Page 24 of A Clean Sweep
In the kitchen, Emily happily whipped up scrambled eggs while Joe sizzled some rashers of back bacon on the hob. A pot of coffee was on the table, along with glasses of juice and doorsteps of bread that Joe had sliced. They ate together contentedly, both hungry because of the calories they'd burned. When they'd finished, Joe patted his stomach – a six-pack for sure – and insisted on cleaning up. Duly done, he pulled Emily into his arms and kissed her until her head spun.
'So, I could well be working a bit late tonight. But could I see you tomorrow night? We could eat out again. Maybe not steak this time! Or … you could come to my place and I'll make something? I'm no Masterchef but nobody's ever been rushed to casualty because of my cooking!' His eyes were twinkling with mischief and Emily felt another rush of desire.
'If you can rustle up something smooth and not life-threatening then I'm in. Baby mush?'Oh help.Why did she always come out with the most ridiculous things? Mentioning babies wasabsolutelynot a good idea. Her reproductive system had most certainly called it a day, whereas Joe was in his prime for being a doting daddy. Not a subject they'd discussed, or – she reasoned – were ever likely to. But she didn't want to scare him off just yet.
'I'm sure I can come up with something more appetising than pureed carrots, thank you!' Joe showed no sign of mentally calculating the likelihood of them becomingparents and coming up with the obvious answer. No chance. Unless they adopted some poor little waif or spent a fortune on IVF treatment. Which would probably be ruled out on the grounds of her being the wrong side of fifty. And would she evenwantto be a mother again? Waving her child off to university in her seventies?
Thankfully Joe was a sex bomb as opposed to a mind reader. With a promise to text her later and pick her up the following evening for dinner à deux at his bachelor pad, he was gone.
Jim had always been more of an Oral B than an oral sex man. The few times she'd tried to initiate it he'd been very reluctant, preferring just to climb on board – so to speak –and thrust away until he was satisfied. Looking back, Emily hadrarelybeen satisfied herself. Had lain there thinking, ‘is thatit?’as Jim descended into a coma. He'd been massively into dental hygiene, brushing and flossing and rinsing for several minutes morning and night. Guess he didn't consider getting his teeth entangled with her privates as effective as a good going over with waxed string. Crikey, shewasgetting crude in her old age, she thought with a chuckle. That's what happens when you get hot and horny with a fine young specimen. Speaking of hot and horny, it was probably time she got on with some work editing the latest racy saga that had arrived the day before. It was far bigger than the usual short stories or multi-part series' that she normally edited. The covering note from the magazine explained it was on the short list for a competition they'd run. Before making their final choice, they were sending out the frontrunners to various editors to give their expert feedback. Along with correcting the usual grammar, punctuation and presentation issues.
Fifty pages in and Emily was quite engrossed. Yes, it was pretty overblown, the writer clearly having spent too muchof her life immersed in books featuring stallion-like heroes and swooning heroines. She'd had an amazingly orgasmic evening herself, but these characters took it to a whole new level. She felt exhausted, although that could also be to do with her nocturnal activities. Time for a long, restoring shower, she decided, then she'd get back to her editing.
Duly washed and dressed Emily returned to the job in hand. Despite herself she was enjoying the story which was tightly paced and with more twists and turns than a rollercoaster ride. The writer – who'd given herself the ridiculous pen name of Astra Du Bois – had both a vivid imagination and a deft way with words. Aside from a couple of spelling mistakes and misuse of quotation marks it was well presented, unlike some of the shambolic pieces she'd encountered in the past. She flicked back to the covering email from the magazine –Tea Break– but there was no mention of the writer's real name. Unless she reallywasAstra Du Bois and had a side line as a clairvoyant complete with headscarf and crystal ball.
Emily's mind drifted away from the manuscript and into the future. The very near future, as in the next evening. She wished she had a crystal ball of her own to foresee what was in store for her and Joe. Then again, would shereallywant to know? Her sensible and rational side said they'd perhaps date for a short time until Joe realised the age difference was too big a deal. They'd politely call it a day and, hopefully, remain friends. However, her wild and devil-may-care side – not often let off the leash – argued that nothing was impossible, that true love could conquer all as long as both parties felt the same. Or was she deluding herself, carried away on a wave of lust and influenced by Astra's torrid writing? Anyway, who said anything about love?
