Tell That to My Heart Read online

  ‘Oh, it’s a “he” is it?’ The look in Carly’s eyes told her she’d been rumbled.

  ‘Yes, he’s the new art director at work – Caspar – he was heading this way, so he thought—’

  ‘And does he, by any chance, happen to be drop-dead gorgeous and make you want to rip his clothes off?’

  ‘Erm, well—’

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

  Mim felt her face flush. ‘Listen, thanks, Carly, I’d best get off, you’re letting all the warm air out of the house standing here chatting to me. Thanks for having this naughty boy. Come on, young man, let’s get you home before you cause any more mischief.’

  ‘Never mind Herbert causing mischief, you’d better make sure your “lift” leaves before the resident curtain-twitchers get themselves in a tizz about him and set the local rumour mill in action. You’ll be in danger of your sister finding out about what you’ve been up to before you do!’ Carly giggled, grabbing hold of Maisie’s collar. ‘Come here, madam, don’t go getting any ideas about following Herbert home.’

  ‘Ugh! Don’t remind me about the dreaded curtain-twitchers. They need to find something more exciting to do with their lives than poke their noses into other people’s business. Anyway, thanks again, Carly; I’ll see you in the morning.’

  ‘See ya, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

  ‘Not sure there is anything you wouldn’t do.’

  ‘Cheek! Actually, that reminds me, are you still okay for my kinky underwear party next Friday?’ Carly had raised her voice for the benefit of resident busy-body Pat Motson who lived a few doors up at Cuckoo’s Nest Cottage. She gave Mim an exaggerated wink, pointing in the direction of their nosy neighbour’s house.

  Mim nodded, stifling a giggle; her friend had a mischievous streak, and so did Mim. ‘So, is there any truth in the rumour the new vicar’s wife’s coming too?’

  ‘Absolutely; apparently she’s very keen. Deb invited her, not thinking for a minute she’d accept, but didn’t want her to feel left out.’

  ‘Really?’ She noticed a movement in the curtains of Cuckoo’s Nest Cottage, a narrow chink letting a sliver of light sneak out. No doubt Mrs Motson’s outrage would be going stratospheric anytime soon.

  ‘Really.’ Carly clamped her hand to her mouth as she struggled to keep her laughter under control.

  ‘In that case, you’d better make sure she knows exactly what a kinky underwear party involves; we don’t want her thinking it’s something like Tupperware.’

  ‘Good point, that would be a shocker for her wouldn’t it? Imagine her taking something phallic home and using it to stir the vicar’s soup!’ The dirty laugh Carly was struggling to hold onto escaped, making Mim giggle too.

  ‘Oh, don’t! You’ve no idea what mental image has just forced its way into my mind. I’m off before you say anything else.’

  ‘Hah! See you in the morning, chick. Have fun.’

  Mim hooked her fingers under Herbert’s collar and made her way down the path. She couldn’t help but chuckle; Carly wasn’t really having a kinky underwear party, it was her turn to host the monthly get-together of their group of friends from the village. And it was the first time Gemma, the vicar’s wife, had been invited.

  Mim had barely got the door open when Herbert hurled himself down the hallway, barking at Caspar who was sipping coffee in the kitchen.

  ‘Herbert! Sit!’ She ran towards the Labrador, grabbing hold of his collar and pulling him back. ‘What’s got into you? Behave!’ The Labrador sat, a low growl emanating from deep within his solid body.

  ‘Does he always greet strangers this way?’ asked Caspar.

  Herbert’s growling got louder.

  ‘Shush, Herbert! No, I don’t know what’s got into him, he’s normally really friendly, too much so.’

  Caspar eyed the Labrador warily before turning to Mim. ‘I made you a coffee, didn’t know if you took milk or sugar, so I just left it black.’

  ‘Thanks, I just take a splash of milk.’ She could feel Herbert pulling on his collar as Caspar added milk to her mug.

  ‘There you go.’ He slid it across the granite top of the large island towards her. Herbert took exception, barking and growling again, his hackles raised.

  ‘Herbert, will you please stop it!’ Mim looked across at Caspar who’d lost his confident air and was now looking quite frightened.

