Spitting Feathers. Kelly HarteЧитать онлайн книгу.
sorry, Tao, but I can only stay another ten minutes. As it is I’m going to miss out on my bath.’
I passed over the gift, which had indeed been beautifully giftwrapped in lime-green paper and purple ribbon by Alina, and hoped it would soften her up while I went to the bar. It was fairly quiet, thankfully, and the barman, a middle-aged man with a sad expression and sandy-coloured ponytail, nodded in silent, morose recognition when I ordered a glass of red wine.
Sophie seemed pleased enough when I got back, but there was still a look of elsewhereness in her eyes. She held up one of the candlesticks and smiled. ‘They’re fabulous, Tao, but you shouldn’t have. I know how tight money is at the moment, and these must have cost a bomb.’
I didn’t deny it, but I pooh-poohed her objections. ‘I just wanted you to know how grateful I am for everything.’
‘I know you are,’ she said.
‘I met Taylor Wiseman today,’ I told her quickly. ‘You know—the TV chef. And guess what?’
But I’d lost her again. She was putting the candlesticks back in their gift box and transferring them to her bag. She looked up at me blankly.
‘He’s asked me to go to his place tomorrow to talk about a possible job.’
‘That’s nice,’ she said.
‘It’s more than nice! It’s brilliant. It could be the start of something really big.’
She nodded. ‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed, then, shall I?’
I was beginning to get annoyed with her. She should have been gushing with excitement by now, not offering to keep her damn fingers crossed.
‘What about the house?’ she asked, sounding a bit more enthusiastic now. ‘Everything still okay there?’
‘Fine. I’ll be moving in on Saturday, at twelve-ish, I told Mrs Audesley. Is that still okay for you?’
‘Great,’ she said. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing the place.’ She was slipping her bag onto her shoulder and there was a look of apology forming on her face. ‘I’m sorry, Tao, but I really will have to leave now.’
‘But where are you going?’ I said. What could be more important than my exciting news? I was actually thinking, but managed not to say.
‘I’ve got a hot date,’ she said, getting up.
‘Not with Mrs Audesley’s prodigal nephew, by any chance?’
‘As a matter of fact, yes,’ she answered defensively. ‘And I wish you wouldn’t make it sound as if there’s something dubious about his character. The only thing you know for certain about him is that he’s done you an enormous favour.’
She was right, and I couldn’t deny it. For all I knew, Mrs Audesley’s reasons for disliking her nephew were quite unreasonable. And, come to think of it, Chris had as good as defended him when he’d said that Jerome wasn’t responsible for all of Sir Galahad’s bad language. ‘Sorry,’ I said, giving in to the inevitable of being left on my own to drink my wine. ‘Have a great time.’
She gave me a grateful nod and then looked a bit coy. ‘You can have my bed tonight, if you like. I might be late so I’ll sleep on the sofa.’
Which was Sophie-speak for, In all probability I won’t be coming home tonight.
Because I didn’t want to get in the way while Sophie was preparing for her big date, I hung around the pub for a while. I had another glass of red wine, and a packet of pork scratchings, and when they were gone I dawdled home through the narrow, busy streets. I picked up a couple of cream cheese and smoked salmon bagels from the twenty-four-hour bagel shop, and found the flat empty when I got in. For once I was a bit disappointed. It would have been fun to tell the two Cs about Taylor, to rub their noses once more in my move to Hampstead. They went out a lot during the week, though I had no idea where they went or how they managed to fund their outings. As far as I knew neither one of them had a current boyfriend, so they must have been spending their own money.
I could have phoned my parents and told them my news, but I knew they wouldn’t be all that impressed. Never having owned a TV, they wouldn’t have heard of Taylor Wiseman, and besides, I wanted to be a little more sure of my ground first. I hadn’t even told them about my move yet, so if anything definite came from my meeting with Taylor tomorrow I could tell them the whole lot together.
I spent part of the evening watching TV—a ghoulish hospital drama that involved close-ups of open wounds made wonderfully real by the make-up department. Then, although I still had another day to go, I made a feeble attempt at some packing before planning to use the hot water that I had deprived Sophie of. I was also planning to ‘borrow’ some of Fiona’s expensive bubble bath, then rub out the marker line the suspicious cow had made on the bottle and create a new one. In fact I was just checking her make-up drawer for the right colour eyeliner when the front doorbell rang.
Luckily I hadn’t got as far as stripping off yet, because when I answered the intercom I got a nasty shock. It was Peter Parker, the landlord, asking if he could come in.
‘What for?’ I asked cautiously.
‘I had a message from one of those posh birds. She said there was a problem with the light fitting in her room.’
No one had told me that. And what was he doing, coming around here at this time of night? ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but there’s only me here at the moment. Can’t you come back tomorrow?’
‘No, I can’t. Now, open the door like a good girl, or I’ll just use my own key anyway.’
I sighed and pressed the buzzer to open the street door, alarmed for Sophie’s sake to learn that he had such easy access to the flat, and alarmed for my own sake that I was about to be alone with him. I could hear him dragging his feet over the uncarpeted stairs, and I opened the door before he reached it. I left it open, just in case I needed to make a fast getaway.
He was dressed in two shades of denim tonight—black jeans, blue jacket—and he was carrying a metal box that I assumed contained his tools. I managed a smile as it didn’t seem sensible to appear unfriendly.
‘I’ll leave you to it, then, shall I?’ I said.
‘I wouldn’t mind a drink,’ he said as he gave me the once-over.
I hesitated. I didn’t want him hanging around, and yet I didn’t want to antagonise him either. ‘Tea okay?’ I asked as I uttered a silent groan.
‘Tea’s good,’ he said.
He followed me into the kitchen and I switched on the already fullish kettle. ‘Better wait till it’s boiled ’cause I may have to switch the electricity off.’
I shrugged, and then busied myself with teabags and things as he plonked himself down at the kitchen table.
‘Had a helluva day,’ he said with a heavy sigh.
Unfortunately I felt some response was necessary. ‘Oh, yes?’ I said, glancing around at him. ‘What have you been up to?’
The kitchen was poky, with hardly room for a table, and his presence was overpowering. He smelt of very stale BO and I wondered if I could get away with spraying some air freshener without offending him. I decided I probably couldn’t.
‘Having a row with the Social. They’re threatening to stop my benefits. Seem to think I might have some undisclosed income.’
I turned and looked at him properly. Like rent from a sublet council flat, I thought, but wisely didn’t say. His eyes were narrowed to a slit.
‘I’d be really upset if I thought someone had grassed me up,’ he said meaningfully.
‘Why would anyone do that?’ I asked as casually as I could manage. Luckily the kettle clicked off at that moment and I could get on with making the