Scandalous

by Martel Maxwell

  Max was aware that she was looking at his mouth all the time he spoke. She was inexplicably turned on and wanted to kiss him.

  He was wearing a dark blue, V-necked, fine-cashmere jumper and those baggy jeans again. Above his dark brown belt she caught a glimpse of his white boxers peaking out.

  Laughing, she said: ‘It’s perfect.’ And it was. Ciders with funny names behind the bar, a fire in the corner she could imagine burning and crackling on cold winter nights, round wooden tables crowded by the laughter of friends and clinking glasses. Stuff starchy Nobu. This was lovely.

  Max agreed when Luke suggested she try a pint of cider, which he promised was the best north of the Thames.

  Settling at a table, they toasted each other with their pints and drank.

  ‘Did you know,’ Max said, ‘it’s seven years of bad sex if you don’t look someone in the eye while saying cheers?’

  ‘That I did not know, Max.’

  They laughed and ordered hearty food and red wine, catching each other every now and then with a look of curiosity mixed with elation.

  Luke was eager to hear all about Max’s exploits and she laughed as he lapped up her stories of meeting Angelina Jolie, Tom Cruise, Sean Connery, Nicole Kidman.

  ‘The secret is not to be too impressed by the celebrities. Otherwise you’ll end up asking them what their favourite colour is, and who wants to read that? The cheekier the question, the better the story.’

  Max loved that every fibre of Luke was concentrated on her – his eyes were dancing as he took in her words and she could almost feel the warmth of his body pulling her in.

  Collecting her thoughts, she smiled. ‘Enough about me. What do you do?’

  And Luke told her all about his job, training to be a human-rights barrister. Max was impressed and had so many questions for him that Luke asked if this was an interview for the paper.

  ‘It sounds like you can really make a difference.’

  ‘It’s a slow process, but that’s the plan. To be honest I didn’t get the grades to study law so got a general business degree and went travelling. There were only so many bars I could work in in Australia before I realized I had to have a vocation, something to believe in. I’d got a decent degree – a 2:1 – so I was accepted on a fast-track legal course for graduates. Somehow I got through that – I treated studying like a full-time job and it meant more to me than it would have done when I was eighteen. And now I’m taking more exams to be a barrister.’

  ‘So you can be one of those guys with the funny wigs?’

  ‘Exactly, I get to play dressing-up every day.’

  Somewhere during their second bottle Max asked about his ex.

  ‘It all happened so recently. Surely you can’t be over her?’

  Luke took her hand. ‘I don’t want to sound like a shit. I’m not. But I was over her nearly a year ago. That’s when I should have ended it but I thought I had to ride it out, weather the storm, make her happy. Trust me. I’m ready to move on.’

  And somewhere during their slightly drunken conversation, Luke told Max he wanted an all-encompassing love. One that blew him away, made him want to be with that person every moment of every day.

  ‘My dad’s friend met a woman and proposed three days later,’ Max told him.

  ‘That’s it. That’s perfect.’

  Max agreed, with the qualification that three months might be spontaneous enough.

  As the bell rang for closing time, Max was determined to leave. You like him. A lot. So why be too accommodating on the first night? If he’s a keeper, it will be worth the wait and you don’t want him to think you put out on the first night. But Jesus, she wanted to rip his clothes off.

  ‘I should get a cab.’

  Luke stood up and lifted Max’s coat. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll help you get a car.’

  As they braced the chill of the first hint of autumn, Luke slipped his fingers through hers.

  Max’s thoughts raced – was this really happening? Did she feel more for this guy than all other men she had dated for six months? More than her first love, Alfie, when she was seventeen? She’d thought girls who gushingly told of how they ‘just knew’ from the start it was love were deranged psychos. And was she really wet just thinking about kissing him goodnight? The feeling of having a hot-water bottle stuck between her legs would indicate the affirmative.

  Luke turned to Max and looked at her. She didn’t know how long she had been staring at him.

  ‘I love the way you look at me,’ he told her.

