Title: Much Ado About Something 1/3
Summery: The Home Secretary's recently divorced daughter is on the prowl again. She's decided she wants her third husband to have a title and Sir James Lester has no other option than to fight fire with fire.
Spoilers for series 1-3.
Rating: T and M in chapter 2.
Disclaimer: I don't own Primeval
Words: 4,966
A/N: This plot bunny hopped into my brain and I had to get it out. I'd like to thank the lovely Fredbassett for beta'ing this for me. All remaining mistakes are totally my own.
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James Lester paced around his flat and glared at the innocuous theatre tickets that were lying on the counter. One of the Diictodons barreled into the room and butted up against his shin. He glanced down at the little green animal that he'd inherited.
"What do you want?" he asked crossly. Sid bounced off his leg with more enthusiasm. "I've already fed you once!" The terrier-sized creature wasn't appeased. James cursed and went into the kitchen. "You're spoilt," he grumbled at the silly creature.
Sid very pointedly watched while James start to pour more mixed vegetables into their food bowls before he started the particular trilling that meant dinner was served, again. It drew Nancy out from whatever hole she was digging.
James watched them eating like they hadn't already demolished a pile of food two hours ago when he'd got home from work and realized he was delaying the inevitable.
The theatre tickets. Blasted, bloody theatre tickets.
Robert Jackson, the Home Secretary, and ultimately the person who Lester had to answer to, had given him one ticket after a meeting this afternoon along with an invitation to watch the premiere of 'Much Ado About Nothing' with his family. His family included his daughter Angelica. Twice divorced Angelica. Social climbing Angelica. Rumor had it that husband number one had been dropped for being in a dead end field and husband number two failed to be promoted fast enough. Man-eating Angelica.
Now she'd decided to skip straight to the top and had her eyes set squarely on Sir James Lester. Naturally, the Home Secretary hadn't said any of that when he'd issued the ticket and the invitation, hell, he was probably clueless to his daughter's designs. He had a blind spot when it came to the wench.
Robert Jackson doted on her. She was nearly forty and he still called her pumpkin. James had known, though, as soon as Jackson - his bloody boss - had asked him to join them on Friday night. He had dodged Angelica before, just before she'd met husband number one and again just before she'd wrangled husband number two. It was like dodging a particularly scary bullet.
On the surface both of her previous... victims... had looked as if they were going to be the next bright shining star of the civil service. After a few years it had become apparent that they weren't and she'd discarded them for someone better. The woman wanted a powerful man and when her doting father gave out a social invitation for only three days away, it was really clear that it wasn't his idea to begin with.
He knew how the social scene went. Caroline Jackson threw elaborate dinner parties and holiday parties and he had always received his invitation months in advance. Three days notice? This wasn't either of the more senior family member's idea.
James was wishing now that he'd turned him flat down instead of making up that stupid lie. How was he supposed to know that it was for a box? He thought back to the moment in the Minister's office when he'd very politely declined the theatre invitation with what he'd thought was the perfect excuse.
"I'm dreadfully sorry but I'm seeing someone and she's been pestering me to take her to that very play. If I see it on the opening night before her then it will cause all manner of drama." Perfect excuse right? How the hell was he supposed to know it was for a box and not just a single extra ticket?
Jackson had assured him it was fine for him to bring a date and he'd have another ticket to his bloody box sent around before the day was out. Bloody hell. So now he had to turn up with a date. Not just any date either. He knew what he had to do if he was going to survive this without risking losing his job or his bachelorhood. Bloody, bloody hell.
James was a bureaucrat with a gift. He knew he was going to have to fight fire with fire. He poured himself a stiff drink and contemplated his enemy, Angelica Jackson. He had first been introduced to her at the Jackson's Christmas party about fifteen years ago. Angelica was just getting out of school then and he was starting to really be moved up the civil service ladder.
She had chatted to him during the party for a while before being distracted by a slightly more handsome man who was making big noises about software and microchips. He had some theory about miniaturization that hadn't panned out before those American companies had taken over the computer scene.
When her first husband crashed and burned she dumped him and set out after number two. James tried to avoid her but the social circle they ran in was very small and he could tell she was trying to make a play for him. Even if she hadn't been his boss's daughter he wouldn't have had anything to do with her.
From her bleached-blonde hair to her pouty, botoxed face her whole life was dedicated to digging her claws into a rich powerful man and he had the misfortune to fit the description. She'd probably gotten her latest divorce petition and made a list of all the men she could chase at the same time. Single. No kids. Rich. Powerful. Title. It was probably a short list and unfortunately, his name was right at the top.
