Who's Afraid of Mr Wolfe? (18 page)

She walked back out on to the landing to retrieve her clothes from the black plastic bags they had been stored in while her wardrobes were being built. Edith had got the guys doing the garden to bring them up from the ‘glory hole’ next to the kitchen, where everything in Edith’s house got dumped until she could find a place for it.

As she untied one of the bags, Ellie froze. She stared at the jumble of old crockery and saucepans inside. Moving quickly to the next bag, she ripped it open with her nails and pulled out an old lampshade and a moth-eaten sari. Tearing the other three bags revealed more of the unwanted stuff she and Edith had sorted out last weekend to go to the charity shop.

Ellie grabbed a statue of the Taj Mahal and hurtled out of the room and down the stairs into the kitchen, where Edith was arranging bourbon biscuits on a plate.

‘Edith,’ she said breathlessly, ‘when do the guys from the charity shop come for the jumble stuff?’

‘Oh, they’ve already come, dear. Came this morning while you were at work.’

Ellie sat down. ‘They took the stuff from the glory hole?’

‘Yes, dear, except for your clothes, of course, silly thing.’ She gave a little grin. ‘I got those moved beforehand. Didn’t want any silly mistakes happening.’

Ellie put her hand over her eyes. ‘And my clothes in the tumble-dryer? Tell me they’re still in there …’

‘No, dear, I took them out and put them into one of
your clothes bags so everything would be together for you.’ As Edith finished talking, her eyes strayed to the Taj Mahal in Ellie’s hand. A look of consternation spread over her face and she sat down quickly in the chair next to Ellie. ‘Oh dear,’ she said in a tiny voice.

In her head Ellie counted up the items of clothing she still had. There was the stuff she had on – jeans, a sweatshirt and her most broken baseball boots, which she wore for decorating. There was the silk kimono dressing gown. Her denim jacket was hanging over a chair in her bedroom. And then … nothing.

She groaned. Then somehow the groan turned into a giggle and once it had started, she couldn’t stop. Edith watched her horrified, as if she were worried that Ellie was becoming hysterical and should be slapped. Ellie kept right on laughing. The giggling turned into full-blown laughter and soon she had her head down on the table. Her poor clothes, unloved by Jack and Sam and goodness knows who else, had been hauled off in a van and were now being picked over in a charity warehouse. That had to be worth a laugh, didn’t it?

After a while Ellie felt Edith’s hand on her arm and raised her head.

‘Ellie dear, I cannot apologise enough. You must let me help you buy some more clothes.’ Ellie waved away the suggestion, but Edith was adamant. ‘And perhaps you should go to Selfridges, use one of their personal
shoppers. That way you could get some help, buy something different than you normally choose.’

Ellie started to howl with laughter again. Good grief. How bad had her dress sense become that a woman currently wearing a canary-yellow cardigan with a purple sparkly skirt was offering her fashion advice?

Jack was driving back from a meeting thinking about how Gavin would take being fired. Could go either way. Devious git was already rubbishing the agency at every opportunity. If it had been down to him, he would have got rid of him before the board meeting. Perhaps via a second-floor window.

Jack stopped for the lights. The weather was warming up and he wound down the window, enjoying the feel of the sun on his arm. He watched the people rushing by and caught a glimpse of a woman walking by the park. Lovely legs. She was wearing a skirt that did a nice little flip along the hemline every time she took a step. Pretty top from what he could see of it and quite spectacular hair. Bit like Ellie’s. The clothes all had a kind of French look. Perhaps she was French. The traffic edged forward. Jack continued to watch the woman as she swayed her hips, her skirt doing its little flip and her hair bouncing gently.

As the car drew level with her, Jack turned to see whether the view from the front was as appealing as the one from behind.

Damn. He had to slam the brakes on to avoid crashing. It was Ellie. Ellie not wearing jeans and a shirt. What was all that about? The last time he’d seen her look so hot was when she went off for that supposedly dirty weekend in Barcelona.

Jack watched her as far as the park entrance and then she disappeared from view. Why did she have to go through the park? Why couldn’t she have stayed walking down the road?

