The Birds And The Bees Part 15

'Ooh, promises, promises,' she said.

'You're my good-luck charm, that's what you are,' he said, pulling her into his arms and kissing her lovely juicy lips.

'You'd better not be long,' she purred. 'Although I might have slipped into something more comfortable by the time you get back. My, it's so hot in here,' and she unb.u.t.toned her s.h.i.+rt a couple more notches.

He shot out of the door to the car with a smile as big as his erection, although both reduced a little when he saw the light filtering through the blinds across the lane. A kind thought slipped through all the black ones that said he really should give Stevie some money from his winnings towards the cancelled wedding and what he owed for Danny's holiday.

But then again, if she could afford to live in that cottage...And Jo said he had to be cruel in the short run to be kind in the long run.

In a trice Matthew had justified keeping his winnings for himself and Jo, and he drove to the off-licence for their champagne.

Chapter 27.

There was a message waiting for Stevie after she had come back from an Adam MacLean-free hour on the weights at the gym.

'Bea darling, it's Crystal. Just ringing to see if everything's okay,' which was her boss Crystal Rock's (yes, really) way of saying, 'Where the f.u.c.king h.e.l.l is your ma.n.u.script? It's overdue and I never have to chase youso what's wrong?'

Stevie bit the bullet and rang her back immediately.

'Darling!' Crystal said, when her latest PA (Danielle?) put her through. Stevie tried to learn their names, but none of them seemed to last more than a week. Crystal was scare-ee, although somehow she and Stevie had always managed to get on just fine.

'Hiya, Crys, sorry I've not been in touch.'

'I was worried about you, darling,' said Crystal, who had a voice like an expensive smooth c.o.c.ktail.

'I was just ringing to allay your fears and say that my ma.n.u.script is nearly ready.'

'Nearly? Oh now, darling, you've been neglecting me for your wedding plans, haven't you?' said Crystal, with a heavy threat tangled up in the light banter.

'There isn't going to be a wedding,' said Stevie, who was quite aware she was using her distress to buy herself some time. She couldn't lose this job, and if she could sell her soul to MacLean in exchange for her man, she could sacrifice her pride for her work. She could virtually see Crystal s.h.i.+fting forward at her desk and putting her Pomeranian, called 'Eiffel', down on the floor, as she did when chat became serious.

'No wedding? What on earth do you mean?'

'Matthew has...has found someone else.'

'Oh darling, the absolute...'

Stevie winced at the word she used, although even she had to admit it actually sounded quite cla.s.sy being issued via Crystal's Swiss-finis.h.i.+ng-school-educated voice-box.

'Look, it's fine. When can you get it to me?' said Crystal in a rare moment of leniency.

'I'll email it Tuesday first thing. It's nearly finished, I promise,' gushed Stevie, issuing a silent prayer of thanks upwards. She was out of the frying pan.

'I'll expect it, darling. Oh, and start thinking about the next one. We've had an absolute glut of Mediterranean heroes and yet our own Scots and Irish boys have been totally neglected.'

'I'll do an Irish.'

'No, I've given Paul the Irish. I want you to take the Scot. Call it Highland Flingyou know the format. But let's have some red hair and Gaelic testosterone and plenty of it.'

'Absolutely,' said Stevie, who suddenly felt herself being catapulted out of the pan and thrown into a very hot fire. How the h.e.l.l could she make a s.e.x symbol out of a red-haired Scot when she would be imagining that...that man? He would end up killing the heroine with a giant-handed slap in Chapter Oneand how flaming romantic was that?

Matthew rose from bed feeling incredibly sick. Sick in head, stomach and heart. The line to Camelot hadn't been engaged after all, it had been faulty, although they hadn't known that when they were ringing excitedly at five-minute intervals. After seven more attempts, they cracked open the first bottle of champagne, and after that was drained they started dancing. After the second bottle of champagne, to which they had added brandy and brown sugar to make c.o.c.ktails, Matthew had carried Jo upstairs and attempted to make love to her, failing dismallynot that either of them cared. They were going to be richwell, rich enough to have a b.l.o.o.d.y good spend and a fantastic holiday au soleil. More importantly, he could put off that ever-looming money talk with Jo. The fates were smiling on him.