There were only two possible women he could take with him that might possibly succeed in running Angelica off without him being sacked for offending the boss's spoiled daughter. He couldn't decide which was the worse option.
Jenny Lewis could do it. She could pull it off, forceful woman that she was. If he showed up with Jenny on his arm then Angelica would have to move on to the next man on her list. The extreme downside was that he'd have to call Jenny.
She'd ask how the team was and he'd have to tell her that Sarah was dead. They had buried her in the same cemetery as Stephen and Cutter. Connor, Abby and Danny were lost through the anomalies into the world inhabited by the future predators and were probably dead.
The ARC had been shut down. All the creatures with the exception of the pets he had at his flat had been moved to a private research facility and he had no idea or way of finding out if they were even still alive.
The only one left was Captain Becker and his way of dealing with his survivor's guilt was to request and receive a six month combat tour in Afghanistan. Now he was chasing insurgents instead of dinosaurs which was probably safer.
James had argued against all of that but his opinion at that juncture had carried very little weight. Now he was supervising a project to predict solar flares and using the atmospheric interference to hack spy satellites. No, calling Jenny was out of the question and that left the only other woman he knew that could possibly back Angelica off. If she didn't just laugh herself hysterical first.
He picked up his phone and looked at it. He had her number in his contacts, so if she ever called him he would know. He had never actually dialed it. If only he could call Jenny!
Before he could talk himself out of it he hit dial. After it rang twice he started to be hopeful that she wouldn't answer. He'd barely had that thought before she did answer.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Christine. It's James Lester."
"Yes?" The last time he had seen her was during her abortive attempt to take back the mysterious woman Quinn had kidnapped. The woman, who had turned out to be Helen, had turned the tables and taken her hostage, then kicked her out of the truck as soon as she was clear of the ARC. Becker's men had found her cursing by the side of the road and picked her up.
"I was wondering if I could talk to you?" Damn his nerves!
She sounded amused. "You're talking to me now, James."
"I mean in person."
"So call my office, make an appointment." She clearly did not grasp the gravity of the situation.
He winced. "It's personal. I mean, can I come to talk to you tonight?"
There was silence for a moment. "I confess I'm intrigued." She named a little Italian place that wasn't that far away. "I haven't had dinner yet, you can meet me there if you like."
"This won't take long, I just have to, oh damn, it's complicated." He cursed as he fumbled for the words.
She laughed at him.
"So I'll see you there then?"
"Yes."
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She was already there when he arrived. He spotted her at a table waiting for him when he walked in. James actually looked past her then back again. She had her hair down, and was wearing a simple green dress with muted splashes of blue and purple across it. It was such a far cry from the severe business suits he normally saw her in that if she hadn't looked at him, he wouldn't have known it was her.
He tried to pretend he'd recognized her right away and slid in across from her.
"James." She greeted him with that little smile. The smile he had learned to be highly suspicious of. The smile that said she knew something he didn't and he was going to be ever so cross when she finally let him find out. "It's been a while. Two months almost."
"Christine." Damn but he was uncomfortable. "Yes. It has."
The waitress coming by to take their drinks order interrupted their stilted conversation. Calmly, without a trace of nerves or tension, Christine ordered a glass of wine. James ordered a soda and wished he could have a stout shot of scotch to go with it right about now.
She waited until the waitress left before she asked her question. "What's all this about? I heard that they closed the ARC. I thought that was a very poor decision."
"Yes, it was," he agreed with her instantly. It wasn't like the anomalies were just going to stop happening.
She seemed to be waiting for something. "So...?"
"So what?"
She rolled her eyes. "So why do you want to speak to me in person?"
He looked everywhere but at her. "It's awkward, but if you help me I'll owe you a big favor."
She seemed interested. "How big?"
"Huge. Enormous." He couldn't believe he was actually going to do this.
"What's going on?"
James actually bit his lip before he started speaking. "Do you know Angelica Jackson?"
"I've had the pleasure." Suddenly it was clear that Christine had a vague idea of where this was going. "Why exactly? Don't tell me you have the bad sense to date that woman. I always thought you were smarter than that!"
"I am smarter than that!" James snapped, "She's after me and I've got myself in some trouble." He explained about the theatre tickets and the lie he had told his boss. They had placed their dinner orders before he had finished explaining it all. She had the sheer gall to laugh at him again when he finished fumbling his way through it.
