Page 22 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually (Actually #1)

At Fenwick’s we walked through the store together to the handbag department, where I spotted Sheila behind a desk. She was checking off stock against a delivery sheet.

“Right, you stay here,” Sean said, parking me behind a pillar. “Sheila mustn’t know we’re together.”

“OK,” I said, wishing he hadn’t had to touch me to do so. My stomach was off again—I think it may have been training for the parallel bars event now.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Sean said, facing me. He still held on to my shoulders and looked deep into my eyes while he spoke. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” I squeaked, barely able to find my voice with his face this close to mine.

Sean released his hold on me then strode purposefully across the shop floor in the direction of Sheila.

I breathed a sigh of relief. I had to stop this—now .

When I’d got back home last night, I’d given myself a stern talking to in the bathroom mirror.

Telling myself that I was getting married in just over seven weeks—and under no circumstances was my stomach, or brain, allowed ever again to repeat anything that had gone on in Sean’s house that night.

Sean was just a friend—well, hardly that, really, more an acquaintance—who was simply helping me out.

He wasn’t a movie star or whoever else my brain had subconsciously duped me into believing he was to make me feel this way about him.

Sensibly, after my stern talking to, I’d phoned David.

And after a long conversation with him I’d slept extremely soundly, which I put down to a guilt-free conscience, but in reality was probably more to do with David’s long and extremely detailed description of how well the grouting had gone on his newly hung kitchen tiles.

But why was Sean still helping me? He didn’t need to, he could just as easily have dumped me after Glasgow. He had no reason to continue helping me search for my mother, and yet he did. Why?

Over in ladies’ bags Sean was now deep in conversation with Sheila. She was shaking her head, and Sean, still talking, was tapping his index finger forcefully on the glass counter.

Sheila then picked up the same phone she had called Personnel with on Monday. She had a brief conversation, presumably with Janice again, before the phone was quickly replaced.

More shaking of the head, then I saw Sheila lift her hand and point in my direction. Quickly I pulled my head back behind the pillar.

“It’s no good you hiding!” Sheila called. “I know you’re there. I’ve just told your boyfriend here the same as I’ve told you for the past three days—we can’t and we won’t tell you any more about Bill. You’ll simply have to wait until he comes back to work!”

I slithered out from my hiding place and joined Sean at the desk.

“Then I shall have to take my business elsewhere!” Sean said in a very loud voice. “I imagine you work on commission, Sheila, right?”

Sheila nodded furiously as she furtively glanced around to see how many customers might be watching.

“Big mistake then, big mistake! Because my girlfriend loves handbags—especially expensive designer ones, and I was just in the mood today to treat her to more bags than she could hold in both her hands. But no, sadly, because of you, we’ll just have to go somewhere else now. Good day to you, Sheila!”

I was beginning to doubt Sean was telling me the truth about not watching movies.

That speech was almost word for word the same one that Julia Roberts had made to the snooty shop assistants in Pretty Woman .

I was about to question him about it, but he was grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the exit.

“Don’t look back,” Sean insisted as we hurried toward the doors.

“But—”

“Trust me!”

We reached the exit and were about to go through the revolving door when we heard someone hissing, “Oi, you—mister.”

We turned and saw a young lad wearing a navy blue coverall and carrying a bucket and mop .

“Yes?” Sean inquired.

“I might know where Bill lives.”

Sean smiled knowingly at him. “That sort of information could be very useful in the right hands.”

The young lad—who according to his name badge was called Joe—leaned toward us. “I can’t say noffin ’ere, someone will see. Meet me outside in a few minutes—in front of the ladies’ knicker window.”

“We’ll be there,” Sean said with a conspiratorial nod of his head.

Still holding my hand he quickly pulled me through the revolving doors. We walked along the front of the shop until we came to a window full of ladies’ lingerie being promoted as The Ideal Gift for your loved one this Valentine’s Day .

It was the type of underwear that was the ideal gift for a man on Valentine’s Day, but in my experience was far from ideal for any woman I’d ever met.

Sean gazed up at the window.

“Put your tongue away,” I said, turning my back to the glass.

“Why, isn’t that your ideal gift?”

“Hardly.”

“Poor David.”

“I’d have thought you’d have had more taste than that sort of thing,” I said, gesturing with my head back toward the window.

“Maybe I do.” Sean grinned. “But it doesn’t do any harm to look.”

Joe appeared again. “I can’t be long,” he said, looking around furtively. “Or they’ll miss me. I heard yous in the shop earlier asking after Bill, and I’ve seen ’er”—he nodded at me—“come in asking after him too. Is he in some sorta trouble?”

“No, not at all…” I began to explain. “You see—”

“Look, let’s cut to the chase,” Sean interrupted.

I frowned at him and huffily folded my arms.

“Bill’s not in trouble,” he continued, speaking directly to Joe. “We simply want to ask him a couple of questions. Maybe this will help.” Sean pulled two ￡20 notes from his wallet.

“Nah, see, me memory ain’t that good these days,” Joe said, looking up at the sky.

Sean took two more twenties out.

Oh my God, that makes it eighty quid. If David ever carried that amount of cash on him he’d have had his wallet chained to his wrist.

Joe nodded. “That’ll help.” He reached out for the money, but Sean snatched his hand away.

“Information first.”

I was impressed. Now this was more like being in a movie.

“Well, I don’t know the exact number or anyfin—but he definitely lives down West Ham way. There every other Saturday, he is—in the stands.”

“West Ham is a big place, Joe.” Sean took another twenty from his wallet.

“I fink he said Chesterton sumfin…”

Sean counted the notes in his hands.

“Chesterton Terrace—that was it. Yeah, ’cause it made me fink of him in the stands watchin’ the ’ammers.”

“House number?” Sean inquired.

“Nah, I definitely don’t know that. Can I ’ave me money now? ”

Sean narrowed his eyes and looked at Joe. “Yeah all right, go on with ya then.”

Joe snatched the money from Sean’s hand and ran back inside the store.

Sean turned and looked at me. “Well?”

I was still staring after Joe, amazed at how easily Sean had just relieved himself of ￡100.

“Oh, sorry, yes, I’ll pay you back of course.”

“No, not the money, silly—don’t worry about that. Joe’s information?”

“Oh…oh right. I guess it’s something to go on. But unless this street is a very close community, it’s going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack.” I sighed. “Oh, why does this have to be so difficult all the time?”

“Come on,” Sean said, grabbing my hand again. “Never say never—it’ll be a challenge!”