Jack turned his attention back to the traffic, but in his head he was still seeing those hips swaying hypnotically. Perhaps hinting that she should smarten up hadn’t been such a good idea after all. He could feel himself growing excited imagining getting hold of those hips and running his hands round … Jack swore softly as a cyclist veered in front of him. He needed to stop thinking about this, stop thinking of Ellie like that. Stop thinking of Ellie at all.

Even in her bag-lady phase it had been pretty difficult to stop himself from imagining her naked. How the hell had she done that to him? How had he careered from being irritated by her to this?

Time to nip it in the bud. This was getting too tricky, making him do unprofessional things. Like with that slime-ball Jubbitt Junior. If Mrs MacEndry hadn’t talked him out of it, he’d have sent that letter telling him where to stick his account. As it was, he could barely hold himself back
from pinning the guy to the wall and shouting at him every time he thought of the little pervert touching Ellie’s thighs.

Jack shifted in his seat and cast a wry glance at his groin. Exactly what he needed when he walked through reception. Rachel never missed a trick. He’d have to be extra clever in the way he arranged his briefcase and jacket.

This was definitely not good. He might have turned into someone he didn’t quite recognise outside of work, but he wasn’t ready to start seducing his employees yet. Especially not when this particular employee had a hot brain to go with that body. The kind of brain that could get you to tell it things. Get you to open up and before you knew it, you were hooked.

Jack flicked on the indicator.

Getting hooked, caring about someone. That only led to one place.

He concentrated on negotiating the tricky entrance to the car park and nosed his car into the space reserved for him. Time to think about something else, something calming. Like sacking Gavin. Not about grabbing Ellie by the hips, sinking himself into her and making her hair bounce on her naked shoulders.

Gavin put his face close to Jack’s. ‘You know what you are? You’re a complete Philistine.’

Jack surveyed him coolly. ‘Actually, I’m from Yorkshire. Similar, but we have a much better cricket team.’

‘Yeah, cricket and rugby,’ sneered Gavin, ‘and whippets and pigeon racing. That’s what passes for culture oop North, eh, Jack?’

Jack briefly considered decking Gavin. The idiot had seemed to take his sacking on the chin in front of the other directors – he’d had long enough to see it coming – but then he’d ambushed Jack as he was going out for lunch. He was spoiling for a fight. Well, as much as a designer-clad fashion-plate who didn’t like physical contact could spoil for a fight.

Now there was quite a little audience, which was presumably what Gavin wanted: a nice dramatic exit. His creative David against Jack’s soulless Northern Goliath.

‘Look, Gavin,’ Jack began, ‘I don’t know what point you’re
trying to make here. You got a good deal. The board has been more than—’

‘Blah, blah, blah,’ shouted Gavin. ‘Listen to you with your facts and figures. You’re turning this agency into a sausage factory. Put good ideas in one end and they all come out the other end looking the same.’

Jack scowled, which was usually enough to send people scurrying, but Gavin seemed determined to have his time in the spotlight.

‘I’m going where people really appreciate creativity,’ he said loudly. ‘I’ll be there at the award ceremonies next year, up on the stage, and do you know what, Jack, I’m going to piss on you.’

‘I’ll look forward to that,’ Jack said.

Gavin was getting bolder and Jack sensed that he wanted to be hit. The stuck-up git had even taken off his Prada glasses and put them in his top pocket.

Gavin took a step towards Jack and gave him a hefty push. Jack, caught off guard, stumbled back and then stopped.

Grabbing hold of Gavin by the throat and shaking him until the buttons fell off his Paul Smith shirt was very tempting, but then Gavin would do him and the agency for assault. Better to weather the tantrum.

Gavin gave Jack another shove.

Jack stood his ground.

Gavin pushed Jack again and then clicked his fingers
under his nose. ‘Not so macho now, then, Jack the lad, eh?’ Gavin spat out. ‘Do you know I’m really enjoying this, Jackie boy. I’ve got the upper hand. And do you know what I’m going to do with it?’

Before Jack had time to answer, Gavin had waved one of his hands around dramatically and then used it to give Jack another hearty push. Jack didn’t even flinch this time, but he was finding the temptation to lay Gavin out on the floor harder and harder to resist.

Ellie, watching from near the lifts, felt uneasy. Why couldn’t Gavin see that this was the calm before the storm? Jack had lowered his head slightly, but more ominously he was standing as though he had moved all his weight forward. It reminded Ellie of the way her mum’s cat used to look when it had caught a mouse and was deciding whether to eat it or chase it some more.

