The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton - Catherine Alliott [120]
‘Oh!’
‘Quite fun calling her in the park. I'm afraid I couldn't resist it.’ He flashed me a wicked grin. ‘Clarence Tempest.’ He held out his hand, his eyes all but disappearing as they crinkled up at the edges. Was he really gay? What a shame.
‘Evie Hamilton,’ I murmured, basking in his dazzling good looks.
‘And she was just leaving,’ purred Malcolm, hustling me away; practically pushing me overboard.
‘Oh, don't go on my account,’ smiled Clarence.
‘She's not, she was going anyway,’ Malcolm assured him with a pussycat smile, ushering him down the steps to his lair and making wild ‘go away’ faces over his shoulder at me. I grinned and stepped gingerly off the boat; made my way down the towpath towards the bridge. Two minutes later, Malcolm was panting beside me, holding my arm.
‘Evie, do me a favour,’ he gasped. ‘Stand in for me at the shop for an hour? I promised Ludo I'd be there.’
‘Oh God, I'm not sure I'm up to Ludo in my present state.’
‘You don't have to be up to him, you just have to take over from him. He wants to go to his sister's party and I promised – please, hon!’ He clasped his hands in prayer and made pathetic Uriah Heep eyes at me, fluttering his lids.
‘Oh, all right. Although I'll probably be hopeless. I haven't worked in years.’
‘You don't have to work, no one comes in. It's late-night shopping but they're all too busy buying three for two in Waterstone's. Thanks, luvvy. What d'you think, by the way?’ He couldn't resist adding, eyes shining.
I grinned. ‘He's gorgeous, Malcolm.’
‘Isn't he just? He's on sabbatical from King's in London, doing an exchange at Corpus Christi. Teaches law. Imagine, beautiful and clever! Aren't I lucky!’
‘You certainly are. Although you might lose the badge.’ I pointed to his shirt.
‘Shit!’ His hand flew to cover it. ‘What must he think?’
‘Probably what he already knew. Have fun.’
He hastened away, unpinning himself. Yes, beautiful and clever, I thought as I watched him scurry off. And there was I thinking one was enough. Couldn't even compete with her in that department. Bella, I mean. I turned and trailed my heart back along the towpath, then bounced it up the steps behind me to the top of the bridge.
I needed to take a very deep breath before I pushed open the jangling green door with discreet gold lettering in Percy Street. My last meeting with Ludovic Montague, as I now knew him to be, had been of a fairly highly charged nature. Intimate, even. Let's face it, I'd made a complete fool of myself, and he'd shown himself to be a man of substance. A widower, with a beautiful dead wife – well, of course she was dead if he was a widower – and an action-packed past. And for some reason, what he thought of me mattered, I realized with a start as I turned the brass handle. So now I would be brisk and efficient, not tear-stained and needy. As I shut the door behind me I caught sight of my reflection in the glass: someone a bit like me but older, fatter, gazed back. Too late to reach for the lippy, I was in.
‘Well, hello.’ He looked up from behind the counter where he'd been at the computer as I turned.
I smiled. ‘I've come to relieve you. Malcolm asked me to step in. He's entertaining.’
‘Ah.’ He took his glasses off. ‘Would that by any chance be Clarence from puppy-training group?’
‘It would.’
‘And has he come clean about Cinders yet? Or is the poor girl still lying through her teeth about her age?’
‘Is that what he's doing? Passing her off as a puppy?’
‘Hasn't he told you? He saw this doggy group parading round in circles through the window of the church hall in Cardigan Street – or, more particularly, saw Clarence – and after weeks of lusting and steaming up the window, minced in with Cinders declaring she was nine months old. “But she looks so much older!” said the Barbara Woodhouse lookalike who was running the show. “Yes, she's very mature,” purred Malcolm, joining the circle.