Baby Goose

By Mica Le Fox

It’s Holly’s first job interview at a big London finance firm. She can’t help but notice the other interviewee is jaw-droppingly beautiful, wearing a short red party dress... and is sick with nervousness. Holly volunteers to go with her in a taxi to make sure she gets home OK and discovers she lives in a luxury West End apartment that’s been trashed – and that the girl is far from nervous, but has a mega-hangover. She’s arrogant, irritable and ungrateful, but Holly gets her to bed and leaves... a little disgusted if she's honest.
But next day, Natashia turns up in a chauffeur-driven Range Rover at Holly’s parents’ home in a dull suburb and proceeds to astonish and charm her family with her outrageous behaviour until Holly gets home from her part-time job at a supermarket.
The exotic party-girl whisks Holly off to an expensive restaurant as a thank you for ‘being Florence Nightingale’, and so begins Holly’s journey into a world for which she is totally unprepared... not only is it extravagant and excessive, but also ultimately perilous. But as much as Holly resists, this girl is irrepressible and seductive and Holly finds herself... seduced. Not quite in the way she imagined, but it changes everything and life is never the same afterwards.
Love, for the people in this story, is unsuitable and unreasonable. It has to overcome betrayal, long separation and their complicated, contradictory and repulsive actions. But it compels them to keep coming back, helplessly and passionately drawn to each other despite the logic that says it should not happen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mica Le Fox
• Release date: Dec 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463449431

Mica Le Fox

Totally out of my depth at an academic school I mercifully discovered I could draw and blagged my way into a career in advertising and visual arts. So far, so not too bad. It's been OK, but writing has been part of my remit and I've always itched to do more, so here I am, blagging my way into book writing. It's all fiction. Fiction is often way better than real life and I spend most of my time thinking things up. But I will never try to make you accept the completely unbelievable. If you watch, say, science fiction on TV, it's alright to 'suspend your disbelief' - I do - but not to accept the unbelievable. I hope my books will introduce to you human characters (mostly) with ordinary human emotions and fallibilities. I especially like fallibilities... they are the most interesting thing about us all and certainly the best to write about. I want you to have a booky window on people sometimes making mistakes... maybe sometimes getting it right as well. And I will try to make you feel what they do, you know, like you are in their shoes... well, unless they're undressed of course. Whether I do all this well is another matter, I only write these stories so I have no idea. Anyway, it's for you to decide. Buy the books and let me know. Ha! Blagging again.

Book preview

Baby Goose

By Mica Le Fox

Copyright 2019 Mica Le Fox

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter one

Nervous, thought Holly.

She gave another quick glance to the woman’s pallid, sweaty face. Absolutely gorgeous, like a model, but just not looking good right now. And that dress! She was wearing a deep red dress that clung precariously to her perfect body and finished abruptly, roughly twelve inches above her knees. Far too abruptly for an interview in the conservative financial heartland, that’s for certain.

The girl opened her eyes and looked up at Holly across the waiting area. She smiled... just a little. As much as she could manage thought Holly, who smiled back.

Do you know where the ladies’ is? A European accent, as yet unidentifiable to Holly.

Uhm, yes, end of the corridor on the left.

The girl got up and made her way quickly down the passageway, stopping halfway down to steady herself on the wall, then progressing unevenly to disappear from view through a door.

Hope that was the right door.

Holly sat and watched for her reappearance, but after five minutes the girl had not returned and she put down the brochure she had been thumbing through. Maybe I should check on her. Holly began to have doubts that it was just nerves and considered the possibility she may be ill. But if I go to help her, what if they call me in?

She needed the job. It wasn’t exactly the job she’d envisaged at university, but an income of some kind was becoming a necessity. Nowadays a desperately avoided, but all too common return to the parental home after graduation was a final resort for many – for her. There she’d discovered that the sisters she’d got on with quite well before leaving for university had turned, like werewolves, into whining, competitive harridans - her words - resentful at losing their separate bedrooms and regaining a patronising big sister - their words.

