that he’s been working in Germany and that he flew in especially for this job.  And by the time that I push open the door to Slaters, I’ve managed to glean one little snippet of personal information: he has a wife and a three-month old son.

‘Darling.’  Reclined on a sofa with a catalogue on his lap, Little Steve beckons me over.  ‘What are you doing here?’

I lean down, allowing him to plant a soggy kiss on my cheek.

‘I’ve just come to see Luce.’  I straighten up.  ‘Is she around?’

‘Downstairs, sorting through business from Friday.  She’ll be up in a minute.  We’ve got a cheque for you …’

As soon as I move to one side and sink onto the opposite sofa, Little Steve’s attention is gripped by something near the door.  Clearly, I’ve just revealed the presence of Mr Beefcake.

‘Oh my Lord,’ Little Steve gasps.  ‘Who’s this delectable creature?’

‘Beefy.’

Little Steve’s eyes flip back to me.

‘But I thought you were with Dan.’

‘I am with Dan.  Beefy’s my …’  I falter.  This is going to sound distinctly strange.  ‘He’s my bodyguard.’

‘Oh, dear God.  A bodyguard?’  Little Steve clasps a palm to his chest and purses his lips.  ‘He can guard my body any time.’

‘Behave,’ Big Steve calls, emerging at the top of the stairs.  ‘Nice to see you, Maya.’  He inspects Beefy as he prowls past.  ‘Is this because of those shenanigans last Friday?’

‘Yes.’  I grit my teeth.  ‘Dan’s insisting on it.’

I ought to invite Beefy to sit with us, but he quickly takes himself off to the far end of the room, positioning himself on a red velvet bench.

‘Who was that man?’ Big Steve enquires, emphasising each word with a grimace.  ‘He was an awful Scottish prick.’

‘An ex-boyfriend.’  I look out of the window.  I really could do without talking about Boyd.

‘With a severe personality disorder,’ Lucy intervenes, joining us from the basement.  ‘He’s been stalking Maya.’  She plonks herself next to me, gawping across the room at Beefy.  ‘And Dan’s come over all protective by the look of things.’  She nudges my arm.  ‘Is that actually Hulk Hogan over there?’

I shrug her off.

‘Don’t stare,’ I whisper.  ‘It’s rude.’

‘We ought to celebrate your first sale, Maya,’ Big Steve announces.  ‘I’ll fetch the vino.’  With a flirty glance in Beefy’s direction, he lumbers off to the kitchen.

‘I don’t know why we’re bothering,’ I grumble.  ‘It was Dan who bought it.’

‘There was plenty of other interest.’ Little Steve throws the brochure onto the coffee table.  ‘The sex god just made sure he outbid the others.’  He folds his arms.  ‘So, how’s the painting coming along, my love?’

‘I’ve finished another canvas.’

‘Ooh, what is it?’  He claps his hands together.  ‘Do tell!’

‘The South Bank.  Southwark Cathedral.  Around there.’

He studies me quizzically.

‘It’s a personal thing,’ I explain.  ‘I probably won’t put it up for sale.’

‘I’d still like to see it.’

I nod, although I’m pretty sure I’m never going to sell.  Before he can push me any further on the matter, Big Steve returns with the wine, glasses are poured and we drink a toast to me.

‘So,’ Big Steve begins.  ‘Lucy’s told us all about the big dramatic thing at your parents’ house.’

I choke on a mouthful of wine.  ‘Pardon?  Why?’  I watch as Lucy drowns in shame.

‘I’m sorry,’ she mutters.

‘And she told us about the intervention.’  Big Steve grins over the rim of his glass.

‘Is anything private around here?’ I demand.  ‘And I don’t know what that look’s for.’  Suddenly, Lucy seems incredibly proud of herself.  ‘You lied to me.’

‘Well …’  She shrugs.  ‘You should be thanking me.  It did the job.’

And she’s right, of course.  Deciding to drop the ‘affronted cow’ act, I slip her a smile.

‘Thank you for being a sneaky bitch.’

She raises her glass.

‘Turns out I’m good at it.  Anyway, I’m sorry I lied to you, but it had to be done.  You love him and he loves you.  Anyone can see that.’

So why can’t he say the words, I wonder.  I have no idea why he’s holding off, but every time I say them to him, he seems to change the subject.  And maybe it’s time for me to change the subject too.

‘You packed my stuff.’

‘Yup.’  Lucy takes a gulp of wine.  ‘Dan’s secretary called me yesterday.  Me and Clivey packed it all up last night.’

‘Clive?’

‘Don’t worry, I dealt with your rancid underwear.  Your drawers were a complete bloody mess.  I hope you’re sorting things out the other end.’

I think of all those expensive, built-in drawers that are now overflowing with randomly-placed items of clothing, and I scowl.

‘Ooh, what’s that face for?’ Little Steve asks, pouting at me.

‘What face?’

‘Bulldog sucking a wasp, darling.  You’ve just moved in with him.  Is he cheesing you off already?’

