Page 32 of All Mine
Isabella: After work last night.
Rosie: This is more like it.
Wren: Did he have good technique?
Isabella: If he can make me feel that good when we’re both fully clothed, then just think if we were naked. . .
Chapter Eighteen
Etienne
No matter how many times he checked his phone, there were no other messages from Alex.
Isabella had been a good distraction the night before, keeping him from checking his phone for hours as he watched her at work. She was a natural with people. She had this easy way of talking, smiling, making people relax. Even old Fred Barrow was swept off his feet and the look on his face when she gave him a hug was a picture. He’d probably not been hugged since Jeannie died a few years ago and he moved into Heart of Honeybridge. Etienne did what he could to put a smile on his face, but he’d not been rewarded with a toothy grin like that one ever. He’d watched the swing of Isabella’s hips in her dress that swished around the knees and gave a rather tempting view of her cleavage as she bent to pick up dishes in the kitchen or placed them in front of the diner. She looked good enough to eat herself. It was a shame she was opening her own restaurant, otherwise he would have offered her a job on the spot. He had a feeling she would be good for custom.
But then again, thinking about it, that probably wouldn’t be a good idea. Because he had every intention of sleeping with her at some point. Maybe not immediately. But sometime for sure. Better not to be working together. No awkwardness afterwards.
He remembered the feel of her foot in his hand. The softness of her skin. The way her foot pushed back against him, like a cat butting you with its head, nudging for more attention. One day, Isabella. One day. He checked his watch. But not today. Today he had an appointment with the bank. He locked the restaurant door and strode towards the high street.
‘Ah, Mr MarTIN,’ Mr Andrews, the bank manager, welcomed him, using the English pronunciation of his surname ending in Tin, rather than as his French parents had said it, ending in Tan. He shrugged it off, used to it. ‘Nice to see you. Would you like a cup of tea?’
Etienne shook the hand he offered, and sat, keen to get on with business.
‘I’m fine, thanks, Mr Andrews. Thanks for fitting me in at such short notice.’
Mr Andrews indicated the computer screen on his desk. ‘It looks like the restaurant is making a decent return at the moment, Mr Martin, so how can I help you today?’
‘I wondered how much money I’d be able to access immediately?’ Etienne said.
‘Well, this is unexpected.’ The bank manager clasped his hands in front of him. ‘Are you planning a refurbishment?’
‘No,’ Etienne said.
‘A holiday?’ the man persisted.
‘No,’ Etienne repeated.
‘An extension?’
‘No. I just want to know how much money I have managed to save since I opened The Bistro, and when I can get my hands on it.’
Mr Andrews pressed his mouth together, obviously much happier at the thought of taking money into the bank than giving it out.
‘Believe me, Mr Martin, it’s much safer to leave the money where it is, earning a steady rate of interest, unless you have a specific need for it?’
‘I do have a specific need for it,’ Etienne said and clasped his own hands in front of him. The two men stared at each other.
‘Well, let’s see then. . .’ Mr Andrews said reluctantly and swivelled his screen again to run through columns and figures. He cleared his throat.
‘Total savings of almost forty thousand pounds.’
Etienne nodded as his stomach fell. Ten thousand pounds short of what he needed.
‘A very good amount,’ the bank manager said, wistfully.
But not enough, Etienne thought.
‘Can I access it today?’ Etienne asked.
