Prada And Prejudice

Natalie’s mobile lay on a shelf, buzzing madly away.

“Oh, dear.” She snatched the phone up and hurried back to the front door, but Natalie and Rhys were gone.

She looked at the caller’s name. Rhys Gordon. Should she answer? She didn’t like to think of Natalie driving home at this hour without her mobile. Suppose her car broke down?

“Mr. Gordon? Yes, it’s Celia Dashwood. No, she left her mobile in the pantry.” She paused. “Would you mind? Silly of me, but it’s late, and she’s without it. Thank you so much. Yes, call and let me know she got home safely. Goodnight.”

“I can’t believe it.” Natalie thumped her fist on the steering wheel in frustration. Halfway home, the car just…stopped. She eased the Peugeot off the road, and stared at the gauges to assess the situation.

Oh. Crikey. She was out of petrol.

She groaned. The petrol gauge’s needle was in the red, pointed firmly at ‘empty’.

“My mobile,” Natalie muttered, and grabbed her purse. She’d call mum. Where is it? she wondered as she scrabbled through her handbag, I know it’s in here somewhere—

Suddenly she remembered. Rhys and his infuriating, persistent calls…she’d thrown her mobile on a shelf in the pantry. She closed her eyes. Bloody hell! Would this endless, endless day never end?

She couldn’t stay here. It wasn’t that late, and she was more than halfway home, but it was too far to walk. She eyed the dark street uneasily. There was a petrol station nearby, wasn’t there?

Natalie bit her lip. She’d lock up her car and walk. Even if the station was closed, they’d have a phone box, and she could ring mum to come and fetch her. She couldn’t stay here.

Resolutely, she got out and locked the door. She gripped her handbag and began to walk quickly down the street. She heard the echo of her high-heeled footsteps, and the distant swish of cars on the A4.

Somewhere behind her, growing closer, a motorcycle approached. She walked a bit faster. The low growl of the engine grew louder, and she glanced over her shoulder to see the motorbike slowing down, until it drew up alongside her.

Natalie looked back nervously but kept walking. She couldn’t see the rider’s face; a visored helmet obscured it.

Her legs turned to jelly. Should she run? Scream? Dial 999? No, scratch that, she couldn’t call for help – she didn’t have her bloody mobile. Stupid, stupid—

“Natalie?”

She came to a stop, her heart beating wildly. “Rh-Rhys?”

He lifted the visor. “I saw your car abandoned back there,” he said, concerned. “What happened?”

Relief washed over her. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m really glad to see you!” she said fervently. “I ran out of petrol… I didn’t have my mobile—”

“So I heard,” he said, his words grim. “Get on, I’ll take you home. You can tell me about it on the way.”

Sheepishly she took the helmet he held out. “This is getting to be a habit, you rescuing me. How did you know to come looking?”

“After I left, I rang to see that you got back safely. Imagine my surprise when your mum answered.” He glared at her. “She found your phone in the pantry.”

She dropped her gaze, embarrassed. “Well, I didn’t want to talk to you earlier, did I?” She knew what was coming next – the bloody lecture.

And the thing was, she reflected, this time she absolutely deserved it.

He opened his mouth to ask her what the hell she’d been thinking, putting herself in such danger, did she know what might have happened? But he caught sight of her face, pale and exhausted, and let out a short breath.

“Never mind. I’m just glad you’re all right. Now put on that helmet, and let’s get you home.”

Chapter 10 (#ulink_9b302a14-1be8-5280-966d-fdc4938317a2)

The sound of the door buzzer echoed through the flat the next morning. Natalie lifted one side of her eye mask to see sunshine streaming in through her bedroom curtains.

“Coming,” she croaked as she rolled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. She peered into the mirror. Crikey – could definitely be better.

She splashed water on her face and tugged at the wrinkled Blondie T-shirt she’d slept in – second night in a row, must do laundry – and went to the door. The buzzer sounded again.

“Hold on!” she muttered, annoyed. Tarquin was impatient. And early. Natalie already regretted asking him to go clothes shopping with her. Much nicer to have a nice lie-in, then a late lunch, perhaps pop in to Chanel for a look around…

She pressed the speaker button. “Come up.” She barely had time to drag a comb through her hair and brush her teeth when Tarquin knocked on the door.

“You won’t believe it, Tark,” Natalie said as she swung the flat door open, “but I forgot about going shopping today—”

“You, forget about shopping? Impossible.”

It took a moment to process the fact that it wasn’t Tark who stood in her doorway, but Rhys Gordon.

Rhys bloody Gordon! He looked at her as if he’d never seen a girl in a T-shirt and…well, to be honest…not much else.

She crossed her arms self-consciously against her bra-less chest. “Rhys! What are you doing here?”

“I’ve had your car filled with petrol and brought round. I tried to call,” he added, “but your mobile’s turned off and your telephone’s been disconnected.”

Although he didn’t say it, she knew he longed to criticise her for these latest infractions.

But all he said was, “Sorry if I woke you. I know it’s a bit early, but I’m on my way in to work.”

She leaned against the doorjamb. “I really appreciate your help last night,” she said, and meant it. “I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t come along.”

“Check your petrol gauge now and then. And don’t hide your phone in the bloody pantry. I’m just glad I was able to help.”

She opened the door a bit wider and stood aside. “At least come in and let me give you a cup of tea — or coffee? —before you go. I owe you that much.”

He nodded. “I wouldn’t say no to a coffee. Thanks.”

“Let me grab a pair of jeans first. I’ll be right back.”

“I can’t stay long,” he called out after her. “The bloke from the petrol station followed me in your car; I’ve got to take him back.”

“Is he perched on the back of your motorbike?”

“No, I’ve got the Jag.”

Natalie emerged from the bedroom five minutes later wearing jeans and a T-shirt, with her hair sorted and a slick of lipstick on her mouth. “I’ll get that coffee. Won’t take me a second, it’s only instant.”

She switched the kettle on and spooned Nescafe into two mismatched mugs. “Sorry I don’t have real coffee. I need to do a shop but I haven’t had time.”