Hitched! (7 page)

I rolled my eyes. ‘Don’t mind me,’ I said as George fished the
phone out of his pocket and checked the caller.

‘No, it’s OK. I’ll call back later.’

Of course, I immediately wondered who had been calling. Someone
fresh-faced and pretty in jodhpurs with a pinny around their waist, I decided
sourly. George was probably working his way through all the suitable
candidates.

‘Where were we?’ said George.

‘You were finding it hard to find a domestic goddess.’

‘Oh, yes. Perhaps I should try your SMART goals. I’m very
specific about what I want, so in theory I ought to be able to find someone who
ticks all the boxes.’

‘You’d have to ask her if she was prepared to put up with that
stupid ringtone!’

George tutted. ‘The trouble with you, Frith, is that you’ve no
sense of fun. I’ll bet you’ve got a really boring ringtone.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with my phone.’

‘What’s your number?’ he demanded. ‘I’m going to ring it.’

Sure enough, a discreet buzz from my phone announced that I had
a call.

‘That’s pathetic,’ said George. ‘That’s the sort of ringtone
that belongs to a woman who wears sensible white cotton underwear and has no
idea how to have a good time.’

I put up my chin. ‘I’m perfectly capable of having a good
time,’ I said, avoiding the question of my underwear, which did indeed verge on
the sensible side. First day off I had, I was going to buy myself something red
and lacy, I decided, before catching myself up. I absolutely did not care what
George thought of my underwear. Not that he would ever see it.

Now I was getting flustered. I reached for my purse to disguise
the pinkness in my cheeks. ‘In fact, I’m so ready to have a good time I’ll go
and get another round.’

‘Hold on,’ said George, holding up a hand. ‘Have you formulated
a proper plan?’ he asked in mock concern. ‘I don’t think you should rush into
this. What’s your strategy for getting to the bar? Is your goal a SMART
one?’

I stuck out my tongue as I wriggled past him. ‘Do you want
another pint or not?’

The bar was crowded and it was a while before I was able to
push my way through to the front to be served. When I got back to the table,
George was looking innocent.

‘What?’ I said suspiciously.

He spread his hands. ‘Nothing.’

‘Hmmph.’ A group on the neighbouring table had filched our
stool, so I had no choice but to squeeze back onto the settle with George.

‘Here’s to reaching our goals,’ I said, touching my glass to
George’s.

‘To goals,’ he agreed. ‘And fun.’

FOUR

The moment I saw George...!

I was in a towering rage when I left work the next day. I
slammed Audrey’s door so hard, she shuddered, but, clearly recognising that I
was in no mood for messing, started immediately.

Planning the most horrible forms of revenge I could think of, I
drove back to the cottage, only to slam on the brakes when I saw the cause of my
fury riding across a field. He seemed to be heading towards the gate, so I
pulled Audrey up onto the verge. Closing the door with another slam to make her
wince, I waited with my arms folded and a black look on my face.

Catching sight of me, George lifted a hand and urged the horse
into a canter. Even at a distance his smile lit up the grey day and my
treacherous pulse jumped, but that only made my scowl darken further. George
wouldn’t be smiling by the time I’d finished with him, I vowed.

I confess to some alarm as he got closer and I realised the
size of the horse thundering towards me. For a terrifying moment I thought it
was going to come crashing right through gate into me, and I quailed, but at the
last second George pulled it up in a spray of mud, with a lot of snorting and
thudding of hooves.

My heart was pounding so hard that I couldn’t speak. The horse
was a great black thing with wild eyes and flaring nostrils. Its muscles bunched
alarmingly as it sidled restlessly, tossing its head up and down, while George
sat on its back as calmly as if on an armchair, his strong hands steady on the
reins.

‘Frith,’ he greeted me. ‘How’s the hangover?’

Not that good, in fact, which hadn’t improved my mood. I wasn’t
used to drinking, and I had stayed for a third round with George the night
before. He had told me scurrilous and probably apocryphal stories about the
locals and made me laugh, and then he had walked me home and said goodnight and
hadn’t tried to kiss me.

Which I was very relieved about, naturally.

In spite of the hangover and a vaguely disgruntled feeling, I
had been feeling quite well disposed towards George. Until that phone call.

‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you,’ I said furiously, ignoring
his question.

‘What have I done?’ he asked with injured innocence.

‘You know very well what, you...you...you...!’ I shook my
finger up at him, stuttering as I searched for a bad enough word.

‘Careful!’ George covered the horse’s ears with his hands in
mock consternation. ‘You mustn’t shock Jasper. He’s very sensitive.’

‘Everything’s a big joke to you, isn’t it?’ I said
bitterly.

George swung himself off the horse in one fluid motion and
looped the reins over its head so that he could come and lean on the other side
of the gate.

‘You look very cross,’ he said. ‘Like a ruffled robin.’

‘I’m a lot more than cross! I’m furious! I’m incandescent!’

