A Compromising Position by Carole Matthews
But I can’t do it. My nerves and their ‘run away’ chant have won. I could be missing out on the biggest opportunity of my life or I could have just come to my senses in time. Whichever way, I turn on my heels and, obeying my deepest instincts, run away.
Chapter Seventy-One
After the photo session, Leila disappeared into a changing-room in the back of Toff’s studio to get dressed while Adam, Toff and Chris filed through to the office to flick through some of the images that Adam had taken on the digital camera.
Chris flopped into Toff’s caramel leather armchair, wearing a sulky expression. ‘I would die for a job like this. You are such a lucky, lucky, lucky bastard, Toff.’
Toff smiled wryly at his friend, sat at his desk and plugged into the computer. The photographs instantly popped up on the screen. Adam sucked in his breath. They were good. Very good. But he suspected it had more to do with Leila’s comfortable professionalism than his own inherent skill.
‘Surprised?’ Toff asked.
‘Yeah,’ Adam admitted.
‘I’m not,’ Toff said. ‘I knew you had it in you.’
‘Thanks, mate,’ Adam said, feeling ridiculously grateful that he hadn’t made a complete fool of himself.
‘Leila’s a law student,’ Toff supplied. ‘She does photo-shoots to supplement her measly grant.’
Adam didn’t know whether that made him feel better or worse. Was she doing this because she wanted to or because she was forced to? Then again there were other ways for students to supplement their incomes, but you wouldn’t get paid nearly as much for working in Miss Selfridge on a Saturday. Life was a constant compromise. Morality versus money. Principles caving in under pressure. Eat or be eaten.
Toff crossed to the fridge, pulled out a bottle of champagne and took some tall, slender flûtes from the shelf above it. ‘So,’ he said, waving the bottle. ‘Have we something to celebrate?’
Adam laughed. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, we have.’
‘Woo! Woo!’ Chris whooped with joy.
Toff popped the champagne cork and expertly let the bubbles tumble into the waiting glasses. He handed one each to the two men. ‘Congratulations,’ he said, clinking his glass to Adam’s. ‘You won’t regret it.’
‘To Adam,’ Chris said, toasting his glass.
‘To Adam,’ Toff echoed.
‘To me,’ Adam said, his throat suddenly tight and constricted. This was a new start for him – the kick he’d needed to provide a better home for Josh. He hoped and prayed that Josh would be sticking around to enjoy it with him.
They all swigged their champagne.
‘Oh no!’ Chris wailed. ‘You know what this means?’
Adam and Toff looked at him blankly.
‘If Adam’s going to be a sexy, glamour photographer, I’m the only one with a totally boring job!’
Just then, Leila came through. Her make-up had been scrubbed away and the long tresses of hair tied up in a pony tail. She looked fresh-faced and very ordinary. You’d walk past her on the street and not notice her beauty. ‘Am I missing a party?’
‘Adam’s coming to work with me,’ Toff announced. ‘Join us for a drink, sweetheart?’
‘I can’t,’ Leila said. ‘I have to dash. I’ve got an essay to finish.’ She turned to Adam. ‘Good luck though. Maybe we’ll work together again. You’re good.’
‘Thanks,’ Adam said, aware that he was blushing.
Leila handed him a business card. ‘Call me if you’re free for a drink later in the week.’
‘Thanks,’ Adam said again.
‘I can be free too,’ Chris said, stretching out his hand.
‘I think I’ll be busy when you’re free, Lord Seymour,’ she joked. She kissed Toff lightly on both cheeks. ‘Speak to you soon.’
‘Absolutely,’ Toff said. ‘Great session.’
Leila waved to them all and left.
‘God,’ Chris complained to Adam, ‘I’m really starting to hate you.’
Toff checked his watch. ‘Looks like my next client has thought better of it,’ he said, looking at his diary. ‘She should be here by now.’
‘I must love you and leave you,’ Chris said, downing his champagne. ‘I’ve got a date with Lassie and Fido, the girls I met in the Jig the other night.’
‘What? Both of them?’ Adam said.
‘I think they’re very close friends, if you know what I mean.’ Chris winked lasciviously.
‘You are unbelievable, mate.’ Adam shook his head.
