Skinny Dipping (Skinny Sagas) Read online

  Her chest tightened and a sudden stab of irrational panic surged through her. No one knew she was there. Was she stupid not to let anyone know about the flat interviews? Why did she always have to be so independent? Not that anything was going to happen. Nothing had happened at the other two interviews, but no one ever really knows. Not really. Doubt crept into the back of her mind.

  Sophie felt inside her handbag and found her mobile phone. She released a sigh of relief; as long as she had her mobile phone, she’d be okay. Besides, everything was going to turn out alright. It always did.

  She pressed the door buzzer again, brushing down any visible creases from her short black dress. Her killer heels gave her calves that little extra lift, and you never knew when you needed to use your female charms to the best of your advantage. A top tip she’d learnt in her advertising sales course was to dress to impress. Make an impact. Apparently people made an assessment of a person within thirty seconds.

  A thin blonde girl opened the door, wearing large false eyelashes and her hair was up in curling rollers. Sophie forced her lips up into a broad smile, and tried desperately not to let her eyes scan the girl’s outfit, nor make a judgment. She was desperate for the room.

  “Sorry to keep you. I got the last roller tangled.” The girl fluttered her eyelashes. “You must be Sophie Smart. Here to look at the room?” Her voice sounded pleasant.

  “Nice to meet you.” Sophie gave her most winning smile.

  The girl’s outfit made an impact, but was definitely aimed at a different target audience than the one she had now. She wore long checkered pantaloons with bright pink leg warmers. Her fingernails sparkled with silver glitter and were about two inches long. Too long to be real, most probably fake. Why would anyone want or need two inch nails, unless she was trying to be Catwoman?

  “I’m Carol Cartwright.”

  Sophie instantly noticed the girl’s angular features. Her mind whirled, using another technique she’d learnt from her sales course. The girl’s name was Carol and she had a pixie-like face. Images swirled in her imagination. She pictured Carol’s smiling face crowned with a small green pixie hat. An elf-Carol sang Christmas carols. She’d done it: connected the name Carol with Christmas carols. That’s how she’d remember her name. Carol. Carol. Carol.

  “Thanks for meeting me so soon, Carol.” She spoke the name aloud, hoping to ingrain it further in her mind.

  “Come on in.” Carol escorted her inside the apartment and Sophie exhaled as she stepped over the threshold.

  Her head darted around. She noted the décor and looked for something calming. She was determined to stop her imagination from running away with her. Her mobile phone was safely in her bag and Carol was not going to turn out to be a serial killer. Everything was going to be just fine.

  Sophie's gaze steadied and her breathing slowed. Ah, a lovely timber corridor, high vaulted ceilings and a sunroof in the living room, ideal for winter.

  Sophie followed Carol outside to examine the garden. More of a courtyard, paving stones and pebbles creating a perimeter near the fence.

  “Sometimes we get cats,” Carol mentioned. Definitely not serial killer speech, referring to cats. Still possibly a candidate for Catwoman. “They’re either strays or the neighbour's cats, but they sit in the sun, just there. Soak it up when they get the chance.” She pointed to a flowerbed where a few flattened herb plants struggled to grow. Death by sleeping cat, Sophie presumed. There were trees forming a leafy canopy over an outdoor table and chairs, and a passion fruit vine wound itself along the fence.

  Sophie imagined sitting outside in this garden with a gin and tonic or a cup of tea, depending on the time of day, of course. “It’s lovely out here, and very quiet,” Sophie said.

  “Yes, I like it, very peaceful in the summer,” Carol said.

  Sophie nodded. She wouldn’t be here for summer; she’d only need the room temporarily. Derek would change his mind. Despite his tantrum, he loved her and she undoubtedly loved him.

  Temporary or not, she wanted this flat; the living space was huge and airy and the location was close to trendy Upper Street. Sophie flashed a smile, aiming for a mix of friendly and fun. If she kept this pretence up and stayed strong, she might just get through this and secure a bedroom.

  Back inside, Carol directed her up a set of internal stairs. “This is the room.” Carol stood by the doorway as Sophie poked her head in.

