From Paris With Love This Christmas. Jules Wake

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СКАЧАТЬ that some people believed it was an unpardonable offence to wear jeans and a denim jacket unless you were a member of Status Quo.

      Clean hair; nice and silky even though it might as well have been cut by a near-sighted trainee with a pair of blunt hedge clippers. Breathing in, she took in his scent, slightly earthy but not unclean. Siena could bet he didn’t do aftershave.

      ‘There isn’t an exam you know.’

      Siena started and blushed. What was wrong with her? This man had caught her sniffing him, or as good as. Her face burned. At home she would have apologised profusely. It was rude to stare and plainly even ruder to overtly smell people but for some reason, maybe being away from home gave her tongue licence to say what she really thought for a change, she said, ‘Just checking out my surroundings and getting my orientation.’

      ‘I’m Jason. I’m twenty-nine. That do you?’

      ‘And are you always this fache?’ she shrugged as she grasped for the proper word. (Cross, that was it.) And then very nearly spoilt things by gasping at her own boldness. She never said things like that to people and she’d certainly learned not to with Yves. That sort of thing did make him cross.

      ‘No, only when I’ve been up since half past five this morning and I have to be up again in five hours.’ He slipped a silver foil packet out of his pocket, easing out a tablet with one hand and popping it into his mouth.

      ‘I guess you’re a bit tired then.’ No wonder he was knocking back the energy tablets or whatever they were.

      He shot her an incredulous look. ‘No shit Sherlock.’

      Siena snapped her mouth shut. She’d been about to add, that she was grateful for him coming out. These people worked incredibly hard. Was it any wonder he was cranky with those hours? Although it was probably a hazard of the job, early morning airport runs were probably the most lucrative. She wrinkled her nose.

      ‘You know,’ she smiled to show she was being helpful rather than rude, ‘you might get more customers if you cleaned up in here. Maybe got a better car.’

      ‘I can’t see how.’

      ‘You mean your customers don’t mind?’

      ‘None of them have complained so far.’

      Siena pulled a face to herself in the dark. Maybe British people were less fussy about their taxis.

      With an ungainly swerve, the car rocked at speed around a bend taking the slip road. Alain, the family chauffeur, would have been appalled.

      Weren’t they now going in the opposite direction to the signposts for London? Her stomach followed suit and nausea churned in the pit of her stomach.

      ‘Where are we going?’ she asked, rather proud that her voice sounded normal. She should have asked this Jason man for some kind of identification. Thierry Deneuve’s seventeen-year-old daughter had been kidnapped in Italy last June. Everyone knew he’d paid a hefty ransom demand to get her back, even though the police warned them not to.

      ‘Home?’

      ‘What, your home?’ Siena sat up straighter, clutching her bag closer to her chest and eyed the passing lights outside. They were going by pretty quickly now. She probably looked ridiculous but if she had to make a run for it, she had everything she needed in there.

      Jason turned his head and gave her a funny look. ‘Strictly speaking, I guess it’s Laurie’s house.’

      ‘I might have just stepped off the plane but I can read.’

      ‘Good for you.’

      Did he think she was stupid? ‘So why are we headed in the opposite direction?’

      Occasionally taxi drivers in Paris took her on a circular route if they heard her speaking English, making the assumption she was a tourist.

      ‘We’re not.’

      ‘So why did it say London that way?’ She pointed back up the motorway.

      ‘Because. It. Is.’

      ‘So why are we going this way towards Slew?’ She pointed to the overhead blue sign, which had handily appeared at exactly that moment. He didn’t need to know she didn’t have a clue where Slough was.

      Jason snorted and said in a strangled voice, ‘Where?’

      ‘Slew,’ she said her eyes narrowing. Wait ‘til she spoke to Laurie; she’d tell her to not to use this cab company again.

      Despite his bone-deep tiredness, Jason shook with laughter.

      ‘Oops.’ He wrenched the wheel and they veered off the M4 onto the slip road towards the signs for M25 Gatwick and M25 Watford.

      ‘Nearly missed it,’ he said still chuckling to himself. How in hell’s name was this spoilt brat related in any way to Laurie? It wasn’t possible.

      ‘So,’ he snorted again, ‘where,’ another snigger, ‘where do you th-think Laurie lives? Not Slew obviously.’ He wheezed and started slapping the steering wheel trying to regain some equilibrium.

      ‘Leighton Buzzard.’ Siena folded her arms across her chest and stuck her chin in the air.

      ‘Good,’ he wheezed again, ‘because that’s where we’re headed. And it’s pronounced Slough as in bough.’

      ‘I think it’s very rude to laugh. How was I supposed to know that? If you were in France, I wouldn’t laugh at your pronunciation.’

      He gave her a dry look. ‘But I’m not French. So why would you? You’re English.’

      With a pout she folded her arms.

      He gave her a closer look. She looked damn good, if you liked that sort of thing. A babe but too high maintenance. Skyscraper, Fifth Avenue, Mayfair type maintenance. He knew the type. Knew them well. Trust fund babies who expected the world to drop everything at their bidding. Incapable of doing anything for themselves. Been there, done that and he wasn’t going to be anyone’s gravy train again. Stacey, his ex, had boarded that ride and then left him the minute he chose a new route.

      And yet, despite all his best intentions, here he was again, knight to the rescue. At six o’clock this morning he’d been in Glasgow. If anyone else had asked him to race to Heathrow he’d have told them where to stick it but he owed Laurie. She let him rent her house at a ridiculously low rate and as she was shacked up with one of his best mates, she couldn’t be all bad. Cam had very high standards when it came to women.

      ‘So you thought you’d pop over to see your sister,’ he asked, still cross on Laurie’s behalf.

      ‘Yes. Fancied spending some time together.’ The cheery, shallow smile made him grit his teeth. He wasn’t about to enlighten her. Laurie had been quite specific in her instructions. If anyone from her family enquired, he wasn’t to mention she’d gone to live in the house she’d inherited from her Uncle Miles. Apparently her mother was very unhappy about the terms of the will. And Jason would not betray Laurie’s confidence … especially for his spoiled, snobby – and rather hot – passenger.

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