She loved her parents dearly, but could not lose the creeping feeling that they had, when she left for uni three years ago, begun the slow glidepath towards the runway of ‘their time': one child down, two to go... but now three to go again and their flight had banked to the left for another circle. Maybe our move to the country just got put back.

This was unfair she knew, and her mum and dad had welcomed her back as though, with their eldest’s temporary return to the family home, they’d gained an unexpected life bonus. But nevertheless, it was time to crank up the gears of her independence and this job would be a start.

She leaned forward to view the corridor. Empty. There was no doubt the woman had looked ashen and possibly unwell and her absence nagged at Holly. She thought about finding a staff member to tell, but that would be highly presumptuous and may not be appreciated by the girl. So after another minute, she stood up and, looking around for anyone who may call her to interview, readied herself for a mission of mercy.

Then she saw the girl step back into the corridor and make her way back to the seating area, glancing at Holly before sitting down, inhaling deeply and shutting her eyes. Holly returned to her seat and looked over at her. She was still pale and sweating.

Are you OK?

The girl opened her eyes and looked over. Well, it would have been nice not to be puking at my interview, but... whatever.

Oh! Poor you. Holly felt for her. Is it nerves? Does it make you sick?

Nerves? She seemed surprised at the suggestion, but then said, Yes, that’s it. I get nervous stomach upsets.

Holly stood up again, dispensed some water from the cooler and held out the cup to the girl. Just sip it. Not too much.

The girl gave her a weak grin and said, Thank you, Florence Nightingale.

The words seemed like a mild rebuke. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interfere.

You didn’t. Oh God, I feel sick again.

Look, maybe you should abandon this and go home. You look terrible – I'm sure they’d understand and reschedule. Holly took out her phone. Let me get you a taxi.

No. I think I just need to go to the ladies’ again. Then I’ll...

With what seemed to Holly like disastrous timing a woman approached, smiling warmly at the girl. Ms Lindberg. So nice to meet you. She held out her hand and the sick girl took it and stood up. Would you like to follow me.

Ms Lindberg glanced at Holly, who was sure the look said, following her is the last thing I want to do. But she did and the door to the meeting room opposite closed behind them.

Holly sat and waited for her own call, concerned for the girl and quietly glad she did not suffer from nerves in the same way.

Inside two minutes the meeting room door opened and Ms Lindberg came out holding a waste paper bin, steadied by the interviewer woman who led her to the waiting area.

Sit here for a minute and I’ll sort out a room for you... or would you rather go home now?

I do want to go home... thanks.

Of course, I’ll call you a taxi. The woman walked down the corridor.

She sat hunched forward in her seat, face in her cupped hands, her blonde hair falling either side. Can’t believe I actually threw up in my interview.

Oh no! That’s awful. Holly went to sit next to her.

She asked me if I would be comfortable working in a currently all-male environment and I went yurgh!... in that. She nodded at the bin on the floor in front of her.

Holly winced and put a consoling hand on her shoulder blade. Horrible. Do you live far?

Marylebone. A single muffled word, spoken through her hands.

Oh! That’s not too far.

Feels like a thousand fucking miles.

Holly rubbed the back of her shoulder and thought about the situation. Would you like me to come with you, to see you get home OK?

Ms Lindberg sat up and let her hands drop, her straggled hair still mostly covering her face, but Holly could just see her eyes, baggy and bloodshot, peering at her through the flaxen strands. Yes. Yes please. Would you mind?

No, of course not, if I can help.

What about your interview?

I dunno... I’ll ask them if I can postpone and come back later. I’ll give the excuse of a mission of mercy.

OK, yes. You’re very kind.

. . .

Wow! You live here? The taxi pulled up outside a nineteen-thirties mansion block and Holly surveyed the ornate red brick luxury apartment building with not a little awe.

