Who's Afraid of Mr Wolfe? (3 page)

Lesley peered. ‘Nothing.’

‘Yup, and if we don’t get a move on, that’s exactly what I’ll be reading out in front of Jack, and I really don’t think me saying, “Sorry, but Lesley insisted on telling me about your sex life,” is going to cut it with him as an excuse.’

‘OK, keep all that hair of yours on.’

Ellie stuck her tongue out goodnaturedly and then put her pad back on her desk. ‘Jeez, all this fuss over a guy who looks like a six-foot-three, permanently scowling, sharp-nosed wolf.’

There was a spluttering noise as Lesley tried to laugh with a mouthful of lager. ‘Blimey, you do need your eyes testing,’ she finally managed to say, wiping froth off her black top.

Ellie could not help laughing too. ‘Perhaps that was a bit cruel, but talk about looking at him through rose-coloured spectacles. You know why?’ She didn’t wait for Lesley to reply. ‘They’ve all read too many of those romances with alpha males striding their way through them. They think that beneath all that granite they’re going to find a tender, injured soul crying out for their healing touch. Whereas I see someone whose mother didn’t tell him to “make nice” enough when he was little. If he ever was
little.’ Ellie finished off her lager and threw the bottle in the general direction of the bin. They both watched it miss and roll until it hit a pile of papers. ‘Jack wouldn’t get away with all that scowling if he wasn’t a director and built like a tank. Imagine if we tried it – we’d have to put up with all those premenstrual jokes.’

She paused and gave Lesley a hurt look. ‘And that thing you said earlier, about me being an old married woman. That’s not fair. I’m not old and I’m not married.’

Lesley was looking at the point of her pencil again. ‘I meant to say “settled”. You know, “settled” as in “in a permanent relationship”.’

‘Somehow that sounds even more boring.’

‘No, no,’ Lesley said, waving her hand about but still not looking directly at Ellie. ‘’Course it isn’t. I meant … you know, not bothered by all that …’ she seemed to be casting around for the correct word or phrase ‘… hormonal stuff,’ she said at last.

‘Gee, thanks. Now you make me sound like I’m terminally set in my ways and dead from the waist down.’

Ellie noticed that Lesley didn’t leap in to contradict her.

Well, she probably had a point, besides the one on her pencil. Ellie did feel settled. Good luck to the Lesleys and Jacks of the world, out there playing the field, but when you were happy, the secret was to stick with it.

Lesley saying, ‘Oi,’ very loudly made Ellie jump.

‘Miss Eleanor Somerset,’ she carried on sternly, sliding
her glasses down her nose, ‘are you going to sit there all afternoon daydreaming, or are you going to pull your finger out and get this pitch into some kind of shape?’

Ellie made a very rude gesture with two of Lesley’s pencils, but very soon they were discussing the finer points of knickers and how many words in the English language rhymed with ‘gusset’.

‘Which one do you think, Sam?’ Ellie said, holding up two shirts on their hangers. She placed one over her body for a couple of seconds before swapping it with the other.

Sam pulled on his earlobe and then went back to checking through his texts. His blond hair was falling into his eyes and Ellie had the urge to go over and brush it out of the way. She gave a smile and then threw both shirts on to the bed and did a little naked jiggle.

‘Or perhaps, big boy, you prefer the one I’m not wearing?’

‘Yeah, very nice.’ Sam didn’t even look up.

Ellie slowly bent down to pick up the discarded shirts. Time was when she only had to open a top button and Sam would have been all over her. Now she had to practically install landing lights and put a big sign over her head saying, ‘Sex, this way,’ to give him the hint. It wasn’t his fault; it was that ruddy job. He was working too hard, that was the trouble. He had black shadows under his eyes and he was never off his mobile.

It was a rule of life: whenever you were snowed under at work, your libido took a nose-dive. It was like your body closed down the extraneous stuff so you could send all your blood to your brain.

Ellie wondered whether she had enough time to lure Sam over to her side of the room and then try some gentle seduction before they both had to leave for work.

She looked at the bedside clock. No, not really. Shame.

Bit different from the early days at university, when they had stayed in bed all day, only surfacing for food. Sam had got seriously chewed out by his engineering tutor for missing lectures. Especially when he said he’d been doing his own in-depth research on stress points and angles of thrust with Ellie.

