The Cinderella Moment. Gemma Fox

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ she asked, her attention on her reflection, doing a little half-turn so that she could check her back.

      Jake looked her up and down. ‘Just the job. You put me in mind of a young Margaret Thatcher.’

      Cass growled at him and headed for the front door.

      ‘So, what have you got to tell me, James?’ said a male voice with a soft Scottish brogue.

      James Devlin, queuing by the ticket machine, tucked the phone under his chin and looked round, trying to work out whether he was being followed or just being paranoid. ‘Look, I can’t talk right now, but don’t worry, I’ve got the matter in hand. Everything will be sorted out by the end of the week.’

      ‘Well, that’s good news, I’m relieved to hear it. We’ll be in touch.’

      James retrieved his ticket, dropped the mobile into his jacket pocket, picked up his suitcase and headed off into the crowd, eyes moving back and forth across the faces.

      The railway station was busy. The platform was already crowded with travellers. Outside the ticket office a winding crocodile of small children in school uniform with rucksacks and packed lunches were waiting, getting increasingly restless and noisy, shuffling to and fro.

      Cass bought a takeaway tea and, finding a reasonably quiet spot, ran through her mental checklist for the interview: notes, mints, the printout she had downloaded about the company from their website. Lipstick, hairbrush. The plan was a morning spent being shown around the company’s complex, a company film, a company buffet lunch and a series of informal company chats, followed by a company interview.

      ‘Hi.’

      ‘Hi?’

      Cass swung round. The man with the peaches waved at her from across the ranks of mixed infants. This morning he was wearing a chambray cotton shirt in the palest blue that emphasised his tan and his big blue eyes, a cream linen jacket and darker chinos. He looked gorgeous. Cass rolled her tongue back in; this was not the moment. She really needed to get her fancying radar checked over.

      ‘Yours?’ he said, waving at the crocodile.

      She laughed. ‘No, not today, thank God.’

      He glanced down at her briefcase. ‘Another interview?’

      Cass nodded and had another little go at the blue poster paint. ‘Don’t knock it. Apparently I’m extremely fortunate to have made the short list after a rigorous selection process. It says so in my letter.’

      The man eased his way between the children until he was standing alongside her. ‘Congratulations. What sort of job is it?’

      Cass pulled a face. ‘A proper one. You know, one with paper and deadlines and people on the phone wanting things.’

      He nodded. ‘Sounds serious.’

      He smelt nice. There was one of those tight pauses when nobody can think of anything to say, and then he said, ‘I’m going on a bit of an adventure today – a little trip – well, you know.’

      Cass nodded; she had no idea what he was talking about, but was far too polite to say so.

      Along the platform the crossing gates closed, the warning bell sounded, and a moment or two later the train pulled very slowly into the station.

      The voice of the stationmaster echoed over the tannoy. ‘The train now standing at platform one is for London King’s Cross…’ A few doors up from Cass the crocodile scrambled noisily aboard, whooping and giggling and pouring on to the train like happy, brightly coloured ants.

      ‘Do you think perhaps we ought to get on?’ the man said, picking up a small suitcase and extending an arm towards the open doorway of the carriage.

      Cass looked up at him; what a novel idea. She had rather hoped that, as soon as the doors slid open, he would jump aboard and rush to find a seat, but apparently not. The age of chivalry, it seemed, was not dead. Damn, just when she was hoping to have half an hour with a book, the computer printout and her thoughts, and not having to make polite conversation with someone she barely knew. Although he was cute. Make that very cute.

      ‘Why not?’ Cass said, hoping that Jake had been joking about her looking like Margaret Thatcher, at any age. Stepping up into the carriage, she headed down to one of the double seats with a table between, well away from the school children. She sensed him following close behind.

      ‘So, are you going through to London, then?’ he asked, as he settled down opposite her.

      ‘No. Just to Cambridge today.’

      ‘Oh that’s great – me too. Well, actually I’m going to Stansted. I’m off to Rome for a few days.’

      ‘Wonderful.’

      ‘Really?’ He looked interested. ‘Have you been?’

      Bloody man. ‘I went there on a school trip, on a whistle-stop tour of the Renaissance. It was wonderful. I loved it. One of those places I’d really like to go back to, if I got the chance, and spend more time exploring –’

      ‘You’re interested in history?’

      ‘In art. In history – in both.’

      He nodded.

      ‘I’m an artist.’

      ‘Oh right. But I thought –’ he nodded towards the briefcase – ‘interviews, people on the phone wanting things.’

      ‘Needs must.’ She reddened, not quite catching his eye, wishing she hadn’t started this conversation. ‘So is Rome your adventure?’

      ‘Kind of. I’ve got to go and sort out a little business over there. You know.’

      Cass nodded and then, taking a book out of her bag, she made a show of settling in, shutting him out.

      ‘Good book?’ he asked, as the train pulled out of the station. ‘I love reading.’

      Had the man no shame? She could feel him watching, smiling, waiting for a reaction, and at the same time her colour rising.

      ‘Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a complete pain in the arse?’ she said.

      ‘Not recently. So tell me what you liked in Rome and I’ll go visit it.’

      ‘Seriously?’

      He nodded. ‘Absolutely.’

      Cass considered for a moment. ‘Well, I suppose the thing that surprised me most was that you can walk everywhere – all the famous things are a stone’s throw from each other. The centre is wonderful but quite small, so you can walk from place to place, stop for coffee. The bad thing is every artist you’ve ever heard of has work there: da Vinci, Michelangelo, Caravaggio, Raphael – the list is endless. And that’s without all the Classical Roman stuff…Do you know anything about art?’

      He grinned. ‘I know what I like.’

      Cass laughed aloud. God, fate was cruel. How come she had met him СКАЧАТЬ