  ‘What’s the matter with him?’

  ‘I don’t know; I’ve never seen him like this before.’

  ‘Can’t you shut him up?’ Caspar asked.

  ‘Erm, right, yes, I’ll try. If you stay where you are, I’ll pop him in the utility room and shut the door.’

  ‘I like the sound of that.’

  Though it niggled her, Mim turned a blind eye to the cold tone of his voice. She loved Herbert and wasn’t completely comfortable with putting him in a room on his own when he hadn’t seen her all day, especially when this was his home; after all, he was only looking out for her.

  ‘Sorry about Herbert, he must be feeling protective.’ Mim led Caspar to the living room, the Labrador’s objections now muffled in the background thanks to the solid doors and thick walls of the cottage. She sat down on the large, squishy sofa, expecting Caspar to take one of the chairs, and was surprised when he sat beside her.

  ‘No worries.’ He smiled, and Mim noticed the look of unease in his eyes had been replaced by the self-assuredness of earlier. ‘This is a fantastic room, by the way; your sister and brother-in-law have good taste.’ He sat back, his eyes roving over the beamed ceiling, the large, carved fireplace in butter-coloured sandstone and the tasteful soft-furnishings. It was the one room Mim had consciously kept tidy, in readiness for the Skyping sessions with her sister.

  ‘Mmm. I like it,’ she said. ‘It’s cosy, especially with the fake wood-burner on.’

  ‘It’s fake?’

  ‘It’s oil; Josie couldn’t stand the mess of a real one, too much dust apparently.’

  ‘Can’t say I blame her.’ He stretched his arm along the back of the sofa. Mim could feel the warmth of his skin radiating onto the back of her neck; it sent a wicked shiver of excitement through her. ‘So are you going to enlighten me as to why you think your boss is a “dragon” – as you put it – or why you think she’s looking for an excuse to sack you?’

  ‘Ah, I shouldn’t have said those things.’ Bugger! He didn’t waste much time in bringing that up, did he?

  Caspar laughed. ‘It’s okay. I won’t repeat it, I was just wondering what made you think that; from what I saw today, you seem to be a hard worker.’

  Mim scrambled through her mind for a reason that would sound plausible; she didn’t know yet whether Caspar could be trusted. ‘Well, it’s just that I seem to annoy her quite a bit at the moment.’

  ‘Ah, care to elaborate?’

  Was it just her imagination, or had he started playing with her hair? Her stomach looped-the-loop and she swallowed. ‘Well, things like me being late, though I do set off in what should be plenty of time but with all the roadworks, I just seem to get later and later every morning. That and my scattiness don’t seem to go down very well.’

  ‘Some people find scattiness appealing.’

  ‘Well, I’ve never met anyone who does.’

  ‘Yes, you have.’

  ‘I have?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Me.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Mim’s breath caught in her throat and butterflies took flight in her stomach. Oh, my days! What is he doing? Is he flirting? Of course he’s flirting, you silly woman! What should I do? Should I flirt back? Oh, flippin’ heck, I swore off men after my last pathetic excuse of a relationship, and the fact that I work with him is a recipe for disaster. Yes, but he’s gorgeous! Those eyes… And yet… There was something, a little niggle in a dark recess of her mind, prodding her, warning her to be careful, which was, at this very moment in time, something she’d really rather ignore.

&n
bsp; ‘You do know you’re a very attractive woman, don’t you, Jemima?’

  Me? I’m like a flaming ungainly heffalump! ‘Erm, am I? And it’s Mim, by the way, not Jemima; I’m only Jemima when I’m in trouble.’ Actually, from what my gut’s telling me, I’m in serious trouble right now.

  ‘Okay, Mim, in answer to your question, yes, you are very attractive; you’ve got the most incredible blue eyes.’

  ‘I have?’

  ‘Mmm-hmm.’

  Mim wasn’t an obvious beauty, but she was striking. She had large ice-blue eyes, set ever-so-slightly too far apart, framed with thick, dark lashes. Her nose was long and aquiline and her mouth, with its full lips, could be described as being a little too wide. Her thick, naturally mouse-brown hair that she’d disguised with a mixture of blonde highlights, could be justifiably considered straggly and unkempt at times. As for her figure, she’d claim to be slightly over-weight, and couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been conscious of her height and gangly limbs that always seemed to be getting in the way or knocking things over, herself included.

