Page 1 of Waiting for a Prince
Chapter One
Saturday, July 27
This wasn’thow it was supposed to be.
Mark Horrocks wasn’t sure where he’d gotten the impression life as a hair stylist was fabulous, with customers beating down his door just to get an appointment with him, but his present situation was as far from that fantasy as it was possible to get.
Let’s face it, I was lucky to get this job.
The salon was in Ryde, one of the major dropping-off points on the Isle of Wight. Not that visitors would actually see it. Union Street was the place to be seen, the steep road that led down to the Esplanade train station and the long pier, at the end of which was the FastCat, one of a few ways of accessing the island.
The salon where Mark worked?
Arse end of nowhere.
His dream job would be working in a swanky salon, with lackeys who did nothing all day but make tea and coffee for clients, while ladies reclined in chairs, enjoying a head massage. Mark would swan around in elegant, expensive clothes, conversing with his adoring patrons, a snip here, a snip there,and voila, every woman left the place looking like one of the Kardashians, or that woman who was in all the L’Oréal adverts, the one who kept telling women they were worth it.
The reality?
A poky little salon with three chairs, two hairdryers, two sinks, a kitchen so tiny he had to step outside it to change his mind, and an even tinier back room for those rare moments when he wasn’t working. Not forgetting the red leather couch for customers, that had seen better days. And as for the lackeys?
That would be Mark.
“I really feel sorry for that poor bloke.”
Mark paused momentarily in his task of dying the new hair extension pieces. “Which bloke?” Not that he was about to let anything distract him for more than a second or two. Marie had already given him the evil eye twice that morning, and if he didn’t get this finished, there was every possibility her next words would be the ‘there are loads of wannabe hairdressers out there just clamouring to get into your shoes’ talk—again.
Why do I put up with it?
That was easy. Mark hoped it would get better.
He gave a cursory glance around the salon.
What the hell is Wendy talking about?
“We haven’t got any male customers in here at the moment,” he muttered, irritated that she’d spoiled his concentration. Hopefully she’d take the hint and leave him to it.
Wendy’s huff a moment later dashed that hope.
“He’s not a customer, silly. I think his girlfriend or wife has dragged him here with her. Poor fella.” She nudged his arm and almost sent the bowl containing the hair dye into a dive over the unit. She made a noise of insincere apology. Mark scowled and ignored her as he carefully sponged the dye over each tress, taking extra pains to ensure it got an even coverage.
“Look over there,” she whispered. “On the couch in the window.”
Oh, for God’s sake, woman, leave me alone.
Mark dropped the sponge into the bowl and straightened, about to tell Wendy where to go, when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and the skin on his arms erupted into a heavy dose of goosebumps. He twisted around, half-knowing what he was about to see.
Marie was there all right, her eyes boring into him.
Oh hell.
That was all he needed. He winced, preparing himself for the inevitable request for ‘a word, please, Mark.’ Christ, he was hearing that more and more these days.
“Mark, can you come over here a minute please, sweetie?”
Sonia’s melodic voice carried above the chatter and the low, unobtrusive music playing in the background. Mark could have kissed her. He hung up the hairpiece and crossed the salon floor to where Sonia had just finished speaking with her client, all the while doing his best to avoid Marie’s steely gaze.
He mouthedThank you.