He was woken up by Status Quo playing in his head, a stomach like a cement-mixer and Jo shaking on his shoulder to say she had eventually got through to Camelot to find he had won five hundred and fifteen quid, which he could collect from a post office.

Five b.l.o.o.d.y hundred and b.l.o.o.d.y fif-b.l.o.o.d.y-teen quid for five b.l.o.o.d.y numbers. They weren't the only f-words that crossed his mind and that was from a man who hated swearing.

'A record number of winners on that draw,' Camelot had said, with a copious amount of sympathy.

Four hundred and seventy five quid 'profit' then, if you took off the price of the champers. It wouldn't even make a small dent in what he owed so there wasn't much point in chucking the money to a Visa company. It would be like throwing a microscopic blob of plankton into the mouth of a ravenous Great White shark. No, they might as well enjoy it with something frivolous. Ironic reallyhaving to spend the money on something to take the pain of such a win away.

Jo brought him Paracetamol and coffee and he threw them up so she brought more. She was such a sweetheart and he loved her for caring, especially because she was as sick as he was and kept saying over and over again to him that it really didn't matter. He rang in work for them both, getting much sympathy for the food-poisoning excuse he used, but was too ill to care if he was believed or not. Then he crawled into bed, falling asleep as soon as his arm had encircled the gorgeous, but limp, woman at his side.

'h.e.l.lo,' said Stevie, picking up the phone.

'Adam MacLean. Hreyooo?' boomed his voice. Why did he have to be so loud all the time?

Stevie felt her whole body stiffen. 'Fine, thank you. How are you?'

'Okay. So, anything to report?'

'Not really,' said Stevie, 'unless you want to know that his car is still outside. So they haven't gone to work today presumably, although that's a very trivial detail and I'm almost sorry to have mentioned it.'

She could sense his jaw muscle tighten and twitch with annoyance at the other end of the line and she got a little thrill out of that. Yes, writing about a Scot in her new book might be fun. She could have him jumping like a puppet to her call. She could have him trampled by a beautiful white horse, ridden by the gorgeous young strawberry-blonde heroine. She would call her Evie. Evie Sweetwell.

'I rang to say I think we should initiate the next stage,' he said, smilingly polite, although he was probably crus.h.i.+ng the skull of some small animal to offset the pain of trying to be nice.

'Whatever you say, Mr MacLean.'

'Can you get a babysitter tomorrow?'

Uh-oh, this was sounding ominous. A siren was going off in her head and there were so many warning flags they were doing a very long Mexican wave down her spinal column.

'Er...not sure, why?' she asked, but knowing Catherine would help out in a crisis. Kate wasn't courting at the moment and saving up madly for whatever seventeen year olds save up for and would gladly welcome twenty quid, full access to a blackcurrant cheesecake and a sly couple of Bacardi Breezers.

'Because I think you should go oot, it being Sat.u.r.day night an' all.'

'Meout? Where?'

'With me.'

Oh farts! 'With you?'

'Get yer best clobba on, lady,' said Adam MacLean. 'I'll pick you up at seven-thirty. We're aff to the picturehoos.'

Chapter 28.

'So, what are you going to wear?' said Catherine.

'Dunno, what you do think?'

'That green crossover top, definitely. That was Matthew's favourite so that's bound to strike a chord if he sees you.'

'If? How do I make that a definite, so all this will be worthwhile? What if they don't see us? What if they don't happen to be looking out of the window watching us go off together? I mean, it's highly unlikely they will be, isn't it really? It's mad, totally mad.'

'It's a mad world though, Steve. And if they don't see you, then you have to keep going at it until they do.'

'I was afraid you'd say that.'

'Well, it's all part of the plan!' Catherine laughed, although she was getting less keen on the idea of a Stevie and Matthew reconciliation every day. Even though she wanted her friend to be happy, she also wished she would stuff it home to Matthew that there was life without him, and if it took Adam MacLean to help her do that, then so be it. She hoped Stevie wouldn't give in too easily when Matthew came crawling back to her because he would, nothing surer. Catherine wanted Matthew to realize what he was missing in Stevie, although she was becoming increasingly confused as to what Stevie was missing in Matthew.

'I've to be ready for seven thirty.'

'Well, Kate will be over for seven.'

'GreatI'll direct her to the cheesecake and the other food stocks. She's a good girl.'

'She's an extortionist. Twenty quid! I'd do it for nothing if there was a cheesecake involved.'