With the Joe Jackson song playing away on a constant loop in her head, Emily ploughed her way through the rest ofthe manuscript. Made her corrections and suggestions and fired it back to the publisher. Job done, what next? Maybe a trip to the shops, look for something new to wear tomorrow night. Her wardrobe badly needed an overhaul as Tabitha frequently reminded her. And much as she hoped to end the evening in her birthday suit it would be nice to start it in something reasonably alluring.
Emily parked Hamish just behind the high street and stuck the ticket behind the windscreen. She bypassed Bab's Boutique which she always thought was a little overly frilly and headed for Dressed To Kill which Tabitha assured her was a bit more 'edgy' and up to the minute. She wasn't convinced she was an 'edgy' kind of person – at least not in the fashion sense – but emboldened by her fledgling relationship she pushed open the door. To her great relief, no klaxons went off signalling the arrival of an older woman. The girl behind the counter – who looked in her early twenties – gave her a smile. 'Hi there. Just browsing? Give me a shout if you need anything.' Emily was relieved to be left alone to rifle through the racks. Too often assistants were immediately breathing down your neck, offering unsolicited advice and making polite chitchat. On her one and only trip to the US with Jim many years ago she'd wanted to beat them off with a big stick, so persistent were they in providing maximum customer service.
Emily was just stroking the sleeve of a satiny red top – scarlet woman! – when she heard her name being called. Seconds later she was being hugged by her friend, Christine. A rather awkward embrace as Christine was toting several shopping bags. Plonking them at her feet she looked Emily up and down then grinned broadly. 'Well, hello stranger! Haven't seen you in absolutely ages. How the hell are you, and why are you so rubbish at replying to texts?' Emily immediately flushed with guilt, stammering something aboutbeing very busy with work and stuff. The truth was, she was happy to meet up with friends from time to time but often made excuses when another coffee gathering or night out was mentioned. She'd never been one for meeting up on a regular basis to regurgitate previous conversations or indulge in wild speculation about other people's lives. This was another bugbear of her darling daughter. 'Mum, you spend far too much time home alone! It's not healthy, you know. You've got some nice friends, stop hiding away like a blinking hermit!' Maybe she was, but she enjoyed her own company and saw little need to change.
'Listen, do you have time for a quick cuppa when you're finished in here?' asked Christine. 'My feet are killing me and I could do with a sit down and a catch up.' Emily hesitated briefly, then nodded in agreement. She was fond of Christine even though – on the surface – they didn't have a lot in common. They'd met at a pastry-making course run by the local patisserie. Emily had signed up on a mad whim, with notions of creating delicious pies, quiches and éclairs. In reality, she couldn't get to grips with choux and her shortcrust was more hardcore and virtually inedible. She resigned herself to ready-made from the supermarket but bonded with Christine who was similarly cack-handed. They generally got together every few weeks but Emily was embarrassingly aware it had been closer to three months since they'd last seen each other.
Sitting in a nearby café with a pot of mint tea, they got up to speed with their lives. Christine had been divorced several years earlier. Amicably, by all accounts. She was an attractive woman, if a bit forthright in her opinions, and incredibly sporty. Tennis, swimming, half-marathons – you name it, she sweated her way through it. Emily liked to keep in shape but would only run if something horrible was pursuing her. Andher tennis skills left much to be desired. As did her breaststroke.
'I've been seeing him on and off for a few weeks now. Early days, who knows what'll happen? I'm not really looking for anything permanent. Been there, done that, got the decree nisi. Still, nice to know there's life in the old girl yet! Not ready for the vow of total chastity, if you catch my drift!'
Christine was chatting about the man she was currently seeing. A mid-fifties gym fanatic who had apparently run twenty full marathons and competed in several triathlons. Widowed fairly recently, he'd spotted Christine at the local sports centre smashing her opponent to pulp on the tennis court and asked her out. They'd been lobbing shots at each other ever since, neither apparently willing to concede an inch. Emily knew her friend well enough to know that everything was a contest and there could only be one winner. Probably the main reason her ex-husband had waved the white flag and beat a hasty retreat.
'So, what gives with the elusive Emily?' Christine swirled the teabags around inside the pot, then poured them a top-up. 'Anything or anyone I should know about? That wasquitea sassy little number you picked up in the shop!'
Emily glanced at the plastic bag next to her, containing the red top with its cutaway shoulders. She hadn't tried it on, but knew it would look perfect with the slim-fitting white jeans she'd had for six years and still clung in all the right places. 'No, nothing. No one. All pretty dull really. Just plodding along, as you do.' Emily had no intention of sharing Joe with Christine. Or anyone else, for that matter. Not yet, not when it was all so new and shiny. Plus, she still wasn't sure what the general reaction would be when they went public. If they ever did.
