Playing for Keeps: Harford Scarlet Series Read online

  Sarah decided to change the topic of conversation. ‘How’s work?’

  ‘Don’t ask. I’m so tempted to quit. I do enjoy my job, but I don’t enjoy some of the people around me. And with Christmas coming up …’ As she talked, Clare just got more despondent.

  Sarah frowned at her friend’s unhappiness. ‘Just a thought – what about a sabbatical? You speak Italian and an old friend is desperate for a hotel manager for a couple of months in Tuscany. The money’s not great but living expenses are included.’

  Clare stared at Sarah, excitement growing in her eyes. ‘Are you serious? I could really do that? And they play rugby near there. Mmm … Italian men!’

  Tom wandered up behind them and wrapped his arms around Sarah’s waist, brushing a kiss against her neck. ‘Hey, darling. Italian men? Where?’

  Clare started hopping excitedly from one foot to the other. ‘In Italy, of course. And pasta. And clothes. I’ll do it.’

  Sarah tried to be practical. ‘You do realise you’ll be away for Christmas? You may have to cover your rent here. And you’ll miss lots of rugby here too. And I’ll miss you.’

  Her friend calmed down a little. ‘I’ll miss you and watching the team. But I’ve no awkward family Christmas commitments. And I was thinking about moving out of the flatshare anyway. Can I store some stuff at yours – pretty please?’

  ‘Hang on, I’ll have to text Franco to check he’s still looking.’ Sarah sent a quick message and Franco hit back at a run. ‘It’s yours from a couple of weeks’ time. You’re welcome to leave stuff at mine. Now all you have to do is sort out your job.’

  ‘Job, schmob.’ Clare grinned happily. ‘Woo-hoo! I’m off to Italia.’ She started humming and was soon gesticulating wildly with her other friends.

  ‘What on earth are they doing?’ asked a bemused Tom.

  ‘On past experience, I’m guessing that’s the Italian National Anthem they’re singing. Or trying to sing. It’s a bonkers anthem – half opera, really.’

  ‘Of course, that explains it, I thought it was familiar.’ He hummed along good-naturedly too.

  It built in a crescendo then all the performers paused, not knowing the next bit. Their small group broke into laughter and some around them applauded. Tom glanced over his shoulder. ‘Hi, Alex, you going to perform next?’

  The scrum half had been standing quietly behind them, grinning widely at the tomfoolery. ‘Not today, I’m not really much of a singer.’ He noted Tom’s possessive hold on Sarah. ‘Finally out in the open, then? About time too. Hi, Clare.’

  Clare turned back to them, still pink-cheeked from her exertions, and beaming. Her smile died quickly when she saw who was speaking to her and she mumbled a quick hello before excusing herself to go to the bar, almost running away.

  Sarah watched her go, feeling troubled. ‘Tom, would you mind? I’ll go and give her a hand with the drinks.’ She turned in his arms and gave him a quick peck on the lips, which he followed up with a deeper smooch. Reluctantly, she pulled away and pursued Clare.

  ‘Clare, what’s up?’

  ‘Nothing. Just avoiding another awkward confrontation with Alex.’ Her eyes flickered in his direction. ‘Until I get over this embarrassing crush, I can’t trust myself to behave near him. At least I’m off to Italy for a while to sort myself out.’

  ‘It’s only temporary; what if you don’t get over it by the time you return?’

  ‘I have to,’ answered Clare simply. For a moment, Sarah glimpsed the ache behind Clare’s light-hearted exterior. ‘And I will. I always move on, no matter what happens. I don’t usually run away to do it – that’s a new one. And it’ll be brilliant.’ Clare let loose a blinding smile.

  ‘Well, take care. I don’t want to be responsible for you getting heartbroken again.’

  ‘Oh, I’m never heartbroken, just heart-bruised, bent or dented. Right, drinks are in – give me a hand and we’ll venture back. I’ve got plenty of friends to talk with; I’ll just avoid standing next to Alex.’

  They returned to their small group, Tom welcoming Sarah back with an arm around her waist again. She whispered in his ear that she’d update him later. Clare doled out the drinks and took care to keep away from Alex, who was studying her with increasing puzzlement.

