Page 71 of A Colourful Country Escape
‘Quite.’ Lexie reminded herself of Ben, with his one-word responses that didn’t seem to match his sentiments. Maybe a lifetime of this woman could do that to you.
‘I came to discuss this.’ Ben’s mother slapped some papers down on the so-called precious table between them. Perhaps it wasoccasionallyless treasured.
Lexie lowered her head to look, a wave of recognition roaring up and slapping her in the face. Oh hell, it was her CV, covered in angry red pen. Was this what Mrs Carrington-Noble had been pinching from Ben’s office when they were in London? By all accounts, the woman didn’t trifle with paperwork unless she wanted to make trouble. And there was plenty to be found in Lexie’s colourfully embellished CV.
Lexie swallowed down a lump of rising panic and straightened herself again, trying to look as authoritative as she could in Tom’s old overalls and a vest top that even the moths couldn’t be bothered to eat.
‘Yes, what about it?’ There. Perhaps she could still style this out.
‘This curriculum vitae is as fabricated as your shocking blue hair.’
Damn it. How much did she know? Nerves began to crawl through Lexie’s stomach.
‘It’s a perfectly good document,’ Lexie confirmed. That wasn’t a lie – it was perfectly good. Just not strictly true.
‘Most of it is utter tosh.’
‘That’s a very impressive history,’ said Lexie. She was getting good at this bending-the-truth business, as much as she hated it. But now wasn’t the time to look guilty.
Mrs Carrington-Noble picked up the CV and shook it towards Lexie’s face, as if she could read it any better when it was flapping like a shameful flag.
‘You did not attend Manchester University, Alexis Summers. You do not have a degree in anything. I have checked. Even under the nameLexie.’
Oh God, oh God, oh God. Lexie stayed rooted to the spot, too afraid to twitch in case she accidentally scratched her nose and gave herself up as a liar.
‘Well?’ Mrs Carrington-Noble glared at her, the angry red veins in her eyes all but bursting for a response.
Should Lexie continue with the pretence, or would that make it worse? She hadn’t signed a consent for anyone to check her records, but Mrs Carrington-Noble had probably doctored something. Or pulled some more money-buys-everything strings, like when she’d arranged for Penny the camper van to meet her hasty end.
Lexie’s limbs were quivering with panicky tension; this was excruciating. The eyeballs were blinking at her like a computer egg timer, counting down to who knew what. An explosion? An attack of outraged peacocks? Or would she just be sacked and thrown out. The woman was within her rights.
‘Look,’ Lexie began, not quite knowing where she would end. ‘I … urgh. I may have added a few sequins to the facts. You know, a tiny bit ofdécor. But I wanted this job, and I knew I was capable. I just didn’t have the fancy qualifications to prove it. I … couldn’t afford to go to uni.’
‘So you thought you would lie to get your cheaply shod foot through my door. You deceived my sons with your big doe eyes and strange bright outfits. You pretended you belonged in the job. And then what? Were you planning to fudge your way into Benedict’s bed?’
‘No! I … ’ Lexie pulled at the ends of her pixie cut. ‘I’ve never had any intention of getting into Ben’s bed.’ OK, so maybe that one night. But she wasn’t saying that. ‘Pretending to have a degree was a terrible idea, I admit that. But haven’t you ever made a mistake? Haven’t you ever completely messed up and then wished with all your heart you hadn’t?’
The air was still for a moment. Was Mrs Carrington-Noble actually looking pensive? Lexie could barely breathe as she tried to read the woman’s face.
Mrs Carrington-Noble cleared her throat, still leaning on the armchair with one thin arm. ‘We all make mistakes, Alexis. But are you sure you’ve only made one?’
Bloody hell, what else did Patricia Poirot have up her sleeve? Lexie felt like she was in a game of who blinks first, as the two of them eyed each other over the unfortunate table.
Lexie could see Mrs Carrington-Noble’s free hand rummaging in her bag, as though getting ready to flash her trump card. What the heck could be in there?
A package appeared and Mrs Carrington-Noble let it drop onto the table between them. A bag of white powder. OK, so it didn’t look good. But Lexie could absolutely explain.
‘Is this yours?’ Mrs Carrington-Noble demanded.
Lexie couldn’t deny it. It would have arrived in a box with her name on it. ‘Well, yes, but it’s honestly not what you think.’ The powder itself wasn’t going to kill anyone, but if she’d been doing any digging …
‘And what on earth is it?’
‘Seriously, it’s nothing illegal.’ Lexie held her hands up. A girl could buy a lot of handy things on eBay, but she was pretty sure class A drugs was not one of them.
‘So my contact at the constabulary assures me.’
Lexie could sense an air of disappointment. Or was it more of a force-nine gale? ‘It’s calcium carbonate. Chalk powder for making a chalk-style paint – to renovate ugly furniture.’ She deserved that last quip for stealing her post.