‘I’m not the one sleeping with my boss,’ Chris pointed out.
‘Oh, you didn’t, Adam,’ Toff said with a sigh.
‘I couldn’t help it,’ Adam said miserably. ‘It just happened. It felt very natural at the time.’
‘It’s only now that you’re regretting it,’ Toff said.
‘I’m not. Not really,’ Adam insisted. ‘But I think she is.’
‘He’s avoiding her,’ Chris said. ‘Like the plague. He’s swapped his shift so that he doesn’t have to see her tonight.’
‘I have not.’ Adam scowled. ‘I had to see Josh tonight because . . . because it was the only night he wasn’t doing something else.’
‘A likely excuse,’ an unconvinced Chris retorted.
‘Now, now, children,’ Toff interrupted. ‘Some of us have work to do.’ He clicked the computer mouse and the photographs sprang into life once more.
‘I’d go blind working here,’ Chris said. ‘I’m off.’ He rubbed his hands in glee. ‘Wish me luck. I might just need it.’ He clapped Adam on the back. ‘See you tomorrow, mate. I wonder what Dippy Chick will think when you hand your resignation in?’
It was something Adam hadn’t considered.
‘Anyway,’ Chris continued, ‘that’s your problem.’ He shrugged on his leather jacket and headed towards the door. ‘See you round, Toff,’ he called. ‘If you ever need anyone to sit and watch you work again, you can always count on me!’
‘I’ll bear it in mind, old bean,’ Toff said with a shake of his head.
Chris left them alone.
‘I’d better be off too,’ Adam said. ‘And thanks, Toff. Thanks for everything.’
‘You’re welcome,’ his friend said. ‘I think we’ll work well together. Today Hampstead, tomorrow the world.’
Adam laughed.
‘Just one thing before you go,’ Toff said, and pulled his appointments schedule towards him. ‘The girl who was supposed to be here tonight was Emily Miller – Cara’s friend.’
Adam pursed his lips. That was a bit of a turn-up for the books.
‘I didn’t dare tell Chris beforehand,’ Toff said. ‘I thought he’d spontaneously combust.’
Toff was probably right.
‘She’s arranged it through the publicist Jonathan Gold,’ Toff continued. ‘I’d like to bet a pound Cara doesn’t know anything about it.’
Adam scratched his stubble. ‘Do you think I should tell her?’
‘Client confidentiality, old chap,’ Toff said. ‘What Emily does, is Emily’s business. Looks like she’s changed her mind, anyway.’
‘What would Jonathan Gold do with the photographs?’ Adam asked.
‘I suspect he’d make her a very rich woman,’ Toff said. ‘Very rich indeed.’
Chapter Seventy-Two
When I reach Cara’s house, the lights inside are burning brightly and I feel a warm, happy wave of relief wash over me. I’ve made it home unscathed. I pull up outside and jump out of the car.
Cara is sprawled out on the sofa in the lounge watching repeats of The Bill when I bowl in, which is most un-Cara-like.
‘The Bill? Are you sick?’ If there is one thing Cara hates more than women who wear fur, it’s television cop dramas. ‘I thought you were supposed to be in work.’
‘I swapped my shift,’ she says. ‘To avoid Adam. I’m going in during the day tomorrow instead.’
‘Why are you trying to avoid Adam?’ I say, throwing myself down next to her. The relief at
‘I think he’s trying to avoid me.’
‘Right,’ I say, struggling to find a crumb of logic in there somewhere.
‘Do you think I’m doing the right thing?’ she says anxiously. Clearly her levels of Rescue Remedy have fallen dangerously low.
‘No,’ I say with a tut. ‘You should talk to him.’
‘I don’t know if I can,’ she says.
‘Good grief, Cara.’ I huff with exasperation. ‘You think he’s Keanu Reeves and Rufus Sewell all rolled into one, don’t you?’
Cara nods reluctantly.
‘You’ve had the best sex of your life with him.’ Cow! I add silently. ‘And, according to you, he’s kind to children and small furry animals. Isn’t he worth the effort?’
‘When you put it like that . . .’ Cara says, brightening.