  ‘So, what are your plans for Christmas?’ Sarah tried to distract Alex from making her friend feel too uncomfortable.

  ‘Er …’ Alex gave a chatting Clare one last bewildered glance and focused his attention on Sarah and Tom. ‘The players haven’t got much time off; there are really important games in the festive period. Some of my family are popping down for a few days for a couple of them.’

  ‘Mine too,’ confirmed Tom. ‘You’ll get to meet my father and hopefully my brother.’ He squeezed Sarah. ‘They’ll be delighted I’ve met a fellow Celt instead of a Sassenach. Have you arranged anything yet?’

  ‘Well, work should have lightened off so I should be around, although I’ve promised I’ll be in Wales for Christmas Day itself. This year, we’re all at my parents’ for a change. It’ll be manic: screaming, overexcited kids everywhere. By Boxing Day morning, I’ll look forward to locking myself in the rental car and driving back down here.’

  ‘Such a short visit? Not that I’m complaining – I’ll get to have more time with you.’

  ‘I can always see them in Cardiff for Wales’s home games in the Six Nations; I’ll go to one or two of them. They’re more convivial surroundings to deal with. Not by much, though: screaming girls in cowboy hats will replace the kids for the annoyance factor.’

  ‘Is it that bad? I haven’t been to Cardiff for years; I’ve always been busy or playing. And it’s likely I’ll be playing again this time around if we have any postponed games. Fingers crossed I’ll be joining you all at the Millennium Stadium, though.

  ‘You may be lucky, if we don’t have any heavy rain or unexpected snow forcing the postponements. Still, the Harford pitch drains very well.’ Sarah paused and summoned her nerve. ‘You may find my family a handful, though; I love them to death but even I can only take them for a few hours. The average family gathering usually involves about 50 close relatives, including grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins first and second, nieces and nephews. They’re all firm believers in hugs making the world a better place.’

  Tom was confused. ‘They sound great but – well, how are you more naturally … reserved?’

  ‘In a family like mine, we can’t all be heard at the same time. And my parents only had the two of us.’

  ‘I can’t wait to meet them, they sound fun. We don’t have much family left; there aren’t many Murrays on my dad’s side and my blood father has only distant cousins. And my mother was out of contact with hers before she passed away.

  ‘Now Alex here –’ Tom gestured towards the blond scrum half ‘– is the baby of three and was thoroughly fussed over by his older sisters. That’s why he’s a girlie back instead of a hulking forward.’

  ‘Watch it, scholarship boy,’ grumbled Alex.

  ‘Scholarship boy?’ asked Sarah.

  ‘Tom was such a brainbox he attended our school on a scholarship. Top of every class, he made life difficult for the rest of his year as no one could keep up. So, in the first term, they made it difficult for him. All the public school tricks possible: apple-pie beds, smoke bombs in his wardrobe, even trying to beat him up on the rugby pitch.’ Alex laughed at the memories. ‘But he held his own and had his revenge; no one thought the polite scholarship kid would have such a right hook, and the other kids always ended up bloodier than him. By the time I arrived, a year or so later, he was Mr Popular and his first term was school legend.’

  Clare had overheard Alex and was curious. ‘How did you become friends if there was such a difference in age?’

  ‘I knew of him; the school wasn’t that big but we didn’t talk much. Then one day he defended me when I had some locals after me.’

  ‘What? You couldn’t outsprint them with that fabulous turn of pace you h
ave?’ scoffed Clare.

  Alex grimaced wryly. ‘They’d caught me in the town buying girlie Christmas presents for my sisters in the local pharmacy. Don’t get me wrong, I was always a little scrapper but they had me surrounded. Tom fortunately laid out the ringleader and a couple of others. I got one or two, and the rest fled. We became friends after that and, later on, it worked out well on the pitch, me at scrum half and him anchoring the scrum at eight. Our school was unbeaten for years, the record only broken when he went off to university. He should’ve gone to Oxford or Cambridge but, for some reason, he chose to go to Kent – as far away from Scotland as he could get.’

  ‘Perhaps I wanted to get warm? It’s always cold in Scotland,’ Tom suggested lightly.

  Alex laughed. ‘More likely you were getting away from the MacLeans before they had you engaged to one of the daughters. Tom had a fair number of women after him.’