Gavin carried on, seemingly unaware of the danger. ‘You know, Jack, I’m going to be delighted when you get kicked out of this agency. I will laugh myself sick when the scales fall from people’s eyes and they see you for the uneducated, domineering jerk you are.’

Suddenly Jack’s head snapped up and he said, ‘Finished,’ and Gavin said, ‘No,’ and Jack said, ‘It wasn’t a question, it was a statement of fact. You. Soft. Idiot.’

Gavin tutted contemptuously.

‘Right, Gavin,’ Jack said, folding his arms, ‘you’re going
to pick up your box of toys and walk out that door right now without saying another word. You’ve had your little hissy fit, now sod off.’

Gavin played up to the audience and folded his arms too. ‘No,’ he said defiantly. He gave a little centre-stage smile. ‘What are you going to do about that, then, Jacko mate?’

Jack flashed Gavin a look that was all teeth and no smile. ‘First I’m going to strip us both naked. Then I’m going to fight it out with you here, man to man, like in the film
Women in Love
… You must have seen that, Gavin … cultured man like you.’

There were a couple of nervous giggles around the room, but then people realised Jack wasn’t laughing. His eyes were dark and glittering dangerously.

Ellie saw Gavin shift uneasily. Doubtless the script he was acting out had ended with Jack hitting him. Nowhere was there anything about nude wrestling. He gave a nervous-sounding laugh.

Jack put his head on one side. ‘Don’t believe me?’

Gavin stuck his chest out and tried to look unconcerned.

‘OK,’ Jack said, and slowly took off his jacket. He walked over and laid it on the reception desk. Then he returned to Gavin and started to roll up one of his shirt sleeves, folding the striped, crisp material over and over up to his elbow.

The fact that he was doing it all so slowly seemed to unnerve Gavin and he moved back a few steps.

Jack started on the other shirt sleeve, his long fingers working deftly as he rolled the material back to reveal his forearm. The muscles in his other arm moved rhythmically as he worked.

Then slowly Jack reached up and pulled the knot loose on his tie.

Nobody was laughing now; the only movement was from Gavin as he unconsciously flexed one of his hands.

Once the tie was off, Jack walked back over to the reception desk and coiled it on top of his jacket. Rachel followed his every movement, wide-eyed.

Ellie could see tension now in the faces of the people watching. Even the women who had initially thought that all their birthdays were about to come at once were not so sure they wanted to witness this; the whole spectacle was too toe-curlingly embarrassing because Jack was so very, very calm. If he’d been exhibiting anger, it would have been understandable. This was like a small boy pulling the wings off a fly.

As Ellie was thinking this, the word that she had been groping for to describe Jack plopped into her mind fully formed. It was ‘detached’ and it wasn’t at all the one she was expecting, but she knew it was perfect.

It was what made him able to sit there naked in bed with Edith as if he were simply seeing where it would lead. Perhaps that was what enabled him to cut a swathe through all those women without seeming to feel a thing.
And it was what was powering him now, long after anybody else would have said, ‘OK, joke over. Let’s sort this out in private.’

Jack had started something without really caring how it would finish. If Gavin gave in or ended up naked, she guessed it was all the same to Jack. He didn’t give a stuff.

It was almost as if there were a plate of glass between him and normal emotions.

That thought made Ellie feel extremely sorry for Gavin. The idiot had no understanding of what he was dealing with.

The level of tension hiked up again as Jack pulled his shirt free from his trousers.

Gavin audibly gulped. Up until then he had, perhaps, been unable to comprehend that Jack would do exactly what he said he was going to do, but there was something so menacing about the way in which Jack executed the movement with his shirt that caused Gavin to twig that he was in deep trouble.

Jack started to unbutton his shirt, very, very slowly, never letting his eyes move from Gavin’s. He reached his last button and now it was possible to glimpse his chest.

The girl standing next to Ellie made a kind of ‘Gorr’ noise.

Gavin took another step back, his once-smug expression replaced by dawning horror.

For all she disliked Gavin, Ellie wanted this to stop now.
It was probably already too late, though, because Jack gave a dry laugh and said, ‘Hang on, Gavin, what am I thinking? I’m getting too far ahead. You need to catch up.’