Annoyed, James said, "Fine then, don't help me. I'll just tell him I've got flu or something." That would only delay the inevitable. Angelica would find some other reason to corner him and he would have to be blunt with her and then she'd cry to her daddy and then he'd get sacked-
"James, are you seriously asking me - me who tried and succeeded to get you thrown out of your own project - to pretend to be your girlfriend?"
He said sharply, "You only succeeded for a day and I haven't got anyone else." Damn, here came the sucking up. "You've met Angelica. You know what she's like. The only way I'm going to get her away from me is if someone scarier than she is convinces her I'm taken."
"I'm scary? You want me to convince her that my claws are sunk into you? It'll never work. Her daddy will never believe it."
"He will if we convince him that our feuding was just unresolved sexual tension," James countered. He had actually thought about this on the drive over.
"No, I mean he won't believe it because you can't do it." She reached across the table and stroked his hand for a second. Shocked, he jumped a little and pulled back from her. "See? You'd never act like that if we were really dating. Anyone could look at us and see we're not dating."
"You startled me, that's all," he denied it and let his competitive side rise to the surface. He demanded, "Do it again."
Her lips twitched up in what might have been a tiny smile, but she reached out again and took his hand. He remained impassive. She rolled her thumb over the back of his hand and gently caressed it.
"It's not going to work. You're still tense, and you're not reaching for me."
"I beg your pardon?"
"If we were really together then you wouldn't just let me fondle your hand, you'd reach for me as well. Haven't you ever had a girlfriend?"
"I've had girlfriends!" he defended himself with a bit more vigor than necessary to cover up that she was right. About not reaching for her, not about having girlfriends. He'd dated before. He'd even been married. True, that had ended in a nasty divorce five years ago but it wasn't like he was fumbling teenager.
"James, I've spent my whole life in MI6. I know how to go undercover as someone's significant other and I'm telling you that even if I did help you, you'd give it away."
"Please, Christine," he nearly begged. "I'm out of options here."
She thought about it. "Unless..."
"Unless what? I'll do almost anything if you help me get Angelica off my back." He was well aware he could really regret that offer but he couldn't think of anything worse that Angelica at that particular moment.
She looked him dead in the eye. "If they ever restart the ARC then you hire me to work there."
That wasn't what he was expecting. "What? I highly doubt they'll do that, and if they do my entire team was killed or lost. I won't be in charge."
"Yes, you will. I killed a lot more people than you did researching the anomalies, that won't be a factor." She looked deadly serious. "That's my price. I want your word that when it starts again I'm a part of it."
That was it. His deal with the chestnut-haired devil. They were never going to let him near any anomaly project in the future. What the hell. "Agreed."
Christine grinned. "Now we have to practice."
"Okay. What did you have in mind?"
"Tell me about yourself. Things a girlfriend would know. What side of the bed do you sleep on?"
He sputtered and nearly snorted soda out of his nose. "I doubt that's going to come up in conversation!"
"You never know. Fine, we'll play twenty questions. How many brothers and sisters do you have?"
That was a much better topic. "Two. One older brother that lives in Hong Kong and a sister that lives in Surrey with her husband and two kids."
"Do they have names?"
He demurred. "I believe it's my turn to ask the next question, if my memory of this childish game is accurate. How many and what are the names of your siblings?"
Christine arched an eyebrow at him but conceded the point. "None. Only child."
"That will be easy enough to remember. My brother's name is Max, he's divorced and my sister is Heather, her husband's name is Louie and the kids are John and Michael. John's twelve and Michael is nine. Your turn."
She pondered her next question briefly. "Do you dance?"
"I haven't in a long time but it has been known to happen." That was out of the blue. "Where did you grow up?"
"All over the world. My parents were both career diplomats. I went to thirty-one different schools before university."
"Where do they live now? Oh sorry, it's your turn."
She stayed on the same family theme. "What about your parents?"
"My father passed away some years ago and I lost my mother two years ago."
Christine nodded. "I'm sorry to hear that. I lost my own parents not that long ago." She seemed to get morose for a second before shaking it off and searching for a complete change of topic. "Were you surprised by the results of the last election?"
James raised an eyebrow at her potentially controversial question and smoothly replied, "Not at all, anyone who had been paying attention..."
It was almost ridiculous how easily they segued into casual chatter about politics and world events. They actually held nearly the same views on most major topics. She was clever, which he already knew, but she had a good sense of humor and even cracked a joke about herself doing the Walk of Shame out of the ARC. James was surprised by how much time had passed when the waiter came around again and asked if they had saved room for dessert.
