by Holly Martin
He nodded, concentrating his attention on a drop of juice on the side of the glass. He honestly didn’t think the real George was something anyone would be interested in.
‘And we have the upcoming Christmas Eve ball, maybe we treat it like a date. There can’t be anything more romantic than a proper ball, being swept around the room in the arms of the man you love.’ Libby looked wistful for a moment and quickly tapped out a few lines on her laptop.
‘Does that mean I have to dance?’
‘Yes, sorry. One of my criteria for my perfect guy is his ability or, more importantly, his willingness to dance with me. All the great heroes do it. Just one night, George, I’m sure you can manage that.’
‘I’ll try. So an ice carving of a diamond ring, a barbershop quartet, romance, flowers, fireworks, champagne, candles, fudge, dancing, log fires and a sleigh ride through the snow?’
‘Yes, I don’t want much.’
‘And if I do all that we’ll be married by New Year’s Eve?’
‘Yes.’ Libby smiled at him. And for a moment, a tiny brief moment, he thought he saw a flash of sincerity in her eyes.
He cleared his throat and looked away and she looked down too, concentrating on typing a few more words on her keyboard.
‘Well, I might have a kip for a bit, before we head out for our hot date,’ George said. ‘Keep up my energy for the night of passionate dirty sex that we’re going to have once you are swept off your feet.’
‘Shall I go?’ she asked.
‘No, stay.’ He leaned back and closed his eyes. ‘I can then tell everyone I slept with Libby this morning.’
* * *
Libby smiled as she watched George fall asleep, his breathing becoming heavy very quickly. They had become so relaxed in each other’s company. He looked so peaceful, so at ease.
She liked that George wanted to teach her about love, it was sweet of him to be concerned for her even though she had convinced herself a long time ago that she didn’t need a man to make her happy. If nothing else, all his attempts would be great book fodder.
She glanced round the room. Were there more decorations than there had been the day before?
Above the old Victorian-style fireplace were two huge stockings, one labelled George, one labelled Libby. Her heart leapt when she saw them. He’d said he was going to get her a stocking as everyone should have one at Christmas and he’d said he’d hang it over his fireplace because she was going to spend Christmas with him. It was such a sweet gesture and her heart filled a little bit because of it.
She returned her attention to the computer screen and frowned. She had just started to write the scene where Eliza and Charles got together for the first time but at the moment her characters had no chemistry at all, standing opposite each other seemingly waiting for their cue.
George mumbled something in his sleep and she watched him. She was tired herself. She hadn’t slept well the night before and when she woke this morning her feet were dirty, a sure sign she had been sleepwalking again. She never felt completely rested when her body had been up and about while she slept.
She closed her eyes so she could imagine the scene between Charles and Eliza. What would Eve Loveheart do in this scene? But there was nothing there, no inspiration. Everything she had written before seemed fake and clichéd all of a sudden. She wanted to show the reality. Maybe she should think about what she wanted, not this fake persona. How would Libby react to being with someone like George? She thought about how they would look at each other, how he would touch her, how it would be making love, not just hot, hard sex.
And as she pictured it, drew the images in her mind, she felt herself drifting off.
* * *
George woke and immediately looked over to see if Libby was still with him. To his surprise, she was curled up on his sofa fast asleep, her face pressed against her laptop.
He got up and carefully removed the laptop from under her, so she would be more comfortable. As he set it down on the table, the screensaver mode, which had turned the screen off when Libby had been inactive, suddenly sensed movement and switched itself back on. There, in black and white, was her latest story.
He couldn’t take his eyes off it. She didn’t want him to read her work, which had just made him more and more curious about it.
Eliza knocked on Charles’ door, trembling against the cold.
No, he wouldn’t read it, that would be a huge invasion of privacy, Libby would be so angry at him.
When Charles answered the door, she nearly wept with relief. There was a log fire burning behind him, filling the room with warmth, and Charles was standing before her, dressed only in his trousers and boots.
Was this…about to turn into a sex scene?
‘Eliza, what are you doing out there in this weather? Come in – are you OK?’
‘I got lost, and then the storm started…’ Eliza shivered.
‘Sit yourself down by the fire; get out of those wet clothes.’
Oh my God!
‘I’ll get something you can change into,’ Charles said.
‘Charles…stay…with me,’ Eliza said, looking away with embarrassment.
He crossed the room quickly, taking her in his arms…
‘George,’ Libby mumbled, and he nearly threw the laptop across the room in shock. But she was still asleep. Her fist clenched tightly over the blanket on the sofa, stretching out her legs as she sighed his name again.
His eyes bulged. She had gone to sleep writing this sex scene and now she was dreaming about him. Was she dreaming about…having sex with him?
He laughed quietly, shaking his head to clear it of the delusions. Last night she had been dreaming about selling her car to Clint Eastwood, she was probably dreaming about him and Clint in the car together. He closed the laptop down and went to the kitchen to make her a cup of tea.
* * *
Seb looked at Amy in horror as she came through the door and round his side of the bar. Her arms were covered in purple bruises and large deep scratches. She looked like she had been beaten up. Who would do this to her?
She hung her jacket up in the small cupboard, filled Jack’s water bowl and then moved to serve one of the customers, seemingly unfazed by the damage inflicted on her.
A surge of protectiveness rose up in him. He wanted to hug her and hold her and it drove him mad that he had these feelings for her. Swallowing a huge lump in his throat, he took her arm and indicated that he wanted to talk to her out the back.
She followed him into his office and he closed the door.
‘Amy… what happened?’
‘Don’t you dare do this, Seb, don’t you dare.’ Her voice shook with anger as she spoke.
