Рецепт свадебного пудинга. Галина Осень

the sack. They always had something new to move onto, and no incentive to stay.

      And, it was worth remembering, Kevin had screwed up almost every simple job Dominic had asked him to do in the last week. Sometimes, if you wanted a job done properly...

      ‘Fine. Go. I’ll fix it.’

      The scrambling on the other end of the line suggested Kevin was already halfway out of the door. ‘Yes, sir. Thank you.’ He hung up.

      Dominic gave the beer another wistful look. And then he called Shelley.

      The wailing child in the background wasn’t a good sign. ‘Dominic, I am on maternity leave. I do not work for you right now.’

      ‘I know that. But—’

      ‘Are you sure? Because this is the fifth time you’ve called me this week.’

      ‘In my defence, you weren’t supposed to go on maternity leave for another two weeks.’

      ‘I am very sorry that my son arrived early and disrupted your busy schedule.’ She didn’t sound very sorry, Dominic thought. She sounded sarcastic. ‘Now, what do you want? And quickly.’

      ‘The Americans. Kat cancelled all our bookings and—’

      ‘Told you not to sleep with her.’

      ‘And I need to find them somewhere to stay and someone to look after them while they’re in London.’

      ‘Yes,’ Shelley said. ‘You do.’

      ‘Can you help?’ He hated begging. Hated admitting he needed the assistance. But Shelley had been with him for five years. She knew how he worked, what he needed. She was part of the company.

      Or she had been, until she left him.

      She obviously still had more loyalty than Kevin, though. Sighing, she said, ‘I’ll check my contacts and text you some hotel names and tour companies you can try. But you’ll have to wait until I’ve got Micah back off to sleep.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      ‘And this is the last time, Dominic. You’re going to have to learn to work with Kevin.’

      ‘I could just hire someone else,’ Dominic mused. The thought of a whole year with Kevin was untenable.

      ‘Fine. Whatever. I don’t care. Just stop calling me!’ Shelley hung up.

      Placing his phone on the bar, Dominic looked at the bottle of beer. How long did it take to get a child off to sleep, anyway? He might as well have a drink while he was waiting. But, as he reached for the bottle, a woman boosted herself up onto the stool next to him and smiled.

      Raising the bottle to his lips, Dominic took in the low-cut blouse, too-tight skirt and wild dark hair framing large hazel eyes. The smile on her wide lips was knowing, and he wondered if she’d recognised him. What she wanted from him. A drink. A night. A story to sell. She wouldn’t be the first, whatever it was.

      And whatever it was, she wouldn’t get it. He’d made a mistake, letting Kat close enough to damage his reputation. It wasn’t one he intended to make again—certainly not for one night with a pretty girl with an agenda.

      But, to his surprise, the first words she said were, ‘Sounds like you have a problem, my friend. And I think I can help you out.’

      * * *

      It wasn’t the way she normally got work, but there was a lot to be said for serendipity, Faith decided. Walking into an airport bar, jobless and broke, and hearing a guy talk about how he needed a London tour guide and hotel rooms? That was an opportunity that was meant to be.

      ‘And how, exactly, do you intend to do that?’ the guy asked. He didn’t look quite as convinced by coincidence as she was.

      Faith held out a hand. ‘I’m Faith. I’m a tour guide. I know London even better than I know Italy and Rome, and I’ve been running tours here for a year and a half. And it just so happens that I’ve finished one tour today, and I have a break before my next one.’ She didn’t mention the slight hiccup in her heartbeat at the idea of going home to London. Probably it would be fine. She could be in and out in a week or so, heading off on a plane to sunnier, less panic-inducing climes.

      Besides, at this point, it wasn’t as if she had a lot of other options.

      ‘Dominic,’ the guy said, taking her hand. He looked familiar, she realised. But then, after a while, all men in grey suits looked the same, didn’t they? Maybe not quite as attractive as this one, though. His gaze was cool and evaluating. The high-end suit said ‘successful businessman’, the loosened tie said ‘workaholic’ and the beer said ‘long day’. She could work with all of those. ‘And how, exactly, do you know I need a tour guide?’

      ‘I eavesdropped.’ Faith shrugged, then realised the move strained her struggling blouse a little more than was wise in a professional environment. Maybe she should have left the necktie on.

      ‘Not exactly the key quality I look for in an employee.’ He frowned down at her cleavage with more distaste than she was used to seeing in a man.

      ‘Really?’ Faith asked. ‘Someone who listens even when they’re not required to and anticipates your needs? I’ve always found that rather useful.’

      It was funny, Faith thought, the way you could watch someone re-evaluate you, and see the change in their attitude as a result. When she’d first sat down, she’d known all he saw was boobs and hair. Then she’d offered to help him, and his expression had changed from dismissive to interested. And now...now he was really intrigued.

      ‘Okay, so, we’ve established I need a tour guide. I also need seven luxury hotel rooms in a central London five-star hotel.’

      Thank goodness for airport Wi-Fi.

      Logging into her browser from her smartphone, Faith scrolled through to the late booking accommodation site Marco always used, and set her search parameters. ‘For tomorrow?’

      Dominic nodded. ‘Staying six nights.’

      There weren’t a lot of options, so Faith just presented him with the best one. ‘How about the Greyfriars?’ She turned the screen for him to see the eye-watering price, next to the photo of a hotel suite larger than the flat she’d shared with Antonio in Rome.

      A slight widening of the eyes, a tight smile, and Faith knew he was re-evaluating her again. Good. She could be useful to him, and he could be even more useful to her. Time he realised that.

      ‘The Greyfriars should work.’

      Faith tapped a few more buttons on her tiny screen. ‘I’ve reserved the rooms. Do you want to trust me with your credit card information, or call and speak with them directly?’

      He raised his eyebrows, even as he pulled his wallet from his jacket pocket. For a moment, Faith thought he might actually hand it over, but then he picked up his phone, too. ‘Give me the number.’

      Grabbing her well used red notebook from her bag, Faith scribbled down both the phone number of the hotel and the reservation reference, and pushed the page across to him.

      While he spoke with the receptionist, Faith ordered herself a glass of wine, hoping that Dominic would be impressed enough by her efficiency that she wouldn’t have to rely on her last twenty euros for much longer.

      So. She’d got the man his hotel rooms; surely he had to offer her the tour guide job now, right? Which meant his next question would be ‘What do you want?’ She needed to formulate an answer—one that didn’t let on exactly how much more she needed his help than he needed hers.

      What did she want? For Antonio never to have found out who she really was. For Marco not to have done a bunk. For her parents to be normal middle-class people. Teachers, perhaps. People who fitted in, which her parents certainly did not. She wanted to not have to worry that every camera or phone she saw might be about to send her picture soaring