  Pulling her to him, he placed a hand to the side of her face and kissed her tenderly for what seemed a millisecond. Sensing him pull away, Max wanted more and moved forward, seeking the warmth of his breath with hers. They lost each other in a deep, longing kiss.

  Max felt dizzy; everything was spinning when she pulled away.

  Well, well, well, Max thought. Luke Stirling. He’s the one for me. But shit, there was no getting away from the fact he was Lucy’s brother. How would she explain that one to Lucy? Or her mum and dad? But there was something incredibly right about being here with him.

  ‘It’s impossible to get a cab at this time of night round here. Do you mind a ten-minute walk to a taxi stand?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Max had a sudden craving for a cigarette – something that always came after a few drinks. Perhaps she should hold off. Luke might detest it. Hell, what was the point in being anything other than herself? Max had often thought that when you went out on a first date, you never met the real person – it was a projection of what the guy wanted you to believe he was. Only weeks, sometimes months, down the line did you glimpse the true man. They should come with a sign which reads: ‘This is not the real me. I will show you what a bastard I am on date number four.’

  ‘Do you mind if I have a cigarette?’

  ‘Not at all. Sometimes I have a cigar after dinner. Do you always smoke?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t enter my head unless alcohol is involved.’

  ‘Every night, then?’

  Max laughed as she rummaged around in her handbag for a lone cig she was sure she’d spotted earlier. Got it! It must have fallen out of a packet at some point.

  Fishing out a lighter, she lit it and inhaled deeply. Then grimaced. Yuck, her perfume must have leaked on to the cig. One more puff and it might taste better.

  ‘Eugh, it tastes of flowers,’ she told Luke, stubbing it out.

  Taking her hand once again, Luke clasped it tightly as they made their way to the main street. They settled into a comfortable silence, Max wondering how it was possible to feel so at ease so quickly.

  Shit, hold on… her legs felt unbelievably wobbly. She’d heard of going weak at the knees but her legs felt as though they were buckling under her. They were. Holy fuck, Max thought as her heart pounded against her chest. This isn’t right. ‘Luke –’ she started to say, but it was too late. Her mind went blank as she fell to the ground.

  GOTCHA!

  Robbie had booked dinner at the Peat Inn, a restaurant renowned locally and beyond for its Michelin-star-quality food and unpretentious surroundings. The fivesome nestled into snug chairs round a low oak table where Robbie ordered five vodka martinis.

  The place felt like a secret retreat in the heart of this beautiful countryside. It was surrounded by winding country roads with old-fashioned wooden bus stops sheltering women wearing headscarves and kind smiles.

  Robbie looked across at Lucy. Hartley was his best friend in the world and Bridget had come as a bitter disappointment. He despised her but of course said nothing for fear of upsetting Hartley – and after all, maybe he had got Bridget wrong. He had vowed to share his concerns should they ever get engaged, but thankfully that had never happened. Bridget represented everything he loathed: snobbery, fake concern for the environment and charities, and utter self-obsession. She masked this cleverly by acting sickly sweet around Hartley, fussing over him, making plans, buying him presents every time she shopped. But Robbie had seen t
hrough the facade and witnessed on more than one occasion the sharp end of her tongue. Once, during a skiing trip in Italy, he had overheard a phone conversation she’d had with her father and was disgusted by the way she spoke to him. As far as Bridget was concerned the man who afforded her pampered lifestyle had, it seemed, no right to an ounce of respect or gratitude from his spoiled daughter.

  So thank God for Lucy. He had just met her, but Robbie sensed she was worlds apart from Bridget. For starters, she didn’t look as harsh. Her features were as soft as Bridget’s were hard. Lucy was demure, almost shy, and yet full of grace and sexuality. Hartley was one lucky boy. Robbie was sure Lucy was altogether more gentle and genuine than Bridget. Though who wouldn’t have been?

  ‘So, tell me,’ Robbie addressed Lucy, taking a glug from his drink, ‘do you have any beautiful single friends you can introduce me to?’

