Someone Like You (29 page)

He sat up in the bed and leaned over her, his gaze trailing lasciviously over her nakedness.

‘You’re very sexy,’ he growled, the timbre of his voice rich and deep.

As usual, Hannah felt every bone in her body melt. She’d never met anybody with a voice like that. What would he sound like on stage, his rich, resonant voice reaching the back row, capturing every member of the audience in his spell?

‘I’d love to see you on stage,’ she blurted out.

‘I haven’t done much theatre,’ he said, fingers idly trailing designs on Hannah’s bare shoulder. ‘I prefer the cinema. If this TV series really works, it could be the big time for me, darling. If I make it big, will you come with me? To London?’

Hannah was still. She couldn’t believe he’d said that.

Felix’s lifestyle meant he had to be the ultimate free spirit.

With that in mind, she’d tried to keep things deliberately light. She never expected to see him and treated each phone call or date as an enjoyable bonus, half-knowing that Felix wouldn’t have tolerated a woman who clung to him. And now he was the one making plans for the future. She’d have to be careful, she knew. Love could hurt with greater accuracy than hate. She was scared to get too close to Felix in case he dumped her just when she’d given herself body and soul to him.

‘That’s a flattering thing to say, but I’ve never expected us to be a permanent fixture,’ she said, choosing her words carefully. ‘I can’t think of anything more wonderful than living with you, Felix, but we both have our hopes and dreams and I don’t believe in tying someone down.’

He buried his face in her shoulder and licked her skin, moving off to her mouth and kissing her deeply.

‘That’s what I love about you, Hannah. You’re so independent, you’re your own woman,’ he said admiringly when his lips left hers. ‘It’s refreshing, different. We’re made for each other, darling. You’re the sort of woman I need. An actor needs a strong partner, like you. Not some namby-pamby little hausfrau who has a nervous break down every time he performs a love scene with his leading lady. You’re a star, Hannah.’

He grinned at her triumphantly and she returned his smile, thanking God she hadn’t blown it all by squealing with delight at the very notion of living with him. Felix liked his women independent and in control: that was the way he’d find Hannah Campbell. Not for her the role of clinging, limpet girlfriend consumed with anxiety about her handsome lover. Strong and independent were her middle names. She let her fingers slide under the duvet where they encountered Felix’s muscular stomach.

‘One hundred sit-ups a day,’ he’d told her proudly, the first time she commented on his physique. Washboard wasn’t the word for it. Tonight, that wasn’t what she was interested in.

‘Is that a pistol in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?’ she murmured, fingers sliding down further.

‘I haven’t got any pockets,’ said Felix huskily, ‘but I’m certainly pleased to see you.’

‘Have a nice night out, did you?’ asked Gillian tautly, when Hannah arrived into work the following morning, still glowing from the night before. She’d slept well. Felix insisted on a good night’s sleep.

‘My skin looks terrible in the morning if I don’t,’ he said apologetically when he asked her to turn out the light.

But they’d made up for lights-out at midnight by waking up at dawn to a very erotic interlude. The things that man could do with his mouth, that perfect made-for-TV mouth … Hannah sighed.

‘Lovely, yes,’ she answered Gillian automatically, ignoring the bite to the other woman’s enquiry. ‘How about you? Has Leonard got over his cold?’

Gillian, as she had discovered, liked morning chitchat and enquiries about her health. Otherwise, she sat at her desk all day in a tight little knot of resentment, icily deflecting all subsequently friendly remarks. After a few days of that, Hannah had realized that a bit of conversation first thing made the atmosphere in Dwyer, Dwyer & James much cosier.

‘I meant to watch that Jane Austen thing on BBC last night, but I was out and forgot to tape it. What did you think of it, Gillian?’

‘I prefer real-life documentaries, to be honest,’ sniffed Gillian. ‘It was on in the background but I didn’t really watch it,’ she added and then proceeded to give Hannah a blow-by-blow account of the first episode of the costume drama.

