Party Girl at Heart

by Karen Elaine Campbell

  As Imogen’s eyebrows hit her hairline Crystal continued, “I have a funny feeling there’s a problem with the fish too, they were looking a bit green around the gills this morning, I do hope they’re not coming down with some dreadful pond disease or something. As I said the other day, I don’t know much about tropical fish. I’m really not convinced that they were the best choice for the remodelled kitchen after all.”

  Anything Imogen had been about to say was swiftly drowned out as her gran and a couple of the bridge club ladies spilled through the door of the anteroom and out into the hallway.

  “Ooh, cream cake, that’s one of my favourites.” Betty smiled as she relieved Crystal of the container. “You are a good girl, taking time out to make us all such lovely cake, I know how busy you are, what with work and all.” As she mentioned the latter, she looked disdainfully at Imogen and gave a ladylike sniff.

  “Where’s the Pimms?” Imogen hissed, as she realised that there was only one box.

  Crystal cursed. Drat, she’d put the enormous 2.5 litre flask down on the floor in the bathroom while she’d been rearranging her hair, she’d completely forgotten about it as she’d become more interested in her appearance. She screwed her nose up. “Bathroom floor,” she announced baldly.

  Two spots of colour stained Imogen’s pale face, as she realised that her grand new gesture had been scuppered before it had begun. “You did that on purpose,” she declared loudly. “You left it behind on purpose.”

  “No I did not,” Crystal retorted, squaring her shoulders and chin up, ready for a fight.

  Gran had been standing back to one side, watching her granddaughter, and taking in the changed appearance. What was behind this latest move then? She stepped into the fray, “No problem,” she announced in a tone that brooked no argument. “We are not accustomed to alcohol at this time of the day anyway.” She turned soothingly towards Imogen, “We have a small tea party arranged for this-afternoon, the Pimm’s will be very welcome there, as will you too Imogen. I’m sure you will be available to drive on over to Crystal’s house and pick up the missing refreshment later today, when you’ve finished here, won’t you?”

  When Imogen looked like she would argue, Hetty continued, “If you’re free, of course? I know how busy you are these days?” Without giving Imogen any time to respond, she continued, “You seem to be settling into village life very well, how is that nice new house of yours coming along, my dear?”

  Crystal beat a hasty retreat. Good old Gran, a skilled and accomplished diplomat, when the occasion demanded it. She left them to it and retreated to the sanctuary of the ante-room, she’d known many of the Bridge Club ladies for most of her life, it seemed. As she passed the large mirror in the hallway a tall, willowy figure in sky high boots and a hot pink top and jeans stared back at her, jaunty spiral bound white blonde hair caught up on one side and trailing in a riot of curls half-way down her back, almost unrecognisable from the dowdy creature in the iced green trouser suit who had walked into her kitchen this morning.

  Today was the day for things to change around here, of that she was certain.

  Chapter

  2

  THE ANNOUNCEMENT

  Crystal opened her eyes for the umpteenth time and stared dry-eyed at the bedroom ceiling, her ears straining to pick up the sound of movement in the spare bedroom, it was no good, she decided, this would not wait any longer.

  With reserves of strength that she hadn’t even known she possessed, she slipped naked from the big double bed and slid into her navy blue satin housecoat, the fabric was smooth and cool against her skin and she automatically pulled the material close against her so that it hugged her curves protectively. On legs that were a little wobbly, she padded silently down the hallway to the one and only guest room, pausing for a moment outside the bedroom door. Was Jazz awake, staring at the ceiling too, or had he merely drunk enough bourbon late last night to anaesthetise his feelings and allow him the comfort of a good night’s sleep?

  Either way, this argument could not be allowed to ruin their relationship, they needed to talk. She’d assumed that he would join her in bed last night, after tempers had frayed when she’d asked him about Verity’s letter. She had no idea that one simple question would cause so much upset.