  ‘Says you!’ Tom laughed.

  ‘Well, once you left, the cream of the crop did head in my direction. Of course, I made the most of it.’ Alex winked wickedly.

  Clare made a sound of disgust and turned away. A flash of some indefinable emotion crossed Alex’s face.

  Sarah tried to break the awkward tension that had suddenly built up. ‘Does anyone fancy going down the road for something to eat?’ A chorus of positive replies greeted her suggestion. ‘OK, ten-minute warning, departing at six. You have been warned.’

  Tom snuggled up to her. ‘Ever thought about being a tour guide?’ he whispered mischievously. ‘Or a dominatrix? You had them under your thumb in no time.’

  Sarah ruffled his hair playfully and whispered back, ‘I can do both of them later if you like. In private. I quite enjoyed tying you up before and I’m sure I can improvise for a whip.’ She heard Tom gulp and stifled a giggle.

  A group of eight, including Alex and Clare, left the club at a few minutes past six, luckily needing no further chivvying from Sarah. The remaining four were Clare’s friends and Marcus, the new South African centre, who’d popped in to pick up some kit and been waylaid by an Alex worried for once that the men were being outnumbered.

  The overwhelming vote was for an Indian, and they all trooped into a popular local curry house. Somehow, in the jumble for seats on the long table, Clare, who had been trying to sit as far away as possible from Alex, ended up opposite him. She mouthed a plaintive call for aid to Sarah at the other end, but there was nothing that could be done.

  Tom watched Sarah demolish her starter. ‘That’s another thing I love about you: you actually eat.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I? I do need calories to live. Besides, brunch was a long time ago and we’ve had a fair bit of exercise in the last 24 hours. And you can’t say much –’ she gestured towards his substantial starter ‘– you eat three times more than I do.’

  ‘Curry’s not on my usual diet plan, though. Even though I love it.’

  ‘But you had a full English this morning!’

  ‘Aha! You didn’t notice it was the low-carb, high-protein option? They cooked it especially for me: eggs poached and everything else grilled. With green veg too. So I have plenty of leeway to do some sinning today.’ His legs played against Sarah’s under the table.

  She played back as they watched each other savour their courses, in a world of their own. The chatting around them dimmed as they even shared mouthfuls of each other’s food.

  The end of the meal and the bill came around quickly, facilitated by Clare. Tom slung down his black credit card before Sarah could object. She quirked an eyebrow. ‘Do you expect me to pay you back in kind?’

  ‘Not necessarily. Only if you’re willing.’

  ‘Sounds tempting.’

  ‘Seriously, I’d like to talk to you about a project I’m involved in. Get your views. Can you come to my offices next week?’

  ‘Sounds intriguing. We’ll fix a date tonight.’

  ‘Great.’ His eyes glinted. He lowered his voice. ‘I have plans for you. Several, and only one set is on paper. Let’s get back to yours so I can enact the first, starting with slowly stripping off that underwear that I’ve been thinking about all afternoon.’

  The heat in his eyes was so fierce Sarah began to melt in her seat. She squirmed restlessly, seeking some respite.

  The spell snapped when Clare came up to talk. ‘Sorry to interrupt you lovebirds but we’re off now. Got work tomorrow.’

  ‘Not been arguing with Alex too much?’ asked Sarah, only half joking.

  Clare looked away to where Alex was waiting by the door. ‘We’ve agreed a truce. He’ll leave me in peace if I do the same for him. I’ll tell you about it next week. Now, have a good night and don’t do anything I wouldn’t.’ She winked at them both and scooted off into the night. Alex waved goodbye and trailed after her.

  The plate glass doors swished smoothly open. Sarah headed towards the reception desk, behind which a supercilious blonde sat frowning at her. Sarah was glad she had dressed in officewear: a well-fitting navy designer trouser suit, a cream blouse showing just a touch of cleavage, and tan boots to match her large, briefcase-style bag. Her hair was caught up in a French knot and her make-up was perfectly applied, subtly emphasising her bone structure, hazel eyes, and clear skin.

  ‘Yes?’ The disdainful receptionist didn’t even attempt to be polite.

  ‘Sarah Evans for Tom Murray.’

