“Okay, okay,” Barclay held up his hands to his brother, eyes wide, probably in shock at Henry’s uncharacteristic display of temper. “I’m sorry, Dr . . . Kira. Again. I just really don’t want there to be any misunderstandings.”
“Right,” I said, putting my tea down, laying one of my hands across my heart, and holding the other up palm forward with the middle three fingers up. “I promise that I will do my best to keep my hands off your private areas, to serve the Queen and my community, to help other people and to keep the Brownie Guide law.”
The tense atmosphere in the kitchen was broken by Henry’s belly laugh. Even Barclay’s lips twitched. I was getting through to this sucker – he’d laugh at my jokes if it killed me. Nobody was immune to my humour. Nobody.
“If we’re all quite finished discussing myprivate areas, I think we need to leave.”
I swigged at my tea. My neck felt hot as unbidden thoughts about Barclay’s private areas snuck into my brain. A naked Barclay would probably fry enough of my neurones to equate to a lobotomy, so it was just as well I wouldn’t be getting that opportunity. At least that was what I was telling myself. The little needles of hurt were still there though – that feeling of rejection (as ridiculous as it was) still constricting my chest.
He’s not even your type, I tried to tell myself. My last boyfriend had dreadlocks and played the flute at festivals with his folk band, The Monkey Spankers. That’s about as far away from a Tory politician with tailored suits as you could get.
“Lead the way, luuurrveeeer,” I purred as I walked over to him and linked my arm with his. The muscles of his forearm stiffened and bunched under my hand – holy anally retentive work out regime, Batman. I swallowed and gave him a wide grin. Luckily, the heat from my neck hadn’t spread to my cheeks. I hadn’t blushed so much since I was sixteen. Barclay contemplated the ceiling for a moment, then cleared his throat.
“Forgive me for my ignorance,” Barclay said, his eyes flicking down to my orange coat then back to my face, “but how exactly does your outfit fit with the black and white theme for tonight?”
I made a disgusted face. “Blurgh! Black and white is boring. I’m a colourful badger – always have been.” His eyes closed for a moment and he took a deep breath in and out as if searching for patience.
“Fine,” he said, his tone suggesting it was anything but. “There’s a car waiting outside. We’ll have to go through the reporters.”
“Er, yeah,” I said. “I’m guessing that’s kind of the point, right?”
“Right.” He pulled me in the direction of the front door, not bothering to say bye to his brother.
“Don’t wait up, Henners!” I shouted as I was propelled out of the kitchen. When we reached the exit, he stopped for a moment.
“I know you’re doing me a favour,” he said, staring at the oak in front of him. “But could you pleasetrynot to say anything about genital warts when we go out there or, well . . . maybe try not tosayanything at all.”
“Aye, aye captain,” I told him, doing my Brownie Guide salute again then miming zipping my lips, locking them then throwing away the key. He stared at me a bit, then his lips twitched again before he forced them back into his standard neutral expression.
“Right, fine.” Another deep breath. “We’d better go.”
“Youhatethis press attention, don’t you?” I asked in a softer tone. “It’s not just that you find it annoying, you actually hate it.” His expression was tense and his arm was like iron under my hand. I didn’t think that this level of anxiety could just be put down to escorting my annoying self out.
He cleared his throat. “You could say that.” He disentangled his arm from mine to grab the door handle, closed his eyes for a brief moment, and then pulled it open. Flashes bombarded us as we stepped out onto the front step and, I couldn’t help it, I smiled and gave them a goofy little wave. Attention in general had never really botheredme.
“Yo, paparrazi peeps!” I called as Barclay steered me to the waiting car with a hand to the small of my back. There was a barrage of questions but it was difficult to make them all out. Just as we got to the car door I heard, “Nice coat!” shouted out from my left. I turned to the reporter and flashed him another smile.
“Thanks, Clark Kent.” He was wearing thick black-rimmed glasses and was a reporter – too easy. “Get yourself down to Daphne’s at Camden Market and she’ll do you a deal, mate.” Barclay’s hand came down on my shoulder and he put enough pressure on it to let me know he seriously wanted me in the car,now. I gave another wave and slipped across the soft leather to the far seat. Still buzzing with adrenaline, I bounced on my chair a couple of times as he pulled the door shut.
“Okay, where’s the mini bar?” I pushed on the car seat in front of me and fiddled with any knobs I could find on the car door. “And shouldn’t this thing have a tinted glass screen that whooshes up at the touch of a button?”
Barclay sighed and rested his head back to stare up at the roof lining.
“Not that I want to shut you out or anything, boss,” I told Sam the security man. He didn’t reply, but I’d only heard the man string together five words max before, so I wasn’t really surprised. He did flick me a quick glance in the rear-view and I could swear his eyes were smiling, so I took that to mean he hadn’t taken offence.
“Weare notin one of your romance novels, Dr Murphy,” Barclay told me.
Fun sponge.
“Listen Barcos, if we’re supposed to be luuuurrrveeers, then I think you should probably start using my first nameallthe time.”
“Right.”
It was my turn to sigh.
“Don’t you even have one teeny tiny gin and tonic to offer me for the ride?”
He rubbed his temples, but I could see the corners of his mouth were twitching again.