Chapter 16
Tom was sitting in a darkened corner of Bar Belle, partly obscured by a large pillar. He alternated between taking nervous swigs of his pint and peering around the corner to check if Kate had arrived. He'd got there a little early, a few brochures and some print outs waiting in his briefcase.
Tabitha was having an at-home evening, which usually involved a hideous-looking face pack, her head shrouded in a comical zebra-print bath cap to maximise the effect of a hair mask. When he said he was going for a drink with the lads she was engrossed in flicking through Netflix in search of some trashy chick film to watch. 'Have fun', she replied, waggling her fingers in farewell. Except it came out more like 'aargh un' as said face pack was already setting like concrete.
Tom had felt horribly guilty – as well he should – but had tried to appease his conscience by telling himself that he was simply meeting a client. Admittedly a drop-dead gorgeous one who he could easily have dealt with at the office. Plus, his niggling fear that all was not rosy between him andTabitha grew a little stronger every day. Much as he'd been attracted to her when they first met, he hadn't felt anything like thezingwhen he first saw Kate.
Suddenly, there she was, her gaze searching the room until alighting on Tom. That dazzling smile again that made his insides go into meltdown. She was wearing the same red coat, open this time to reveal a short black dress. As she headed towards him several other men openly ogled her. Not surprising, she was a head-turning kind of girl.
'Hi Tom! This is so kind of you, giving up your free time to help me. Can I get you another drink?' She gestured to his almost empty glass, at the same time dropping her coat on a chair and fishing her purse out of her bag.
'Don't be silly, I'll go get them. Please, sit down. What's your tipple? OK, one glass of Pinot Grigio coming up.' He hastened to the bar which was mercifully quiet and was back at the table in under a minute. He handed her her wine and they toasted each other before settling back in their chairs. Tom put down his glass and picked up his briefcase, pulling out the relevant items. He spread them out before them, Kate leaning forward to take a look.
‘Right, so based on what you said yesterday, I think Hong Kong could be a good option. It's considered very safe, even for solo female travellers. It's jam-packed with cultural things to do and see and the food is amazing. There are plenty of great hotel deals to be had at the moment as well as decent-priced flights. And if you like shopping’ – Tom grinned in what he hoped was an engaging fashion – ‘you're truly spoiled for choice with malls and street markets galore.' He felt a little thrill of excitement as he realised Kate was now staring at him rather than at the glossy brochures. Was there just a hint of personal interest in those mesmerising eyes, or was she simply daydreaming about steaming bowls of noodles andslinky cheongsams? God, she'd looksensationalin one of those.
'It sounds amazing, Tom, and I can see you've come up with some other places too.' She gestured at a stunning collage of pictures of Costa Rica; a misty rain forest shot, a spectacular sunset and golden beaches lined by majestic palm trees. 'The thing is, would you mind if we chatted a little first, got to know each other a bit? Maybe if you know more about me it'll help to make the right choice.'
Privately Tom couldn't be more delighted at Kate's suggestion. Unless she'd suggested zipping back to her place so he could get to know her in a much more intimate way. Which wasn't likely – was it? Although shehadwriggled her chair closer to his and he got another whiff of the same musky scent that had got him going last time.
Almost an hour later and Tom was pretty familiar with Kate's life story, and vice versa. Except he had omitted the minor detail of him living with someone. Which wasn't, of course, aminordetail, more like a gigantic African elephant with enormous flapping ears parading its way round the room. Luckily, Kate couldn't actuallyseethis behemoth, nor had his nose grown Pinocchio-style. She hadn'taskedif he was with someone, so he simply hadn't volunteered the information. What he'd learned about her was: she was twenty-eight; lived alone in a two-bedroom flat just outside of town; was the youngest of three, her older brother and sister in London and Leeds respectively, both parents still going strong and endlessly supportive, particularly when aforementioned bastard fiancé ditched her. His name was Arthur and she strongly suspected his protestations that there was no-one else were a pile of crap. She worked at a beauty boutique called De Luxe and enjoyed her job, but hated her boss, Caitlin, the one who'd refused to let her change her holiday leave.
'To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised ifshewas the one he was shagging on the side. She was always fluttering her stupid false eyelashes at him when he came in to pick up his products. That's how I met him. At first I thought it was quite nice that a man should take his skincare and hygiene routines so seriously. Now I just think he's an over-preening prat.'
