City Cinderella

Emily described the meeting in graphic detail, winning peals of laughter from her friend. ‘Actually, he was very nice about it, Ginny. I can’t help thinking about him, to be honest.’

‘Because he’s gorgeous?’

‘No—because the poor man’s ill with no one to look after him.’

Ginny ordered more coffee, then turned to Emily with a militant light in her eye. ‘You say this man’s no turnoff in the looks department, probably earns pots of money, and lives in a loft apartment overlooking the Thames. Come on, Em! There must be hordes of females panting to mop his fevered brow.’

‘Bound to be. But apparently he’d rather wallow in misery alone.’ Emily stirred her fresh coffee, frowning. ‘Which he’ll have to all weekend. I’m not due at his place again until Monday morning.’

‘Good. See you keep it that way.’ Ginny reached to touch Emily’s hand. ‘You’re just beginning to get your life back together, so for pity’s sake stop worrying about a man you hardly know.’

To change the subject Emily suggested some leisurely window shopping rather than spending another afternoon in the cinema, and as usual the time flew in company with Ginny, with no opportunity for introspection. But later, during the journey on the Tube and the walk to Nat’s house, no matter how hard she tried to block him out, Emily couldn’t help worrying about Lucas Tennent.

The feeling persisted during the evening. Emily worked for a while on her laptop, but because she’d based her main male character on Lucas Tennent the procedure was a washout as a way to stop thinking about him. At one point she even picked up the phone to ring him. But in the end she put it back without dialling and settled down to work instead. And eventually achieved such fierce concentration it was long after midnight before she closed the laptop and fell into bed.

Emily woke with a start next morning, hoping Lucas Tennent hadn’t developed pneumonia in the night just because she hadn’t troubled to check. And when he answered the phone she felt totally justified, because he sounded even worse than the time before. Before she could even ask how he was, he gasped something incoherent and rang off.

A couple of hours later, feeling like Red Riding Hood off to visit the wolf, Emily turned down the cobbled street towards Lucas Tennent’s building, bag of shopping in hand. Cursing the nagging conscience which had driven her there, she rang his bell first then unlocked the door.

‘It’s Emily Warner, Mr Tennent,’ she called. ‘Your cleaner. May I come in?’

There was silence for so long Emily was sure he must be lying unconscious somewhere. But eventually Lucas Tennent materialised in the doorway to his bedroom. He’d looked ill enough at their first encounter, but now he looked ghastly, his ashen pallor accentuated by streaks of unhealthy colour along his cheekbones. His bloodshot eyes were underscored by marks like bruises, his jaw black with stubble, and his tousled hair lank with sweat.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he grated through chattering teeth, and wrapped his dressing-gown closer.

Emily flushed. ‘You sounded so ill I was worried. I thought you might need—’

‘For God’s sake go away. I don’t need anything—’ He gave a frantic gulp and raced off, kicking the bedroom door shut behind him.

Emily glared at it, incensed. So much for her Good Samaritan act. Seething, she slapped the newspaper down on the chest, added a carton of fresh milk, and was halfway through the door with the rest of her unwanted shopping when a hoarse, repentant voice halted her.

‘Miss Warner—Emily. I was bloody rude. My apologies.’

She turned to look at him. ‘Accepted,’ she said coldly. ‘Goodbye.’

‘Don’t go for a minute. Please.’ He leaned in the bedroom doorway, shivering. ‘Though Lord knows you should run like hell, in case you catch this hellish bug. Sorry I snapped.’ His mouth twisted in distaste. ‘I took off because I had to throw up again.’

Emily thawed slightly and closed the door. ‘In that case please get back into bed.’

‘Not a very tempting prospect right now.’

‘Did you perspire much overnight?’

His mouth twisted in distaste. ‘Could we talk about something else?’

She hesitated, then took the plunge. ‘Look, Mr Tennent, why don’t you have a hot shower while I change your bed?’

He looked appalled. ‘I can’t possibly let you do that!’

‘Why not? I would have done it tomorrow, anyway. It’s one of the things you pay me for.’ She smiled encouragingly. ‘You’ll feel much better afterwards—but don’t get your hair wet.’

He eyed her in brooding indecision for a moment, then shrugged, went into his bedroom, took a T-shirt and boxers from a drawer, and shut himself in his bathroom. Emily stripped the crumpled linen from the bed, replaced it with fresh, fetched more pillows from the spare room, and did some quick tidying up. When Lucas emerged his face was still haggard, but it was free of stubble and he’d run a comb through his hair.

