The Little Book Café. Georgia Hill
disapproval.’
Tash hooted. ‘The Morrisons? Oh, come on Ade, they’re not serious about moving. They ask us in to value their grotty old bungalow out of habit.’
Adrian paused in the act of filling the kettle. He turned to her. ‘Really? You hadn’t heard then, that their daughter is ill and they need to move to be nearer her?’
Tash stared at him. She hadn’t heard that. As its only resident estate agent, she needed to be on top of Berecombe’s news and gossip and it wasn’t usually difficult. The town was a small place. Gossip quite often led to business and business meant commission. She usually knew who was getting married, who was getting divorced,, who had died, got a new job, was expecting another child. All triggers to putting a house on the market. Her mouth fell open. Had she slipped up? She’d sent Emma in to value the Morrisons’ home but she hadn’t checked to see if Em had bothered to follow up. And, as the manager, it was her responsibility.
Adrian clicked on the kettle. ‘I doubt very much if they’ll bother to give Hughes and Widrow their business having seen the exhibition you made of yourself tonight.’
Tash screwed up her face with the effort of remembering what awful things she’d done. Had a giggle with Millie, drunk a few cocktails. Had a laugh with Kit. There was nothing else, was there?
‘You’re obviously having trouble remembering spilling your drink all over Marti Cavendish, knocking over a tray of glasses and reading aloud passages from the more erotic section of the bookshelves.’
‘I didn’t do any of that.’
‘I think you’ll find you did, Natasha.’
She felt suddenly very sick. The cocktails had been strong and she’d drunk on a practically empty stomach but she was certain she hadn’t done any of those things. ‘Why are you making things up about me?’
‘I’m not, Natasha. And if you really can’t remember the evening you must be more inebriated than I thought. Perhaps you should go to bed. I’ll bring you up your coffee and some water.’ He turned his back to her and Tash could see rigid disapproval in every muscle. ‘I’ll sleep in the spare room tonight.’
Tash fled. She staggered upstairs wondering what was going on in her head. Had she thrown her drink over Marti? The woman had bumped into her in the crush, that much was true. And a tray of glasses had been knocked over, that was why Millie had been called away but Tash had been nowhere near it. Or she didn’t think she had. Her memories of the night had been eclipsed by the joy she’d felt when flirting with Kit – and made fuzzy by the cocktails. She flopped down onto the bed. And she didn’t think she’d read any erotica out loud although, out of everything Adrian had mentioned, it was the one thing she would be most likely to do. She shook her head to clear it. Had she really behaved like that? She was pretty sure she hadn’t. But if she hadn’t, why would Adrian make it all up? Why would he want to lie?
Tash woke up the following morning with a sore head and a gritty mouth. She couldn’t believe how hungover she felt after only a few cocktails. Staggering into the shower, she blasted herself with water as cold as she could stand. She regarded her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Even through the condensation she could see shadows under her eyes and a face that was too thin. Gripping the basin, she vomited suddenly and copiously. ‘Never again,’ she croaked. ‘I’m going teetotal.’ Leaning forward she wiped the mirror but she didn’t look much better. Her reflection was still misty and hazy round the edges. It was a bit like her sense of herself; she felt the true Natasha Taylor was slipping away.
‘You look awful!’ was Emma’s greeting as Tash walked into the office.
‘Thanks, Em.’ Tash sank onto her chair.
‘Too many of Millie’s cocktails last night?’
‘I don’t think so. I didn’t drink that much.’
‘Might be the bug that’s doing the rounds. Stevie says half his friends have gone down with it.’
Of course, that was why she was feeling so ill. Tash leaned back in relief. It explained why she felt so out of it. Maybe even explained why she had such a hazy memory of the party.
‘You enjoyed yourself last night then? Saw you talking to Kit. Really nice man.’
‘Yes, he is.’ Tash sat up slowly. ‘Em, was I out of order?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Did I seem too drunk?’
Emma shook her head. ‘Nah, don’t think so. You seemed normal drunk. Bit tipsy. Having a good time.’
Tash took a deep breath. This was mortifying. ‘I didn’t do anything too outrageous then?’
‘Not that I saw.’ Emma shrugged. ‘But I went to sit on the beach for a bit. I got hot – if you know what I mean.’ She winked. ‘Me and Ol have to make the most of any opportunity we can.’
‘I didn’t … I didn’t do anything like read the naughty bits out of books?’
Emma hooted. ‘Wouldn’t put it past you but, like I said, I was otherwise occupied with erotic thoughts of my own. You just looked like you were having a good time, Tash. Why all the questions?’
Tash didn’t reply. She was too embarrassed to press Emma on the matter. A wave of nausea overwhelmed her and she shot off to the bathroom.
When she returned Emma insisted she go home, assuring her she would cope with any appointments booked and would cancel those she couldn’t cover. Steering Tash towards the door, she said, ‘And if management don’t like that, they can sodding well put in another person. We’ve been saying for months we can’t cope with just the two of us now Pete has been promoted. You alright to drive home? If not, I can drop you off on the way to the Smiths’ place.’
Tash nodded and staggered up the hill to where she’d parked her car half an hour earlier. She was never ill. She fumed to herself, – she couldn’t afford to take time off.
The estate was deserted when she drove onto the drive. The house seemed hushed and slightly disapproving as she padded upstairs, took off her work clothes and sank into bed.
She came to a few hours later feeling much better and, to her surprise, hungry. Taking some dry toast and a glass of water into the garden, she sat in the shade. It was hot and the cloudless blue sky hurt her eyes. Going back in to find her sunglasses, she was distracted by the plop of a letter onto the doormat. The post. She was rarely at home when it arrived. Adrian was more often back from work before her and he put her post on the kitchen island. Not that she got all that much. Picking up the letter she frowned. It was to a Mrs Anna Williams. Right address, though. She flipped it over but there was no clue where it had come from. Probably a rookie postie seeing the surname and assuming it was for them. Williams was a common enough surname. Putting it on the kitchen table she found her sunglasses and went back to the garden. She’d investigate later and return it to the sender.
Adrian got back from work early. When she told him, she thought she had a stomach bug his attitude changed. He fussed over her, insisted she return to bed and said he’d go to his meeting on his own. Tash gave in to him with relief; the dinners with his business contacts were excruciatingly boring. She went back to bed, slept for another two hours and woke up feeling her old self. Coming downstairs in her dressing gown to watch some mindless television, she noted without interest that the misdirected letter had disappeared. Adrian must have dealt with it.
‘We missed you on Saturday night.’
Tash tore her eyes away from the computer