The sick woman had rested her head on Holly’s shoulder throughout the ten-minute trip and now lifted it to follow her gaze. Huh. It was just about an affirmative. Let’s go.

Holly took her arm as they walked up a short flight of steps, through revolving doors into a foyer.

Good morning, Mrs Lindberg. The concierge observed from behind the marble reception station as she made her way past, supported by Holly. His tone betrayed what Holly thought was a faintly knowing insolence, like he’d seen all this before.

No, it’s not and fuck you too. Lindberg said it under her breath for Holly to hear.

At the seventh floor, the lift opened onto a landing that presented three front doors and Mrs Lindberg fumbled for her key.

Let me do that. Holly took the key and let them into a square hallway inside the flat.

The blonde girl looked quickly at Holly and indicated a slightly open door to the right. Bedroom, I think.

If you’ll be OK now, I should go and let you go to bed. If you sleep, you’ll probably feel better.

No. She took her hand. Stay for a while, just to settle me in.

She opened the door and Holly followed her into a large room with three large classic Art Deco windows that flooded the room with light and gave a view onto trees at the rear of the apartment block. Holly stood and slowly took in the room, moving her eyes left to right. Against the far wall was the largest bed she’d ever seen. It was unmade, the sheets a tangled mess and most of the pillows on the floor. In a doorway opening onto what looked like a dressing room, she could see a blouse caught and rucked under the door and what may have been underwear strewn inside, just visible from her position. A dressing table stood against another wall, its mirror cracked diagonally and the contents that presumably normally lived on its surface were scattered across the floor, perfume bottles leaking liquid and lipstick crushed into the pale carpet. A chair lay with its legs outstretched towards them in the centre of the detritus. In the middle of the room there was a bottle of what looked like bourbon on its side that had also emptied some of its contents into the carpet. A glass full of – she assumed - bourbon stood intact next to it.

The pièce de résistance of the mad tableau was a large pizza, topping-side down, next to the bed with a perfect footprint crushed from its middle into the carpet.

Holly glanced at Mrs Lindberg standing next to her, who was also surveying the room, a look of mild surprise on her visage.

Lindberg glanced back and, seeming to think a response was required said, Hmm, I do remember being in a hurry this morning. She walked over to the bed and looked down at the pizza and muttered, Jesus Christ! Putting her arm across her stomach and swallowing two or three times in an effort to control her mutinous gut, she addressed the mashed remains of the pizza. You can fucking get under there, and then she kicked most of it under the bed with the toe of her trainer, wrinkling her nose in disgust. Looking back at Holly, she said as an explanatory afterthought, The cleaner comes in the afternoon.

Trainers? thought Holly, noticing them for the first time. She went to an interview in a very short party dress and trainers? Really?

Lindberg pulled off each shoe with the toe of the other foot, reached behind her to unzip her dress and pulled it from the bottom upwards over her head. Letting it drop to the floor, she stood in bra and pants, then sat on the bed and slid her legs under the tangle of bedclothes, dropping sideways to rest her head on a pillow. You know, I think I might actually want to die.

Holly stood by the door for a few moments more, then walked over to the bed to study its condition. She pulled the ruck of sheets and blankets off the girl lying half underneath them, which immediately brought a protest. Leave me alone... whoever you are. I have to sleep now.

Yes, Mrs Lindberg, I will. Once I’ve sorted you out, I’ll let you sleep... or die if you prefer.

The girl gave a snort of disgust, but didn’t move.

She shook the sheet free of tangles and spread it over the girl on the bed, then did the same with a blanket, bringing it up to her neck. Then she brought a plastic-lined bin from the bathroom, emptied the contents out onto the floor and set it down next to the bed. In case you need to...

OK. OK. Can I sleep now?

Holly nodded and rolled her eyes. Yes. Don’t get up. I’ll see myself out.

Are you going?

Uh-huh. If that’s all you need from me, I’ll let you sleep off your... nerves. She sounded sarcastic and peevish.

You can stay. The girl looked up at her