CHAPTER EIGHT
The following Monday, Sapphire loaded her boot with a box containing children’s sweets – pink and yellow bags bursting with sugary pigs, yellow foamy bananas and rainbow-coloured lollipops – and drove to work to run the annual first-aid workshop. Most of the employees at Hot Air Aviation had to attend the course once a year and although it was a long day, with an exam at the end, she tried to make it fun.
Dressing down was part of the deal and Sapphire took the opportunity to wear jeans and her favourite blue silk shirt over a spaghetti-strap top. Her hair was, for once, loose and untamed, framing her face and making a welcome change from the scraped-back bun she usually adopted for work. Dangly earrings were her only other concession to extravagance. Having lived among the Dominican nuns in the convent school for most of her teen and adult years, she knew only too well that such outward displays of ‘peacockery’, as Sister Mary Bennett would say, were a precursor to ‘sins of the flesh’. She didn’t really believe it, but there was a core part of her that would always be Catholic of mind, if not of religious persuasion. She was also aware that she needed to prove her professionalism in light of her chat with Marco Cavarelli and, although unwilling to wear a suit, she felt the need for a certain amount of modesty.
The office door was already ajar and she kicked it open wide, manoeuvring her box of goodies through the gap. She switched on the light with her chin and plonked everything on the table by the window. The quiet hum of the air conditioning was the only sound in the room as she headed for the cupboard and dragged Resusci Annie off the shelf, where she lived for most of the year. ‘Hello, Annie, how’ve you been? Are you ready for this?’
She answered her own question in a high-pitched voice since Annie, the first-aid doll made of rubber and plastic, couldn’t speak for herself. ‘I’m okay, just need to get the blood flowing in my legs.’
‘You ain’t got no legs, Annie,’ she replied, in her best Forrest Gump accent.
‘I know that,’ she agreed, falsetto, giggling as she dragged the torso that was Annie, out of the cupboard. She spun around at the sound of someone clearing their throat.
Marco Cavarelli sat at a desk, the light from his laptop throwing shadows over his face, annoyingly illuminating his angular jaw and high cheekbones and making her itch to whip out her sketchbook.
She almost dropped Annie on the floor. ‘Mr Cavarelli. I didn’t know you were coming in today.’
He covered his mouth, stifling a laugh, and she felt her light mood evaporate. This was supposed to be a good day and yet here he was, threatening to ruin it before it had even started.
‘Miss Montrose, you’re bright and early.’ He stood up to greet her and she was surprised by him all over again. He smiled, for starters. Yes, she knew he must smile occasionally, but she imagined that his smiles were carefully doled out to only the worthiest of causes and she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be on that list.
And what a smile it was. It changed his whole face from one of dour irritability to a sexy invitation. Not literally, of course, but her hardened heart pumped a little faster for a second and she put her hand to her chest, startled. She could barely believe he was the same man who had given her such icy treatment just a few days ago. The sharp suit had gone, replaced by fitted jeans that emphasised an admirable pair of long legs, and his white cotton shirt drew attention to the smattering of dark hair on his chest and his warm olive-tinted skin. His dark hair curled around his neck and a freshly washed smell lingered under the spicy aftershave.
His flinty eyes fixed on her and she realised she was staring too intently. He lifted an eyebrow and she closed her mouth; ogling your boss was not the way forward. But her whole body sparked as her heart gave a small leap of awareness. It was very much against her better judgement – but she couldn’t help it. Had she missed his good looks earlier or was she simply in denial? She dragged her gaze away from him, irked that he looked so in control and so … delicious.
He smiled again, but it was a perfunctory smile, thinner and more business-like. On reflection, she preferred it: it was less threatening to her equilibrium. In fact, it would be better for her altogether if he continued grumping around and being bossy – he was a far easier man to dislike that way.
‘So, two compensation claims for the National Tie Cutting day?’ Mr Cavarelli sipped from a mug as he glanced up from the letter he was reading and waved it in front of her. She recognised the letter, even knew the contents off by heart, she’d read it so many times, along with four other claims tucked away in a folder awaiting the solicitor’s perusal.
The odds on the two claimants dying of old age before any claim was settled was quite high, given that Hot Air Aviation’s solicitor seemed to think that his raison d’être was to invoice the airline monthly without actually doing any work. It was another area of waste that needed looking into and Sapphire had a feeling that Marco Cavarelli would be the man to do it.