When Emily turned back the quilt invitingly Lucas shed his dressing gown and slid into bed to lean back against the stacked pillows with a heartfelt sigh of relief.

‘Thank you so much,’ he said formally.

She smiled in acknowledgement. ‘I’ll dispose of this lot, then I’ll make you something to eat.’

‘Please—no food!’ he said with a shudder, eyes closed.

‘Just some toast,’ she coaxed, in the tone she used with the twins. ‘How many pills have you taken today?’

He opened a morose eye. ‘None. With my present problem it seemed a bit pointless.’

‘If you eat something you’ll be able to keep them down.’

‘I doubt it,’ he said despondently.

In the kitchen Emily made tea, toasted a slice of bread she’d brought, scraped a minimum of butter on it, cut it in triangles, then put plate and beaker on a tray and took it into the master bedroom.

‘If you make friends with the toast I could scramble some eggs,’ she offered.

‘I’m not up to that,’ he said with a shudder. He bit into the toast and chewed slowly, then took a second piece and ate it more quickly.

‘Steady,’ warned Emily. ‘Not too fast.’

‘It’s my first sustenance for days!’ But he ate the rest with more care. ‘Toast never tasted so good,’ he informed her, then inspected the steaming contents of the mug with suspicion. ‘What’s this?’

‘Weak tea—kinder to your digestion than coffee,’ she said firmly, and took two paracetamol tablets from the packet on his bedside table. ‘Take these with it, and I’ll make you some coffee later.’

Lucas swallowed the tablets obediently, then sipped the tea, frowning at her over the mug. ‘You know, Miss Warner, this is extraordinarily good of you, but why are you here? You must have better things to do with your time on a Sunday?’

She shrugged. ‘I had my very first dose of flu fairly recently, so I can appreciate how ghastly you feel. But I had my mother to look after me. I couldn’t help feeling worried about you here on your own.’

He shook his head in wonder. ‘You’re pretty amazing to worry about a complete stranger. But now you are here, there is something you can do for me.’

‘Certainly. What is it?’

‘Indulge my curiosity. What made someone like you take to cleaning as a career?’

‘Someone like me?’ she said, raising an eyebrow.

‘I’m damned sure you haven’t always been a cleaner, so why do you do it?’

‘I enjoy it,’ she said simply.

‘Fair enough.’ He put the empty cup down and slid further under the covers. ‘But what did you do before that?’

‘Office work.’ She got up. ‘Right. I’ll take those things. Try to sleep if you can. I’ll stay for a while to see how you get on, then I must get back.’

‘No laptop today?’

‘Certainly not. Friday was a one-off, Mr Tennent.’ She picked up the tray. ‘Try to sleep.’

‘Thanks, I will,’ he murmured drowsily. ‘What can I do for you in return?’

‘Get better, please.’

Back in the kitchen Emily emptied the carton of soup she’d bought into a mug and put it in the microwave. She left the loaf in a prominent place on a board, placed the breadknife beside it and a dish of butter close at hand, then made herself some tea and sat on one of the smart stools at the bar, yawning. The late night was catching up on her. From now on, definitely no more writing after midnight.

She wrote instructions on the memo pad about the food she’d left ready, and after a moment’s hesitation added her new, unlisted phone number. She tiptoed in with her note to find that Lucas Tennent, obviously feeling the effect of his disturbed nights, was out for the count. But he looked a lot better than the wild-eyed apparition of earlier on.

The house in Spitalfields was ablaze with lights in Nat’s ground-floor section when Emily got back. Not brave enough to ask how things had gone with the trip to Chastlecombe, she let herself in and toiled up the two flights of steep stairs to her room, then put on speed when she heard her phone ringing. She unlocked her door and made a dash across the room, worried it was Lucas feeling worse. Then she stopped dead, every hackle erect, when a different, all too familiar voice began leaving a message.

‘Pick up, Emily. I know you’re there. We need to talk. Pick up.’ There was a pause, then a soft chuckle. ‘Don’t be childish. Ring me.’

CHAPTER TWO

EMILY glared at the machine. The mere sound of Miles Denny’s voice still tied her stomach in knots. But with cold animosity now. Once upon a time she’d been attracted to the sexy drawl he cultivated. Just as, according to Miles, her own husky voice had been an instant turn-on for him. But that had been in the beginning when he’d been moving heaven and earth to get her to live with him. Emily clenched her fists. With hindsight she found it hard to believe she could have been such a fool.