  It had all started so innocuously. She’d merely mentioned losing her perfume and going off in search of it, and then the second that she’d mentioned the trunk, that had been it.

  The eyes that usually melted to warm steel and looked upon her with passionate intent, chilled to icy pinpricks of fury, his lips had set in an uncompromising line and he stood like a statue, all bristling energy and leashed anger.

  “Crystal, please do not tell me that you have been rifling through my things,” he’d enunciated clearly.

  Confused, Crystal had become tongue-tied and gauche, he always did that to her, when he was cross. “It’s only a chest,” she’d muttered, standing like a child with her hands behind her back and her chin tilted forwards, unwittingly projecting her chest out in an elementary gesture of defiance.

  Jazz’s eyes had flashed then, he wondered if she had any idea just how provocative she looked. He ground his teeth in frustration, probably not. The last subtle traces of her perfume infiltrated his senses and ignited a string of other, more basic images in his brain, he’d always loved that hot pink top and he could even guess what underwear would be nestling there, underneath it, hot pink too undoubtedly. It would be all soft and silky to the touch, like Crystal herself. He’d closed his eyes for a brief moment, then shaken his head slowly to clear his thoughts, no, she wasn’t getting past him with those tactics this time, he resolved; Imogen had been right, Crystal ran rings around him these days, she really did.

  “That chest is personal, private, mine.” He underlined each word with a pregnant pause for effect. “Stay out of my things,” he added for good measure, wincing as her jaw dropped an inch or so and confusion washed across her face.

  Bewildered, Cystal had simply asked, “Why?”

  “Has it ever occurred to you, madam, that you’re not my keeper, and there are some things between a man and a woman that should remain private,” he’d barked back, infuriated with himself for allowing this situation to develop. He should have burned that letter the day that it arrived.

  Private, really? That was a bizarre concept, stunned, Crystal’s mind had raced back to the early days of their relationship where each of them had investigated every inch of the other and then some, in rapturous delight. How could there be any mystery or insecurity, after that? She’d have sworn that she knew this man well, that there were no skeletons or secrets held between them, well not until she’d opened the trunk, anyhow. Now she wasn’t so sure. What was he hiding, what was going on with Verity, she had a right to know, didn’t she?

  She’d stuttered, “Private, what sort of private?”

  “The sort of private that says those things are mine, they’re not to be tampered with, touched or investigated, Crystal. That sort of private,” he’d spoken calmly, courteously and icily; the tone that he used for other people – those who annoyed him – not the indulgent tone that he usually reserved especially for her. This was a new Jazz, the one that she’d always known existed, but the one that he kept firmly in check, the one that was never, ever, unleashed upon her.

  Her eyes had flooded then, and she’d wondered what she’d done. She should demand an answer, right here: right now, ‘go on ask him’ a small voice at the back of her brain insisted, ‘there are things that you need to know’. Crystal took a deep breath and frowned, Jazz was her partner, her mate and her lover and if he’d been harbouring secrets then it was time to unearth the ghosts of the past and lay them to rest, once and for all. She was not naive these days, nor blind. She knew that Verity had always been there, in the shadows, waiting for Jazz to notice her. She’d lingered on his every word for a while, but when it had become clear that he had eyes only for Crystal, she’d not hung around moping, she’d mo
ved on, or so Crystal had thought. Insecurity danced at the fringes of her mind, what tactics might Verity employ, to get what she wanted? Why contact Jazz now though, why not four years ago, what was going on?

  “I didn’t read Verity’s letter, you know,” she started to explain.

  “Verity’s letter, my God, you are a little snoop, aren’t you? What else did you find in that trunk?” He’d demanded, incensed. So, she really had found the letter then, blast, blast, blast, what a bloody idiot he was. He ran a hand through his hair and scratched at the back of his head, spearing her with one of his mercurial stares. He really had to know what Crystal had been up to, she’d tell him if he turned up the heat. He was well aware that what he was doing was really cheap, he’d never employed boardroom tactics in his private life before, but he really needed to know what she had been doing. He moved a few inches closer and pinned her with his most demonic stare, almost without volition his hand raised and his fist closed over a hank of her hair. It felt warm and yielding in his hands as he pulled her closer; it was nearly his undoing.

