Love to Hate You (11 page)

“The only weird thing in my system is the bloody smog in Peckham,” he answers, “which I'm sure isn't particularly healthy, but I doubt it affects your mental abilities. And anyway, why? Does my idea sound so absurd to you?”

Is this supposed to be a joke? Ok, I'm definitely not hungry any more.

I put my fork down and look at him very seriously. “Then please run it by me again, because I'm sure you would never – and I repeat,
never
– ask me what I think you're asking.”

The rogue smiles at me so innocently that I almost buy it. Almost. I'm not that ingenuous.

“As hard as it is to admit it, you're the only woman I know who could pretend to be in a relationship with me without really wanting to be. And anyway, they've already photographed us together—”

I pick up the glass in front of me and take a gulp of whisky.

“What?” is the only thing I can say, and I'm glad that the alcohol has got me slightly tipsy.

“Yes – and you're not the usual stunner, which would make the plan even more ingenious.”

I'm starting to get really annoyed.

“Ok, maybe I shouldn't have said that last part, right?” he asks, as soon as he sees my face.

“Probably not—” I confirm through gritted teeth.

“But it would be perfect!” he repeats, ignoring what we've just said.

Right, this joke has gone on too long, and it's going too far.

“And what would I get out of this little farce?” I ask, trying very hard to stay calm. “And anyway, everybody who knows me knows that I have much better taste—”

It's a complete lie, but it sounds so good I can't help saying it. Ian's expression is resigned for a moment, but then goes back to neutral. His discomfort lasted maybe five seconds, but I treasured it.

“Think about it, Jenny – you'd be seen with the most desirable bachelor in town. That alone would raise your market value quite a bit—”

Like I need my 'market value' raising.

“I'm certain that I can make myself pleasant enough even for your parents and friends. I know how to make people like me, when I want to,” he goes on, blabbering like an idiot.

I stop him with a murderous look.

“I consider you an intelligent person,” I say in a firm tone, trying not to suffer too much from having given him a half compliment, “so, enlighten me – did you really think I would help you?
That. I. Would. Help. You
?”

I repeat the question very slowly, in an astonished tone, as though I were talking to a child.

“Why not?” he has the cheek to ask, as though it were normal.

“Ian, don't provoke me!” I threaten, hoping that I won't have to give any further explanation. The way this is going, I might not be able to account for my own actions.

I mean, after being a thorn in my side for years he shows up and he actually expects me to
help
him? And to show up in
public
with him?

“What have you got to lose?” he insists, trying another strategy. But he's out of luck, because I already know all his tricks. I've got a Master's in the subject.

“My reputation, my self-esteem, my dignity… shall I go on? Because I could go on, you know? For hours.” I answer promptly.

“You want to play hard,” he says, after pondering for a few moments.

I lean towards him and look in his eyes. “That's where you're wrong, Ian, I'm not playing at all, even though I get the feeling you might be.”

We study each other for some time. Neither of us wants to look away first, because that would mean losing. The same old boring story.

“Ok, so what do you want?” he asks out of the blue. He must have given up the attempt to bewitch me with his big blue eyes. That's unfortunate for him: a bit more staring and I might have given in. I am only human, after all!

“I want you out of my life. Can I have that?” I suggest.

He lifts his eyes to the heavens, irritated by my lack of co-operation.

“I meant something realistic. And I'd be grateful if you could avoid being sarcastic all the time.”

“Me? Sarcastic? You must be mixing me up with someone else,” I say, pretending not to understand what he means.

“Oh, give it a rest and stop changing the subject – what do you want in exchange for this little favour?” he insists.

Little
– right. Very little.

“If you think there's any chance I'd accept a proposal like that you must be out of your mind,” I say, loud and clear. He doesn't seem to care about what I've just said, though.

“I'm committed and ready to negotiate. I'm sure we can agree on a compromise that satisfies both parties.”

“I doubt it—”

“Come on, think. There must be something you really want. Something like, I don't know, carte blanche for the job we're working on. I could make things much more difficult, if I had to—” he says, threateningly.

“Let's get something clear: I don't want you around. Beverly's my client and I want to deal with his estate my way. Your presence is necessary because of the… the extenuating circumstances. But let's leave it at that. I'm not interested in your opinions or suggestions, and most of all I don't want to discuss them with you,” I say in one breath. The words just tumble out of my mouth, and I don't seem to be able to stop them.

“See? There
is
something you want. You want to be able work without me interfering. And I'd be happy to let you do that in exchange for a trifling little bit of help from you.”

I keep quiet. Whatever I might say would only backfire on me.

Ian watches me carefully and ponders for a long time, before speaking again.

“Look, I know we've had our differences in the past, but I did think that what they say about you was true.” His usual glib tone has vanished for a moment and he sounds serious.

“And what do they say?”

“That you're actually a nice person who likes helping other people.”

“I heard that 'actually', loud and clear,” I say, not knowing what other pretext to use. Because there's an annoying part of me which inexplicably wants me to accept. I don't even want to start asking why.

“Yes, but I also said nice. And I was talking about you. Please notice the good will in my words.”

I lift my eyes to look at him and notice he's giving me one of those smiles he uses to make people succumb. I've seen it so many times, but always directed at someone else.

Being the target of it is like being punched in the stomach.

“Please—” he says, persuasively, lowering his voice.

I blink in astonishment, trying to shake off the heat I can feel building up around me. I need to cut this short, whatever the cost.

“Ok,” I hear myself saying, almost against my own will.

Ok? Did I really just say Ok?? Am I going insane? I start panicking and struggle to breathe.

Ian perks up instantly and, a satisfied expression on his face, grabs hold of my hand. “I assure you, I will be very, very grateful!” he says, sticking the last knife in.