Not that university was the last time there’d been any romance in their lives. Whenever they had the luxury of limitless time and no deadlines, things got nicely overheated. Like last year in Siena. There’d been something about that hotel room with the windows flung open and the noises coming up from the street below. Their siestas had seemed to stretch into the evening, with the sheets twisted in a heap on the floor. Lying there in each other’s arms, they’d watched the sky growing darker and darker.

Just like a honeymoon but without the wedding, they’d joked. Ellie grinned. And this year, who knew …

Thinking about those days made Ellie have another look at the clock and then another look at Sam. Even
dressed in his suit, it didn’t take too much imagination to see him as the eighteen-year-old she’d fallen for. He still had that easy-going charm about him, even if the boyish enthusiasm that used to reach out and grab you was slowly being strangled by work. Right there she wished she could take them both back to that first meeting on the lawn outside the pub, him in his tatty jeans and T-shirt, his feet bare, dancing with such earnestness to the music that she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him. She remembered the thrill of realising that he was dancing closer and closer, and that moment when he’d reached out his hand and tilted his head and looked at her. He hadn’t even said the words ‘Do you want to dance?’ Hadn’t needed to.

His T-shirt had a couple of studs in it. She remembered they’d dug into her when she held him tight, but it hadn’t seemed to matter. All she’d been conscious of was how his heart thumped along with hers. And how it couldn’t have been from the exertion of dancing. They’d stopped moving long before that.

The urge to get back to that intimacy was tempting. Perhaps if they were really quick. ‘Sam—’ she started. The sound of his mobile ringing cut her off.

‘Sorry, Ellie, important call.’ He darted out of the room.

Charming. This time she couldn’t hide her disappointment. Maybe if she wanted some uninterrupted time with him, she ought to phone him herself. No, that
wasn’t fair. At least both of them were free this evening. There was quite a bit more work to do on the pitch for Jack, but if she got a move on, she should be home by eight at the latest. They could have a nice meal, a good bottle of wine and then reacquaint themselves with each other’s bodies.

Ellie struggled into her bra and knickers, making a mental note to try and get some more alluring stuff on this evening, ready for Sam to peel it all off again. She looked down at the two muddy-coloured shirts on the bed, picked up the first one and then opened her wardrobe. Jeans, jeans or jeans today?

Five minutes later there was only her hair to do. The hardest part. ‘Lively’ was how her mum had described it when she was little, and it hadn’t got any tamer now that she was grown-up. She bent forward from the waist and dragged the brush through the curls and waves, then stood up and finished it off. Even in the gloom of the bedroom, with the blinds only half up, she could see the red and gold in it glinting in the mirror.

‘Sam, you’re going to be late,’ she shouted, picking up some earrings from the bedside table.

Sam’s face appeared round the bedroom door. ‘Didn’t you have all that on yesterday?’

‘No, it’s all different, even the shoes.’ She lifted up a foot to show him her baseball boots and he came right into the room.

‘Yeah, stunning difference. Your hair looks gorgeous, though. Lovely when you’ve just brushed it.’

Ellie looked at his sleepy brown eyes and the way his hair was flopping forward again. ‘You don’t look so shabby yourself,’ she said with a grin. Then she noticed the phone still clutched in his hand. She nodded at it. ‘Trouble?’

‘No. Only the arrangements for tonight.’

Ellie blinked. ‘Tonight? But I thought we were both in tonight? I was going to cook, get a good bottle of wine. You know, have an early night.’

‘Sorry, love, it’s the Germans. They want to go out on the town tonight. I can’t really leave them to do it on their own.’

‘But isn’t there someone else who can give you a night off, take your place? Your hours are becoming as crazy as mine. You’re meant to be the nine-to-five one.’

Sam came over and put his arm round her and she felt the muscles under his shirt. She breathed in his familiar smell.

‘I’m sorry, but I told you it would be like this once we’d bought the German company.’ He gave her a squeeze. ‘Senior management is keen on us all getting along, breaking down the barriers. I can’t wriggle out of it.’ He kissed her on the lips and then pulled back and made a funny face, aping her pouting mouth.

‘I suppose if you’ve no choice, then I haven’t got any either,’ she said, trying not to sound sulky. ‘But this isn’t
only about me having to put up with another evening without you. I’m worried about how hard you’re pushing yourself. There’s no way you can keep up these late nights and long days for ever, and they shouldn’t expect it of you. Then you’ve got that Barcelona conference. I don’t want you keeling over.’

