He glared at her and Davina got the distinct impression that he was trying to communicate something. She missed it completely. But for some reason she couldn’t put her finger on, she felt unnaturally guilty about the bottle of aspirin in her handbag. Jack sighed heavily.
“Okay, your turn, help me out here, what’s your story? What childhood screw-up made you the person you are now?”
She put her nose in the air.
“I didn’t suffer any screw-ups. I had a perfect childhood.”
“Yeah, right.”
That annoyed her. She wasn’t the one with glaring personality issues.
“My parents were wonderful people, very loving and supportive. They still are.”
She bit her lip. She wasn’t in a hurry to tell them all about the latest hole she was digging for herself. Part of her would love for them to rescue her. The rest of her didn’t want to see how disappointed they would be doing it.
Her dad would tell her, yet again, that she needed to think before she acted. That she needed to tone down her behaviour. But no matter how hard she tried, it just didn’t seem possible.
“And what do Mr and Mrs Perfect do for a living?” Thankfully Jack saved her from an attack of the guilts.
“Dad is a vicar in a little church outside Brighton.”
The car swerved slightly. Jack seemed to be choking on something. Davina thumped him on the back.
“I’m fine.” He held up a hand to stop her. “Really though, you’re a minister’s kid?”
“Yes.” She couldn’t see what was so amusing.
“Well, that is hysterical,” he said at last. “I guess you’re the classic rebel against your roots type. I had you pegged for something more interesting.”
Davina glared at him.
“If I’m not that interesting why are you following me all over England?”
He didn’t answer.
“And I’m not rebellious. I’m a good girl.”
Apart from the stealing, and the lying, and the encouraging teenage boys to bunk school, and the debt that was spiralling out of control...
Jack gave her a look that said he knew exactly what kind of girl she was. Davina flushed red. In two weeks’ time she’d sort out her life and everything would be fine.
Maybe.
They rode the rest of the way to Kensington in silence. Davina decided silence was better after all.
Davina’s urgent appointment turned out to be with a hairdresser called Sebastian. After sitting through two hours of cut and colour, Jack came to the conclusion that it was just a trip to get her hair done. He’d also learnt a lot about Davina’s past. At some point she’d modelled for Sebastian and he was busy trying to convince her to do it again. Apparently there was an important show coming up in Italy. They both squealed about that.
In spite of all the evidence pointing to two friends catching up, and hair being done, Jack watched carefully, hoping to see some sort of exchange. He desperately wanted to hear the guy order drugs, maybe even see money change hands – anything to prove to himself, and the world, that he wasn’t on another wild goose chase. But there was nothing. So he kicked back in his chair and wondered how Davy could afford a place like this in the first place. He came to only one conclusion. Drug money. She was flaunting it again. It made the blood in his veins run icy cold. For a minute it even made him forget about the way she looked in that red dress.
“Boring, ain't it?” the guy beside him said.
Jack looked round at six two of solid muscle, no neck and sunglasses. Bodyguard.
“Who you here with?” he asked Jack.
“The redhead.”
“Model?”