  “It looks perfect.”

  “Go on, have a real look around, get a feel for living here.”

  Sophie stepped inside the room and identified the most important feature, the wardrobe. “Do you mind if I open it?”

  “There’s not much hanging space,” Carol declared. “My cupboard’s a little bigger but I have to store costumes and things like that.”

  Sophie suddenly recalled the details on the advert. She was a dancer. Her outfit made sense now. The pantaloons were covering her tights, so she wouldn’t get holes in them. But the nails….

  “Of course,” Sophie murmured, assessing the wardrobe and how many work outfits would fit. If she squashed her clothes in and hung several cardigans on the same hanger, the space would be adequate as an interim solution. Sophie’s chest tightened. What if it wasn’t temporary? Turning abruptly, her knee hit the bed frame.

  Carol laughed, a little abashed. “The room is a little cosy.” Her chuckle was light, easy. In fact, Carol seemed a happy-go-lucky kind of person, someone who would be ideal to hang around with in the state Sophie was in, down on love.

  “The room’s really great.”

  “I did the interior decorating myself. I chose the bed cover.” Gaudy, bright, but Sophie could change that. “The lamp. The hand towels in the bathroom.” The towels were fluorescent yellow, clashing with the purple curtains and completely opposite to Sophie’s conservative tastes. Again, Sophie could add her own touch of personalisation.

  “Very bright.”

  “I’ve got quite an eye.” Carol nodded. “You're only sharing the flat with me of course, so this would be your private bathroom. It’s very… intimate.”

  Intimate was a positive spin on the bathroom’s description. Sophie looked at Carol, impressed by her optimism. Sophie peered into the tiny boxlike shower. She would barely be able to bend over and shave her legs.

  Opposite the shower was a small wash basin and toilet. All amenities were cramped into the narrow room. Such a small space wasn’t quite what Sophie was accustomed to, but she didn’t like her other choices.

  She regarded Carol, making her final assessment. So what if Carol had absolutely no taste in clothes and wore fingernails more suitable for a feline? Carol didn’t seem like someone she would ordinarily hang out with, but maybe that was precisely what Sophie needed – someone who was a bit of fun.

  Sophie glanced again around the room, taking a deep breath. “When can I move in?” she queried, feeling her chest squeeze. “If you’ll have me of course?”

  “You can move in today if you want to.” Carol beamed, and Sophie smiled back. Carol was lovely, really lovely. No serial killer in sight.

  “Great, do you think I could move in this evening?” Sophie’s excitement began to mount. She’d done it, almost, reversed a lousy situation. If Carol agreed she could move in, Sophie could unload her car, get dressed for the advertising gala and no one at work would be any the wiser.

  “Of course, whatever suits. I’m easy,” Carol said with a smile and a shrug. As Sophie digested the information, Carol fished through her wallet, found a set of keys, and handed them to her. “Sorry but I can’t stay and help you move in. I’ve got to get the hot rollers out of my hair and then dash off to an audition in less than thirty minutes.” She threw her head back and laughed. “Sounds like a lot to do in very little time, but work as a dancer in a recession is tough. I lost my position as lead soloist at my old dance company. There was a new Director of Dance, you see. He had a crush on me but I didn’t know he was married. He took me out. His wife found out. Y
ou can guess the rest of the story because here I am looking for work.” She released an exasperated sigh. “Never a good idea to mix business with romance. I’ve learnt my lesson.”

  “Good luck with the audition, and don’t let the director fall in love with you this time.” Sophie gave Carol a conspiratorial wink. “Maybe try and look as unattractive as possible?”

  “That would be impossible with my curling efforts,” Carol snorted. “Good luck with the move. Now, are you alright on your own?”

  “I’ll be fine, thanks. Just letting you know I’m off to an advertising gala later tonight.”

  “That sounds cool. Remember not to mix business with romance. Please – this is your house now, so make yourself at home. I’m so sorry to dash off.” Carol gave a slight wave and bounded out of the room. Sophie heard a series of thumps as Carol bounced down the stairs.

  She scanned the room. It was modest. The move was temporary.

