Where Have All the Boys Gone?(66)
“OK,” shouted Olivia. “I’ve got her! Just a bit of a crying jag in the toilets; exactly what’s needed to cleanse the aura. We’re off!”
As if a switch had been flicked, Harry and Katie moved apart rapidly and concerned themselves with making very innocent facial expressions. Which would have been lost on Olivia anyway, because she was concentrating on standing on her spike heels and guiding a floppy Louise out of the door at the same time.
“Anyway, hurry up, Katie, surely you’ll want to be calling that green-eyed demon journalist lover of yours, or are you still waiting for him to call?”
Harry, who had stood up on reflex as the women had approached, instantly took a step backwards, as if he’d been pushed.
“Excuse me?” he said, holding Katie’s gaze.
Katie found herself in consternation, staring at the floor, trying to process what had just happened. She had been—what, attracted to Harry? Where did that come from, then? She had been—well, what had she been about to do, exactly? And anyway, it was Iain she was interested in, wasn’t it? Which clearly wasn’t exactly going to please Harry . . . His face was thunderous. Ah. Sticky. Well, she hadn’t been deliberately keeping anything a secret. He’d never asked, that was all.
“Iain?” he said, eyes wide in surprise.
Katie was almost lost for words. “Don’t you listen to village gossip?” she managed, weakly.
“No, I don’t,” said Harry. “I absolutely do not.”
And he turned and walked smartly out of the bar.
Chapter Fifteen
Louise was staying in bed the next day. Katie moved the television into her room with strict exhortations not to miss the show. Katie’s good intentions to have an early night had been somewhat thwarted by her lying awake half the night worrying about everything. What on earth did she think she was up to, messing about with her boss? She couldn’t even believe that was what she was up to, particularly considering how annoying she found him. Meanwhile, she’d checked her mobile a million times—now it had a signal again, she found she’d forgotten how agonising it was. Nada. Nothing from Iain, nothing at all. She was the only girl in the world who could fail to pull in an all-boys’ town. It was Louise’s fault, really. That outburst about feeling left behind had given her a panic attack, and she’d gone temporarily nuts.
Well, she was just going to have to put a brave face on it and pretend last night had never happened. Ah, the humiliation, though, when Harry found out that although she was sleeping with Iain, he’d never called her. She hated how cheap that made her feel in his eyes. Mind you, it was none of his bollocking business who she slept with, after all, and it wasn’t as if she was swapping enemy information. So, they had had a boyhood spat—that wasn’t her fault either, for Christ’s sake. Why couldn’t they all behave like grown-ups about this?
Three strong cups of fantastic coffee later and Katie was in more of a fighting mood by the time the car came to pick her up to take her to the television studios. She certainly didn’t fancy stupid Harry Barr, she fancied Iain and she would call him as soon as the programme was over and tell him to stop being such a bloody idiot, then she’d go back to Fairlish and have the kind of historic sex that she’d been thinking about for, well, quite some time.
Delighted to be let loose on her wardrobe again without having to bolster it up with thermal underwear, shapeless sweaters and wellingtons, she went for her absolute favourite wraparound red dress—which was a bit much for five o’clock in the afternoon, but would certainly make her stand out—and a vertiginous pair of heels. London woman indeed. Well, Harry was going to see London woman, and he was going to respect her. Grrr.
Arriving at the studios, she insisted on heading straight for hair and make-up. They plastered it on, of course, so it would look better under the lights, and she felt she could do with a bit of that right about now. The lady also teased her hair into a large sticky-up section at the back, which Katie thought might be a bit eighties’ Mrs. Thatcher, but the hairdresser assured her was very “now.” And it certainly added to the height of the shoes. Looking at herself in the mirror, she was practically unrecognisable, and certainly not a Katie Watson who enjoyed herself at county shows, which was precisely the desired effect.
HARRY WAS SITTING in the green room. He looked up when she entered and his face momentarily registered shock at her appearance, which annoyed her all over again.
“Good morning,” she said, cordially.
“You look like a tart’s breakfast,” observed Harry, looking up from where he was pretending to be engrossed reading a copy of The Field. “That should please Iain.”
“Ah, sexual harassment,” said Katie. “Good, I’ll be sure to contact my big scary London lawyers.”
Harry went back to ignoring her, but Katie herself felt angry and shaky inside. How dare this pompous git think he had some moral high ground, just because she’d felt sorry for him for one tiny moment in a cocktail bar? It wasn’t the law that everyone had to avoid sex was it? Or had she missed a memo? She shot Harry a dirty look, which he pretended not to notice.
Hortense entered, projecting an air of supreme busyness, wearing a headset and carrying an impressive clipboard. A small gaggle of people walked in behind her.
“OK, chums. How’re you doing?”