She had been working in a firm of commercial property consultants when Miles joined the company, and almost from the day they met he’d pursued her relentlessly. Firmly against inter-office relationships, Emily had held him off at first. But his persistence had been flattering, she’d been lonely without Ginny, and eventually, after wearing her down with months of persuasion, he’d won. But, once they were actually sharing a home, Miles’ contribution to the running of it was minimal. In the evenings, while Emily cooked their meal and dealt with housework and laundry, he spent his time on the sofa, recharging his batteries in front of the television. Her only break had been on Friday nights, when Miles took her out for a meal.

How could she have been so stupid? she thought in disgust. Living together had soon shown her how little they had in common, and when Miles had taken to spending regular time with male friends after work Emily had thoroughly enjoyed the evenings with no dinner to cook and the television firmly turned off. Early to bed with a book had meant she was always asleep, or pretending to be, by the time Miles came home.

When it had become obvious that a good night’s sleep was infinitely preferable to the lovemaking she’d found so disappointing with Miles, Emily had known it was time to move on. Deciding to tell him straight away, she’d waited up until he got home from one of his men-only evenings. And discovered why Miles had always been so meticulous about showering before sharing their bed. He’d reeked of musky, alien perfume and other scents Emily had identified with furious distaste.

The phone rang, bringing her back to the present with a bump. She tensed, eyeing the phone belligerently, but this time the message was from Lucas Tennent.

Emily seized the receiver. ‘I’m here,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Is something wrong? How do you feel?’

‘Not marvellous, but thanks to you, Miss Warner, there’s an outside chance I’ll live. Now I can string two words together without barking like a hound, I’m ringing to thank you.’

‘Only too happy to help,’ she assured him, eyebrows raised at the change in his attitude.

‘I heated the soup, as per your instructions,’ he went on. ‘And even cut some bread, but I was too damn feeble to wrestle with the coffee machine so I made some tea. I didn’t know I had any tea—’

‘I bought it for you.’

‘Then I owe you, Miss Warner.’

‘You can pay me tomorrow, Mr Tennent. Is there anything else you need?’

‘Just a morning paper as you come in, if you would. How do you get here?’

‘I walk.’

‘Where do you live?’

‘Spitalfields. Would you like me to make lunch for you?’

‘Don’t bother about that. Just the sound of a human voice will do. Wallowing alone with my bug soon lost its appeal.’

Emily frowned. ‘The Donaldsons are away, of course, but surely you have other friends who could call round?’

‘The two most likely succumbed to the bug before I did—’ He broke off to cough, and Emily waited until he was quiet before asking if there was anything else he needed.

‘I can get it on my way in, Mr Tennent.’

‘Call me Lucas.’

‘Not suitable,’ she said firmly.

‘Why the hell not?’

‘For obvious reasons.’

‘If you mean because you work for me, that’s rubbish,’ he said with scorn. ‘According to the great and good we live in a classless society these days.’

‘It’s nothing to do with class,’ she said indignantly.

‘You said choice of name was up to me,’ he reminded her.

‘I meant my name—’ She stopped, wondering why she was making a fuss. ‘Oh, all right, whatever you say.’

‘Bravo. Now I can go happy to bed.’

‘You should be in bed right now.’

‘I was speaking figuratively. Apart from staggering out to the kitchen to make my supper, I haven’t left my bed all day.’ He coughed again. ‘I trust you feel suitably sympathetic?’

‘Of course I do. I was a fellow sufferer not so long ago, remember. Goodnight. I hope you sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.’

Emily had barely put the phone down when it rang again.

‘At last, darling,’ said Claire Warner. ‘I’ve been trying to get you for the past ten minutes.’

‘Hi, Mother. What’s wrong?’

‘Miles rang here half an hour ago, demanding your address.’

‘No!’ Emily groaned. ‘You didn’t tell him?’

‘Of course not,’ said her mother scornfully. ‘I didn’t even speak to him. Your father answered the phone and wiped the floor with him; told him to leave you alone.’

‘Way to go, Dad,’ crowed Emily, then sobered. ‘Actually, Miles left a message here just now, too. He’s got hold of my new number somehow.’

‘Oh, Emily. Have you given it to someone he knows?’

‘Only Ginny. But she wouldn’t tell him.’

‘I’m sure she wouldn’t. How is she?’

