was supposed to represent her new, more grown up image, had gone slightly curly, her pointy high heels, showing Parisienne sophistication, were killing her and the horribly expensive sheer tights were splashed with dirty water. It also turned out that the five-minute walk to the hotel was technically correct, providing you were a certain Mr Usain Bolt.
By the time she staggered to the top of the flight of steps of the hotel, tottering in her heels with all the élan of Tony Curtis in Some Like it Hot, it was nearer five o’clock. The concierge opened the door for her and she managed to raise a very small smile, which was quickly wiped from her face when her wet shoes slipped on one of the tiles. Saving herself before she fell, she sacrificed the wheelie case which promptly popped open exploding clothes in a rainbow of colour and fabric. And of course, the damn box of condoms had to go skittering across the floor before it came to rest beside the highly polished chestnut shoes of a tall, dark Gregory Fitoussi lookalike.
Sod’s law, he had to bend down, pick them up and hand them to her as she blushed like a sunburned tomato.
‘Merci,’ she stuttered trying to give him an insouciant smile, taking them calmly from him as if this sort of thing happened to her all the time and it really was nothing and she wasn’t the least bit fazed by it or dying slowly inside.
With a charming smile, he nodded, said something in rapid indistinguishable French and walked away, stepping around a pair of boxers.
Aware that she’d become a bit of a spectacle in the busy lobby, not that anyone was rushing forward to help, she hurriedly snatched the scattered clothes and rammed them back into the case any old how, closed it and, smoothing her hair, she crossed to the front desk. Sebastian had told her to ask for him at the front desk so that they could give her a key for his room.
Goodness only knows what everyone thought she was doing with a suitcase of condoms and men’s clothing. The receptionist gave her a decidedly glacial look. Everyone probably thought she was a call girl, which was almost correct as for the next few weeks she was going to be Sebastian’s beck-and-call girl.
Sebastian was on the ninth floor and his room, rather practically, was right next door to the lift. She knocked loudly with several firm raps before inserting the key card into the slot. Three attempts later the little light finally turned green and she pushed open the door, her heart thumping so hard that she could almost feel her ribs rattling. Which was ridiculous.
‘Nina?’ His voice called from beyond another door in the short gloomy corridor.
‘Yes, its me.’ Her voice sounded thin and reedy. She took a deep breath. It was ten years ago. They were both older and wiser.
‘You’re late.’
Sighing, Nina nibbled at her lip and pushed open the internal door.
She didn’t see him at first and took a minute to stare around at the rather grand surroundings. It was cowardly, she knew, but her legs had gone all wobbly, not unlike one of the newborn calves on the farm. A wave of homesickness grabbed at her and a longing to turn the clock back to a time when Sebastian was her brother’s best friend.
‘Yes, it’s a suite,’ Sebastian’s dry voice came from the sofa in front of her, where his head poked above the back.
This wasn’t at all how she’d imagined their first conversation would go, but then she’d had trouble imagining how it would go at all.
‘It certainly is,’ she said, taking refuge in the grandeur of the room rather than meeting Sebastian’s narrow-eyed gaze.
It was palatial, double the size of her little flat at home, with two sofas opposite each other, a series of French windows opening onto three balconies and a monster TV screen. Antique-y looking furniture lined the walls on either side with two double doors opening onto what she guessed were bedrooms. ‘All this just for you.’
‘I have handy friends,’ said Sebastian, his voice scratchy and cross. ‘And it was the closest to the lift.’ She finally looked down at where he lay on the sofa, propped up against the arm with a pile of pillows, the offensively, bright blue cast clashing horribly with the pale lemon of the silk damask cushions.
‘You loo…’ She stopped herself in time. Telling him he looked terrible probably wasn’t going to go down well. Inside, some less than charitable little minx shouted, Yay! Sebastian Finlay looks horrible. Skanky. Yukky. Totally unfancyable. His skin had a grey pallor and his hair was greasy and yes, yuk, slicked to his scalp. Purple shadows underscored his eyes and his chin was dotted with several days of stubble. The white T-shirt he wore looked grimy and he was in his pants. Sebastian in his pants. Her mouth twitched. She wanted to do one of those victory dances footballers do when they run around the pitch with their shirts over their heads.
‘Thanks,’ he said, dryly second guessing the rest of her sentence. ‘Excuse me if I don’t get up.’
‘Looks … uncomfortable,’ she said suddenly realising that she wasn’t behaving normally at all and trying not to look at the top of the cast where it met his pants. What was wrong with her, for goodness’ sake.
His mouth thinned but he didn’t acknowledge her comment. ‘I, erm … your stuff. I brought it. Where do you want me to put your case?’
Sebastian closed his eyes as if summoning up some patience and then glanced down at his leg.
‘Sorry, you need me to unpack it for you,’ said Nina
‘It would help,’ he said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. ‘Did you bring my laptop? Phone charger? Can I have those first?’
Nina brought the case over to the second sofa and opened it up.
‘Jeez, Nina.’ Sebastian scowled. ‘Why did you stuff everything in there? Those shirts were freshly ironed. They look like they’ve been used to wipe the floor.’
He had a point, and they sort of had but before she could apologise or explain, he carried on, ‘If you’re going to throw a temper tantrum every time I ask you to do something you don’t want to do, this isn’t going to work. I need someone to help me, not a spoilt prima donna who throws her toys out of the pram when things don’t go her way. I knew this was a mistake.’ He threw his arm over his face.
Nina whirled round, feeling her nose flaring. Possibly her most unattractive trait, but it only ever happened when she was really cross. And now she was really, really cross.
‘I appreciate you don’t have a particularly high opinion of me, Mr She’s-the-last-person-I’d-want-to-help but I’m not that petty. I didn’t do it on purpose. The stupid case just popped open by itself.’
‘One, you weren’t supposed to hear that comment and I’m sorry, it wasn’t terribly tactful. And two, yes that case does that,’ he bit out, ‘which is why I specifically told you to bring the holdall.’
‘So because I wasn’t supposed to hear that comment, it makes it alright?’ said Nina through pinched lips. ‘And two, I’m not sure you were that specific.’
‘How much more specific do you need than, make sure you bring the leather holdall on top of the wardrobe? The one with—’ His face tightened and his eyes narrowed.
