Read Online A Minor Indiscretion by Carole Matthews - Free Book Online

Tanya.”

CHAPTER 9
    K ath Brown comes into the office. When I say office, it’s really a glorified cupboard filled with bulging files and bits of fabric and colorful storyboards to give people a sneak preview of how their house will look when they recklessly abandon their magnolia walls to Kath’s flowery clutches. It’s always the same. Whoever the client. They start off tentatively with the first room—a little change here and a swag or a tail or two there—and then they get bolder with each room. Their confidence grows as they progress through the house—a touch of gilt here, a bit of glitz there, more plasterwork, perhaps a bit of handcrafted something—and the suppliers become steadily more exclusive. Perhaps that’s why having a name like Kath Brown works. It’s a name you can depend on. You’re never going to get ripped off by a Kath Brown, are you?
    I am typing invoices. Like the choice of fabrics, they also grow a little bolder with each room. I am in ultra-efficient mode and my fingers are positively smoking over the keyboard. This cupboard-cum-office may look like utter chaos to the untrained eye, but I can lay my fingers on anything I need within a millisecond. Kath, on the other hand, cannot. I look up at her and smile benevolently. She needs me more than I need her.
    Looking very worried, she slides her glasses down to the end of her nose and peers over them at me. “There’s a boy in the shop,”she says hesitantly. I stop the flurry with my fingers. “A young boy. He says he knows you. He’s asked to see you.”
    I can’t even kid myself. I know exactly who it is. And so do you. Only Kath Brown is in the dark. I frown as if to say, “How intriguing!” while I try and think of something to say to her. I stand up and my knees are shaky and I wonder if I’ve gone as white as I feel.
    â€œYou’d better go through,” Kath says when it’s clear I’m not about to offer an explanation. And what could I tell her? “He’s waiting.”
    â€œI won’t be a minute,” I promise her, and in the three steps it takes me to cross the office, I mentally check out how I must look. I’m wearing a black trouser suit, which is great because it’s quite trendy and makes me feel younger and everyone was very civilized at breakfast this morning so it hasn’t got any puke or jam or tea stains on it. A major plus when you want to look good, I think you’ll agree. And, I know it’s stupid, but I do want to look good. I don’t possess a pair of Jimmy Choo kitten heels in which to skip lightly across the floor, but these ones are from Marks & Spencer’s Particularly Expensive Range, or something, and do the job just fine.
    In the shop, Christian looks vaguely uncomfortable. It must have been quite an effort for him to come here. I pause at the doorway to watch him. He is fingering some of the fabrics—the ones that are £180 per meter—and if he were Elliott, I’d tell him off. I hope he hasn’t got charcoaly hands.
    â€œHi,” I say, and Christian spins round. Just his smile is enough to do very weird things to me. This is ridiculous! I am old. I am a mother. I am a wife. I am a sensible suburban woman. How can he do this to me?
    â€œSorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t be here,” I whisper back, even though he’s as much as told me he knows that. I wonder if Kath Brown has a glass pressed to the wall. I would, in her situation.
    â€œI was missing you,” he says, as if that’s explanation enough.
    â€œChristian!”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHow did you know where to find me?”
    â€œI went in all the designer shops until I found someone who didn’t look at me as if I was mad.”
    â€œI should be cross with you.”
    â€œBut you’re not.” His mouth curls in a