‘You’ve got company.’ He shook his head, a sneer twisting his face. ‘I should have realised. I hope he’s worth it.’ He spat the words and looked me up down.
My mouth flapped feebly, the words completely lost. He looked so furious and disgusted with me, my heart raced. I put my hand out and touched his forearm, to make contact and slow him down.
‘Daniel?’ My voice wobbled.
He shook my hand off as if it was contaminated and then he wheeled around and stormed off, his long strides eating up the distance back to the lift.
Finally I managed to get my vocal chords back under control. ‘Daniel,’ I cried. ‘Stop. I can.. .’ Even to my ears it sounded a terrible cliché.
Chapter Thirteen
It should have been bliss after the premiere to climb down from 95,000 feet but I couldn’t stop worrying about Kate, now back in Australia, and Daniel, who might as well have been.
I phoned and texted him several times. Anxiety at the injustice of not being able to find out what had made him so angry made me sleepless and irritable. It wasn’t like him to jump to conclusions or to get so mad without giving someone a chance to explain. I felt aggrieved that he hadn’t and still wouldn’t talk to me and the more he ignored my attempts at communicating, the angrier I got and the more determined that this was it. I’d had it with his constant about-turns.
I certainly wasn’t going to say anything to Emily, who happily lapped up the success of the event and the resulting press coverage. It made a very pleasant change for her to be so easy-going. I made the most of it.
The best part of my week was the premiere post-mortem with the happy clients from Beautiful Babes Luscious Lips. They were delighted with all the pictures in theSunandMirrorof Miranda and the close-ups of the Minx Red kiss on her bottom. They might have been even happier if we’d been able to show them the five-minute slot we got on the BBC news, but someone had forgotten to arrange for it to be recorded.
How many ways can you interpret, ‘Please ring the press cuttings agency and make sure they monitor all broadcast coverage’. Unfortunately, by the time I realised that Emily had failed to even manage this, it was too late to even resort to BBC iPlayer.
‘That went well,’ exclaimed Emily, as the client disappeared escorted by David. I glanced at her. She was perfectly serious. No sweaty palms for her then when the client asked where the DVDof the news coverage was. Shaking my head, I started to pack up my desk.
‘Well, I’ve had enough for one week. I’m off. Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind and come down with me? Nip back to the flat and get some stuff for the weekend. I don’t mind waiting.’
What a total hypocrite. At least making the offer for her to come along made me feel better. Not quite so guilty. She was staying at home by herself while I was heading off for a weekend at home, the big cricket match and to face Daniel. After a lot of heart searching, I knew I needed to make more effort stay away from him. Maybe I should go out and join Kate in Australia. This weekend would be the last event I’d go to where I knew he’d be without Emily. Avoiding him was difficult in the flat, if not impossible, but doable. I would just do social chit-chat when I had to and then retreat to my room, making sure I stayed out of his way as much as I could.
Unfortunately, there was no way I could back out of the weekend. My family would know something was wrong. I never missed this fixture. It would be a dead giveaway if I didn’t go at this late stage.
Emily fidgeted in her seat before looking up at me with a pitying expression on her face. ‘Thanks, Olivia, but no thanks. I’ve got better things to do than play cricket widow.’
It never occurred to me at the time that she really did have ‘better things to do’. I thought it was just sour grapes.
‘I don’t see why I should spend my Saturday making sandwiches for a bunch of blokes I don’t even know. Some women might enjoy being a throwback to the fifties, humouring their men — not me. Daniel’s welcome to play cricket. His choice, but I’m not giving up my weekend to have the pants bored off me. It’s all right for you. You know everyone. You’restaying with your family. I’d have to stay at Daniel’s and I can’t stand his stepmum.’
My guilt pangs curled up and died. They’d done well to survive the snide remarks about cricket groupies and teas that had been tossed my way in the last couple of days. Sod her. I didn’t care if she was on her own this weekend.
Heaving my holdall over my shoulder, I was about to leave when David appeared in the office. He didn’t say anything but with one finger he beckoned to me. Shit, was I going to be in trouble about the missing BBC coverage? Emily exchanged a quick, nervous glance with me and then shrugged her shoulders, as well she might. It wasn’t her problem, was it?
* * *
As if I hadn’t had enough drama for the week, David’s summons to his office was just what I didn’t need late on a Friday afternoon. I thought I knew what was coming and was fully expecting a bollocking.
The satisfied grin on his face belied his words. ‘I’ve had a few complaints about you.’
‘Really. I’m surprised,’ I said coolly. He’d dumped me with the job from hell. If there was any complaining to be done it should be coming from me.
‘Miss Emily Mortimer is not very happy with your management skills.’
I frowned at him, that wasn’t what I was expecting him to say. Bloody cheek. I wasn’t too chuffed with her either.
‘Isn’t she?’ I said grimly, thinking of the missing coverage, the single ticket and her general ineptitude. ‘Eleanor Braeburn looked pretty pleased — and she’s the client. I’d have thought her opinion counted most. She’s the piper after all.’
‘Smart girl. That’s why I made Fiona give you the job. Eleanor is crapping herself with delight. But don’t think you’re getting a pay rise out of this.’
‘What about a car? After all you pinched mine.’ The words just popped out of my mouth. I’m not sure who was more surprised, me at thinking so quickly on my feet for once, or David at my outright gall. He’s not used to that. Most people are either so busy tugging their forelocks that they miss the wicked glint in his eye (he does have a very warped sense of humour) or so darn scared of him, he treats them with contempt.
He put his head on one side, studying me. ‘Think you deserve one, do you?’ he asked, his grey eyes dancing with arrogant mischief as he reclined in his chair, his ankle hooked over his knee.