“Enough, please, enough!” I shriek, pulling my hand away from his. A drastic but efficient gesture.

“So is that a definite yes?” he asks solemnly. As though he really needed to hear me saying it again.

“Do I have a choice?” I ask, with all the enthusiasm of a condemned woman walking towards the gallows.

“Of course not!” he exclaims, satisfied. “You know all too well I wouldn't give up. I could have gone on forever.”

“Great, just what I thought,” I sigh.

“You won't regret it,” he adds.

“That's unlikely, because I already regret it and it's only been thirty seconds since I decided to help you. And I will help you as little as possible, remember! And I don't want any pictures in the papers!” I warn him before he comes up with any other weird ideas.

“But we need pictures in the papers!” he points out.

“Ok, fair enough, in this case only a few – a very few – pictures in the papers.”

“The fewer the better,” he agrees, but he's already smiling.

“And no names to the press,” I add quickly.

“They'll find out anyway—”

“Not in my case, they won't,” I snap, determinedly.

A laughing Ian observes me.

“Just a few little dates around town—” I insist.

“Of course,” he confirms solemnly. But another smug grin is appearing on his face.

“In exchange you steer clear from my projects and give me complete authority over Beverly,” I remind him. I can see he'd like to go on discussing the conditions of the agreement, but he decides to give in.

“Exactly, as agreed,” he promises, one hand on his heart.

“Great. So we're done for tonight,” I say, pushing my plate away, glad to finally be able to leave.

“Aren't you hungry?” he asks in astonishment, looking at the vegetables left on my plate.

“No, I'm not hungry at all. For some reason, my appetite has completely gone. I'd better set off home,” I say, standing.

“I'll give you a lift,” he says promptly. “It's probably safer than walking, round here.”

I feel the urge to set the record straight.

“This is where I live and, for the record, it's a perfectly safe place to walk—”

“I insist—”

What a pain he is. I snort, because I really want to make it clear to him that his company is not appreciated.

“Just give me a moment to pay,” he says, heading over to the bar.

The idea of him paying for my dinner irks me, but at the same time he's the reason why I couldn't even finish eating, so to hell with him – let him pay, if he really wants to.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ian paying Paul with cash. Thank God he didn't use his platinum card. That would
really
have been embarrassing.

“I'm ready, let's go,” he says, walking back over.

I wave goodbye to Paul, and he sniggers in satisfaction. He who laughs last, laughs longest, chum, I think.

“You can leave your car here, I only live a couple of streets away,” I explain. I've accepted the idea that I'm going to have to put up with his presence for a few more minutes.

“Ok. A walk will do me good.”

“We need to establish a few ground rules, anyway,” I say, going back to the subject.

“Ok,” he nods, as he puts on his hugely expensive coat. I'm amazed by his willingness to co-operate, now that we're doing something that suits him!

“I'm sure I'll come up with something else, but the first thing that comes to mind is that I want total indifference between us at work,” I instruct him.

“If you insist,” he says, not sounding totally convinced.

“Of course I insist. I'd prefer not to have the whole tax section of the bank talking about my private life. Even if it
is
all a sham,” I add nervously.

He nods as though in approval.

“And as I said, just a few dates. Only the bare minimum—”

A few minutes later, we're outside my place.

“Ok, here we are. This is where I live.” I point to the front door and take my keys out of my bag.

“Do you have an evening dress?” he asks.

“Of course I do!” Who does he think he's dealing with?

“That's great, because on Friday evening I'm supposed to be attending a charity event, and one of the girls I was telling you about is going to be there. One I really want to get off my back, the worst of the lot.”

“Ok, Friday evening,” I confirm with a nod. I don't exactly sound over the moon, but I'm committed to it now. And, after all, no pain, no gain – better just to get it over with.

“Ok, fine. Good night,” he says, staring at me strangely. God, what does he want now?

“Goodnight,” I answer dubiously.

I see Ian moving closer to me and I instinctively pull back.

“Can I say goodnight?” he asks, noticing my retreat.

“I thought you just did,” I answer.

“I meant, give you a goodnight kiss on the cheek, like you did in Scotland. I thought it was ok,” he explains.

“I only did it because I didn't want Elizabeth hearing what I was saying to you,” I remind him. But he keeps coming closer and I keep moving away until my back is touching the front door. I'm cornered. I feel him looming over me and quickly kissing my cheek. His aftershave lingers in my nose and I suddenly feel drunk. Hopefully it's just the whisky.

“Thanks for everything and goodnight,” he says, then vanishes down the street.

I climb the stairs to my flat and when I get inside I find Vera reading on the sofa, as usual.

“Hi, love,” she greets me.

“Houston, we have a problem,” I exclaim, without even saying hello.

She gives me a questioning look.

“Vera, where the hell can I find an evening dress?”

“Oh, come on, Jenny, come out of the bloody bathroom!” Laura shouts from the other side of the door.

“No!” I answer angrily. “I'm going to lock myself in here and throw the key down the toilet!”

“She's acting pretty weird considering she's about to go out on a date, don't you think?” I hear her asking Vera.

“She's just nervous, that's all,” Vera answers promptly.

“Ok, but why is she so embarrassed about letting us see her? Half of London's going to be seeing her anyway! Do you think she's alright?” Laura asks, sounding worried.

Of course I'm not alright, I tell myself while I stare at my reflection in the mirror for the hundredth time. The image that looks back at me is an extremely disturbing one: I see someone I really don't recognise. I knew I shouldn't have let my friends dress me up.

“Don't you dare change anything!” Vera shouts. “It took a lot of hard work to get you looking that way!”

Oh, yes, they've done a proper job on me. The only positive thing is that if I do happen to get photographed tonight, nobody who knows me – and I mean
nobody
, not even my friends – will even suspect it's me.