He turned the waiter down and Christine followed suit. "Here's your bill then, there's no rush at all." The waiter said as he laid the bill on the table, at James's elbow.
Christine smirked at him from across the table. "We can start that fake dating now with you picking up the tab." Her eyes danced with mirth at him.
"Asking him to split it would only ruin the mood."
James didn't argue with her, it wasn't that much money anyway. "Naturally." He laid enough cash on the table to cover the bill along with a generous tip. "So I'll pick you up on Friday, then?"
"Not so fast." Christine gathered up her purse as she stood up. "We've got to start a lot sooner than that."
"What?"
She sighed at him for being such a typically obtuse male. "I'll show you when we're outside."
Unsure of her intentions, he trailed behind her out of the little restaurant. "What are you talking about?"
The cool night air swirled around them as she led him a little way away from the entrance towards the car park. "You've got to come over to my house, and I've got to come over yours and spend a bit of time there."
Confused, he asked, "Why?"
Christine rolled her eyes like he had just said something really daft, "James, you are a grown man. If we were really dating then I would have spent lots of time at your house." She grinned. "Are you certain you've had girlfriends before? You don't seem to understand how this goes."
"I've had girlfriends!" He glanced about to make sure no one was about to hear this insane conversation. "I didn't think it was going to be this complicated to fake a date."
"I can fake a date just fine."
James was tempted to ask what else she had experience of faking but he bit the words back.
She spoke hastily to cut him off before he could frame the question. "You're the one who's stiff as a board."
To prove it, she leaned into his personal space and slid her arm up his shoulder, just one move away from pulling his head down for a kiss. He stiffened up briefly.
"I might describe you as frigid..."
The baleful look he shot her did nothing to suppress her amusement. "James, just trust me. Jackson hates my guts in no small part because of you. If we do this then it has to work. I'll be in just as much trouble as you will be if any of them work this out."
He didn't bother pointing out that the words that came out of her mouth were entirely her own fault. She continued, "You have to relax. I'll come over tomorrow night and we'll spend some time together. If you stiffen up when our hands brush then even if Jackson doesn't notice, I guarantee that Angelica will."
It did make sense. "Fine. Tomorrow night." He sighed and looked around. "Where's your car?"
"I walked. I live a few blocks that way." She pointed vaguely down the road. The dark and not all that well lit road. He vetoed that idea right away.
"You've been drinking. Let me drive you home."
"It's not that far. I walk when I eat and drink here all the time." Playfully she swatted at his arm. "I'll be fine."
James looked her up and down. She looked completely stunning in that casual sundress and there was no way he was going to let her walk the dark streets back to her house. "It would completely ruin my plans if your luck runs out tonight," he said gruffly and took out his car keys. "I need to see where you live, anyway."
"Oh James, I didn't know you cared," she teased him while he actually opened the door for her to slide into his car.
He merely ignored her teasing, while he could. He had a sinking feeling she was going to enjoy the charade entirely too much.
She had been telling the truth about how close she lived. Four blocks down the road she directed him into a tidy little neighbourhood. This close to London the plots weren't huge but each house had a high stone wall at the back and a waist high, decorative wrought iron fence at the front. It was posh, but he hadn't expected her to live in anything else.
He pulled up in the driveway she pointed to, the house at the very end. "Thanks for the lift." Christine touched his arm and he jumped slightly. "James, I think this is going to be harder than I thought. I think you ought to come in for a while."
"Why?"
"Because you need some serious desensitising to being touched!"
He whipped his head around and looked at her like she had said she was going to molest him.
"I am seriously getting skeptical about your claims to previous girlfriends. Are you certain you don't bat for the other team? Was your ex-wife a cover?"
Outraged, he tried to deny it. "I-"
But she didn't let him and ploughed right over his objections. "It's okay if you do. Nobody cares any more," Christine tried to reassure him with a wicked grin. "I'm not going to touch you there." He gasped and she ignored it. "Come in and have a cup of tea with me."
For emphasis, she touched his arm again and he jumped even more. "James, you can't fake being my boyfriend if you don't relax."
Christine picked up her bag and opened her door, "Are you coming?"
He felt all his arguments collapse against the simple fact she was right. He rested his forehead against the steering wheel and said a brief prayer. Then something occurred to him. "Wait a minute," He got out and caught up with her, "You're faking being my girlfriend!"
