Read Mr Right for the Night for Free Online

display. Match it with a catchy top.’
    Here we go again , Anna thought. ‘Do we have a catchy top?’
    June gave her a cold, hard stare. ‘I’ll leave it to you,’ she said frostily.
    ‘Bridget, can I have a word?’
    Bridget was one of the part-time girls. A pleasant, hard-working girl with bobbed brown hair and glasses. She hurried over to the desk looking terribly anxious.
    Anna gave her a huge smile. ‘Would you ever get a good spot in the window for that new flowery skirt – you know the hideous one with the flowers?’
    ‘Oh yes.’ Bridget nodded solemnly.
    ‘Maybe you could dress it up with one of our catchy tops?’ Anna said hopefully.
    ‘Catchy tops?’
    Anna was delighted to find Bridget looking as bewildered as she felt. ‘I trust you, Bridget.’ She gave her an encouraging wink.
    Oh the joys of delegation! Anna didn’t have time to be fretting over ridiculous-looking garments. It was mad putting stuff like that in the window. It would scare your granny so it would. If you put up a Pickpockets are Welcome sign, you’d probably draw in more punters. Anyway she had to sort out this whole mess she’d got herself into, namely Steve (or Stephan) and this mademoiselle from Paris. The more she thought about it, the more she wished she’d told him straightaway. That Claudine was coming this weekend. This weekend! The timing couldn’t be worse. If she didn’t tell him at all then he might go home to Kilkenny and Anna could answer the door and tell her he’d emigrated or something. Could she live with the guilt? Probably. Could she risk the fact that he might find out and hate her for ever? No. Then again, she’d be doing Claudine a favour.
    He wasn’t worthy of her love. Or a £159 return ticket. He’d cheated on her, for God’s sake. He’d do it again if Anna had anything to do with it .
    Claudine must be stopped. She mustn’t make that wasted journey. Anna would save her much heartache in the long run. God, could somebody please inspire her and tell her what to do?
     

CHAPTER SIX
    ‘Anna, we’ve got to talk.’ The familiar glint had disappeared from Steve’s dark eyes.
    ‘I know,’ she said, aware that the talk mightn’t be great fun. Men never wanted to talk. Unless of course it was trying to talk you into the sack. But, more often than not, when men tried to talk it usually meant they never wanted to talk again. To you. Or see you . . . Or snog you. Well, maybe snog you. Occasionally. If there was nobody else about. But only if you understood that the snog wasn’t going to lead to anything else. Anything more meaningful . ‘Okay, shoot,’ she told him.
    They were sitting in Steve’s flat, which was now significantly less inviting than it had been the night of the party. The expression on Kurt Curbain’s black and white face was painful. Probably as painful as the look she herself was sporting, Anna thought glumly.
    ‘Would you like a cigarette?’ He held out a near empty carton of Marlboro Lights.
    ‘No thanks,’ she shook her head, ‘I’ll probably need one more after the talk.’
    ‘Remember I told you about the girl in Paris?’
    ‘Vaguely,’ Anna sniffed. ‘As far as I remember you mentioned her the first night we met, but I don’t recall any reference after that.’
    ‘I’m sorry.’ Steve stared at the ground. He looked perfectly stunning tonight. And younger than usual, but perhaps that was just an illusion. ‘I’m racked with guilt.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘She’s coming to Dublin tonight.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘I only found out this evening. Apparently she rang on Wednesday but one of the nurses must have forgotten to give me the message.’
    ‘Oh.’ It was now Anna’s turn to feel guilty.
    ‘So . . . God, I hate doing this . . . but we can’t see each other again.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Do you hate me for doing this?’
    ‘No . . . but to be honest it’s a bit silly you telling me you can’t see me again when I live