Forfeit (Original Edit)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Xander left for work smiling, the gene pool thoroughly raided, but I could only look forward to a day alone, trying to ward off utter boredom. I'd gone riding, tidied the house, and wasted much of the day pretending to research fixtures and fittings for the Old Forge. Much to Xander's irritation, my offer had been accepted so, paperwork and solicitors aside, I'd soon be the proud owner of a very rundown, Grade II listed house in Gosthwaite.

At quarter to six, up to my ears in tedium, Tabitha's phone call saved my sanity and stopped me opening a bottle of peppery Grüner Veltliner - an Austrian white Marcus was in love with.

'Want to come over?' she asked quietly. 'Please?'

Even if I hadn't been bored beyond reason, I'd have agreed. I'd never heard Tabitha do meek before and I was dying to know what was going on. Hoping for some wine bar action, I changed into a pair of black wash jeans, off the shoulder cashmere sweater and the black python Gucci knee boots, and I headed over to Windermere.

Five years ago, a high-achieving developer had taken one bloody big house no one could afford and turned it into eight exorbitant apartments that a select few could afford. I daren't guess what Tabitha's top floor apartment cost with its two bedrooms, roof terrace and uninterrupted lake views, but for the money I would've expected a bloody lift. Xander had persuaded me to go running with him a few times but trying to jog in heels wasn't quite as easy as it was in Nikes. By the time I got to the third floor, I was a hot and sweaty mess.

I banged on Tabitha's door and she yelled for me to come in. Barely able to breathe, I slumped onto the cream suede sofa and stripped off my scarf, gloves and coat. What a fabulous room. The enormous ceiling rose and original cornices contrasted brilliantly with the contemporary furniture, although the room could do with a few more homely touches, like junk lying around. This was a little like a high-end hotel.

'Well then you'd better fuck off!' Tabitha shrieked from another room.

I sat up. Was she was telling me to get out? I turned, just in time to see some Trustafarian guy, complete with beard and dreadlocks, dash out, slamming the door behind him. He didn't look my way but I did clock his very nice arse.

'Tab?' I called. 'Who was that?'

'No one that matters,' Tabitha purred as she leant against the doorframe.

'OMG.'

Tabitha's hair was nearly as famous as her - thick, luscious and auburn, she'd never needed extensions to bulk out her locks. They'd tumbled halfway down her back. Now she had one, maybe two, inches left.

'You look absolutely incredible,' I said. Her cheekbones and huge emerald eyes took over her face. 'Did you have that done today?'

'At a party last night. Not sure what I'd taken and I'm not sure what I think. It seemed a good idea at the time but it's taking a teensy bit of getting used to.'

She clutched at it with her fingers. On New Year's Eve she'd had perfectly French manicured nails, but now she'd bitten them all down and painted them the darkest purple. Not that I was looking my best, but with pallid skin and enormous black shadows under her eyes, Tabitha looked like she'd suffered ritual abuse.

'What's going on and who the hell's Mr. Dreads?'

'He's just some guy.' She flopped down on the sofa and poured me a glass of the white wine she was drinking.

'Marcus said James thought you were seeing someone else. Are you?'

She shrugged. 'I'm not seeing anyone.'

'And how you can you be shagging James anyway?' I lit a cigarette.

'We go back a long way.' She laughed at my raised eyebrows. 'I was twenty-two. He was sixteen. Perfectly legal and very fun. Do you want to go out for dinner or just get wasted?'