Tilly Bagshawe - The Bachelor - Racy, pacy and very funny!

‘So sorry we’re late,’ George announced, not looking remotely sorry. ‘Traffic was just ghastly.’ She’d pulled out all the stops tonight and looked utterly ravishing in skin-tight black leather biker trousers, a ribbed vest that showcased her perfectly toned and slender arms, and sexily spiked Gucci heels that tap-tapped on the flagstone floors like metallic raindrops whenever she moved. Hovering behind her in the Fulham uniform of green jeans and checked Hackett shirt, and looking chinless and awkward, was her husband Robert. He reminded Barney of a nervous zookeeper presenting some exotic but dangerous animal to the crowds.

Just as this thought entered his head, Barney felt Flora’s hand in his. Before he had time to feel ecstatic about it, she started digging her nails painfully into his palm.

‘No!’ she whispered. ‘Oh God, please no!’

‘What?’ Barney asked, wincing, but loath to reclaim his hand. ‘What’s wrong?’

Before Flora could answer, George let out a little shriek.

‘I don’t believe it!’ She pointed at Flora. ‘It can’t be! Flora Fitzwilliam? What on earth are you doing here?’

‘You two know each other?’

Henry scowled at George. It was bad enough that she’d showed up late, dressed like a slut and doing everything possible to divert every ounce of attention in the room onto herself. But now she was claiming some sort of connection with Flora. He didn’t know why that should annoy him so much, but it just did.

‘We were at school together,’ Flora said through gritted teeth.

‘Old school friends?’ Seb piped up. ‘How marvellous. Where was it?’

‘Sherwood,’ said George, tossing her long blonde hair backwards luxuriantly.

‘And we weren’t friends,’ Flora added meaningfully. ‘Not at all.’

Henry looked at Flora with increased respect.

‘Well, we barely had time to be, did we?’ trilled George, tap-tapping her way over to the empty seat closest to Flora’s. ‘Poor old Flora got chucked out after her daddy was caught with his hand in the till. How long did they give him again?’

‘Eight years.’ Flora’s face was frozen. Under the table she tightened her grip on Barney’s hand.

‘Oh, so he’s been out for ages now then,’ George said breezily, adding, ‘Pass the wine would you, Henry darling? I’m parched.’

‘He never got out. He died in prison.’

Flora’s voice was like a funeral bell, ringing out across the table. Everyone looked at one another awkwardly. Only Henry met Flora’s eyes, with an unexpected flash of sympathy.

‘I was eleven when my mother died,’ said Henry. ‘You never get over it.’

‘No,’ Flora agreed, surprised and touched that Henry would understand. ‘You don’t.’

Meanwhile, George helped herself to the remnants of Eva’s potatoes and two large slices of roast beef.

‘What a sad story,’ she said, in a tone that made it clear that she gave not even the slightest fraction of a shit. ‘But do tell. What brings you to Hanborough, Flora? I’m quite fascinated. You are a dark horse,’ she added to Henry, reaching across the table and squeezing his arm in an unduly intimate way. ‘Keeping her a secret.’

Henry retracted his arm as if he’d been scalded. ‘Don’t be silly, Georgina. There’s no secret.’

Bloody hell , thought Barney. What’s going on there?

‘Flora’s our new designer,’ said Eva, sensing the tension around the table but not exactly sure about the cause of it. ‘She’ll be overseeing the entire restoration. And she is quite brilliant.’ She smiled warmly.

‘I’m sorry, did you say your father went to prison?’ Seb’s wife Kate piped up in horrified tones, belatedly catching on to the conversation just as the rest of the table was hoping to move on.

‘Fraud,’ said George, slicing gleefully into her beef.

‘How shocking,’ Kate thundered.

‘And how awful for you,’ Lucy Smart said to Flora kindly. ‘Did you really have to leave your school?’

‘I didn’t mind that part so much,’ said Flora. ‘School had become pretty much unbearable anyway.’ Her eyes bored into George’s like lasers. ‘But it was a rough time in our lives. I try not to think about it.’

‘The chap we’re renting our house from went to prison,’ Richard Smart announced cheerfully, trying to lighten the mood. ‘Eddie Wellesley. Nice bloke, actually.’

‘Wasn’t that fraud too?’ asked Seb tactlessly.

‘Tax evasion,’ piped up Robert Savile, the first words he’d spoken since he and George arrived. ‘I come across quite a few evasion cases in my practice, actually. The last one I worked on …’

And he was off, succeeding where Eva had failed and dragging the conversation away from Flora at last.

For the rest of the meal, no one returned to the subject of Flora’s past, although George took every opportunity to take digs at her present.

‘I thought you said Graydon James was redesigning Hanborough?’ she asked Henry.

‘He was. He is.’

‘So how did you manage to end up with Flora? I don’t understand.’

‘A restoration like this is a long-term project,’ Henry answered, tight-lipped. He didn’t know what George was playing at exactly, but he didn’t like it. Everything was a power game with her. ‘Graydon was never going to be able to oversee it personally.’

‘Oh, I see. So he sent one of his juniors? That’s a shame. I hope he cut your bill.’

‘It’s not a shame at all,’ said Eva. ‘We’re delighted to have Flora here. Aren’t we, Henry?’

‘Delighted.’

Henry’s blue eyes flashed at Flora, and he smiled in a way that made her throat go dry. I can’t figure him out , she thought. One minute he’s being arrogant and obnoxious. And the next he’s sticking up for me.

‘You know, Graydon James worked on two of my friends’ houses and he did all the work himself,’ George went on, apparently hell-bent on irritating Henry. ‘You remember Lottie Calthorpe?’

‘No,’ Henry scowled.

‘Silly! Of course you do,’ trilled George, smiling. ‘Graydon did Lottie and William’s place in the Hamptons, and he was on site the entire time. Then again,’ George added smugly, ‘Lottie has never been one to accept second best.’

‘Nor am I,’ said Henry, leaning over and making another great show of kissing Eva. George’s smile died on her lips. Barney Griffith simply felt sick, and dirty, as if he’d been press-ganged into watching some sordid peep show.

As soon as pudding was over, Flora made her excuses and bolted out to her car like a bat from a burning belfry. Barney followed, just managing to tap on the window of Flora’s rented Volkswagen Touareg before she drove off.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked, rubbing his sore hand. There were welts in his palm from where Flora’s nails had almost drawn blood. ‘That was seriously weird.’