'I'll get her a taxi back. I won't let MacLean drive her.'

'Thanks,' said Catherine. 'Ooh, those legs though. If I babysat for you, I'd let him drive me home.'

'You're one sick woman, Catherine Flanagan.'

Catherine laughed. 'Nervous?'

'What have I to be nervous about? I'm only going out with a wife-beating psychopath.'

'I don't think he's anything of the sort,' said Catherine. 'I think the bloke has got some bad press. We believed everything Jo saidand look what a calculating cow she turned out to be. We only have her side of things. I tell you, Steve, I took a long hard look at him at Pam's wedding, and he looked like a pretty decent guy to me.'

'Pretty?'

'You know what I mean.'

'Oh Cath, come on. There can't have been that much smoke without fire. You only have to look at him to know he's not Mr Fluffy!' Stevie gave a disbelieving laugh. 'Have you seen that scar on his face? What the h.e.l.l could have caused that? He didn't get that making daisy chains.'

'Well, he was certainly Mr Fluffy with Pam and Will's old relatives.'

'All show!' said Stevie, who remained unconvinced. 'He was playing to an audience. He would have kissed babies too if there had been any. Politicians' tricksand we all know how wholesome they are, don't we?'

'You really don't like him at all, do you?'

'No,' said Stevie, 'but we need each other, it seems. And at least being at the pictures means I don't have to talk to him.'

...Which had been Adam MacLean's precise thought when he proposed the venue. The cinema was central, popular and he would not have to converse with her much. Plus there was a good chance someone would spot them together and report their presence back to Jo. Even though she might not want him herself now, she wouldn't want anyone else to have him either. He knew what a jealous creature she could be, a fact that would work very much in his favour here.

Matthew was actually filling the kettle when he noticed Eddie's van at the other side of the lane dropping off his daughter. Kate had babysat for them a couple of times, which was the only reason she ever came round. Stevie must be going out, he concluded. Probably to Catherine's. But then she would have taken Danny with her, surely? Stevie never went out by herself, unless it was to Catherine's. So where was she going? On a Sat.u.r.day night too.

He mentally slapped himself; it wasn't any of his businessthey were separated. He was with Jo now, so why should he even be interested?

But still...

'You look nice,' said Kate, trying not to fall over as Danny wrapped himself around her very long giraffe-y legs.

'Do I?' said Stevie.

'Green looks great on you,' said Kate. 'I wish I were blonde.'

'You are!' laughed Stevie. Kate was naturally the platinum blonde that people aspired to, but she persisted on dyeing her long, long hair Goth-black with various shades of wild colour shot through it. At the moment, the couleur du jour was electric blue. She carried it off with the confidence of youth and looked stunning.

'Going to help me demolish this then, Dans?' asked Kate, her big sapphire eyes rounding at the sandwich fest and cheesecake which Stevie had left out for her. 'Have you had your tea?'

'Yes,' said Danny. 'I had beans off toast.'

'Beans off toast?' Kate looked to Stevie for further explanation.

'He means beans minus toast,' Stevie sighed. 'My little boy has suddenly decided he doesn't like bread.' In the same way that halfway through a McDonald's a couple of months ago, he had decided that he didn't like chips any more and hadn't touched a potato since. At least he was an Atkins-friendly child.

'Bread's really good for you, Dans. Especially this brown stuff. I eat loads, it's cool,' said Kate, giving Stevie a wink and stuffing a sandwich in her mouth.

'Is it? Do you?' said Danny in amazement. 'Mummy, could I have one like Kate's got, please?'

Stevie was quite sure that Kate could get Danny to eat horse manure if she tried.

As the second hand began its slow descent towards half past, Stevie was feeling more and more nauseous. The evening stretched excruciatingly long and hard in front of her and she had thrown the free newspaper supplement away so she didn't even know what was on at the 'picture hoos'. No doubt she'd have to sit through some all-action movie with a big macho hero who shot lots of people with huge guns whilst a little girly, accidentally caught up in the action, teetered behind him with stilt high heels and ma.s.sive knockers.

'I think he's here,' said Kate, peeping out of the window.

's.h.i.+t!' said Stevie.

'Mummy!'

'Sorry, Danny,' said Stevie, slapping her hand over her mouth.

'Where are you going?'