Love and Liability (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 2) (11 page)

“I’m sure Scarlett O’Hara never ate half a carton of eggs, three pieces of toast, and a rasher of bacon for breakfast,” he retorted.

“Holly!” her mother exclaimed as she emerged from the baize door that led to the kitchen. “What’s happened?”

Alex came to a stop halfway up the stairs. “She had a fall. She’s twisted her ankle. It’s nothing serious.”

“Tell that to my ankle,” Holly said through gritted teeth. “Argghh! It hurts.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, darling.” Cherie tutted. “Your dad’s just texted to say he and Hannah should be here in time for lunch. One of her friends brought her to Hertfordshire, so it’s trimmed an hour and a half from his journey… Mrs Henley’s roasted a chicken and a lovely leg of lamb. Will you join us, or shall I have her send up a tray?”

“A tray, please. Thanks, Mum.”

Alex followed Holly’s directions to her bedroom and lowered her on the bed. He reached behind her to plump up the pillows. “There. Comfy?”

Holly nodded. “Perfect.” Her foot throbbed; the paracetamol obviously hadn’t taken effect yet.

“I’ll go downstairs and fetch some Epsom salts,” Lucy told her from the doorway. “That foot needs a proper soak. Here,” she added as she handed some magazines to Alex. “Give these to Holly. They’ll help pass the time. I got ’em at the newsagent’s just now.”

“Thanks.” Alex took a seat in the faded chintz armchair by Holly’s bed and began idly flipping through the pile. “Your competition,” he said, lifting up copies of
Shout
and
Bliss
to show her. “‘How to Avoid a Dodgy Date’,” he read, and frowned. “I could’ve used this one at university. I once went out to dinner with a girl who smelt suspiciously of marijuana and ordered one of everything on the menu.”

“Give me those.” She held out her hand.

He ignored her. “Ah, here’s a must-read — ‘My Bezzie Mate Stole My Lad!’” He shook his head. “It’s a jungle out there.”

“Alex,” Holly warned him, “if you don’t hand those magazines over right now…”

He grinned. “I had no idea teen magazines were so entertaining.” He flipped to the last one in the pile. “Wait a minute — this one’s yours, isn’t it?” He held up the latest issue of
BritTEEN
.

Her heart throbbing as badly as her foot, Holly tried to grab it away. “Yes. Come on, Alex, enough already! Give me those stupid magazines!”

“Wait a minute…let me just see if my interview’s in here.” He turned to the table of contents. “Ah, yes, here it is — ‘One Outrageous Question with Hottie Henry’.” He looked up in mild surprise. “Hottie Henry?”

“Alex, please, give me that—”

But he found page thirty-seven and glanced at his picture. “I’m glad you used that photo,” he approved. “One of my mates took that one. I remember it well. A bunch of us hired a sailboat in Belize a couple of years ago…”

Holly waited in an agony of dread as he began to read the interview. His smile faltered, then faded altogether.

He lowered the magazine and looked at her. “My off-the-record comments —
both
of them — are in here. How can that be?”

“It’s a mistake, Alex. It’s all a terrible mistake.”

“A mistake,” he repeated. His eyes narrowed. “You knew about this. That’s why you tried to grab it away just now.”

Holly opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“Did you know about this at dinner last night?”

“I — no — yes,” she admitted miserably. “Yes. I did.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Of course I did! I thought about it a lot. I even left you a voice message.”

“A voice message?” he echoed, and frowned. “Well, I wouldn’t know, would I? Thanks to you, my phone’s been out of commission since you dropped it in the vichyssoise last night…” His words trailed away, and suspicion dawned on his face. “Wait a minute! You landed my phone in the soup on
purpose
, didn’t you?”

“No!” Holly protested. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Oh, no, it isn’t. It makes perfect sense. You left me a message, and then you had second thoughts. So you sabotaged my mobile!”

“I didn’t want to — to upset your digestion before dinner. And I didn’t want to ruin your evening.”

“Ruin my evening?” he echoed, his dark eyes black with anger as he stood and flung the magazine aside. “You’ve ruined more than my evening, Ms James. You’ve ruined my career!”

Holly bristled
.
“Now you’re just being dramatic! No one’s career is in jeopardy. Except maybe mine,” she added.

“My quote’s been taken completely out of context!” Alex went on, furious. “Where’s the bit I said about the couple being responsible, consenting
adults
? It’s not there! And I told you I might stand for MP in strictest confidence!”