I was glad not to have to crane my neck to look up at him on
the horse, but, on the other hand, I wished he hadn’t brought it with him to the
gate. At close quarters, Jasper was
enormous
.

I was determined not to show that I was nervous—
Annabel
wouldn’t have been nervous, I told myself—but
I kept a wary eye on the head hanging over the gate.

‘I’m so angry I—’ I ranted on, but Jasper chose that moment to
lunge towards me with his great yellow teeth and I jumped back with a squeak of
alarm and lost my thread.

‘Right,’ said George. ‘Call me oversensitive, but I’m getting
the definite feeling that you’re in a bad mood.’

I sucked in a breath and set my teeth. ‘I was in a meeting—an
important
meeting—with the environmental
consultants this morning when my phone rang,’ I said, rigidly controlled now.
‘Of course, I didn’t realise it was my phone at first, because I didn’t
recognise the ringtone, did I? Because
somebody
had
changed it!

‘Do you have
any
idea how
embarrassing it was to be standing there with all those men listening to some
sultry woman announcing that she was too sexy for her shirt?’ I demanded.

George laughed.

‘I’m glad you think it’s funny,’ I went on between gritted
teeth. ‘Because nobody else did. We all just stood there while this breathy
voice went on and on about being too sexy. Nobody knew where to look!’

To my fury, the corner of his mouth twitched.

‘It took ages before I realised that it was my phone!’ I
remembered, mortified. ‘I looked an absolute idiot, and it was all your fault!’
I shoved the phone at him. ‘I know you did it when I was getting the drinks last
night, so you’d better change the ringtone back to normal
right now,
or I won’t be answerable for the consequences!’

‘Frith Taylor, are you telling me you don’t know how to change
your own ringtone?’

‘I tried. I just made it louder,’ I said grittily. ‘You messed
it up, you put it right.’

George sighed but took the phone and squinted down at it as he
began pressing random buttons, apparently unconcerned by the enormous bulk of
the horse dancing around beside him.

‘I have to work so hard to get these men to take me seriously,’
I went on, watching him fretfully, ‘and you come along and ruin it!’

‘You need to lighten up, Frith.’ He handed the phone back to
me. ‘Those guys were probably intimidated by you before, but now they know that
you’re human after all and have a sense of humour, I bet you’ll get on
better.’

‘Well, thanks for the career advice,’ I said sarcastically,
‘but I think I’d prefer a grovelling apology.’

‘How about I take you for another drink instead?’

‘No, thank you,’ I said coldly. I stalked back to Audrey, my
dignified exit ruined by treading in a cow pat. ‘I shall be staying in
tonight—alone!’

* * *

I sat behind my desk in the site office, glowering out
at the rain that drummed on the cabin’s flat metal roof and obscured my view of
the foundations, where work had been abandoned earlier.

I was not in a good mood. Again. And it was George’s fault.
Again.

I hadn’t been able to sleep, and spent most of the night
pummelling my pillow and kicking the duvet off and on, and off again. When I did
eventually drop off, I dreamt of George, controlling the huge horse with calm
hands. I was there too, but on the wrong side of the gate. George swung off
Jasper, as he’d done the evening before, but this time he let the reins go as he
walked towards me. In the dream, I was very worried about the huge horse
wandering around free, but I couldn’t move. I could just stand there with my
back to the gate while George reached out and started to unbutton my shirt with
deft fingers.

‘Don’t worry about Jasper,’ he said as I squirmed with
anticipation. ‘He doesn’t bite.’

Then the horse was right there, shoving his great nose at me,
and I lurched awake, my heart pounding with a mixture of fright and
frustration.

A black horse! It was such a clichéd symbol of sexual
frustration that I was embarrassed.

So George had nice hands and could control a horse. Big deal.
That didn’t make up for him being the most annoying, irritating, infuriating man
on the planet.

And now it was raining. No, not raining,
pouring
. There was no way the men could do anything useful in this.
With a sigh, I adjusted the fierce glasses I wore for working at the computer.
If only you could fit the British weather into a plan, life would be a lot
easier.

A stamping of boots on the metal steps outside made me look up,
and the next moment George appeared in the doorway. He wore a battered waxed
jacket and muddy boots, and his hair was plastered to his head, and at the sight
of him, my senses crisped instantly. It was as if the air itself jolted, and I
was acutely aware of the drumming rain and the soft whirr of my computer. Of the
smooth cotton shirt against my skin and my thighs pressing into my chair.

I thought about how he had smiled as he unbuttoned my shirt in
my dream, and my mouth dried.

‘What are you doing here?’ I demanded, snatching off my
glasses.

‘Getting out of the rain.’ George shook himself like a dog,
spraying raindrops everywhere, and I moved my papers ostentatiously.

‘Hey!’ I objected, although the water was pooling around George
rather than my desk.

‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘but it’s a bit wet out there.’

‘What’s wrong with the estate office?’

‘Really, Frith, anyone would think you weren’t pleased to see
me.’ He took off his jacket and hung it up next to my hard hat.