She snorted as she unlocked her front door. "James, you're lucky to be fake-dating me."
He tried desperately to think of a come-back to that and ended up just making a strangled noise. She rolled her eyes and walked into the house, flipping lights on as she went. He looked around and took in the tidy surroundings. The front door opened up into a large living room/kitchen with only a bar separating them.
The whole place was decorated in earth tones, with cushions on the sofa and paintings on the walls in bright vivid colors for contrast. He felt comfortable immediately and then felt uncomfortable that he felt comfortable. Maybe she was right and that made him feel even more uneasy. He hated it when she was right.
Speaking of uneasy, while he had been checking out the room she was in the kitchen filling a bright blue kettle with water. "Do you have a preference for tea?"
"No, I'm not fussy. Whatever you have." He walked over and looked around her kitchen.
"Are you sure?" She tossed him an impish smile and flipped open a cupboard to reveal at least twenty different boxes of tea.
"Good grief," he said dumbly and cocked an eyebrow at her. "The supermarket doesn't have that much tea."
She shrugged. "I like a little variety."
"I don't care," James repeated and leaned against the counter. "What's your grand plan?"
"Easy. Simple. You said you dance. We'll dance."
"Dance?"
"Dance."
They chatted while waiting for the water to boil. He found out that she had been living there for nearly ten years. She only managed to get him to admit his last girlfriend had 'been a while back.' James had the sinking feeling that she would laugh at him some more if he admitted to not having had a date in the five years since his marriage disintegrated.
The whistling of the kettle interrupted their conversation. He watched as she deftly poured them both a cup of tea.
"Do you take anything with it? I have milk or honey," Christine offered.
The sheer oddness of sharing a late night cup of tea with his arch-enemy was keeping him off balance. Her basic civility was doing more to keep him from relaxing than her more usual behaviour of trying to screw up his life. "No thank you."
"Ready to dance?" she inquired while they waited for the tea to cool.
"As ready as I'm ever going to be." He felt more like he was going to his execution.
She blinked at him a few times before narrowing her eyes. "Rule one, shoes off."
"Why?"
"Because then you might relax a little." She kicked her own shoes off and left them lying near the couch on her way to the little stereo that was set up near the television. There was a tiny MP3 player hooked up to it.
James sighed in defeat and plopped down on the sofa to take his shoes off. His head shot up at the rap music that filled the air. Christine was bobbing her head along with it thoughtfully before noticing the look of terror on his face. She clicked to the next song. "That's a bit advanced for you..."
The next few songs on her play list didn't please her either. Finally she settled on something that wasn't a slow dance, but it wasn't fast enough to require any fancy footwork either. He was still sitting on the sofa.
"Come over here. You can't dance sitting down."
With about as much enthusiasm as a man going to his own funeral, he heaved himself up and walked over to where she waiting for him in the middle of the room.
She said with exaggerated patience, "Now to dance, you have to touch me."
Gruffly, he replied, "I know."
He reached out and very stiffly rested his hand on her hip while taking her other hand in his. They moved about two steps before she did a little wiggle so that his lower hand slid around to the small of her back. He raised an eyebrow but went with it.
She obviously liked to dance. He had to step up and lead or she would take over. That helped take care of some of his stiffness. It was the one time he got to be the boss without her crossing him. If he was being honest with himself -which he wasn't - he would admit that it did feel a bit nice to have a woman in his arms again, even if it was only for a ruse. As it was, he blamed his relaxation on the late hour.
They spun and twirled though a half a dozen songs before she pronounced him relaxed enough to leave. "I'm coming over to your house tomorrow night," Christine informed him while he was putting his shoes back on.
"Are we going to dance again?"
"No. We've got to do something else. You could make me dinner and we could watch a movie," she suggested slyly, probably to see his reaction.
He retorted instantly, "Or we could order takeaway." He wasn't cooking for her. No, no, no.
"Fine, then takeaway. I like Chinese."
"Any other special requests?"
"Not really. Just do whatever you would normally do if your girlfriend was coming over."
"Fine. Easy enough." Especially considering he could skip a few steps. Step one to be skipped, washing the sheets with lots of fabric softener. Step two to be skipped, dowsing the whole place in air freshener... this would be easy.
She had a very playful look in her eyes as she let him out of the door. If he didn't know better he would assume that she was planning something. What the hell was he thinking? He did know better. She was planning something. She was always planning something. He wondered what it could possibly be as he drove home.