‘Ah yes, Finbar got a bit carried away, unfortunately. He was heading back from some city in Germany where women can cut off the tie of someone they like on one particular day of the year.’
‘And the relevance of that story is …?’
‘Erm, I guess that he clocked two fanciable men and snipped off their ties, hoping they would take a shine to him.’ Sapphire remembered the mortified stewardess who was flying with him that day, rushing in from the flight to recount the story of Finbar fixing his beady eye on two men as he dashed through the cabin, squeaking, “You’re gorgeous” before cutting off their ties with the scissors from the first-aid kit.
Her boss steepled his fingers in thought. ‘So, he imagined that cutting their ties off might make them fall in love with him. At what level does that make any sense?’
‘As I said, Fin gets a bit over excited sometimes.’
Mr Cavarelli shook his head in disbelief. ‘He did this while on duty on our aircraft and he still has a job with Hot Air Aviation? Unbelievable.’ He waved the letter at Sapphire once more. ‘If the claims are to be believed, both passengers were wearing the most expensive ties in the world. I think they must have been woven from pure gold.’
‘Yes, they’re obviously trying it on – although Fin did save one of the ties as a trophy and it has a royal warrant of appointment from Prince Charles. We Googled the name on the label, which was on the bottom of the tie – the bit he saved.’ Sapphire mimicked a snipping motion with one hand while holding the remnants of an invisible tie with the other, before letting her hands drop to her sides as Marco Cavarelli’s face registered total astonishment.
She composed her expression to appear suitably horrified by Finbar’s actions, even though when she’d first heard what he’d done, she couldn’t stop giggling. ‘The other two hundred pounds on the claim is apparently for the inconvenience of them having to purchase new ties for their meeting in London.’
‘Right. Where they bought the most expensive ties in the history of tie buying, by the looks of it.’ Marco let the letter drop back onto the desk with a sigh as he picked up another.
Sapphire grimaced; she knew what was coming.
‘And this one?’ He held up a letter that had been read and returned to its folder so many times that it looked like a well-used bus ticket – grubby and limp.
‘Ah, yes. That was not Darcy’s fault. She simply tried to push the passenger seat back into the upright position and the tray behind tipped up with the passenger’s breakfast on it, and …’ She cringed.
‘The passenger literally ended up with egg on her face,’ Marco finished for her, dropping the letter back into the box.
‘Literally – and beans ….’ Sapphire spun around on hearing a commotion in the corridor: the sound of a clanging bucket hitting the door and the door handle rattling simultaneously.
A stout lady wearing a dress covered in large poppies, topped by an apron with daffodils around the edge, dragged a mop and a broom into the office. She beamed at Sapphire. ‘Morning, my lovely. Oh, who’s this?’ She peered at Mr Cavarelli myopically, through thick lenses. Then she took off her glasses, polished them and put them back on, inspecting the stranger again, before turning to Sapphire and giving her a bug-eyed stare. ‘Bit of all right, eh?’ she hissed to Sapphire, angling her head in Mr Cavarelli’s direction before turning back to face him. She spied the box sitting on his desk and slid it towards herself. ‘Ooh, you’ve got the compo letters out,’ she said, picking up the top one. ‘We do like to have a laugh now and then, don’t we, love?’ She directed her comment to Sapphire as she unfolded the letter Mr Cavarelli had just dropped. She scanned it, muttering the words under her breath. ‘These two geezers should come and take a look at poor Mr Clarke if they think there’s any money in the pot for compensation, eh?’ She beamed at her captive audience as if she had just made a profound statement.
‘And you would be?’ Marco Cavarelli’s voice dripped acid as he glared at the newcomer.
‘I’m Betty.’ She squared her shoulders and tried to stand tall, but at five foot nothing, it made little difference. Sapphire could see that Betty was affronted by Mr Cavarelli’s tone and she winced, praying that he wouldn’t try to take Betty on – he would lose, big time.
‘Don’t you knock before you walk into someone’s office?’ His voice was brusque.
‘Someone’s office?’ Betty looked about her, puzzled. She glanced towards the door as if checking that she was in the right building.
‘Betty here is Hot Air’s national treasure.’ Sapphire put her arm around Betty’s shoulders, stooping slightly to reach them.
‘We do not need a national treasure; we need an influx of hard cash.’