  She could live with temporary.

  Chapter 2

  Sophie perched on the bed in her new Highbury residence, almost hyperventilating with relief. The tension and the all-consuming, claustrophobic fear gradually faded. She’d done it. She had succeeded against all odds. Moved from Derek’s, found a home, and no one, no one, was any the wiser.

  She waited until Carol had departed for her audition before contemplating her laden car. The entire Volkswagen Beetle was chock-full of boxes. Hoisting items out of the boot, she ferried crates, cartons and suitcases into her new dwelling, up the stairs and into her tiny room. Minuscule or not, this room was her castle. She deposited her things, cluttering the space further by building a labyrinth of boxes. The walls of the cramped area appeared to somehow inch closer.

  She ripped open suitcases until she found her bed linen and fixed her bed: her first act of settling in. Feelings of loneliness encased her heart. The deafening silence of the empty house prompted her to dig out and switch on her portable digital radio. She set the station to something up beat. This wasn’t the time to listen to soppy love songs or lyrics of unrequited love. There certainly wouldn’t be any more self-pitying tears. For she had another mission tonight, the clock was ticking toward the gala event.

  Sophie composed herself; at this point she should focus on what to wear to the gala.

  As she stepped into the only cocktail dress she’d brought from Derek’s house, elation pulsated through her. Everything would work out. The flat. The room. Maybe Derek. Possibly even Matthew Silver.

  She stretched a fake fur wrap around her shoulders to complete the outfit. She was prepared. Sophie plucked her handbag from her bedroom floor and dashed out of the apartment.

  On the street corner nearby she hailed a taxi. Only then could she relax, for she was right on track to finally meet Matthew Silver.

  ***

  The taxi swerved. The seatbelt strangled Sophie’s body, holding her flush against the car seat. The vehicle cut across three lanes of traffic, racing a sleek, black Porsche. “I think it's just a few more blocks away,” Sophie blurted. “I really don’t mind if we slow down a little.” The driver didn’t seem to hear because the taxi whirled through the city streets, neck and neck with the Porsche. Neither car slowed.

  The hotel appeared in the distance. The taxi’s indicator clicked on and off as the driver veered. “Maybe we don’t need to go so fast, since we’re practically there,” she whimpered, looking fearfully out the window. A chill crept up Sophie’s spine as the taxi deviated, interfering with the Porsche’s path. Sophie whispered a final prayer as tyres screeched. The Porsche came to a screeching stop on the main road to avoid the collision. Thank God.

  The taxi burst into the hotel driveway, overshot the doorway entrance and parked near the roadside. Sophie would have to walk back to the entrance. Feeling faint, her gaze darted warily around. “We made it.” A grateful sigh escaped her lips, everyone was intact, no crash. The taxi driver panted like he’d run a marathon.

  “I got you here in record time.”

  Sophie nodded shakily and thrust the door open. Why did every man want to be a racing car driver? One leg and then the other found the safety of the pavement beside the vehicle. She handed the driver twenty pounds, and shut the door. The taxi jerked towards the street.

  Sophie saw with a start that the two door Porsche was now positioned directly outside the hotel entrance. The Porsche's occupant catapulted out. A blond man staggered, his face deathly pale. He raced toward the back of the accelerating taxi as it pulled out into the busy London street.

  There was wildness about him. “Learn how to drive,” he shouted.

  Sophie brushed her dress down, suddenly desperate to become invisible and disappear into the pavement. Clients could be anywhere; this was no place to cause a scene.

  The owner of the Porsche stalked back toward his car. He stopped and glared fiercely at Sophie. “We could all have died. Or someone could have been seriously injured. He’s a maniac. Why didn’t you say something?”

  Sophie felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristle. “I tried my best.”

  “Your best?” The blond man shook his head vigorously. “Clearly your best isn’t good enough because people die in accidents. Make things happen. Don’t just try to do something.”

  “Thanks, Daddio, for the tip. I’ll keep that in mind going for my next promotion.” Sophie felt her lips freeze into a tight smile. Who did this guy think he was? She obviously hadn’t asked the taxi driver to be a maniac. Sophie clutched her handbag almost like a protective shield. Scowling, she ignored the glowering man and stepped toward the hotel entrance.