  ‘Oh.’ She was conscious of him staring at her with those black eyes that were glittering with a delicious hint of danger.

  ‘Yes, you’re what I’d call a classic pre-Raphaelite beauty.’

  ‘Are you taking the mickey?’

  ‘No, not at all, I’m being perfectly serious.’

  ‘I think you are; I hate my nose, it’s way too big, my eyes are googly, and as for my mouth, it’s massive; makes me look like I’ve got bigger lips than Mick Jagger.’

  ‘You’re much too self-critical; I’d say your looks are most definitely more than the sum of their parts, and that’s how you should think of them.’

  ‘Er, what does that mean?’ He’s making me sound like some sort of mathematical problem; and I bloody hate maths!

  ‘It means that, added together, your features make you incredibly beautiful.’

  ‘They do?’ Mim swallowed. Their eyes locked and her heart flipped as she wondered where this was going, after all, they’d only just met. But, before she had chance to ponder the matter further, Ed Sheeran’s “Shape of You” started to spill from the pocket of the leather jacket she was still wearing; it was the ringtone of her mobile phone. Their moment of whatever it was had disappeared before it really got started. Bugger!

  ‘Right, I think that’s my cue to leave.’ Caspar drained his coffee and set it down on the table in front of the sofa.

  ‘You don’t have to, I’ll call whoever it is back later on.’

  ‘It’s fine, I need to be getting back.’

  ‘Oh, okay.’

  ‘I could pick you up in the morning, if you like?’

  ‘Isn’t it out of your way?’ Mim followed him to the front door, the sound of Herbert barking in the background.

  ‘Not really, maybe five minutes at most. It’ll mean you’ll get to work on time and won’t get into any more trouble with your “dragon” of a boss – and please don’t quote me on that last bit.’

  The lopsided grin he gave turned Mim’s insides to mush. ‘Well, if you’re sure.’

  ‘I’m sure; I’ll pick you up just before eight.’ He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, his five o’clock shadow brushing her skin and sending delicious ripples of anticipation through her.

  She closed the door, leaning against it as she processed what had just happened. Her heart was racing in that familiar way it did when she was on the cusp of becoming involved with someone that she knew, deep down, she shouldn’t. The buzz it gave her was more exciting than any sugar rush.

  The sound of Herbert whining pulled her out of her musings. ‘Alright, Herbs, bide your passion.’ She made her way to the utility room and opened the door. The Labrador shot out, nearly knocking Mim off her feet as he raced towards the living room. ‘Hey, go steady, Herbert!’ She followed him, watching as he gave the room a thorough sniffing, his hackles raised and his tail swaying in an agitated way, before trotting to the front door. Only when he was satisfied that Caspar had left did his usual happy demeanour return. He pressed his head against Mim’s thigh and nudged her hand for a ruffle of his ears.

  ‘What’s got into you, lad? It was only Caspar, and he’s nice.’ She tried to ignore the niggle that prodded her from the back of her mind, telling her that dogs had a strong intuition about people. And from what she could gather, Herbert thought Caspar was not what he appeared to be; in canine language, he wasn’t to be trusted.

  6

  Mim plumped up her pillow for the umpteenth time, and pulled the duvet closer to her chin. She’d been lying awake for the last hour and a half. After the day she’d had, her body was tired and she was feeling emotionally drained, but sleep was cruelly eluding her. As if on cue, as soon as she’d closed her eyes, her mind had started racing; it had thoughts that needed addressing and apparently wouldn’t settle until they had been – over and over again.

  Mim had felt emotionally drained for as long as she could remember and she knew it had a lot to do with her dubious choice of boyfriends. Well, it actually had everything to do with her dubious choice of boyfriends. Just when she thought she’d found “the one”, and she was in a relationship that might actually be going somewhere, she’d discover that the said boyfriend had other ideas and, more often than not, other girlfriends.