‘Fine. We had our usual little jolly together yesterday. Though she spent most of it lecturing me.’ Emily explained about Lucas Tennent’s flu.

Because Claire Warner failed to see why her daughter had to do the man’s cleaning in the first place, let alone look after him now he was ill, she expressed wholehearted agreement with Ginny. ‘For heaven’s sake, child. It’s not all that long since you were down with flu yourself. Amongst other things.’

‘Temper, mainly.’

‘You’re certainly well shot of Miles Denny. I hope Nat hasn’t put your name on his door!’

‘Of course he hasn’t. Nat lets me know if my presence is required when he’s around, and Ginny rings me as she’s coming down the street and I go down and let her in.’

‘Terribly cloak and dagger—like living in a safe house.’

‘Nat’s house is safe.’

‘You know what I mean!’

‘You read too many crime novels, Mother. I just needed a place in London to get myself together for a bit. And Nat has provided it. I’m very grateful to him.’

‘Darling,’ said her mother, after a pause. ‘Nat’s a charming man, but—’

‘Oh, Mother! Nat is Andrew’s friend, not mine at all, really. And he’s married to Thea and father to the twins. What on earth do you take me for?’

‘At the moment, a very vulnerable girl,’ said Claire Warner bluntly.

‘I’ve learned my lesson, believe me.’

‘No more men, you mean?’

‘Certainly not. I’m off Miles, Mother dear, not men in general.’

But afterwards Emily felt deeply uneasy. If Miles had her phone number maybe he could track down her address, too—even have it already. Though if he was brass-faced enough to turn up in person he’d have to get past Nat, and possibly Mark as well, to get hold of her.

Emily had just got down to work on her book when the phone rang for a third time. She groaned in frustration, but at the sound of Ginny’s familiar tones she cut through the message to answer.

‘Hold it, I’m here.’

‘Emily, thank heavens. You’ve been engaged forever. You’ll never guess who came round here this evening!’

Emily sighed. ‘I bet I can—Miles.’

‘Yes. How did you work that out?’

‘He rang my parents earlier, but my father gave him a very un-Christian ticking off, according to Mother.’

‘Brilliant! That must have been before he came here, then. I was in the shower when he turned up, so Charlie left him cooling his heels in the hall until I deigned to appear.’

‘Well done. What did he want?’

‘Your phone number and address, of course.’

‘You didn’t—’

‘Of course not. Even though he kept hammering away that it was a matter of life and death that he got in touch with you.’

Emily snorted. ‘Not a hope.’

‘My words exactly. He didn’t like it one bit,’ Ginny informed her with satisfaction. ‘Took umbrage, big-time.’

‘What happened then?’

‘Charlie showed him the door.’

Emily giggled. Ginny’s large husband was by nature imperturbable, unless someone was foolish enough to upset his wife. ‘I don’t suppose he physically threw Miles out?’ she asked hopefully.

Ginny laughed. ‘Next best thing. I doubt Miles will pay us a repeat visit. Let’s hope he doesn’t try to visit you, either. Has he ever met Nat?’

‘No. Hopefully he never will, either.’

The idea of Miles tracking her down kept Emily awake for a while, but in the end she slept well enough, and woke with a feeling of anticipation she eventually identified—with alarm—as pleasure at seeing Lucas Tennent again. None of that, she warned herself, and went off to take a shower.

When Emily went downstairs later Nat was in the hall, about to leave for the day. He looked tired and pale, but not, she saw with relief, as depressed as he usually did after parting with the twins.

‘How did it go?’ she asked warily. ‘I didn’t like to barge in on you yesterday to ask.’

‘The twins flew at Thea, and before she could say a word demanded that I stay for tea.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘To my amazement, their wish was granted. And the occasion went off surprisingly well, mainly because the twins dominated the entire occasion over the tea and cakes.’ He shrugged. ‘Who knows? Next time maybe Thea will ask me to supper.’

‘Oh, Nat, I do hope so. By the way,’ she added, ‘my ex left a message on my phone last night.’

Nat’s eyes narrowed. ‘How the hell did he get hold of the number?’

‘No idea. I just hope he doesn’t ferret out the address, too.’

‘Don’t worry, Em. I’ll deal with him if he does. Give me a photograph.’

‘No can do. I burned them all.’

‘Description, then.’

‘About your height, but heavier, dark eyes and hair, toothpaste ad smile, and so full of himself you’ll recognise him on sight.’

Nat grinned. ‘You’re still angry with him, then.’