“Look — I’m sorry about that stuff being printed, okay? I didn’t put it in the interview, or, at least, I don’t
think
I did, but it must’ve got left in with the final proof—”

“Actually, Ms James,” Alex cut in coldly, “I don’t care how it happened. You leave me no choice but to pursue legal action against
BritTEEN
for libel.”

Despite the lurch of fear his words evoked, Holly kept her face expressionless. If Alex Barrington sued the magazine, Sasha would have the perfect excuse — neatly wrapped and tied with a bow — to sack her. “I hardly think you want to do that, Mr Barrington. You’ll only make things worse by drawing attention to the matter. Besides, it’s all in fun—”

“Fun?” Alex regarded her incredulously. “Do you think it’s
fun
, knowing that every spot-faced teenage girl in England—”

“Scotland and Wales, too, actually,” Holly interjected helpfully. “Our readership encompasses the entire UK.”

“-and, even worse, those girls’
parents
, think that I condone a leg-over on the first date? What sort of credibility do you think that gives me as a solicitor? Or even worse, as a potential MP?”

Holly bristled. “In all fairness, it’s not like you’ve admitted to…to embezzling money, or anything.”

“Lunch is served!” Cherie announced as she thrust her head around the door. She set a tray with roast lamb and chicken and assorted overcooked vegetables down on Holly’s lap. “Your father and Hannah just arrived. Alex, do come downstairs and join the rest of us in the dining room.”

Holly heard a commotion downstairs as the dogs began a chorus of barking and her sister bellowed out, “I’m home, everybody! Remain as you are!”

Her footsteps pounded up the stairs, and a moment later Hannah burst into the bedroom, her face flushed and wreathed in smiles as she launched herself at Holly. “Hols!”

“Hannah,” Holly exclaimed, and laughed as her sister flung her arms out to hug her, enveloping them both in her long, brownish-blonde hair. “Let me look at you.”

Obediently, Hannah straightened and twirled around. She wore jeans and trainers and a West Ham T-shirt, and a hoodie was tied loosely at her waist.

“Sorry, I dressed for comfort, not style.” She indicated the hoodie. “It’s bloody
cold
in Norwich in the early morning.”

“How’s uni? Are you liking it? Have you got a boyfriend yet—?”

“She’d better not.” Alastair, only partly joking, appeared behind his wife. His face was etched with concern. “Are you all right, Holly? Your mother told me what happened. Bloody dogs! Let me send for Dr Marsden—”

“Thanks, Dad,” Holly murmured, avoiding Alex’s still-disgruntled expression, “but it’s only a sprain. Alex — I mean, Henry — and I were just in the middle of a…discussion.”

He frowned. “I see. You’re quite sure you’re all right?”

Holly nodded, touched by his concern but anxious to smooth things over with Alex. “Perfectly. Thanks.”

Alastair turned to Alex. “Henry? Will you be joining us downstairs for lunch?”

“Tragically, no.” Alex set his lips in a grim line and glared at Holly. “I think I’ve had just about enough.”

He conveyed the proper words of thanks to Holly’s parents, cast their daughter another black look, and left.

Hannah looked at her and raised her brow quizzically. “What was
that
all about? And who’s Henry?”

“Never mind all that,” Holly said, and scooted over to make space on the side of her bed. “Come and sit down and let’s catch up before you go downstairs. I want to know
everything
.”

Well
, Holly reflected glumly as Hannah nattered on about her new friends and her eccentric new roommate,
so much for Alex and me getting along like a house on fire
.

Thanks to the
BritTEEN
interview she’d screwed up so spectacularly, the fire had officially been doused, leaving only a handful of nasty, wet ashes behind.

On Sunday afternoon Holly ventured downstairs and stowed her duffel bag in the car. Her father had insisted on bringing Dr Marsden out late on Saturday afternoon to look at her ankle. It was now unattractively wrapped in an Ace bandage.

“Holly, before you go, let’s have a look at that engine.”

She looked up to see her father coming down the front steps. “Thanks.” She stood aside as he lifted the bonnet and began poking and prodding at various filters, plugs, coils, and the other mysterious paraphernalia that made up the Skoda’s engine.

“Get in and start it up,” he ordered her.

Holly slid awkwardly behind the wheel and turned the ignition. “The fault light’s come on,” she called out.

“Has it come on before?”