  Lucy smiled. Genevieve? She could think of nothing worse than going on double dates with these warm, welcoming people and her boss, full of questions about who was who, what new places the royals were hanging out in. She could think of other girlfriends she would far rather see Robbie with. Then again, what harm was there in setting him up on a date with Genevieve? If he hated her, there would be no repeat. But then again, that might turn her neurotic boss against her, and she would be back collecting the skinny lattes before she knew it.

  ‘I can think of a couple.’

  Claudia, a quiet girl who seemed constantly to be preparing to speak but rarely did, joined in. Lucy recognized her from the day she met Bridget at Ascot. She had assumed the strawberry blonde girl by her side was stifling a giggle as she looked at the ground during Bridget’s tirade, but now she wondered if she had simply misread her shyness, for she seemed as gentle as her friend was brash.

  ‘I have a few friends who would kill for a date with you, Robbie,’ Claudia told him. ‘You’re quite a catch. And moving to Scotland has only made you harder to get.’

  Robbie laughed heartily, covering his face in mock embarrassment. ‘Oh shucks, Claud. They are after me for one thing and one thing only…’

  Claudia looked at him, wide-eyed and expectant.

  ‘… my enormous manhood.’

  As the group of friends laughed, the waiter approached and signalled their table was ready. While Charles and Robbie caught up on news about mutual friends – they too were school friends – and Claudia excused herself to the Ladies, Hartley squeezed Lucy’s hand under the table.

  ‘Are you OK, Lucy Lu?’

  ‘Of course. Are you?’

  ‘Never more so. Having you here with my friends, it’s divine. Sorry about earlier… you know, being disturbed.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ Lucy said, smiling. ‘We have all weekend.’

  Hartley laughed and jokingly hit the air with a clenched fist like a winning jockey crossing the finish line. He kissed Lucy on the cheek as she laughed, then settled into conversation with his friends about old pals.

  Claudia seemed relieved to have Lucy to herself and quizzed her relentlessly about fashion, endearing herself to Lucy by telling her: ‘I’m a bit of a geek, you see. I need all the help I can get.’

  The six-course tasting menu was delicious, with tiny tastes of local produce – salmon, pheasant and duck – washed down with fine wine.

  ‘I do feel dreadful, about Ascot,’ Claudia ventured over sticky toffee pudding. ‘I was there, beside Bridget.’

  ‘I know you were, but you did nothing wrong. You can’t apologize for the way others behave.’

  ‘Bridget did behave terribly. But I don’t think she’s all that bad.’

  Lucy smiled. ‘No, perhaps she’s not.’

  When they were leaving at the end of the meal, Robbie smiled as he watched Hartley escort Lucy to the door. He had never seen him look so happy. And that made Robbie happy. Hartley had had it hard since his dad died – he felt responsible not only for his mother’s happiness but for helping as many people as he could through his charity. It was about time he had someone to share his life with.

  Stepping outside, they were blinded by a flash.

  ‘What the hell…’ Hartley started.

  ‘Alright, mate, give us a smile.’

  ‘What?’

  Charles instinctively lunged at the man who was in their faces, standing at the bottom of the steps and blinding them with his camera flash.

  As Charles wrestled the camera from him, the man shouted in a thick London accent: ‘Oi, what’s the problem? Lucy, you tipped my boss off – he said you knew we were coming. I don’t want no trouble.’

  Charles let go of the camera as suddenly as he had grabbed it and turned to Lucy.

  Lucy stared at the man, trying to compute what he had just said.

  ‘Come on, Lucy, tell the big fella… I’ve come all this way.’

  ‘I have no idea who you are,’ Lucy said as loudly as she could. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. Hartley?’ Lucy looked at Hartley but he couldn’t meet her eyes. ‘Hartley?’

  He was walking to the car as the photographer scurried off into the night.

  Confused, Lucy stood and watched as her friends, as if in slow motion, followed Hartley.

