The Key by Geraldine O'Hara Page A

some point, if David wanted to see me more often, I’d have to confess that he’d been fooled into liking a French woman who was nothing but a fraud.
    “Shall I wait here or go into your flat with you?” he asked. “I’m quite happy to do either. Whatever you want.”
    “Come with me,” I said before I’d had a chance to think about it. “Perhaps then he will stop this silly gardening business if he sees another man is on the scene.”
    “I shall play the possessive boyfriend to the max,” he said and grinned.
    Oh. I really did like him. A lot.
    We got out of the car. Mr Big Bollocks straightened up. This morning he had a shovel instead of his usual little trowel. He stared at us as he dug the end of it into the ground and held the handle with both hands, using it as a cane.
    I scuttled past, not looking at him, and made it to the bottom of the steps, David swaggering behind me.
    “Morning, Jane,” Mr Big Bollocks shouted.
    I ignored him and went up the steps, fumbled in my raincoat pocket for my keys, then opened the flat door. Once inside, I sighed out my relief, stooped to pick up the mail then tossed it onto the coffee table. Turned to see David had come in, was closing the door, a frown firmly in place.
    “Jane?” he asked.
    My stomach plummeted.
    It seemed my lies had caught up with me quicker than I’d thought they would.

Chapter Seven
     
     
     
    I would just have to tell some more.
    “He has me mixed up with someone else. Always getting us mixed up, silly man. No matter how often I tell him I am not Jane, he calls me Jane anyway.”
    “So who is Jane?” he asked, frowning.
    “A friend. She is here sometimes. She is the one he should be calling Jane.”
    His frown melted away and he smiled. “Ah, I see. That explains it then. For a minute there I thought you’d been lying to me, that you weren’t called Chantal Rossi at all.”
    “Lie? Moi?” I slapped my hand to my chest, hoping it didn’t come off as an exaggerated gesture. “Good heavens, no. I would do no such thing.”
    Oh, God, this was getting messier by the minute. I’d heard once that one lie led to another, and before you knew it you’d got yourself into a bit of a tangle, but until this morning I’d never seen the proof of the pudding. Now I was eating a great big serving of it—chocolate cheesecake if I had a choice—but it was far too sickly for my liking. I wasn’t enjoying lying, of course I wasn’t, but Jane Smith wasn’t his brand of female. She couldn’t be, because who the hell would want her? What man in his right mind…?
    “I need to take a shower and brush my teeth,” I said. “You understand, no? Last night was a little…dirty.”
    “Ah, yes, I do understand, and if it’s all right with you, I’ll come in with you.”
    “Pardon?” I said, thrown off guard. I’d planned to take my mobile into the bathroom and ring my boss from there. I could hardly phone in using a French accent, now, could I? Bugger.
    He shrugged and smiled. “I thought it might be fun. And that’s what I said in my ad, wasn’t it? That I was out to have some fun. Are you up for it? I didn’t have time to shower at mine, as you know, and I also got caught up in the dirtiness last night…”
    “Of course,” I said. “That would be acceptable.”
    I slid my raincoat and little jacket off, tossing them over the back of the sofa. Kicked off my heels and left them where they’d landed. Leading the way, swaying once again like a bitch on heat—the exposure of the corset had done that—I took him through to the little hallway that led to my room and the bathroom. Wondered what he thought of such a confined space. It was big enough to suit me and proved my point from last night. No one needed such a humungous place to live in.
    The bathroom proved a tight squeeze. We were sandwiched together—in a good way, although I did feel self-conscious about my front squashing against his as we tried to manoeuvre so we could both get