“Yes.” Holly got out and returned to stand beside him. “It stopped dead on the way in to work last week, right in the middle of Shaftesbury Avenue. I was able to start it again, and it got me to work…barely.”

“It must’ve gone into limp mode.” He lowered the bonnet. “I’ll have it towed in to the village mechanic, and he can have a look and read the code. It may be a wiring fault.”

“But I can’t afford a tow, or car repairs, for that matter,” Holly moaned. “And I need to get back to London.”

“I’ll take you. We haven’t had a chance to talk properly since that ankle sidelined you, at any rate. You’ll need a hire car for a few days when you get back.”

“Dad, I barely had enough money to buy a bag of cheese crisps and a soda on the way down. I can’t afford a hire car.”

“You’ll pay me back.” Alastair reached for his wallet. “You can’t drive an unreliable car, Holly.” He handed her several fifty-pound notes and glanced at his watch. “Get your things. Can you be ready to go in half an hour?”

She nodded and tucked the money in her pocket. “I only brought my rucksack, and it’s in my car. I’ll go and get it, and say my goodbyes to Mum and Hannah. Thanks, Dad.” On impulse, she threw her arms around him. “I
will
pay you back. I promise.”

“So what do you plan to do?” Alastair asked after Holly had said her goodbyes and he’d merged the Mercedes onto the motorway twenty minutes later.

Holly glanced at him, puzzled. “Do?”

“About your money situation,” he said. “Why don’t you ask that boss of yours for a pay rise?”

“Sasha would go to Fashion Week naked — or, worse, in last season’s clothes — before she’d give me a raise. She hates me.”

“Why, for heaven’s sake?”

“I don’t know. She just does.”

“Well, then, what about a part-time job? I’m sure I could find you something at the store.”

“No. I have to do this on my own. I’ll find something.”

But as she slumped back in her seat and stared out of the window in resignation, Holly didn’t believe her own words.

After all, Valery would most certainly sack her tomorrow.

And if she lost her job at
BritTEEN
, she couldn’t pay her share of the rent. Ergo, she’d be evicted from the flat. She’d have nowhere to live, no car, and no money. She’d end up on the street, busking for spare change, diving into smelly skip bins in search of food, right alongside Zoe—

“Holly, stop worrying.” Alastair reached out and patted her awkwardly on the knee. “Everything will work out.”

She smiled at him. “Thanks, Dad. I’m sure it will.”

Now, if she could only make herself believe it…

Chapter 16

On Monday morning, Zoe woke up on a lumpy sofa and blinked. Momentary panic followed as she sat up and tried to work out where she was.

A marmalade cat regarded her from its perch on a nearby window sill, and then she remembered — she’d spent the night, not on a bench on Shaftesbury Avenue, or huddled on a hostel cot, but on Maxine’s sofa.

She’d met her schoolmate by chance in the Camden market, and Maxine had asked her along to lunch. Afterwards Maxine and her boyfriend Dan offered her the use of their rump-sprung sofa for as long as she liked.

The cat, noting that she was awake, jumped down from its perch and sprang up on the sofa, purring softly.

“Hello, puss,” she whispered, and stroked the cat, smiling as it rumbled contentedly and settled down next to her. If only she could forget about Erik. Her smile faded.

On her second night in London, someone pinched the rest of her money. She’d stuffed the cash in her back jeans pocket; when she reached for a tenner to pay for a Mars bar and a Diet Coke, it was gone. Someone had picked her pocket.

She left the items behind on the counter. She spent her first night on the streets, dozing in doorways and curled up behind skip bins, her stomach empty and her nerves strung tight. Every sound made her jump; every footstep filled her with terror that it might be Erik’s. When a policeman found her sleeping on a park bench, he shook her roughly awake and chivvied her along.

It was ironic, really, Zoe thought darkly. She had all of London at her disposal…and nowhere to go.

With a sigh, she reached around the cat and groped for her rucksack. The mobile phone was still inside, sleek and black and expensive.
Erik’s mobile
. She turned it on, after checking that Maxine’s bedroom door was still closed, and scrolled quickly through the text messages.

Erik was her mother’s boyfriend. Most of his texts were to Mum, setting up times to meet when Dad was away — which, she reflected bitterly, was most of the time — but the rest went to someone named S Ivens, and dealt with the status of expected deliveries of “our merchandise”. She frowned; she knew little of business, but it all sounded a bit dodgy to her…