‘Livid!’ She looked at her watch. ‘Must go.’

‘You look rather special this morning,’ he said, giving her the once-over.

‘Things to do after my morning cleaning session,’ she fibbed. ‘But I’ll see to your place this afternoon.’

‘Right, I must be off, too.’ Nat gave her an evil grin. ‘And don’t worry, if Mr Denny comes knocking I’ll throw him out, neck and crop.’

Emily set off for her normal working day with anticipation she firmly dismissed as utter nonsense. Lucas Tennent was feeling rough and needed company; she was merely the person willing to brave his germs. And to brighten him up she was wearing a newish yellow sweater with her jeans, and a touch of make-up. No big deal.

By the time the lift doors opened on the top floor of Lucas Tennent’s building Emily had herself well in hand. She was the cleaner. Lucas Tennent paid her wages. For the moment he was feeling so rotten he needed a helping hand. So she would be brisk and efficient, hand over the paper, complete her usual cleaning routine, make lunch for him, then go straight home again.

Emily pressed the buzzer, unlocked the door and called her name. And this time Lucas appeared at once, haggard, the bloodshot eyes dark-ringed, but with a smile of greeting so different from the hostility of the day before it did serious damage to her resolutions.

‘Good morning, Emily Warner. Good of you to come.’

‘I’m always here on Mondays.’ She handed him the paper.

‘Thank you just the same. But be of good cheer,’ he said, leaning in the doorway. ‘No need to change sheets and force pills down my throat. I’ve performed both duties myself, already.’

‘Well done.’ She took off her jacket and put it on the chest. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Not wonderful. But better than yesterday.’

Which was obvious from the interest he was taking in her appearance.

‘Back to bed now,’ she said briskly. ‘Read the paper while I tidy up.’

‘Forget that. I need conversation. Come and talk to me for a while—’ Lucas broke off to cough, and Emily gestured towards his bedroom.

‘Please go back to bed.’ She went ahead of him to stack the pillows and turn down the newly changed covers. ‘You should have waited for me to do this,’ she said severely. ‘Because you don’t feel so marvellous now, do you?’

‘No,’ he admitted, and slid into bed with a groan of relief.

‘Have you had anything to eat today?’

‘I drank some milk.’

‘Better than nothing, I suppose,’ said Emily, and smiled her approval.

‘Cute dimple,’ he commented.

‘What would you like to eat?’ she asked, ignoring him. ‘Eggs in some form would be best. Something light to start you off.’

‘At the moment I feel too feeble to lift a fork. Later, maybe. When I’ve got over my exertions.’ He eyed her irritably. ‘For the moment just sit down and talk to me, woman.’

Objecting hotly to this form of address, Emily stood her ground for a moment, then sat down on the chair beside the bed. ‘Oh, very well. What shall I talk about?’

‘You.’

She grimaced. ‘Boring subject.’

‘I disagree.’ He slid further down in the bed. ‘Tell me what you did before the domestic engineering.’

‘I worked in a commercial retail agency—I told you it was boring.’

‘Emily, that sexy voice of yours could recite the phone book without boring me.’ He threw up a hand at her scowl. ‘Sorry, sorry. Go on. Tell me why you switched careers.’

She shrugged. ‘I lived for a while with a man who worked in the same agency. When we broke up I moved out and packed in my job.’

Lucas lay watching her, his shadowed eyes alert with interest. ‘Non-amicable parting, obviously. When was this?’

‘Fairly recently. Now, how about that breakfast?’

His mouth twisted. ‘I’m a bit wary of eating. It’s bloody mortifying to keep dashing away to throw up.’

She nodded sympathetically. ‘My mother got a leaflet about flu when I was ill. It said one must try to eat if possible. So will you try?’

‘On one condition—that you keep me company while I do.’

‘If you insist.’

‘Not at all. I’m asking you nicely!’

Emily laughed and went off to the kitchen. When she returned to the bedroom with a laden tray she found Lucas waiting with barely concealed impatience, the daily paper unopened beside him. ‘Sorry I was so long,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I’m used to cleaning your kitchen, but not cooking in it.’

‘Which you shouldn’t be doing at all,’ he said irritably.

‘Of course I should.’ She laid a clean towel across his chest. ‘Better use this now you’ve made the effort to change your bed.’ She handed him a fork and a plate of scrambled eggs on toast, then feeling a little awkward sat down again. ‘Salt, pepper?’ she asked. ‘I seasoned the eggs a bit, but you might want more.’