Betty glared at the stranger. ‘I’m the cleaner, come tea lady, come … anything else that’s needed, and I’m always here early on Monday to make sure everything is spick and span for the week ahead.’
‘Of course, and I’m your new boss. What are your contracted hours?’ He piled the letters back in the shoebox and banged the lid down.
‘Contracted hours? Well I come in when my Alf has time to drop me off and I go home when everything’s clean and tidy. And if you are my new boss, you should have known the answer to that one.’ Betty bristled as she strode over to the cupboard where Resusci Annie spent most of her days. Dragging out an ancient-looking vacuum cleaner, she plugged it in, huffing and puffing as she reached down to the socket, and switched it on.
Sapphire mentally punched the air in support of Betty and watched on in fascination as she started to vacuum around her supposed boss’s feet, the noise deafening.
‘Lift,’ Betty demanded.
Cavarelli gazed at her, bewildered.
‘Lift your feet,’ she bellowed over the noise of the vacuum cleaner.
He lifted his feet with alacrity.
They both stared at Betty scouring the carpet underneath the desk he was sitting at, his feet hovering awkwardly.
He threw Sapphire an amused look and she gave him a not so amused look back. That’ll teach you, it said. Betty zoomed around the room like a whirling dervish until, finally, she switched the machine off and smiled brightly at Sapphire. ‘There we go. That’ll do for now. Have time for a cuppa, do you, love?’
‘That would be brilliant, Betty. Mr Cavarelli has black coffee, please.’
Betty threw the man a look that told him all he needed to know about her opinion of him and his black coffee, but nevertheless, she wound up the cord of the vacuum cleaner, stowed the machine, and headed for the tiny kitchen.
‘Don’t tell me.’ He held up his hand. ‘She’s related to Mr Clarke.’
Sapphire nodded, trying to hide a grin. ‘No one messes with Betty.’
A hint of a smile played around Mr Cavarelli’s lips as he said, ‘Am I about to discover a laxative or something equally unpleasant in my coffee?’
‘No. Well, probably not. Betty’s a sweetheart. Just ask her about her grandchildren and she’ll be putty in your hands. Mind you, try not to get her started on the photos or you’ll be there all day; she keeps them in her apron pocket.’
‘I really don’t have time for such things.’
‘Quite.’ She was beginning to understand what motivated her new boss, and it certainly wasn’t people. ‘Anyway, moving swiftly on, have you met Annie?’ She lifted Resusci Annie up and draped her over her arm like a ventriloquist’s dummy, straightening her very yellow hair, which sat lopsidedly on her head like a particularly ill-fitting Donald Trump wig. The doll was surprisingly heavy for someone with only half a body, but Sapphire supported her as she attempted to speak in her Annie voice. ‘Hi, pleased to meet you.’ She pushed out Annie’s pink rubber arm in greeting.
Marco threw Sapphire a mock withering look, but he shook Annie’s hand and peered at her chest. ‘That has to be the worst boob job I’ve ever seen and I have seen some, believe me.’
So, the man had a sense of humour behind that stern exterior. She wondered how many boobs he had seen and immediately wished such a thought hadn’t crossed her mind. She covered the mannequin’s ears. ‘Don’t say such things in front of Annie, she only gets out once a year and she’s very shy.’
‘What does she do, when she comes out to play?’
‘She lets us practise defibrillation and CPR on her. She’s very sick, but she loves the craic of it all, don’t you, Annie?’ She put Annie on a chair and patted her on the head, just managing to refrain from replying in her falsetto Annie voice again.
‘Sounds like fun,’ he said drily. ‘Now, tell me again in English.’
‘Oh, it’s mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, hence her name – Resusci Annie – and defibrillation is when you get the heart rhythms back in sync if someone’s having a heart attack. Although, you probably know that if you’ve ever watched any ER or Holby City.’
Marco glanced at her, incomprehension written all over his face. He shook his head imperceptibly.
‘No, I don’t suppose you have. Doesn’t matter – you don’t need to attend the course anyway. I’m a qualified first aider, by the way; I can show you my certificates if you want.’
He narrowed his eyes, reminding her that he was the boss and could do with her what he liked, certificates or not. ‘I would like to be included. Where do we go?’
