Skinny Dipping Read online

  Her gaze focused. Her breathing slowed. Ah, the lovely timber corridor, high vaulted ceilings and a sunroof in the living room, ideal for winter. She followed Carol outside to examine the garden. More of a courtyard, paving stones and pebbles creating a perimeter near the fence.

  “Sometimes we get cats,” Carol said, definitely not serial killer speech, referring to cats. Still possibly a candidate for Cat Woman. “They’re either stray cats or the neighbour’s cats, but they sit in the sun, just there. Soak it up when they get the chance.” She pointed to a spot where a few herb plants grew. There were trees forming a leafy canopy over an outdoor table and chairs, and a passion fruit vine wound itself along the fence.

  “It’s lovely out here, and very quiet,” Sophie commented, imagining herself sitting outside with a gin and tonic or a cup of tea, depending on the time of day, of course.

  “Yes, I like it, very peaceful in the summer,” Carol beamed.

  Sophie nodded. She wouldn’t be here for summer; she’d only need the room temporarily. Derek would change his mind. Despite his freak out, she still loved him.

  Temporary or not, she wanted this flat, the living space was huge and airy. She flashed a smile, aiming for a mixture of friendly and fun. If she kept this pretence up, stayed strong, she might just get through this and secure a bedroom.

  Back inside, Carol directed her up a set of internal stairs. “This is the room,” Carol said, standing by the doorway and Sophie poked her head in.

  “It looks lovely.”

  “Go on, have a real look around, get the feel for living here.”

  Sophie walked in and went to the most important feature of the room, the wardrobe. “Do you mind if I open it?”

  Carol shrugged. “There’s not much hanging space,” Carol said. “My cupboard’s a little bigger but I have to store costumes and things like that.”

  That’s right. Carol mentioned on the phone she was a dancer. Her outfit made sense now. The pantaloons were covering her tights, so she wouldn’t get holes in them. But the nails….

  “Yes,” Sophie murmured, assessed the wardrobe, and the possibility of how many work outfits would fit. If she squashed her clothes in, hung several cardigans on the same hanger, although the wardrobe was not large, the space would be adequate as a temporary solution. Sophie’s chest tightened, what if it weren’t temporary, and turning abruptly, her knee hit the bed frame.

  Carol laughed, a little awkwardly. “The room is a little cozy.” Her laugh was light, easy. In fact, Carol seemed like she was a happy-go-lucky kind of person, someone who would be ideal to hang around in the state she was in, down on love.

  “The room’s really great.”

  “I did the interior design myself. I chose the bed cover.” Gaudy, bright, but Sophie could change that. “The lamp. The hand towels in the bathroom.” The towels were almost fluorescent yellow, clashing with the purple drapes and opposite to Sophie’s conservative taste. Again, Sophie could do a little bit of personalization.

  “Very bright.”

  “I’ve got quite an eye.” Carol nodded. “This would be of course your private bathroom, it’s very…intimate.”

  Intimate was a positive spin on the bathroom description. Sophie looked at Carol, impressed by her attitude, her smile infectious. Sophie peered into the tiny boxlike shower. She would barely be able to bend over and shave her legs.

  Opposite the shower was a small wash basin and toilet. All amenities cramped into the narrow room. A small space wasn’t quite what she was used to, but she didn’t like her other choices.

  She looked at Carol, making her final assessment. So what if Carol had absolutely no taste in clothes and wore fingernails more suitable for a feline? She didn’t seem like someone she would ordinarily hang out with, but maybe that was precisely what she needed – someone who was a bit of fun.

  Sophie glanced again around the room, taking a deep breath. “When can I move in?” Sophie asked, feeling her chest squeeze. “If you’d have me of course?”

  “You can move in today if you want to?” Carol grinned, and Sophie felt herself smiling back. Carol was lovely, really lovely. No serial killer in sight here.

  “Perfect, do you think I could move in this afternoon?” Sophie’s excitement began to mount, she’d done it, almost, turned a bad situation into something good. She’d been proactive, persistent, and taken a huge risk coming into a stranger’s flat. If Carol wanted her, she could unload her car, get dressed for the advertising gala and no one at work would be the wiser.

