* * *
At eleven thirty, no one has spoken still, Patrick hasn’t come out of his office and I’m feeling nervous when I knock on Patrick’s door. I don’t just open it like I usually would. I wait for his okay and when it comes, I poke my head around and smile sweetly. ‘I have a noon appointment with Miss Quinn.’
‘Fine. You need to be back by two. We’re having a meeting.’ His tone is clipped, and he doesn’t look at me, choosing to keep his attention on the screen of his computer.
‘Okay,’ I shut the door with care and leave the office bewildered and concerned. A meeting? A meeting to discuss my lack of job commitment lately, no doubt, and bizarrely, I’m not even that concerned.
I’m greeted by a moped courier at the door. ‘Delivery for Ava O’Shea.’ His voice is muffled through his helmet, which he hasn’t taken off.
‘That’s me.’ I murmur apprehensively, the sound of my maiden name sending a chill down my spine.
‘Sign here, please.’ He thrusts a clipboard under my nose and I sign away, taking an envelope from him when I’m done. I don’t want to accept this delivery, but when John pulls up, I try my hardest to appear natural when I really should be appearing exasperated at the big guy’s arrival. The courier jumps on his bike and zooms off down the road without another muffled word. It’s not until John leans over and pushes the passenger door open that I realise I’m frozen in place, still with the envelope in my hand.
‘What you got there, girl?’ he asks, his smooth, shiny forehead creasing above his wraparounds.
‘Nothing,’ I stuff it in my bag and jump in, pulling my seatbelt on. ‘What are you doing here?’
He pulls straight into the traffic and starts the therapeutic tapping of his palm on the steering wheel, and I wonder how the leather hasn’t developed a dent in it from the constant drumming. ‘You have an appointment, girl.’
My inquisitive eyes bore into the side of his head. He can’t possibly know that because I’ve ensured my work diary remains under lock and key, just like my mouth. ‘How do you know?’ For the first time since I’ve known this big, menacing, black man, he looks awkward, and he’s refusing to look at me. ‘He’s making you follow me, isn’t he?’ I accuse. I don’t believe this.
His tapping increases momentum. I give him time to think about his answer, but I can tell by the look on his face that he knows I’ve got him. ‘Girl, someone tried to ram you off the road. You cannot blame him for being a little jittery. Where am I heading.’
‘Lansdowne Terrace,’ I reply. ‘So what’s your excuse for all of the other times he’s stalked me?’
‘I don’t have one.’ he answers candidly. ‘Those times he was just a crazy mother fucker.’
I laugh and John joins me, his neck retracting just how I like it. ‘Don’t you get bored?’ I ask, thinking that he must see me as a royal pain in the arse. This definitely can’t be in his job description.
‘No,’ He quits with the laughing and turns to me, smiling fondly. ‘That crazy mother fucker isn’t the only one who cares about you, girl.’
I have to press my lips together before my stupid pregnant emotions get the better of me and I let out an embarrassing sob. I know John won’t appreciate it. ‘I don’t mind you either.’ I shrug his affection off because I know he’ll appreciate that, and his quiet laugh confirms it.
‘I’ve been reading.’ he informs me, leaning over and opening the glove compartment. He takes a book out and hands it to me before resuming tapping of the wheel.
I read the title, and then again to make sure I have it right. ‘Bonsai trees?’
‘That’s right.’
I start flicking through the pages, admiring the pretty little trees and imagining John bent over one, delicately clipping at the fragile branches. ‘It’s a hobby?’
‘Yes, very relaxing.’
‘Where do you live, John?’ I don’t know where the question comes from. John and Bonsai trees would never be two things that I would naturally put together, but with this strange, new knowledge, I’m compelled to know.
‘Chelsea, girl.’
‘Alone?’
‘All alone.’ He laughs. ‘Me and my trees.’
I’m astonished. I would never have thought it. This is a man who on first sight I thought was a member of the Mafia—this huge, black, mean looking geezer, who patrols The Manor, keeps over exited men, and perhaps women, too, in their place, and now I find out that he lives with trees? Fascinating.
* * *
‘Are you going to wait outside for me?’ I ask John playfully when he pulls up outside Ruth Quinn’s house.
His gold tooth flashes, and he reaches over to take the book. ‘I might read a few pages, girl.’
‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’ I jump out and dash up the path to Ruth’s home.
The front door is open before I even knock. ‘Ava!’ She sounds far too happy to see me.
‘Hi, Ruth. How are you?’
‘Fabulous! Come in.’ She looks over my shoulder on a slight frown and ushers me in quickly.
I let her be curious because explaining John will take too long, and I don’t want to stay any longer than is necessary. I need to keep this as professional as possible.
She leads me down the corridor, into the kitchen. ‘Did you have a good weekend?’ she asks.
Brilliant and awful. It seems like light-years ago. ‘Yes, thank you, and you?’ I settle myself at the huge oak table and get my files out.
‘Wonderful,’ she sings, taking a seat next to me.
I smile politely and open her file. ‘So, what did you want to discuss? Cupboards?’
‘No, don’t worry about the cupboards. We’ll stick with the original. Now, the wine fridge, remind me, did we opt for the single or double width?’
If that is what she’s dragged me here for, I will be most upset. ‘Double.’ I say slowly. I’m not at all comfortable. She could have called for both of those points. My phone starts ringing from my bag, but I ignore it, even though it’s Angel. I don’t plan on being here for much longer, and there is absolutely no need for me to be, so I can call him back as soon as I escape. ‘Was that all?’ I ask dubiously. My phone rings off, then starts again immediately.
‘Do you want to get that?’ she asks, looking at my bag.
‘It’s fine,’ I shake my head mildly. She doesn’t know it, but it’s in disbelief. ‘Was there anything else Ruth?’
‘Urm,’ She looks frantically around the kitchen. ‘Yes, I’ve changed my mind about the walnut floor.’ she says, dragging a magazine over from the other side of the table. ‘I quite like this.’ She points to an oak alternative on the cover of the magazine.
I start to voice my reasons for sticking to walnut when my phone cuts me off. My shoulders sag.
Ruth pushes my bag towards me. ‘Ava, perhaps you should answer. Whoever it is obviously wants to talk to you.’
I close my eyes in a give-me-strength gesture and reach into my bag to retrieve my phone before getting up from the table and making my way into the hall. ‘Jesse, I’m in a meeting. Can I call you back?’
‘I’m having Ava withdrawal.’ he murmurs. ‘Are you having Jesse withdrawal?’
‘Is there a cure?’ I ask on a grin, knowing damn well what the cure is.
‘Yes, it’s called constant contact. What time are you finishing work?’
‘I’m not sure. I have a meeting at two with Patrick.’ I glance over my shoulder and see Ruth flicking through the design magazine. She may not be paying any attention, but she must be able to hear me. Maybe that’s a good thing. I’m happily married, most of the time. And I’m pregnant, too. Should I slip that into the conversation?
‘Oh good. You’re finally going to see through on your promise to talk with Patrick.’ Jesse says.
‘Yes,’
‘Well it won’t take that long, will it?’
‘No, probably not, but it doesn’t matter because John will be waiting for me, won’t he?’ I answer his question with my own. I’ve probably dropped John in it, but what’s the point in pretending I don’t know?