‘I’ll be waiting for you in the first-class lounge,’ he’d instructed her. ‘We can take some time to discuss the nitty-gritty of the hotel accounts and expenditures so that we’re prepared for the meetings we’ll be having with the hotel manager and his lot and Erin—’ even as she’d read the closing sentence of his email, she’d had no trouble picturing the amused grin on his face ‘—don’t forget it’s going to be boiling hot and humid over there. Feel free to jettison the woolly tights and starchy skirts.’
Right now, at a little after six in the morning, she was dressed in a loose pair of cargo pants and a short-sleeved T-shirt. She’d thrown the grey cardigan she usually wore to the office over the T-shirt in a nod to the fact that this wasn’t going to be a holiday. It was going to be about work and meetings.
She would have felt more comfortable in her usual uniform of a skirt, a blouse and her black pumps, but even she had to acknowledge that that look wouldn’t do in searing tropical heat. Not unless she wanted to pass out with heat stroke.
Her case contained an assortment of similarly summer clothes, most of which hadn’t seen the light of day since last year when she’d had a two-week holiday in Cyprus with two girlfriends.
She was hovering in her small sitting room, glancing anxiously at her watch, when the doorbell rang half an hour before she was expecting it to. Overtaken by a sudden flurry of nerves, she leapt to her feet and headed for the front door.
She glanced at her reflection in the mirror in the tiny, narrow hallway. She looked young and fresh-faced and not much like Raffaele Rossi’s PA heading off for a week of high-level meetings and writing up reports. With one hand on her case and her bag slung over her shoulder, she pulled open the door—and drew in a sharp breath, her eyes widening in shock.
‘Raffaele!’
Her boss stood on her doorstep lounging against the door frame, hand raised as though on the verge of ringing the doorbell again. He was casually dressed in black jeans, a black polo shirt and uberexpensive tan handmade loafers. The absence of all logos proclaimed just how pricey his clothes were.
‘What are you doing here?’ Erin asked.
‘I thought it might be fairly obvious. I’ve come to collect you to take you to the airport.’
‘I was expecting George!’
‘Sadly George had to pull out at the last minute. His wife’s been rushed to hospital with a burst appendix. I thought it might be a little insensitive to tell him to drive us to Gatwick first before going to the hospital to hold her hand. Open up and let me in. I have time for a quick coffee before we head off.’
‘That’s awful!’
‘What’s awful? George’s sudden health crisis with his wife—’ Raffaele grinned ‘—or my unexpected appearance on your doorstep?’
‘George, of course!’
‘I’ll be sure to pass on your condolences.’
‘I could have taken public transport,’ Erin huffed as she continued to guard the door with folded arms.
‘I wouldn’t dream of letting you take public transport to the airport, Erin. How would you get to Gatwick from here, anyway? I don’t recall passing any Tubes on the way. Or maybe I passed one a thousand miles back.’
He nudged the front door and Erin reluctantly stepped aside.
Raffaele had never been to her house. There had never been any reason for him to have visited. Now that he was here, she could feel a tide of mortification rising up inside her.
So therewasn’ta Tube. There was a mainline station which she took to Waterloo and then it was easy enough to connect with whatever Tube she wanted. Granted the mainline station was a hearty walk away but there was no such thing as too much exercise.
The area was respectable enough and the house was acceptable enough, and her landlady was a dream who had allowed her to paint the walls and hang one or two pictures and plant whatever she’d wanted to plant in the back garden.
But as she looked at her boss turning a full circle in the small hallway, she mentally cringed because she knew that this wouldn’t have been what he would have expected, not given the amount he paid her.
‘I can make you a coffee if you like,’ she offered, breaking the telling silence briskly, ‘but perhaps it might be a good idea to get to the airport early? We’ll be less rushed if we discuss business once we’re there.’ She remained where she was, arms folded.
Raffaele focused his eyes on her for a few silent seconds.
Frankly, he was shocked.
Why was she living here? In a faceless, nondescript suburb miles from public transport, never mind cafés, restaurants, shops and any sort of buzzy infrastructure suitable for a girl of her age? The nearest he had found to any sort of life had been a strip of uninspiring shops on what passed for the high street. Several had been boarded up.
She was paid a small fortune!
Where was the money going? How many more layers were there to peel away to reveal the real Erin Fisher? How was it that infour yearshe had succeeded in finding out less about her than he’d found out about the guy who delivered his post?
Curiosity tore through him but he nodded slowly and agreed.