  “Of course, whatever suits you, I’m easy,” Carol enthused and digesting the information Carol fished through her wallet, found the keys, and handed them to her. “I can’t be here to help you move in as I’ve got to get the hot rollers out of my hair, and then dash off to an audition in less than thirty minutes.” She threw her head back and laughed. “Sounds like it’s a lot to do in very little time, but finding a dancing job in a recession is very difficult. I lost my position as lead soloist at my old dance company. There was a new Director of Dance, you see. I didn’t know he was married and he had a crush on me. He took me out. His wife found out. You can guess the rest of the story because I got let go.” She smiled awkwardly. “Never a good idea to mix business with pleasure. I’ve learnt my lesson.”

  “Good luck with the audition, and don’t let the director fall in love with you this time,” Sophie started. “Maybe try and look as ugly as possible.”

  “Now there’s an idea,” Carol laughed. “Good luck with the move. Now you’re right on your own?”

  “I’ll be fine moving and I’m off to an advertising gala later tonight.” Sophie didn’t need anyone to help her with boxes, she could easily do it all herself. Besides she didn’t really know Carol, so it was probably better she didn’t touch any of her stuff, yet.

  “That sounds cool. I’ll have to find out all the details from you afterwards. Please – this is your house now, so make yourself at home. Remember not to mix business with pleasure and I’m so sorry to dash off.” She gave a slight wave and left the room. Sophie heard her clambering down the stairs.

  Sophie looked around the room, it was small. The move was temporary. She could live with temporary.

  Chapter 2

  Sophie sat on the bed in her new Highbury home, almost hyperventilating with relief. The tension and the all-consuming, claustrophobic fear slowly faded. She’d done it. She’d succeeded against all odds. Moved from Derek’s, found a home, and no one, no one, was the wiser.

  She waited until Carol left for her audition before contemplating her packed car. The red Volkswagen Beetle was crammed full of boxes. Hoisting items out of the trunk, she carried crates, cartons, and suitcases into her new flat, up the stairs and into her tiny room.

  She dumped her things, creating a cluttered space, a labyrinth of boxes. The walls of the already cramped room seemed to somehow inch closer.

  She ripped open suitcases, until she found her own bed linens, and made her bed; her first step to settling in. Feelings of loneliness washed round her and the silence of the empty house became deafening. This prompted her to turn on her mobile digital radio, and she set the station to something upbeat. This wasn’t the time for soppy love songs of unrequited love or self pitying tears. The next mission was quite obvious. Sophie needed to get gala ready. The faster the better.

  As she stepped into the only cocktail dress she’d bought from Derek’s house some type of elation pulsated through her. Everything was going to work out. The flat. The room. Possibly even Matthew Silver. She pulled a fake fur wrap around her shoulders, she was ready. She grabbed her handbag and raced out the front door. All she needed now was a taxi and she was right on course to finally meet Matthew Silver.

  ***

  “I think we’re a few blocks away,” she said brightly to the taxi driver. She gripped the fake fur wrap round her shoulders as the taxi cut across three lanes of traffic, seeming to race a sleek, black Porsche, both vehicles driving neck to nec
k, neither car slowing. The hotel appeared in the distance. The taxi’s indicator immediately sounded and the car accelerated. Sophie was hurled back into her seat. “Maybe we don’t need to go so fast, since we’re practically there,” she said, looking fearfully out the window. “I really don’t mind if we slow down a little.” A chill ran up Sophie’s spine as the taxi cut across the Porsche’s path. Tires screeched. A deafening sound. Sophie whispered a final prayer. The Porsche came to a screaming, appalling stop and halted, stopped still on the main road, avoiding a collision. Thank God.

  The taxi burst into the hotel driveway, overshooting the doorway entrance and stopped near the roadside. She’d have to walk back to the entrance. Feeling faint, her gaze darted around, almost warily. “We made it.” A grateful sigh escaped her lips, everyone was intact, no crash. The taxi driver was panting like he’d run a marathon.