‘And at least you know the object of your affections,’ I point out. ‘I, on the other hand, am chasing some elusive will o’ the wisp man whose name I don’t even know.’
‘True,’ Cara says, and I can tell that her attention is drifting from The Bill.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ I say. I love tea in a crisis. It’s very nearly every bit as good as vodka. ‘Then why don’t you and I turn our attention to the universe and have one last go at bagging Adam for you?’
Mention anything utterly wacky and Cara perks up immediately.
‘Don’t the Native-American Indians have the love equivalent of a rain dance?’ I suggest.
Cara’s forehead is furrowed into a frown. A scarily serious frown. I must try to remember that she doesn’t think all this stuff is a joke.
‘I have one spell,’ she says earnestly, ‘that will blow his socks off.’
I’m not sure that’s exactly what we want, but decide to say nothing.
Cara glances up at me. ‘I need your help.’
Oh crumbs! What have I let myself in for? ‘Go on then,’ I say. If I’m really nice to her, I keep hoping she’ll forget that I owe her loads of money.
‘Make a cup of tea while I go and get my things,’ she says. Tea? Tea? I think this has just turned into a vodka moment.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Everyone in Luigi’s seemed quiet tonight; the atmosphere was unusually subdued. Pale-faced, Josh listlessly pushed his spaghetti round his plate. There was something wrong, Adam knew. He abandoned his own food. ‘What is it?’ he asked his son.
The boy looked up and pressed his lips together. ‘Bad.’
‘Very bad?’
Josh nodded.
‘Plane tickets bad?’ Adam tried.
Josh shook his head. ‘Visa bad,’ he said. And then looked at Adam for confirmation. ‘That is bad, isn’t it?’
Adam shrugged. ‘What does Mum say?’
‘Nothing,’ Josh said. He poked at his spaghetti. ‘She doesn’t know I know.’
Adam raised an eyebrow in question.
‘The postman brought them this morning,’ Josh said, avoiding eye-contact. ‘I steamed open the envelope when Mum was in the shower. She takes ages,’ he added.
‘Women do,’ Adam said.
‘There was a visa for Mum, but I couldn’t tell what else,’ he admitted. ‘Then Barry came in and I had to hide it. I stuck it up with Pritt Stick and put it back with the other stuff.’
Josh was heartbreaking in his inventiveness.
‘You shouldn’t steam open your mum’s post,’ Adam said gently.
Josh stared at him with tear-filled eyes.
‘Except in extreme circumstances,’ he relented.
‘I didn’t know what else to do,’ his son said.
Adam smiled at him and rubbed a thumb across his cheek. ‘You could talk to your mum.’
‘I try to, but she won’t talk back,’ Josh said.
Adam knew exactly how that felt.
‘You talk to her,’ Josh suggested.
‘I’ve tried,’ Adam admitted. ‘She won’t talk to me either.’
‘Is this a women thing too?’ Josh asked.
‘No,’ Adam said. ‘Women usually want to talk too much.’
‘Oh.’
Adam took Josh’s hands and squeezed them. ‘This isn’t the end of the world,’ he tried to reassure his son who looked more worried than a twelve-year-old should. ‘A visa means that you can go to Australia. It doesn’t mean that you have to.’ Plane tickets are a worse sign, Adam said to himself. ‘I’ll try to talk to her again,’ he promised.
Josh smiled. ‘Thanks, Dad.’
‘You know that I’ll do all I can?’
‘Yeah,’ Josh said. Adam just wasn’t sure that it would be enough. Once Laura set her heart on something, she was immovable in her determination.
‘I’ve got a new job,’ Adam said, changing the subject. And I hope that’s going to help me to keep you here, he thought.
Josh was attacking his spaghetti again, despite the fact that it was long cold. ‘Doing what?’
‘Still in photography,’ he said. ‘Just different stuff.’
‘Like what? Cars?’
‘No,’ Adam said, trying to sound confident. ‘Models.’
Josh’s fork stopped halfway to this mouth. ‘Girl models?’
Adam cleared his throat. ‘Yes. Mostly.’
Josh frowned. ‘Models like Kate Moss and Naomi Campbell?’
‘Well . . .’ Adam raked his curls. ‘Sometimes.’
