Turning Up the Heat. Ashley Lister
Читать онлайн книгу.
a divine aroma. The whiskey gave it suggestions of smokiness and sophistication that sat well with the steak’s rich flavour. The vegetables were slightly seasoned and proved a perfect accompaniment to the meal. Bill complimented her on the steak’s marinade while they discussed various aspects of business.
He’d been away in the city recording a couple of the projects that Harvey had negotiated. He told her of some of the celebrities he’d met and she marvelled at his easy use of the famous names. She’d been taking care of the restaurant and managing her own online business, so the conversation never lulled. She told him about a change in vegetable suppliers to someone who was cheaper and offering a better quality product. She also pitched a handful of ideas she had for changes to the Boui-Boui menu which Bill promised to consider.
By the time they’d finished the meal she felt that one of her appetites had been sated and she was ready to have an evening in Bill’s company where they simply revelled in the pleasures of being together. It crossed her mind that she hadn’t yet mentioned Donny’s abusive text message or Harvey’s forceful invitation to become one of his clients. And, even though she knew both of those topics needed addressing before Bill had to return to the city, there was something more important that she knew they needed to discuss.
‘This muffin,’ she said, pushing the dessert in front of him. ‘Can you tell me what’s missing?’
It was early enough to be still dark. The suggestion of dawn was nothing more than a smudge of diluted night on the horizon. Trudy ran through the morning, savouring the pleasure of getting her muscles working and enjoying the endorphin rush that came from the start of her daily exercise regime. She was dressed from cap to trainers in baby-pink exercise gear. There was a small pink bag on her hip containing two bottles of isotonic drinks and a vacuum-sealed muffin. The bag bounced lightly against her hip with each determined step of her run. She liked the weight. It was comforting and the slap of the bag reminded her of the punishing pleasure she had enjoyed with Bill through the previous night.
Deliberately, she shook that memory from her thoughts.
If she exercised when she was feeling horny she usually began to feel lightheaded after the first fifteen minutes. She supposed it was because the blood was trying to rush to too many different places at the same time. Given all the things she needed to deal with this Monday, there was no time for being lightheaded or passing out whilst exercising. She conceded that, if she got her chores finished early this morning, there might be time to feel horny. But that was something she would explore with Bill when she returned to his cottage. Until she was back in his arms, Trudy wouldn’t let herself dwell on that prospect.
Most mornings she listened to a playlist of rock songs and power ballads while she was running. Each track had been specifically chosen because the music had a powerful beat that helped her maintain a steady rhythm as she ran, or because the lyrics were encouraging and inspirational and appropriate for exercising. During the years that she had been studying, the heavy thump of a bass beat and the familiar thrill of Whitesnake, Aerosmith or Bon Jovi had been tried and tested ways to start the day with a much-needed rush of optimism, rhythm and adrenalin.
But this morning she was happy to run in silence.
Her night with Bill had been sufficiently wonderful to give her all the optimism, rhythm and adrenalin she needed. Rather than rely on old but familiar songs she was happy to listen to the first faltering sounds of morning birdsong and the slap of her pink trainers on the night-slick pavements.
She headed away from Boui-Boui towards the city. Running past the old market, only just beginning to open its doors to cleaning staff and the most diligent market stallholders, she headed onwards, past the familiar sights of closed high-street shops and the first of the slowly awakening stores.
A newsagent was pushing an A-frame board outside his shop. The board showed a newspaper headline: Master Baker Judge: It’s Not Fair – Exclusive!
Trudy made a mental note to buy a copy of the newspaper on her return journey. She knew it would be just as easy to get the whole story from Charlotte and Daryl when saw them at Sweet Temptation. Likely they would both have facts that weren’t contained in the newspaper. But she enjoyed the TV show as much as either of her friends and she was curious to know which judge was now embroiled in a scandal.
But she had no intention of buying the newspaper just yet. Holding a newspaper would make her morning run difficult and she didn’t want to do anything to spoil the pleasure of her routine.
Trudy loved running at this time of the day.
When almost everyone else in the world appeared to be asleep, Trudy felt as though she was getting closer to achieving her goals because she wasn’t lazing in bed and sleeping the day away.
She didn’t go as far as the woodland where she used to run. That was a difficult enough route in itself. After jogging across the city centre Trudy didn’t trust herself to manage the treacherous footing of a woodland trail. It would be too easy to slip, fall or stumble and she could see no point in subjecting herself to such unnecessary risks.
After five miles of running she came to a halt at the boulevard outside the university. She had studied at the university for three years, developing her knowledge of food and earning a prestigious first-class honours degree. The imposing exterior, a façade of glossy concrete and polished glass, no longer looked as daunting as it once had. Now, rather than being an intimidating building where she had been struggling to learn the secrets of her chosen profession, the university was simply a convenient midway point for her morning run.
She stretched against one of the boulevard’s trees, enjoying the sensation of her muscles being tested to their limits. She didn’t bother looking up when she heard the slap of trainers on tarmac that warned her she was in the company of an approaching jogger.
‘You made good time, hon.’
Charlotte looked resplendent in a scarlet Nike jogging suit. Her cheeks were flushed from the exertion of her run. Her dark locks were tied back in a tight ponytail. She pulled earbuds from her ears and fumbled with an iPod to switch off her morning tracks. Trudy caught a snatch of the music in the silence and thought it sounded vaguely classical.
She stiffened, remembering that Donny had always enjoyed classical music.
Her upper lip curled into a sneer. Her hands tightened into fists.
Now that they no longer associated with Donny, and the rift had been so acrimonious, Trudy didn’t like to think that any of his preferences had stayed with either of them.
Without mentioning the music, Trudy passed Charlotte one of the isotonic drinks. They shared a silent moment, swallowing cool refreshment and regaining their composure. It occurred to Trudy that she needed to talk about Donny with someone and she figured her best friend was probably the most appropriate person. Charlotte had shared the house with her and Donny. She knew he could be unpleasant and scheming. Charlotte’s advice, Trudy thought, would be invaluable.
‘I got a text from Donny.’
She pulled her mobile from the pink bag on her hip and showed it to Charlotte. She expected her hand to shake as she held the phone but it no longer seemed like such a big deal.
I’ll make you pay, bitch.
Charlotte’s lips thinned to a pencil line. The V of concentration that sometimes appeared on her brow was now deep and obvious. Her lips shaped the words as she read the message for a second and then a third time.
‘Have you shown this to the police?’
Trudy shook her head. She hadn’t even considered it. ‘I’m sure they don’t have the time for this sort of nonsense. It’s nothing serious, is it? It’s just Donny being a dick.’
They were used to Donny being a dick. When the three of them had shared a house Donny’s ridiculous sexploits had