  “I got you here in record time.”

  Sophie gave a shaky nod and thrust the door open. One leg found safety on the pavement beside the vehicle. She handed the driver twenty pounds, and shut the taxi door. The taxi jerked toward the street.

  The Porsche was already parked directly outside the hotel doors. The driver, a blond man catapulted out. His face was deathly pale and he raced toward the back of the accelerating taxi as it pulled out into the busy London street.

  “Learn how to drive,” the man shouted. There was a wildness about him.

  Sophie brushed her dress down, trying desperately to become invisible, to become part of the pavement, since this was not the place to cause a scene. Clients could be anywhere.

  The man stalked back toward his car, glaring fiercely at her. “We could have all died. Or someone could have been seriously injured. He’s a maniac. Why didn’t you say something?”

  Sophie suddenly felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristle. “I tried my best.”

  “Your best?” The man shook his head. “Clearly your best isn’t good enough because people die in accidents. Make things happen. Don’t just try to do something.”

  “Thanks, Daddio, for the tip. I’ll keep that in mind going for my next promotion.” Sophie felt her lips freeze into a tight smile. Who did this guy think he was telling her off when she obviously hadn’t asked the taxi driver to be a maniac? She clutched her handbag almost like a protective shield. Glaring, she continued to walk toward the entrance of the hotel.

  Almost like a mirror image, the man’s foot stepped out at the same time, directly in front of her. They stood, facing each other, her high heels in front of his polished, black leather shoes.

  He snorted. “Unbelievable.” He fixed his shirt which was half hanging out, tucking the fabric into his trousers.

  “Excuse me, I’m trying to get past,” Sophie snapped.

  The blond main raised his eyebrow, and struggled to fix his tie which hung loosely around his chest rather than his neck.

  “Did you lose your clutch?” he asked pointedly, looking at her handbag. “You look like Mary Poppins with that thing.”

  She lifted her chin. “Did you lose your manners and your ability to recognise when you’re being insulting?” She hadn’t bothered to find her clutch as it would be somewhere in one of her many boxes, or at Derek’s. Quite frankly she had no desire to explain her personal predicament to a stranger.

  The man sighed. “I’m sorry, you’re right.” He ran a hand through his blond hair, looking like he belonged in an aftershave commercial. “I just hate accidents. Someone I know died in an accident, quite recently.”

  She gave him a wary look. She took a step to the side, and like they were doing a dance, his foot in synch with hers, landed directly opposite. Again, they both faced each other.

  She looked up at his face. “Sorry to hear about the accident.” She raised her eyebrows, contemplating whether he would move first. She wanted to get to the gala. “Look I’m sorry the taxi almost crashed your car. I did ask the driver to slow down but he didn’t listen.”

  The man half-grinned and a dimple appeared on his cheek. “Have a good evening and sorry about the confrontation.” He yanked at his tie, frustration clear on his face. “I hate these things.”

  Spontaneity overtook her and she leaned in. “Here, let me help you.” She nimbly looped the ends of the tie with expertise as if she worked in a clothing store. The man watched her hands work. Threading the tie round, she realised she’d once again, crossed a boundary.

  “I’m a creature of habit,” she said, suddenly aware of what she was doing. She froze. “I used to do my Dad’s tie when I was little. ‘Rabbit jumps into the hole’ and all that.”

  “It’s fine. Continue.” The man grinned. “First your taxi tries to kill me and then you look after me, how will I ever understand women?”

  “I don’t have high hopes for you. That temper….”

  “Really? So there’s no hope for me?” he questioned, and chuckled.

  She finished fastening the tie around his neck. “There you go. Done.” She turned instantly away, not bothering with pleasant goodbyes. Warmth crept up the back of her neck, feeling his stare on her back.

  A creature of habit? Did she really say that? What possessed her to fasten his tie? Who did she think she was? She was being a blooming idiot, fawning over a man in a Porsche. A rude one at that. She must be more tired than she thought. She needed to get the night over and done with, soon. She pulled her fake fur wrap tightly round her shoulders, when the distinct sound of her cell’s ring tone sounded in her ears. It must be Matthew Silver.