‘No.’  I blow out a lungful of air.  Instead of brooding over the drawers, my brain has decided to brood over Dan.  ‘Well, yes.’  Another lungful.  ‘Oh, I don’t know.  It’s all a bit quick.  I just wish he’d slow down.’

I hear a snort.

‘It’s like the tortoise and the hare.’  Lucy waves her glass at me.  ‘And she’s the tortoise.’

‘Is she?’  Big Steve’s eyebrows shift upwards.  ‘What’s the problem then?  If I remember rightly, the tortoise won in the end.’

A few moments of silence pass between us.

‘So, when’s the sale going through?’ I ask, desperate to shift the conversation away from my love life.

‘Probably next week.’  Big Steve eyes me carefully.

‘And who’s the new owner?’

‘Nobody interesting.  Some American chap.  He likes what we’ve built up and wants to keep it going.  He’s buying the top floors too.’  He points at the ceiling.  ‘He wants to expand, but he’s not going to be a hands-on owner.  He’s giving Lucy more of a say in the general running of things, day-to-day … and a rise.’

While Big Steve snakes an arm around the back of Little Steve’s head, Lucy rubs her thumb and forefinger together.

‘Now, honey buns …’  With a squeeze of his partner’s shoulder, Big Steve stands up.  ‘Let’s get back to work.  We’ve got a camper van to buy.’

The two men set about hanging a landscape in the gallery, roping in Beefy to hold the canvas up against a wall while they bicker over its exact placing.  And I take my opportunity.

‘I’ve got something to show you.’

Lucy’s face lights up with excitement.

‘Shuffle round a bit.  Put your back to them.  I don’t want thunder thighs seeing this.’

Once Lucy’s in place, I reach into the side pocket of my handbag and lay out the pieces of card between us on the sofa.

‘What’s this?’

‘I found it in his bin,’ I whisper, making sure that Beefy’s still fully engaged by the faffing Steves.  ‘It’s Dan’s birthday on Friday.’  Rearranging the pieces, I slot them into place, revealing the message.

‘This is a birthday card from one of his sisters.’

Lucy’s eyes widen.  ‘He tore up a birthday card from his sister?’

She stares in amazement at the mess on the sofa.  I read the message out loud.

‘Happy birthday, Dan.  This is my new address.  Hoping we can be friends some day.’

‘Ooh.’

‘She wants to get back in touch, but he’s having none of it.’  I tap a piece of card and continue quickly.  ‘Layla.  She’s the one who found him, the one who saved his life, and he doesn’t want anything to do with her.’

Thinking deeply, Lucy chews at her lip.  ‘Why not?’

‘He says it’s complicated.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I have no idea.  He won’t talk about it.’

‘Maybe it’s his childhood.  Maybe he just doesn’t want to think about it.’  She sucks in a breath.  ‘Emotional constipation.  And that’s not good.’

I move a piece, just slightly.

‘So what should I do?’

Lucy shrugs.

‘You could always go and see her.’

‘What?’

‘Go and see her.  You’ve got an address.  Limmingham.  Clive says you’ve got a car.  If he won’t talk, you can always talk to her.  Maybe you can … I don’t know … help him sort it out.’

As if she can’t quite believe what she’s just said, she stares at me, wide-eyed.

‘That’s dicing with danger,’ I murmur.

‘I know,’ she murmurs back.

We don’t get the chance to discuss the matter any further.  At the sound of approaching footsteps, I gather together the fragments and stuff them back into my handbag.  Within seconds, the Steves flop down onto the sofa, helping themselves to more wine while Beefy goes back to propping himself up on a fancy stool.

‘He’s a nice bloke,’ Little Steve remarks.  ‘You’ll have to bring him again.’

Big Steve lays a warning hand on Little Steve’s lap.

‘You’re mine, little man.  Don’t you forget it.’

‘Oh, he’s so possessive,’ Little Steve chuckles.  ‘So, what are you doing with the rest of the day, Maya?’

‘Oh shit.’  I pick up my glass and slug back the rest of my wine.  It’s absolutely necessary.  ‘I’ve got to go shopping.’

‘You?  Shopping?’ Lucy snorts.

‘He’s making me go to Harrods.  No limits.  A personal shopper.’  And I’m scared, I’d like to add.  In fact, I’m terrified.

‘Is Dan going with you?’

I shake my head.

‘Oh God.’  Lucy’s giving me a concerned special now, and I know exactly why.  ‘This is an emergency.’

‘I’ve got to get an evening dress for Friday night.  Are you and Clive coming to the Savoy?’

Lucy shakes her head.  ‘Clive’s got some family do.  I’m going with him.’

‘Shit.’

‘You’re on your own, matey, but at least I can help with the shopping crisis.’  She turns to Big Steve.  ‘I need the afternoon off, boss.  You know what Maya’s like.  She can’t do that sort of thing on her own.  Remember the jumper she bought last Christmas?’

While the Steves set about laughing, and Lucy joins in, I fold my arms and slide into a grump.

‘Of course you must have the afternoon off,’ Little Steve chuckles at last.  ‘She needs all the help she can get.’