Page 4 of The Temp

A muscle in his eyelid twitches. Ocular myokymia. It happens to me sometimes. Tom said it can be caused by being overly tired or stressed. Frank’s resolve is weakening.

‘I don’t want you to start spreading rumours about me, that’s all.’ Stepping back, he closes his eyes. I watch as his chest rises and falls. I can almost hear him counting to three. ‘I’ve got some high-profile clients.’ I inwardly roll my eyes. Have you, really? Because you’ve only mentioned it about three hundred times. Shame the only evidence is a photograph on your phone at a charity event with an ex-soap actor.

‘Eighty-per-cent of my clients are female, they trust me, and I’m not having some…’

‘Go on, say it. Some Karen?’

‘I wasn’t going to say that.’ He scowls, squeezes his fist around the handles of the carrier bag, knuckles protruding. ‘If they get the idea that I’m a flipping pervert they won’t hire me, will they? Just don’t do anything stupid, Bella.’

‘Relax. I’m not going to say anything to anyone.’ Seeing as you know my biggest secret. ‘But only if you promise that this ends now.’ I’m about to get into my car when a surge of fear pumps through my veins. ‘How did you know where I live?’ I never gave him my address. We always trained at the gym or the park track. It could only mean one thing. He’s been stalking me.

Chapter 3

‘Dee gave me your address.’ Dee. Serval’s PA. Petite, copper-haired, milky-skinned, late twenties, goes red whenever Frank talks to her. My muscles relax. At least Frank isn’t stalking me. ‘She looked you up on the system.’

‘Is that even legal?’

‘Actually, yes. The gym was trying to get in touch with you and you weren’t picking up.’ I frown at the pavement. I did get a couple of missed calls from the gym but I thought it was marketing with an offer to re-join Serval.

‘Contact me about what?’

Frank sways the carrier bag at me. ‘You forgot your boxing gloves when you legged it out of the studio last Tuesday.’

‘Dee should’ve texted me,’ I retort, snatching the bag from his hand and peering inside. Yes, definitely my gloves – pink and white. I forgot all about those. ‘Or emailed, instead of dishing out my address to staff.’

‘Why don’t you report her to Jane?’ he suggests.

‘Maybe I will.’ It’s hard to believe that Dee gave him my address. She’s good at her job, sticks to the rules, and she’s terrified of Jane. But then everyone knows Dee has a huge crush on Frank.

Frank shrugs, examines his nails. ‘They’ll probably sack her. The club is strict on data protection.’ I don’t want Dee sacked. Frank coerced her into leaking information in that manipulative, charming way of his.

‘Anyway, thanks,’ I croak, ‘for returning my gloves.’

‘S’okay.’

‘Great. Well, see you around.’ Folding myself into the car, I chuck the carrier bag into the footwell of the passenger seat. Is it possible that he only passed by today to return my gloves and clear the air about what happened? Let’s hope so.

Fastening my seatbelt, I turn on the ignition. ‘Not so fast, Bella.’ My eyes close. I knew it was too good to be true. ‘Wind the window down please,’ he orders, glancing away. I buzz it down halfway. ‘I need to ask a favour.’ There’s a ding of a bell and he steps out of the way as a lad flashes by on a bicycle. Please don’t let him ask me for money. ‘My landlord has just put the rent up and –’

Turning the ignition off, I look at him pointedly. ‘So, that’s what this is all about, is it?’ I rub the back of my goose-skinned neck, and as I glance away, I see Mr Stanhope’s slim figure behind the nets next door. ‘And there was I thinking you wanted to clear the air, apologise,’ I say, scanning my busybody neighbour’s window. He’s still there, recording us with his eyes so that he can relay everything to Tom when he next sees him. I can’t let that happen. I’ll stop at the offy on my way home, grab a bottle of gin to bribe him with, tell him Frank was a rogue builder trying to get business out of me, convince him not to mention it to Tom, not now that he’s grieving the loss of his favourite aunt, Andriana. ‘What are you going to do, hmm?’ I say to Frank. ‘Blackmail me? Tell my husband I hired you behind his back?’

‘I wasn’t going to say that.’

‘What then? Tell him you saw me with…’ I purse my lips. I can’t even bear to think about Liam and what we…what I have done to Tom.

Squatting to my eye level, Frank fixes me with a hard stare. ‘Let’s get one thing straight, Bella. I am not here to blackmail you. I’m here to make amends.’ Turning away from him, I inhale the fug of his lemony aftershave and stale sweat. ‘Losing your business has hit me hard. A hundred and twenty quid a week is a lot of money for me.’

I bite my lips sealing in the words, then stop buying expensive designer gear and jewellery if you’re hard up. I focus on his Oliver Peoples sunglasses, which are tucked into the collar of his top, as he continues to babble on about what a decent person he is, and just then it occurs to me that this man could potentially end my marriage in a heartbeat.

‘Okay, how much do you want?’

Incredulity sweeps across his face. ‘What?’ he says, sounding offended. ‘I don’t want your money.’

‘Then what do you want, Frank? Because right now I’m a little bit confused.’

A beat and then. ‘Let’s start again. Wipe the slate clean.’

‘I’m sorry, but no.’

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