  Crystal followed his lead, and gulped at the expression in his eyes, he was deadly serious. She wasn’t frightened, she had no reason to be, but apprehension coiled in her stomach, they’d played this game before, the last time she’d blatantly disobeyed him. All he had to do was grasp a handful of her hair, and she’d tell him anything, everything. Her thoughts went haywire and common sense fled as he pulled her in close, close enough for her to feel his breath on her cheek. She couldn’t help it, her hormones hit high alert as her brain slammed into the front of her skull and her mind shut down. “N… n… n… nothing,” she stuttered, mortified. What was the question? She gazed up into his closed face and shuttered expression with wide, unblinking eyes as she tried and failed to work out what was going on. What else had he been hiding in that trunk? If he didn’t let go of her hair soon, she’d not be responsible for her actions. She ran her tongue over the inside of her lips, trailing the pink tip delicately over her top teeth, tasting the saltiness of one lone tear hovering at the corner of her lips.

  His eyes followed her every movement, and he realised that he was losing his grip, if she didn’t stop doing that thing with her tongue right now, there would be a very different outcome to this interrogation. His brain fogged as his senses took over, he could almost taste her mouth yielding under his own.

  Crystal watched his pupils dilate and remembered that this game worked both ways, he’d tell her what was in that trunk, if she asked him nicely. She put a hand out to touch the warm corded muscles of his forearm, a purely comforting gesture, “Jazz, whatever is eating at you, we can talk about it,” she started. “Whatever you’ve done…”

  The second that her skin touched his he jumped as if burned and shook her free, letting go of her hair in a reflex action, “Let go,” He instructed, “I can’t think with you this close.”

  He moved a step away and took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest, so much for the tactical advantage. He didn’t think Crystal had read the letter though, she’d have told him by now if she had. The smell of her was still tantalisingly close, teasing him, enveloping his senses and reminding him why she was his soul-mate, like no other. He wanted to pull her down onto the floor and kiss her into submission, make the whole sorry mess disappear, but reluctantly he did neither, he couldn’t. His jaw set a little firmer, but eventually he answered her. “Go to bed, Crystal,” he insisted as he reached for the decanter which held the bourbon on the sideboard. “We’ll discuss this in the morning, you’re obviously overwrought and imagining things. There is nothing to worry about, there’s nothing in the letter that concerns you and I don’t expect to hear from Verity again, it’s old history and nothing to do with our relationship now; you’ll just have to trust me. I’m sorry that I over-reacted, I just like my privacy and I consider it a grave breach of trust that you would poke through my things whilst I’m not here, that’s all,” he offered in a belated attempt at appeasement.

  As she stood there, her face flushed pink and her expression confused, he’d turned calmly and rationally to order, “Move Crystal, go to bed.” He didn’t look at her, he couldn’t. He knew that he was behaving like a boorish clod, he knew he should sweep her into his arms and kiss away the uncertainty that etched her features, but he couldn’t; there was too much at stake. Instead, he picked up the decanter and began to pour the amber liquid into one of the many fine crystal glasses, admiring the way that the powerful spirit pooled and swirled in the goblet, enhanced by the flickering light of the fire in the open grate.

  When Crystal dithered by the sofa, unwilling to let the subject drop, he flicked her a stout glance from under his lashes and added more quietly, his expression verging on tender, “Go to bed, Crystal. Now, before one of us says something we will both regret.”