  She got in the car and sat in the back beside Hartley. She took his hand but he pulled it away.

  ‘We’ll speak about this later,’ he said in a hushed tone.

  ‘Guys, I have no idea who that was.’

  Silence.

  ‘For God’s sake, you think I told someone to track us down to a country restaurant in the middle of nowhere to get my picture in the paper?’

  Robbie coughed in embarrassment. ‘No, I’m sure that’s not the case. It’s just…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, as you say, it’s not the sort of place you stumble upon. And… well, why would he blame you?’

  Lucy looked at Hartley and caught something in his eye she wished she hadn’t. It was the rawest, most painful look of hurt she had ever seen.

  She turned away to look out of the window, her eyes stinging with tears.

  JUST LIKE CLOCKWORK

  Bridget was brimming with anticipation as she paced up and down her corridor for most of the evening, waiting for the photographer to call. God, she hoped their plan would work. It had to.

  She had tried to relax and stop feeling jumpy by smothering her new Tanda range of anti-ageing products all over her face and body. It was more important than ever to look her best. If anything, she looked younger now than when she had dated Hartley – that chemical face peel had worked a treat – and there was no doubt he would be attracted to her again.

  As she paced the hall, she put a hairspray can between her legs – a trick her personal instructor had suggested. Her inner thighs must have benefited from hundreds of metres of toning over the course of the evening.

  When her phone rang around ten o’clock, Bridget surged to grab it, cursing as she put it to her ear and felt its coldness against the face mask she had forgotten was still in place.

  ‘Did you get them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Bridget’s heart leaped. He’d done it. She’d done it. Got Lucy. She zoned out as the photographer babbled on about the details. All that mattered was that her plan had worked.

  She focused suddenly. The details. She had to know everything.

  Cutting the man off, she barked: ‘Tell me again, where did you get them?’

  The photographer’s voice was shaky, partly down to the adrenaline rush from what he’d just done and partly because the woman on the other end of the line was the most terrifying thing he’d encountered – and that was saying something after he’d been a member of the ruthless paparazzi for fifteen years.

  Normally, he would have told anyone as rude as this woman exactly where to go. But he’d be an idiot to turn down the money – he needed it. Yet it was more than rudeness; there was something chilling about the ice-cold voice with which he was doing business.

  ‘I stuck out like a sore thumb hang
ing around the guy Robbie’s house so I waited on a country road and followed them to a restaurant.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘Just like you told me – I told Lucy to smile for the camera, she was the one who’d tipped me off she’d be there, I’d come a long way and all that.’

  Lady Bridget let a wide scarlet smile spread across her face. ‘Yes, yes, and what did Hartley do?’

  ‘He just walked off.’

  ‘Excellent. Good boy. You’ll have the cash by Monday.’ Lady Bridget had had two grand delivered to the photographer by a member of staff – and instead of the total of five grand they had previously agreed, she had upped it to ten – promising the remaining eight when the job was done. Of course, she hadn’t given the cretin her name. She told him there was no need to know. He had readily agreed, eager simply to make his money.

  ‘I’ll have someone deliver it in cash – no cheques, no records. As you know, I decided to pay double to buy your word you will never mention this to a soul. If you do, I’ll see to it you never work again.’

  Bridget let out a squeal of delight as she hung up. Lucy’s little fantasy was over. People like her always got found out. She had done Hartley the favour of his life by making it happen so swiftly.

  Bridget was euphoric as she opened a bottle of Taittinger. Well, a triumphant victory glass was the least she deserved.

  She smiled as she felt the cold bubbles spread over her tongue. A warm sensation coursed through her body as her mind raced with thoughts of winning Hartley back. And of a masterstroke that would ensure Lucy went crawling back to where she belonged.

  AMBI – PURE AND SIMPLE: I’LL BE THERE FOR YOU

  The first person Max saw when she came round was Luke.

  ‘Hello, Max. Are you OK?’

  Max lifted her head weakly from what felt like a pillow.

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘You’re in hospital, Max. You collapsed.’