As she talked, Hannah listened with one ear and began organizing her desk for the day ahead. The office had been so busy the last few days, ‘the last flurry before the season dies down,’ David James remarked. Last flurry or not, Hannah wanted to hire a new photographer before too long. The current guy could make a glorious multi-million pound stately home in rolling parkland look like a two-up, two-down in need of renovation. He was hopeless and she was determined to get rid of him before the new influx of clients began to sell their homes elsewhere. Of course, bad photography worked when it made people arrive at a house they’d thought was hideous from the photo only to discover it was really a bijou residence with buckets of potential.

But when it put them off viewing altogether, bad photography was a major disadvantage. He had to go, that was it.

Today, she’d start phoning around for replacements.

‘Where were you last night that you weren’t in watching telly like the rest of us?’ Gillian asked archly, removing a bit of imaginary dust from her desk.

‘Out.’ Hannah had no intention of telling Tell-All Gillian about her actor boyfriend. She relented, however, seeing Gillian’s mouth metamorphose into a prune. ‘With my girlfriends. We went to an Indian restaurant for a meal.’

Well, they’d eaten Indian, after all, though she could hardly tell Gillian that her lover had licked cucumber raita off her nipples because they’d been eating their takeaway in the nude.

‘I can’t stand Indian food,’ Gillian muttered.

You would if it was served on six foot of blond sex god, Hannah thought with a secret smile.

By noon, she’d been in touch with four photographers who were going to visit the office with their portfolios and she’d arranged for a standin to replace their own photographer, whom she’d fired.

‘You can’t do this to me,’ he had sputtered on the phone when Hannah rang him to politely tell him that she was giving him a month’s notice. ‘I’ve been working for your boss for years. I’ll go over your head and have you sacked, you bitch. You can’t fire me.’

‘Actually, I can,’ Hannah said calmly. ‘You work for us on a freelance basis, which means that I don’t even have to give you a month’s notice. I was doing that out of respect for the years you’ve worked for us. It’s not necessary. And you may phone my boss if you wish. But you’ll find that this decision is final.’

‘It’s so sudden,’ he roared, ‘not a clue you were going to do this. When I think of the work I’ve put in for you people, out in all weathers, trying to make crappy dumps look nice. This is the thanks I get, being dumped by some whippersnapper who’s probably screwed somebody to get the job. Or have you some boyfriend in mind for my job?

Is that it, eh? Nepotism?’

Hannah had had enough. ‘If you haven’t seen this coming, you must be living on another planet,’ she said.

‘Ever since this branch has been renovated, I’ve had to phone you about bad photos. Remember the property on Watson Drive? You had to go back twice because of how terrible the photos were. The house was a total blur the first time. It was impossible to tell where the house ended and the garage began. The owners wanted to go to a different estate agency and only a promise that we’d give them a discount in their fees, as well as taking the photo again until they were satisfied, made them stay with us. You must have realized that we were not pleased with your work.

And, no, I’m not firing you so I can conveniently hire one of my relatives. I have four total strangers coming in tomorrow to apply for the position. As office manager, it’s my job to make sure this business runs smoothly. If you were doing your job properly, you’d still have one. Good day to you.’

She put down the phone to find David James and at least half of the office staring at her. Gillian looked outraged.

David looked amused, his dark eyes shining at her and a smile curving up the dead straight line of his mouth.

‘Well done,’ he said. ‘I’ve been wondering how long it would take you to do that. His shots are so obscure that they practically qualify as modern art.’

Hannah let herself indulge in a small smile. ‘Nobody likes firing people, but it has to be done if we want the company to grow,’ she said seriously. Not that I’ve ever fired anyone before, she added to herself. But nobody here had to know that.

She may have come from a background where her family took orders rather than gave them, but she was determined to hide the fact. Hannah knew she could play to the manor born as well as the best of them.

Her phone buzzed. Hannah jumped, hoping it was Felix, but it was David James. ‘Can you drop into the office?’ he asked.

He was staring at an open file on his desk when she arrived but Hannah had the funniest feeling that David wasn’t paying any attention to it. He looked distracted, tired even, which was unusual for him. He was such a powerhouse of a man, she often felt that if the electricity went off, they could power the office from the energy emanating from him. But today he had shadows under his eyes and there were new lines etched in his already craggy face.

He had the weary air of a man who’d spent the night with a sick child, although she knew he didn’t have any kids.