  The man moved at the same time. His feet turned like a mirror image and they faced each other. Sophie stood riveted to the spot. His feet were positioned close to her shoes, the fronts were practically touching. He snorted and examined her patent high heels.

  “Unbelievable.” He fixed his shirt which was half hanging out, tucking the fabric into his trousers.

  Sophie gawped as he continued to dress, pulling a tie out of his pocket. “Excuse me, I’m trying to get past,” she snapped.

  The blond man raised an eyebrow, and continued to fix the tie loosely around his neck. His mouth dropped open as if to speak. Sophie speculated to what his reply might be as he ogled her bulky handbag. She eyeballed him with an element of hostility. As she glared, she hugged her bag closer to her body which had an undesired effect, for now he was looking at her chest.

  “Did you lose your clutch?” he needled. “You look like Mary Poppins with that trunk.”

  Sophie lifted her chin. “Size does matter. Is that a sore point for you?” She hadn’t had time to locate her clutch, knowing it would be somewhere in one of her many boxes. Quite frankly, Sophie had no desire to explain her personal predicament to a stranger.

  The man smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He raked a hand through his blond hair, as though he belonged in an aftershave commercial. “I’m sorry if I was insulting. I just hate accidents. Someone I know died in an accident, quite recently.”

  Sophie’s face crumpled in sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She took her leave and launched left, and like two awkward dancing partners he moved with her. Again, they faced the other. She inadvertently inhaled his mint cologne.

  She looked at him and sighed and glanced fleetingly at the hotel entrance, wondering who should move first. Neither shifted, both too polite, waiting for the other.

  “This is stupid, now we’re both being polite,” Sophie said. “Look, I should really apologise about the taxi almost crashing into your car. I really did ask the driver to slow down, but he didn’t listen.”

  The man half-grinned, making a dimple appear on his cheek. “It's not your fault. Have a good evening.” He yanked at his tie, frustration clear from his contorted expression. “I hate these things.”

  Sophie put her oversized bag into the man’s arms. He hunched as he bewilderedly held onto her handbag. With a puff of exasperation, Sophie leaned in. “Here, let me he
lp you.” She expertly looped the ends of the tie as though she belonged in a clothing store. The man examined watched her fingers. Threading the tie round, she realised she’d crossed a boundary.

  She froze. “I’m a creature of habit,” she mumbled, suddenly aware of her bold actions. “I used to do my dad’s tie when I was little. ‘Rabbit jumps into the hole’ and all that.”

  “It’s fine. Continue,” he instructed. “First your taxi tries to kill me and then you look after me. Will I ever understand women?”

  “I don’t have high hopes for you. That temper….”

  “Really?” He chuckled. “Low hope or no hope?”

  Sophie avoided his gaze and knotted the tie around his neck. “There you go. Done.” She grabbed her bag from him and turned away, not bothering with pleasant goodbyes. Warmth crept up the back of her neck as she felt his stare on her back.

  A creature of habit? Did she really say that? What crazy inclination caused her to fasten his tie? Who did she think she was? A fool fawning over an over-indulged man with a Porsche? A rude man at that. Sophie must be more tired than she admitted.

  She was pulling her fake fur wrap tightly round her shoulders when the distinct tone of her mobile phone sounded. It must be Matthew Silver. His timing was finally right.

  Sophie began ascending the stone steps leading to the hotel's grand entrance. Multitasking as she often did, she fished through her bag as she climbed. She seized the phone, the name screen reading Roger Smart. Her dad. Not Matthew Silver. Typical, he still hadn’t called. The phone stopped ringing.

  Her foot caught a step and sliding like a novice acrobat, she thrust her arms out to steady herself. Her fur wrap and bag tumbled to the ground, and with a clattering commotion the contents spilled over the stairs.

  “Damn,” she swore under her breath and stooped down. She snatched at the wrap and dusted the dirt off. She clocked the blond man, the owner of the Porsche, swiftly squatting beside to assist.