Free Katy Carter Keeps a Secret by Ruth Saberton Page A

with Tansy. That way we can have some time together later.”
    Well, I’m not going to argue with this. Three days sitting at my laptop dreaming up steamy scenarios for Alexi and Lucinda have left me very hot under the collar and some time together is exactly what I need! He can input data all afternoon if it means we get some quality time later on.
    Maddy’s comment about my being a passenger is in the back of my mind and Ollie is nervously relegated to co-driver while I take the wheel and steer us to Plymouth. Our car is a rather featureless Focus and I do miss the quirky little Beetle he owned for years. Still, there’s a lot to be said for not breaking down every five miles or being gassed by carbon-monoxide fumes. We sail along the A30 and over the Tamar Bridge, except for Ollie yelling “Stop!” when I’m so busy looking at the view I almost forget to brake at the toll barrier. Then we head into town. The car has more acceleration than I remember, and I have a lot of fun seeing how fast I can pull away at the traffic lights. Nowhere near as fast as Tansy in her Lotus but pretty good for me, I think – and everyone knows that speed cameras don’t really have film in them, do they?
    I hope not, anyway…
    “I feel like kissing the ground,” Ollie remarks when I pull up outside St Jude’s and he opens the door. “You’ve missed your vocation in Formula One, that’s for sure.”
    “Stop exaggerating and go and do some work,” I say, leaning across and kissing him goodbye.
    Leaving Ollie and his giant wheelie bag of work outside the side entrance, I pull away from St Jude’s. Unlike Tregowan Comp, which is situated slap bang in the middle of the local council estate, my boyfriend’s school is in a very smart residential area and at the end of a neat tree-lined drive. Not a scrap of litter or a scavenging seagull is to be seen and nobody’s graffitied the St Jude’s sign either. What kind of school is this? It’s so posh it’s making me nervous.
    I’m trying to recall how Ollie said to reach the Barbican from here (although it doesn’t help that I struggle with remembering my left and right), when a red car turns off the main road and into the school drive. It’s a very sexy convertible with the hood down on such a gorgeous day, and as it bowls past I can’t help but look – which I guess is the point of cars like this. Nobody does a double take at me in the Ford Focus. Well, not unless I cut them up at the roundabout. (That wasn’t strictly my fault, by the way; the road markings were very faint.) No, this is a sleek little number with a curvy bonnet and cheeky pop-up headlights, which is practically yelling look at me! So of course I look and, surprise surprise, it’s being driven by a glamorous blonde in giant sunglasses and wearing a black leather jacket.
    Wait a minute. I recognise that driver. I know I do! I last saw her at the St Jude’s staff Christmas dinner when she was poured into black velvet and wearing lipstick the exact colour of that car.
    It’s Carolyn Miles. What on earth is she doing here on a Saturday?
    Unless… unless…
    Unless she’s meeting Ollie?
    My brain has taken a few seconds to click into gear but now it’s made the connection it’s whizzing away. Has Ollie arranged to meet Carolyn at St Jude’s while I’m out of the way with Tansy?
    I go cold all over and a horrible churning sensation grips my stomach. I crane my neck to see over my shoulder and, sure enough, the car is pulling up outside the school and a pair of long, denim-clad legs are stretching out as Carolyn uncoils herself from the low-slung seat.
    Bugger. I haven’t imagined it. She really is here, on a Saturday, in an empty school where my boyfriend is supposed to be working.
    Supposed to be working ? Is that what I really think? I’m horrified with myself. I trust Ollie one hundred percent! Of course I do. Over the past few days I’ve managed to convince myself I’m being ridiculous and paranoid