  She began her ascent up the hotel steps, multitasking like she often did, she also fished through her bag. She grabbed the phone, the name screen reading Roger Smart. Her Dad. The phone stopped ringing.

  Her foot missed a step. Sliding like a novice acrobat she threw her hands out to find her balance. Her fur wrap fell to the floor. She dropped her bag creating a commotion as the contents clattered over the steps.

  “Damn,” she swore under her breath and dropped to the spot. She grabbed the wrap, dusted off the dirt and found that the blond man, who owned the Porsche, was suddenly by her side.

  “If only I had that affect on all women.” His voice was low. “Falling at my feet and all.” The cheek of him.

  She darted a glance in his direction. “You might increase your chances of women falling at your feet if you were…nice?”

  His eyes widened. “Nice?” A mocking expression spread across his face. “I’m helping you aren’t I?”

  “Not because you’re nice or a gentleman. You feel obliged.” She tore her gaze away. Whatever was she getting into? Besides, she had somewhere to be. “I’m letting you off the hook from any type of obligation here. It’s cool really. I don’t need help. I’m not that type of girl who always needs help.” She looked anywhere but at him, focusing onto the ground, grabbing two – three – four chocolate wrappers, shoving them into the bag.

  “I’m making an extra effort to be nice now. Is that okay? Is this help okay?” he asked pointedly, his eyes twinkling, playfully. God he was irritating.

  “That’s fine, I’m okay, thank you for asking,” she muttered. “But I can get everything, like I said, I don’t need help.”

  “Everyone needs a hand sometimes.” He remained stubbornly crouched by her side. His hands reached, picking up her personal possessions. A mischievous grin crossed his face. “You like chocolate? Yet so skinny.”

  “They’re for work.”

  “Yeah, right. I know women, they can’t resist chocolate.”

  She glared. “You see these wrappers,” she shoved one in her handbag. “All in the name of doing research for an advertising client.”

  “Is that what you call it, ‘advertising research’?”

  He was purposely trying to rile her. Yet she couldn’t help herself. “It’s true,” she said, with a little lift of her chin. Sophie saw a fifth chocolate wrapper, held the foil up to him. “This is precisely why you don’t understand women.”

  “I’m trying hard.�
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  “I recently heard something memorable. I’ll repeat it. I’ll quote from a passionate person. ‘Make things happen. Don’t just try to do something.’” She repeated his words right back to him.

  He grinned. “Can’t argue with that,” he nodded and handed over her hairbrush, looking like it had combed a horse’s mane. Her makeup bag. Her perfume. Her synthetic purple wallet, with surf patterns and a Velcro pocket.

  He turned the wallet around in his hands and frowned. “A surf wallet?” He touched the canvas, almost tenderly. “I picked you as someone who liked chocolate, fast cars and adventure. Possibly even leather.”

  Sophie shuddered almost involuntarily upon saying the word “surf”, she couldn’t stand the water, the very thought of it scared her. “I do like leather.”

  He held onto the wallet. “Then why do you have this? It’s made of canvas.”

  She reddened. “A gift from my niece Annie,” she explained. “She’s eleven or twelve.”

  “So you like the beach and swimming? Is that why she bought it for you?”

  “I’m not sure why she bought it. She’s twelve and I didn’t want to offend her.”

  Her niece didn’t buy it because she liked water. Her whole family knew she hated swimming, or any water activity. “What I do know is she saved up her pocket money for it, thinking I would love it.” She snatched the wallet from his hand, and threw it in her bag.

  He grabbed her apartment keys with the mini tennis ball figurine on the keychain. “Makes sense,” he replied.

  Without thinking she took the keys from his grip, kissed the figurine for good luck and threw the keychain into her bag.

  He passed her a colourful cardboard box. A tampon packet. Sophie threw the box into her bag, her neck felt hot, wishing the company spent more time making the box discrete than focusing on bold packaging. But the way he frowned, he was thinking of something else completely, not even noticing the box, or what it contained.

  “I have a proposition,” he said.