Sam pulled her in for another hug. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said into her hair. ‘Tough as an ox, me. And tell you what … I’ll wangle it so someone takes my place on Thursday night. We’ll get together then, eh? That’s not long to wait. I’ll even cook.’ He gave her another quick kiss on the top of her head and then moved away, picking up his keys from the bookcase. ‘I’ll do my curry. Or maybe my chilli?’

He looked so enthusiastic that Ellie didn’t like to tell him that she honestly couldn’t tell the difference between the two dishes.

‘OK.’ She was still pouting a little. ‘Your curry it is, then.’

‘That’s my girl,’ he said, before checking his phone. Then, a final kiss on her cheek and he was out of the bedroom and then out of the flat.

Ellie peered through the window as she fastened her earrings and watched Sam run down the road, his mobile jammed to his ear once again. She’d conveniently misplace that thing on Thursday. Let them ring; nothing was going to come between them and their evening in together.

She kept watching him until he had gone round the
corner and, once more checking on the time, quickly went into the kitchen to throw some things in the dishwasher.

Forty minutes later Ellie pushed open the door of Cavello’s and inhaled deeply. Coffee, tomatoes, basil, bread and people, lots of people. She joined the back of the queue and put her book in her bag. Pointless reading in here when there was so much other entertainment.

As usual the noise in such a small space was deafening. Tony Cavello was holding court as he served, dispensing jokes and wisdom along with the cappuccinos, sandwiches and pasta salads. The coffee machine was spitting and hissing, people were shouting orders, and Tony’s two sons, Tony Junior and Marco, hurtled about scooping food into plastic pots, cutting meats and salamis and splitting open bread. Every now and again Marco would burst into a snatch of song before reverting to ‘Hey, you want that in focaccia or ciabatta?’

The huge mirror running along the length of the wall behind the counter was meant to make the place look bigger. In reality it made it look twice as manic and even more crowded. The queue shuffled forward and Ellie exchanged a smile with a woman she saw most mornings. She heard her order her usual black coffee, plain bagel, salad with no dressing. No wonder she could fit into that dress. Ellie toyed with the idea of following her example
and then caught sight of the lasagne, which was particularly plump and creamy-looking. So that was lunch sorted; now she just had to decide what to have for breakfast. Ellie’s gaze travelled over the various pastries and cheesecakes, and then suddenly she was at the front of the queue.

‘Ah, Miss Eleanor,’ said Tony, managing to wring four whole syllables out of her name. ‘And what is it today, my beautiful darling?’

‘Watch it,’ said Tony Junior. ‘He’s feeling frisky this morning. Fulham won last night.’

‘I’ll have a latte with a bacon bagel and then a lasagne and green salad, please, Tony.’

‘Excellent, excellent.’ Tony beamed at her. ‘I make the lasagne myself this morning. Very good, very creamy’ – he bent forward – ‘like your skin, Miss Eleanor.’

There was a little murmur of laughter from the people behind her in the queue and Tony Junior broke off from slicing some prosciutto to shout, ‘Told you so. Careful, Ellie.’

Tony gave a belly laugh and set about pulling her order together, barking into the kitchen and chivvying Marco on the coffee machine: ‘Hey, singer boy, a latte for the lady.’

‘Yo, Ellie,’ Marco called across, ignoring his father. ‘We’re doing you on my art course. You know those women with all that hair? The ones that guy painted?’

Tony was packing her food into a large paper bag and reaching out for napkins and a knife and fork. ‘Who? You mean Rubens?’ he said, winking at Ellie.

She didn’t need to look in the mirror to know that she was blushing. She covered it up with a joke. ‘Thanks, Tony. Perhaps I better not have the lasagne after all. Got any crispbreads?’

Tony’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Hey, nothing wrong with your curves.’ He picked up two melons from the cold counter and started to juggle with them. There was more laughter from behind her.

‘Nah, not Rubens,’ Marco shouted. ‘That Millais bloke. You’re just like a Pre-Raphaelite chick with all that hair.’

‘Thanks, I think,’ Ellie said, and self-consciously flicked her hair back over her shoulders. She reached out for her bag of food and coffee. Tony held on to the bag and lowered his voice a little.