  Dismissed like an errant child, the tears ran unchecked down her cheeks as she catapulted herself face down onto the big double bed that they shared. Eventually, she’d removed her clothes and slid in between the cool cotton sheets, waiting for her lover to come to bed. It would all be alright, when he came to her tonight, they’d sort this out, she told herself, they would be able to resolve their differences, if not right now, then over the course of time. Whatever was causing Jazz to behave in this obtuse manner could be overcome. It was just a matter of timing and having faith in their relationship. They’d survived this far, they would see this through, together. Verity’s cat green eyes and satisfied smile was the last thing on her mind, as she finally slipped into an uneasy and fitful sleep.

  So, here she was some time before dawn, standing outside the guest room door, knees knocking and trying to envisage what she should do next. It was all well and good taking the tiger by the tail, but one should at least have some idea what to do with the other end, the bit with the teeth in, so as to speak, before one even attempted to broach the gap.

  Where would she start?

  “If you’re coming in, Crystal, make it quick. You know how I feel about vestal virgins,” Jazz quipped from the other side of the door.

  Crystal jumped at the sound of her name. How had he known she was there, standing out in the corridor, wondering what to do next? His voice was thick with the last traces of sleep, had she awoken him? She didn’t know, but she was certainly a lady to take advantage of an opportunity, especially where Jazz was concerned, if he was half-asleep and teasing then this was the right time to corner him. She pushed the door open without any other thought.

  Jazz was naked, outside of the covers; it looked as if he’d had a difficult night. The bedding was screwed up in a wrinkled ball, as if he’d been wrestling with the covers or his conscience for quite some time.

  The thought gave Crystal some consolation; he seemed more approachable now laid out there in front of her, still clearly sinew and muscle but with just a shred less arrogance in the early morning light. Her heart flipped and her stomach twisted, she’d instigated this, it was time to get some answers.

  As she entered the room he moved an inch sideways on the narrow single bed. “There’s not much room, in here, we may have to bunk up,” he growled, as he patted the tiny strip of bare mattress beside him.

  Crystal locked her gaze with his own, chin up, and moved further into the room. Some things didn’t need words at all, and she knew exactly what to do now. He wanted her and she wanted him; it was a start, the rest they could discuss in the morning. He’d asked her to trust him, and she supposed that she’d have to, for the time being. She moved like an automaton, body already pliant and willing. They would work this thing out, together, nothing could separate them, certainly not ghosts from the past.

  On the other side of town, Bernard was also having a very fraught night. Not for the same reasons as Crystal and Jazz, he and his wife Maude had been married getting on for fifty years now, they knew everything there was to know about each other and they’d slain their demons long ago. Bernard was having a fitful night because Maude had insisted o
n bringing the new puppy upstairs to the bedroom. He had remained downstairs with his dad last night, but that had caused Maude to spend the whole night running up and down the stairs at regular intervals to ‘check’ on them both. Duke, or Marmaduke to give him his full grown up name, was shaping up quite well, under the circumstances.

  Fluffy had taken quite a dislike to the small puppy the first time they’d been introduced. Maude had expected Marmaduke’s dad to have an instant bond with his offspring but no, it appeared that nature didn’t always work that way.

  The whole new puppy ‘idea’ had started off so promisingly; her Fluffy had only been introduced to Fi-Fi on the one occasion, and he’d immediately sired a whole litter of puppies. Bernard had agreed that they should forgo the stud fee in exchange for ‘first pick’ of the litter for Fluffy’s services and once Fi-Fi had produced a litter of five beautiful puppies, Bernard and Maude had been invited over to meet the new arrivals and take their pick. They had both loved Marmaduke on sight and he’d been their first choice.

  In truth Maude wasn’t too sure about the name; she was intending to call him ‘Duke’ when Bernard wasn’t around. It was the only thing they’d really argued about, the name. Since Bernard had allowed her to name Fluffy, and had been distinctly unimpressed with her choice, he had insisted on selecting something ‘more manly’ for the new puppy himself. He still wouldn’t call Fluffy by his given name, even now. He said it was demeaning for a male dog to have such a sissy name, Maude knew that he called him Ralphie when she was out of earshot, because everyone else in the village called her Fluffy ‘Ralphie’ too.