  ‘Phfft!’ Mim moved onto her side, pulling the duvet over her head, blocking out the bright harvest moon whose iridescent glow was reaching in through the chinks in the curtains.

  Thoughts of work crept in, making her heart thud in a disagreeable way, a hint of panic worming its way around her body. What was going on at Yorkshire Portions? She was sure Catherine’s irritation with her wasn’t simply to do with her being late on the odd morning, after all, Mim always made the time up. Yes, she couldn’t argue that she was scatty but, even if she did say so herself, Mim was good at her job, and tackled everything that was thrown at her with enthusiasm – even if it didn’t remotely resemble anything in her job description. She’d been told many times by her co-workers that her bosses took advantage of her good nature, but the people-pleaser in her hadn’t minded that much. Until today, and the arrival of Honey Blenkinsopp. Then, she really bloody minded.

  On paper, her role at the magazine was her dream job, but recently it had become something she increasingly disliked. Her weekends had always been precious, but were even more so now, with the thought of returning to work on a Monday morning throwing a damp, heavy cloud over her Sunday afternoons, making her mood slump as low as the autumn mists that hung over the village at this time of year. She took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes, but as much as she was beginning to hate her job, she didn’t want to lose it.

  The conversation she’d had with Anna-Lisa rolled into her mind. Mim had rung her back after Caspar had left, anticipating what her friend was going to say.

  ‘Be careful, Mim, there’s something about him that makes me feel uneasy,’ she’d said. ‘He’s just a bit too smooth for his own good.’

  ‘There’s nothing to be careful about; Caspar just gave me a lift back home, I made him a coffee, then he left. That’s all.’ Mim had pulled a face, knowing if it was anybody else but Caspar, she’d be sharing the finer details with her friend, hoping to get her slant on things, but something had made her hold back. And, if she was completely honest with herself, she felt the same unease about him as Anna-Lisa, only Mim, as usual, chose to ignore it.

  ‘Hmm, well, if you’re sure. But there’s definitely something about him I don’t trust; he’s just too sure of himself and I get the feeling he’s used to women jumping as soon as he clicks his fingers.’

  Is that what it looks like I’ve done? No, of course not; there was nothing to jump at, he was doing me a favour – and Aidey, too – giving me a lift home so it meant Aidey wouldn’t have to go out of his way. Anna-Lisa’s got him all wrong; her best-friend protective side has gone into over-drive. I know she means well, after what happened with Paul and Matty,
and Connor, and Rick. Uhh! Rick, what a weasel! Mim punched her pillow and switched sides, closing her eyes tight shut. The less she thought about that worm of a boyfriend the better.

  She’d be the first to admit that there was an indisputable pattern in her choice of boyfriends. But what she’d chosen to ignore was the pattern of disquiet in her gut, the warnings that she’d only get hurt, that no good would come of it. With each and every man she’d dated, it had been there, but the thrill of temptation had been stronger, the addiction to that particular element irresistible; it had won out every time. And Mim showed no signs she was learning from it.

  An hour later, she was still wide-awake, listening to the shrieks of the barn owls calling to one another from the fields at the back of the house. Her heart was thrumming with anxiety as her worries and doubts got the better of her, pushing sleep even further from reach. ‘What am I doing wrong?’ she asked herself, not for the first time. And, hard as she tried to fight them, she felt tears prickle at the back of her eyes, as thoughts of Rick pushed their way through. Usually, in the cold light of day, she could keep a lid on her feelings and the memories of what had happened, but in the small, dark hours of night, it was a different matter; there was no escape.

  ‘This is no good!’ She flicked on the bedside light and threw back the duvet. Sitting on the edge of the bed she rubbed her hands up and down her face. The insomnia had been dragging on for weeks and the more Mim tried to get to sleep, the more impossible it seemed. She’d worked out she’d been surviving on a measly three hours’ sleep a night, and it was having a knock-on effect on her well-being; her psoriasis had re-appeared with a vengeance, its objection at the stress she was putting her body through manifesting in rough, scaly patches on her abdomen as well as the base of her spine and the tops of her arms. Ever since she’d been a small child, she’d always had a splodge of it somewhere on her body, but as soon as anxiety took hold, the rash would flare up almost overnight.