‘We?’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s hardly relevant for you.’ She tried for a dismissive tone, to sound as if she didn’t really mind either way, but her heart thumped. She couldn’t face him watching her every move to check if she had an intravenous drip of vodka attached to her arm or was behaving lasciviously. The familiar heat rose in her face as she remembered his words. She bit her lip, silently begging for this one wish, as she threw a longing glance over at his laptop, willing him to return to his emails. But he picked up the first-aid manual and flicked through it. ‘It might come in useful one day – and I do have a private pilot’s licence, you know.’
‘Of course you do.’ She scowled at him: the man who had everything.
He took a step towards her, his gaze unwavering. ‘Is that a problem for you?’
She swallowed, trying to get some moisture flowing into her mouth as he took another step in her direction. She was close enough now to see the black flecks in his irises and her eyes were drawn to a cute mole just above his top lip – it was an endearing flaw. She swayed slightly as his increasingly familiar scent assailed her senses. He put his hand on her arm and brought his face level with hers. Was he going to kiss her?
‘I said, do you have a problem with that?’ An edge of determination in his voice negated the hypnotic effect of his whispered words and brought her back to her senses.
She took a step backwards and collected herself as sweat broke out on her forehead. Oh, my God, what had she just imagined? She was mad – certifiably insane – there was no other reason for her thoughts. She had wanted Marco Cavarelli to kiss her, turning her into the very thing he professed to dislike about her. She needed a reality check – and quick.
‘Are you okay?’
She flinched as he raised his hand towards her face, grazing her cheek with his fingers. It felt like ice and fire scorching her flesh – all in one hit. His eyes, which only seconds ago were shooting steely shards of displeasure at her, softened.
Her breath hitched and then steadied as he let his hand drop to his side.
‘Yes, I’m fine.’ She touched her cheek, surprised that it wasn’t seared to the bone, quickly running her fingers through her hair to mask the movement. God, he’d nearly had her then. He’d be accusing her of trying to seduce him all over again if she didn’t watch it.
Luckily, Betty came trundling in again, bearing a tray loaded with mugs and slices of cake. ‘Orange and poppy-seed drizzle cake, one of my best recipes, if I say so myself.’ She set down a mug and a plate of cake on Sapphire’s desk and banged the same down for the new boss, next to his laptop, rolling her eyes in his direction as she did so.
‘He’s a sweetie really. You’ll get used to him,’ Sapphire whispered. She had no idea why she was defending him; he hadn’t exactly won the Boss of the Year award in her books.
‘No cake –’ Marco began, before Sapphire interrupted him.
‘Has ever looked so divine, Betty.’ She threw Marco a hard stare and he picked up his piece of cake.
‘Looks delicious.’
Betty preened as she made herself comfortable in the only easy chair in the room. She sipped at her tea and bit into her cake. She was not a lady in a hurry. ‘What’s on the agenda today, then?’ she asked, looking from Marco to Sapphire.
‘As you can see, we’ve bought Annie out for her annual treat,’ Sapphire began.
‘On which note, I think it’s time for us to depart for the course,’ Marco exclaimed, rising. He closed his laptop decisively.
Sapphire looked meaningfully at the cake still sitting on his plate and he took a large sip of his coffee and a small bite of the cake. Sapphire followed suit, but shoved the remainder of her cake into her mouth as she picked up the paraphernalia for the day and slung it into her voluminous bag. ‘Delicious as ever, Betty,’ she gushed, through a mouthful of crumbs.
‘I’ll save your cake for later, then,’ Betty said pointedly to Marco. ‘We have some foil in the kitchen,’ she added, as she eased her shoes off.
‘Thank you, Betty. Most kind.’ Marco looked pointedly down at her stocking feet.
She wiggled her toes, beaming. ‘Take the weight off, eh?’
He nodded at her imperceptibly and said, ‘Quite.’ Then he turned to Sapphire. ‘Shall we?’
Sapphire saw that she wouldn’t be able to deflect Marco from joining her, although she had no idea why he wanted to. Didn’t he know that’s what staff were for – to take care of things, so he could just swan around being important and handsome, showing off his long lashes and his kissable lips? Why couldn’t he just leave her to do the job she was paid to do?
She wilted inside as she took in his determined features; he wasn’t one for changing his mind, that much was clear.
She gave in. It was easier than fighting. With a sigh, she picked Annie up and threw her over her shoulder. ‘Come on, then – wouldn’t want Annie to miss her yearly snog, would we?’
‘Atta girl,’ he said cheerfully, earning himself a full-on glare from Sapphire.