‘Or models like Jakki Lodge and Holly McGuire?’
Adam felt his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. ‘Aren’t they page three girls?’
Josh avoided his gaze. ‘They might be.’
‘How do you know the names of all these models?’
Josh went red under the collar of his Nike T-Shirt. ‘Barry gets the Sun,’ he said. ‘Sometimes it falls open at page three.’
‘Oh,’ Adam said, biting back a smile.
Josh flushed redder. ‘Look, I’m growing up,’ he said sharply, ‘OK?’
‘Yeah,’ Adam said, pushing aside the thought that his son might not be around for him to see it.
Chapter Seventy-Four
I cannot believe what I’m doing. This is Cara’s idea of me helping her. It is one step beyond the magical throwing-flour-in-the-face incident.
It has started to drizzle and the grass is unpleasantly damp. I know this because I am picking my way up the garden by the light of a very feeble torch, wearing only my slippers on my feet, and have already used every expletive known to man. I am not a happy bunny.
The trees are being stirred by a growing wind and the clouds are scudding swiftly and spookily across the bright, shining face of the moon. It’s a full moon. What else? But I don’t think this has any bearing on Cara’s spell. She says it’s just a fortuitous coincidence that will make her magic more potent. I say it’s a stroke of good luck because otherwise I wouldn’t be able to see a bloody thing.
I am looking for spiders. Big, hairy-arsed ones. Some people think that witches don’t use spiders in their spells – well, they bloody well do. At least my witch-like little friend who is sitting in the warmth of her lounge, scanning ancient books of magical text, says they do.
I bloody hate spiders. I never used to. I was all right until Declan got Arachnophobia out on video because he said Blockbuster didn’t have any copies of Four Weddings and a Funeral as I’d requested. Strangely, the next day when I took Arachnophobia back, they had four copies, all sitting expectantly on the shelves, Hugh Grant smiling out winsomely.
OhGodohGod. I hold up the leaves of a laurel bush and check for spiders. I’ve got two already in my jam jar. But guess what? I need six. And you know the thing about spiders and jam jars? They become Houdini personified. The minute I screw off the lid to pop one in, another one shoots straight out. I’ve probably manhandled seventy-eight spiders in the last half an hour and I’ve still ended up with naffing two in the jar. The star of Arachnophobia is sitting winking at me from his web. Ugh.
Cara opens
I wonder if the patio is big enough to bury her under.
‘I’m ready now,’ she says impatiently. ‘All I need is the spiders.’
All she needs is a pick-axe through her head.
‘You could come out and help me,’ I suggest tartly. ‘I don’t actually like spiders!’
‘I’m not asking you to eat one, Emily,’ she responds.
There aren’t names bad enough to call my friend.
‘I’m going in,’ Cara informs me. ‘It’s cold.’
As if I don’t know this. ‘My knickers have probably frozen to my bottom,’ I snarl.
‘At least you’re wearing them.’
Grrr!
‘I’ll practise my wand technique until you’ve done your bit,’ she says magnanimously.
How much practice does waving a little black stick about take?
‘I can feel bad vibes coming from you,’ my one-time friend advises me.
‘Really,’ I say. I can’t imagine why.
‘I don’t want it to have a negative effect on the spell,’ she says. ‘This may be my last chance to nab Adam.’
Whatever this man has done I don’t think he deserves Cara as a girlfriend. ‘I’ll just carry on grubbing round in the mud then, shall I?’ I say. ‘We shouldn’t let a bit of wind and rain and my utter discomfort stand in the way of your love life.’
I can hear Cara puff grumpily and just before she firmly shuts the French doors, she adds, ‘This was your idea in the first place, Emily.’
I know. It isn’t the best one I’ve ever had. I clench my jaw and prod a spider leg back into the jar. And to think that I could have been in a nice, warm photographic studio rolling around on the floor in the nip.
Chapter Seventy-Five
Adam walked Josh up the path and rang the door bell. His son looked up at him dolefully, two extra scoops of chocolate ice cream having failed to lift his mood. This was too much to ask him to go through, and Adam wondered how much longer they could both take this living in limbo, not knowing how many access days remained before Josh left his life for another continent.