“Clifton. Fancy.” I sat back up and started the car. I guess I was driving my doped-up boss, who was making very bad jokes now, home. Not to mention putting him to bed!Could this day get any stranger?Mind you, I had half killed him with washing powder. But on that note, who the hell is allergic to washing powder? Suddenly the sound of Ryan’s phone ringing filled the car. I looked behind me as he started fiddling in his pocket for it.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “You cannot talk to anyone right now.” God only knew what he would say to them in this state.
But clearly he wasn’t listening; he started raising the phone to his ear. I quickly reached around and pulled it away from him and looked down at it.
“It’s Mr. Grey.” I put the phone on silent and dropped it on the passenger seat. “You can call him back later.”When you’re not babbling incoherently, I thought.
He moaned loudly. “He’s probably shcalling to shout at me. I really dishlike that man. I dishlike him a lot, Doris.”
I smiled to myself. I was sure the feeling was mutual.
He moaned again, even louder this time. “I reeeally dishlike my job.” And then he sighed. Loudly. Sadly. I spun around and looked at him. His eyes were open and he was staring at the ceiling. He looked so far away and distant, I wasn’t sure if that was the drugs, or something else.
“That’s not nice. To dislike your job,” I said.
He tried to sit up again, and this time he managed it. He put his chin on the passenger seat and looked over at me. Sleepy-looking blue eyes stared at me. His hair was ruffled and messy from lying down, and it dawned on me that this was what he must look like in the morning, before he put the big Ryan Stark suit on.
“Do youss like your job, Dorissss?” he asked.
“Uh . . . uh . . .” I stuttered. I didn’t know what I was meant to say to him. I didn’t want to offend him, even though there was a high probability he wasn’t going to remember this conversation in the morning.
He sighed again. “I fink I made a mishtake,” he suddenly said, tapping his hand on the back of my seat, as if he was trying to get my attention.
“Uh, I’m sorry to hear that.” I wasn’t sure what to say to him.
“I think Mr. Rautenbach is right.” He sounded mournful.
“Oh, well, can’t you fix the mistake?” I asked. I was curious to know what this big mistake was that everyone had been arguing about at the boardroom table the other day.
He slumped into the back seat again. “Ish a big one,” he said.
“No mistake is too big to fix, is it?” I offered up happily.
“Shnot when ish a two-hundred-million-rand mistake,” he mumbled to himself.
My head snapped up and I looked at him in the rear-view mirror and watched as he closed his eyes again and drifted off to sleep. I studied his face, and for the first time since meeting him I suddenly felt very sorry for him. I felt this huge rush of sympathy and had to stop myself from reaching into the back seat and putting my hand on his arm. Because that would just be ridiculous, wouldn’t it?
CHAPTERFORTY-THREE
Ryan
He woke up the next morning on the couch in his lounge wearing a suit jacket with no shirt on underneath. For a split second, he had no idea how he’d gotten there. And then it hit him all in one moment.
Washing powder . . . Doris . . . the hospital . . .Shit!He looked around the room; no one was there.
“Miss Granger?” he called out, but didn’t get an answer. He walked over to the front door and looked out. His car was parked in the driveway, very badly. So, where was she? Had she taken a taxi home? He walked back into the lounge and then noticed the smell. The aroma of fresh coffee hung in the air. He walked into the kitchen and saw that a fresh pot had been brewed. The kitchen door was open and he walked out of it into the garden and looked around. Still no sign of her. But someone was here, unless a ghost had made the coffee. He turned and started walking back inside, and that’s when he saw her.
She had her back to him, standing at the edge of the garden where it dropped down like a sheer cliff to the sea below. The sky was dark and grey, making the sea below a turbulent black color. There was a strong wind and it was whipping the water around, forcing it to crash against the rocks below with such force that a massive spray shot up into the air every time it did. She was probably getting wet there.
He walked up to her and when his foot crunched down on a loose stone, she turned and looked at him. He was shocked by what he saw. Her face was covered in a thin layer of water that was shimmering in the muted light of the day. She had no make-up on and, like this, he could see how many freckles were scattered across her skin. Her skin was pale, and her cheeks and nose were flushed pink from the cold. She was holding a cup of coffee in her hands and had draped one of the sofa throws around her shoulders. She smiled at him and looked like an . . .
Angel?
“Ryan,” she said.
He did some kind of auditory double take at the sound of his name coming out of her mouth. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond at first but then . . .
“Doris,” he said.