  Sarah twisted on her heel, strolled over to a corner sofa, and made herself comfortable; she had no truck with rudeness.

  The blonde didn’t try to hide her hostility. Her upper lip curled but before she could compose a response, the entrance doors swished open again and several suits, including Tom, strode in. The transformation was incredible: her sulky pout turned into a willing, sparkling smile. Sarah watched in bemusement, as she schmoozed flirtatiously with the men, delivering and taking messages.

  Tom noticed Sarah sitting quietly in the corner. He smiled and beckoned her over. ‘Sarah, meet Raj Patel, he’s my general manager; Neil Howard, financial director; and Lindsay Cowan, operations director.’ Lindsay, almost hidden behind one of the men, was a petite redhead, similarly suited up.

  ‘Everyone,’ Tom continued, ‘this is Sarah Evans, consultant extraordinaire and my lovely lady.’ He finished the introduction with an arm around her waist and a peck on her cheek. ‘Oh, and Celia who works reception; you two must’ve already spoken.’

  Sarah smiled and said hello to everyone except Celia, turning back to Tom. ‘Don’t worry if you’re too busy for lunch – I can meet you tonight.’

  ‘No, if you don’t mind it being more than just the two of us, and in a large boardroom. We’ll have a discussion of the conference project; it’s my father’s baby but he doesn’t have the experience to look at things from all angles. Your input and knowledge would be appreciated.’

  They settled for a relaxing lunch of gourmet sandwiches, interspersed with discussion. Sarah spent some time looking at the plans, paging through and cross-referencing documents. She drummed her lips in thought.

  ‘What have you spotted?’

  She lifted her head to see Tom watching her keenly, ‘Well, these plans are very sympathetic to the restoration, which is great, but the architects have forgotten some of the most important details for a functioning hotel: power, pressure and payment.’

  ‘Go on.’ His full attention remained on her.

  ‘Power as in electrical sockets at usable heights and locations, decent lighting in bathrooms, and Wi-Fi everywhere. Pressure as in having a decent shower; the pipes need to be substantially upgraded to ensure the higher floors manage, because there is nothing worse than a mean dribble of water. On a side note, I wouldn’t fit that pool or spa into this basement area, the access is poor.’ She highlighted another section. ‘Payment is having a practically-sized reception area which is big enough to take a few pieces of luggage but also invites guests in to book more services, hence make more money. The room allocated is far too small, and too far from the main entrance.�
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  There were nods of agreement around the table.

  She continued, ‘Retrofitting upgraded utilities or changing room use causes a lot of disturbance, so it’s easier to get it right from the start.’

  ‘How would you plan the rooms downstairs then?’

  Sarah grabbed a copy of the plans and began sketching ideas in, while Tom looked over her shoulder and asked questions. Once a draft was done, she let him take it while she sat back and finished her lunch.

  Several more members of Tom’s staff flitted in with paperwork and introduced themselves. Sarah was made to feel perfectly welcome and the cold greeting in reception dimmed from her mind. Near the end of the meeting, when the main discussions were finished, Celia and a couple of her co-workers sauntered in but stayed in a corner and whispered among themselves before leaving again. Sarah dismissed them with a discreet, dry roll of her eyes; every office had its fair share of backstabbers to contend with.

  ‘I feel exactly the same,’ Lindsay said quietly into her ear, in a soft Scottish lilt. She slipped into the vacant seat next to Sarah’s. ‘That lot are trouble. Celia is a madam; I can guess she didn’t give you the best of welcomes.’

  ‘Virtually ignored me, but I did the same back.’

  ‘Good for you. Tom has an excellent PA called Marian, who’s lovely but not here – family stuff. The girl who’s standing in for her is not to be trusted with any of the men: she’s only looking out for a good catch. I can’t believe Tom hasn’t seen through her but she’s some kind of relation of a friend or something; he’s not being his normal ruthless-but-fair self. Have you met his family yet?’

  ‘No, we haven’t had time. And we only became an official couple recently. It’s all been so quick.’ Tom, currently buried in paperwork at the other side of the table, caught her eye and winked. Sarah winked back and both smothered grins.

  ‘How long have you known him, then?’

  ‘We crossed paths at university. But we only met up again in the autumn at Harford.’