Gillian often mentioned David’s ex-wife, with whom he had a strained relationship. According to Gillian’s intelligence-gathering machine, they’d separated a few years ago but weren’t divorced yet. David was still in love with her, insisted Gillian wistfully, although his love wasn’t returned.

Unlike some of Gillian’s wilder bits of gossip, this titbit made sense: why else would a clever, attractive man like David James still be single?

Hannah wondered briefly if his miserable love life was the reason David looked tired or if it was something to do with work. She’d never dream of asking, though. Anything other than business was taboo between them for all their easygoing relationship.

They talked briefly about the type of photographer they needed and, when the conversation was over, Hannah stayed in her seat. ‘Is there anything else, David?’ she asked, sure there was something he wanted to discuss.

‘No.’

She rose gracefully to her feet.

‘Actually, there is.’

He looked ill at ease and he fiddled with his pen as he spoke. ‘I know it’s not exactly any of my business, but I believe you’re seeing Felix Andretti.’

Hannah stared at him, taken aback by this personal remark. ‘It isn’t really any of your business, David,’ she said formally, ‘but I am seeing him. Is there a problem with that in relation to my job?’

David sighed. ‘Come down off your high horse, Hannah,’ he said in exasperation. ‘I’m not playing the heavy-handed boss and there’s no law that says you can’t go out with a friend of mine. I’m just asking. I’ve seen Felix a few times lately and he never mentioned it to me.’

Hannah stared at him. How strange. Felix had said nothing to her about seeing David. Stranger still that Felix hadn’t mentioned her to David, but then perhaps he was trying to be discreet for her sake.

‘Another friend of mine who’s a film producer mentioned that Felix was dating you. I was surprised, that’s all. I didn’t think Felix would be your type.’ David looked up from his desk to gaze at her. His expression was, as usual, unreadable. He had to be a superb poker player, Donna always said. You’d never know what he was thinking behind that cool, detached exterior.

‘Who knows what sort of person is anyone’s type,’

Hannah said dismissively, trying to remain calm even though a maelstrom of emotions were stirred up inside her at the thought of her lover’s secretiveness. How could Felix meet her boss and say nothing to her? What else had he been hiding? He was so damn enigmatic, so insistent on keeping parts of his life shrouded in mystery.

‘Of course, I appreciate that,’ David was saying slowly and painfully as if he was pulling teeth. ‘I was merely concerned about you, that’s all. You’re my star employee and I don’t want to see you being hurt because I’ve inadvertently introduced you to someone …”

Hannah finally tuned in. ‘Because you’ve inadvertently introduced me to someone who’s what?’ she demanded hotly at the implied criticism.

David’s face was impenetrable as he ground his pen nib into his desk until it left a mark.

He must hate doing this, Hannah thought suddenly, aware of how tense he was. Every muscle in his face was taut. Getting involved in personal matters was obviously distasteful to him, but he seemed to have an old-fashioned feeling that he had some duty to his workers. Victorian wasn’t the word for it.

‘Someone with a reputation for being a playboy,’ David said finally, as if it was vitally important that he pick his words with care.

‘I’m a big girl, David. I can look after myself,’ Hannah said with finality. The conversation was over as far as she was concerned. ‘Is there anything else?’

David shook his head and stared at her for a moment before looking back at his paperwork.

The rest of the morning sped past. Hannah tried not to think about Felix’s odd behaviour in meeting David and not mentioning it to her. It was nothing, she was sure of it.

Dismissing the idea that he was sly from her mind, she began to plan their dinner tonight. Felix was coming round after his first day’s filming in Wicklow. She’d told him she’d cook, as distinct from ordering pizza, although her nerve faltered at the idea of making something edible that didn’t involve chicken breasts and a tin of supermarket sauce.

Normally, she didn’t take a full lunch break, preferring to eat a sandwich in the office before going for a brisk ten-minute walk to clear her head for the afternoon. But today, as soon as the clock hit one, she nipped down to the main street in Dun Laoghaire to buy something special for dinner. A bottle of really good wine, she decided, browsing through the wine shop and wondering if the most expensive wine was the best. David would know something like that, she thought, staring blankly at racks of bottles.