‘I can’t imagine why you’d think that!’ I said, the ringtone
incident still rankling, as he toed off his boots.

Padding across the office in his socks, George threw himself
down in the chair on the other side of my desk. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’m
sorry. It was naughty of me, but I couldn’t resist...and if that isn’t a
grovelling enough apology, I’ve brought you lunch to make amends. Judging by the
way you hoovered up those peanuts the other night, you’re not getting enough
lunch.’

‘I’m used to popping out for a sandwich in London,’ I said.
‘There’s nowhere to pop out
to
here, even if it did
stop raining long enough to go out.’

‘Here go you. Try this.’ He tossed one of the packets across
the desk to me.

‘What is it?’

‘One of Mrs Simms’s ham and mustard sandwiches,’ he told me,
settling more comfortably into his chair. ‘They’re the best.’

I opened the sandwich. I had to admit it looked good. Home-made
bread, thick butter, properly carved ham and a good smear of mustard.

‘I suppose I
could
have some
lunch,’ I said. ‘It’s not as if there’s anything else to do when the weather’s
like this.’

More eyebrow waggling from George. ‘Oh, I don’t know, I’m sure
we could think of something.’

Before I could think of a suitably crushing reply, there was a
knock on the side of the cabin and Frank put his head round the door.

‘There’s no sign of it clearing up,’ he told me and I
sighed.

‘No. You might as well go, Frank.’

George had swung round in his chair. ‘I see you’re skiving off
as usual, Frank,’ he said with a grin.

‘Only on the boss’s say-so,’ said Frank, nodding at me. ‘She
might just be a slip of a lass, but she knows what she’s about.’

‘Is that right?’ George’s blue eyes rested speculatively on my
face, and I put my glasses back on to hide my beastly blush.

‘Yes, well...see you tomorrow, Frank.’

‘Righty-oh.’ Frank turned to go and then paused. ‘You won’t
forget that ringtone for Dave, will you? He’s that chuffed about it.’

‘Er...no, of course not,’ I began just as George lifted an
eyebrow.

‘Ringtone?’

Frank actually chuckled. ‘Get the boss here to give you a
listen to her ringtone sometime. It gave us all a good laugh this morning, I can
tell you! We’d heard from the lads at the council that she’d taken them all by
surprise yesterday—apparently they were all in hysterics after the meeting—but
this one was even better. Now Dave wants to get the same one for his Betty’s
birthday. We all like a lass with a sense of humour.’

There was a silence in the office as he left with a friendly
nod to us both. We listened to his boots clumping down the steps, followed by
the slam of a car door.

George looked at me.

‘Oh, very well, you might as well say it!’ I said crossly and
he laughed.

‘I told you they’d like it,’ he said.

‘OK, they thought the ringtone was funny,’ I admitted, ‘but you
had no business changing it to something equally silly,’ I told him, remembering
my horror that morning when the phone had first rung. ‘You knew perfectly well I
wanted you to put my normal ringtone back!’

‘I couldn’t resist,’ he said, holding up his hands in surrender
at my fierce look.

‘Now I’ve got to tell them all where to get hold of a ringtone
that quacks and chortles.’

I pushed my glasses up onto my forehead so I could knuckle
under my tired eyes. ‘I suppose I should be grateful you picked that and not the
orgasm scene from
When Harry Met Sally
or something
equally embarrassing—and don’t even
think
about it!’
I warned as George’s face lit up. ‘I’ll admit that your little stunt has
improved my relationship with the guys on site—and my reputation in the council
offices, apparently!—but no more, all right?’

George crossed his fingers and held them up. ‘Scout’s honour,’
he mumbled through a mouthful of sandwich.

I might as well accept the inevitable. I pushed back my chair.
‘Want some coffee?’ I asked and he stuck up a thumb.

I made the coffee and plonked his mug in front of him before
taking mine round to my own seat. It felt easier with the desk between us.

It was a delicious sandwich, I had to admit, and my enjoyment
was spoiled only by the fact that when George had finished his, he tipped back
in his chair at a dangerous angle so that he could put his feet up on my
desk.

‘Do you mind?’ I said pointedly.

‘What’s the problem?’

‘Your dirty socks are the problem! Could you please take them
off my desk and stop tilting that chair like that? It’s making me nervous. I
don’t care if you break your neck, but I’ve got a health and safety record to
think about.’

George sighed and swung his feet down. ‘It seems to me health
and safety regulations were invented just to stop the rest of us having
fun.’

‘It’s perfectly possible to have fun without risking injury,’ I
said primly, and then wished I hadn’t because George leant forward and waggled
his eyebrows at me suggestively.

‘How do you have fun, Frith? Do you have a five-year plan for
that too?’

I pressed my lips together and glared at him, almost glad when
my mobile went off and spared me the need to reply.

I use the words ‘went off’ advisedly. I leapt in my seat as a
maniacal cackling and quacking filled the room. ‘You’re not leaving here until
you’ve changed this,’ I said to George, who was grinning, idiot that he was.