He looked at her with confusion. ‘What? I meant your arms, what happened to you?’
She looked down at her arms and growled. ‘Oh, I hate my boss.’
He felt his hands ball into fists in his pockets. ‘Your boss did this?’
She nodded. ‘Blithering idiot, oh and Philippe, I hate him too.’
‘Philippe? Judith’s cat?’
‘Yes. I take it you spoke to her and that’s why you’ve brought me in here?’
He recalled the phone call from Judith earlier that day; he had completely forgotten it when he saw Amy so badly beaten.
‘I had a hysterical phone call from Judith, but she was talking so fast and there was so much yowling and meowing in the background I just held the phone away from my ear and said “yes” and “no” and “I agree” until she ran out of steam and rang off.’
‘I swear if you sack me, I’ll sue you, I’ll hire a big fat lawyer and I’ll sue your ass. I’ve done nothing wrong you know that, I’ll—’
‘Amy, for God’s sake, shut up for a second, I’m about to blow a gasket here. What the hell did Marcus do to you? Did he beat you up?’ Seb swallowed at the thought of something worse. ‘Did he … hurt you?’
Seemingly wrong-footed, she stepped back. ‘What? Marcus? Are you insan
e? He’s a complete numpty but he’s not capable of something like that. What on earth made you think that?’
He stepped towards her, laying his finger gently on one of the bruises. Desire crashed through him as he touched her skin.
She looked down at his finger on her arm. ‘Oh Seb, this is hair dye, purple hair dye. Marcus wanted me to dye my hair today as I was dressed like a blackberry to promote one of his new ice cream flavours. Philippe got stuck up a tree in my garden whilst I was dyeing it and I got him out, but I managed to get purple dye all over him and me in the process. Which is why Judith has decided she hates me, well she hated me before… I think now she’d quite like to kill me.’
‘All of this over Philippe.’
‘Philippe hates me too.’
‘He got you good.’ Seb stroked one of the cuts, gently, relieved that he had got it so wrong.
‘I was only trying to help him, next time I’ll just leave him to die up there, or let Judith climb the tree herself and get him down. Now that would be very entertaining.’
He laughed.
‘So does this mean you’re not going to sack me?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘Not yet.’
She smiled, shaking her head presumably at the ‘not yet’ comment. Suddenly she stepped closer to him, cupping his face in her hand. ‘Thank you.’
He really wasn’t comfortable with her hand on his face – it did things in his body that he didn’t like, mainly the blood roaring in his ears, his heart thundering against his chest. There was a line between employee/employer relations and she’d just crashed across it. He forced himself to take a step away from her when he really wanted to take her face in his hands too.
‘For what?’
‘For finally showing that you care for me.’
He did care for; her that was the problem, he cared too much.
‘I’m just looking out for the welfare of my staff; I care for all my friends. You’re no different.’
But her wistful smile unnerved him. She knew he liked her.
He walked to the door. ‘Look, stop slacking off in here and get out there and serve my customers.’
‘Yes boss.’ She smiled as she scurried past him.
Chapter Four
At seven o’clock sharp, George lifted his hand and knocked on Libby’s door and then nervously pulled down the sleeves of his suit jacket and waited, his heart doing little rolling thumps.
When she opened the door, he saw her smile at his suit just before he noticed what she was wearing. She looked stunning in a green satin sequinned dress, her dark hair piled on top of her head, with sparkly grips.
‘You look lovely, Lib,’ he said, softly.
‘Thanks, you look very smart too but…’ She suddenly stepped forward and undid his tie, sliding it off his neck. He felt her fingers working open the top button of his shirt. He shifted nervously at the intimacy, and couldn’t meet her eyes as she surveyed him. He watched her step back to admire her work.
‘Much better,’ she said. ‘The tie just makes it look too formal.’
‘Oh, and the satin dress is casual, is it?’
‘No,’ she said with a laugh, ‘but as a girl I can get away with looking formal; men tend to look like they are going for a job interview if they go with a tie and jacket.’
He tutted as he watched her dump his tie unceremoniously over the back of her sofa.
But when she took his arm and he escorted her down the steps to his car, he found he was smiling broadly.
He was feeling nervous on the drive to the restaurant and he couldn’t understand it. They had been out to dinner loads of times over the last few months and he had never felt nervous before. But this was a date, albeit a fake one. And though he was only practising his skills, he really wanted to leave her with a good impression.
When they arrived at the restaurant, he realised he needn’t have bothered to ring ahead to secure the most romantic table to kick-start his ‘date’. They were the only customers; obviously the curry-deprived residents of White Cliff Bay were building up to trying the new place. They were seated in the window overlooking the sea and he was glad she had suggested the place – situated on the peak of a cliff, The Cherry Tree had stunning views over the bay and of the moon sending silvery ribbons over the sea. It was a night designed for romance, for declarations of love and first kisses under the moonlight. In a film, this would be the moment that Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan realised they were perfect for each other. And he was sitting opposite his best friend. He wasn’t sure if this was a good or bad thing. What if, caught up in the moment, he suddenly found himself down on one knee, asking her to marry him?
He could see she was impressed. ‘You’re off to a great start,’ she said, ‘this table, that view, the Christmas lights and the candles on the table, it’s very romantic. With the right setting, even the most unlikely suitor can look appealing. A little bit earlier would have been even better. A sunset is one of the most romantic things in the world, but the moon is a very close second and sitting here looking at it over the sea with you, well, if this was a real first date I’d already be mentally replacing my surname with yours to see if it fits.’
He laughed. ‘I thought it might be a bit clichéd, the moon, the sea…’
‘There are some things which never go out of date.’
‘It’s a bit… quiet in here.’ He looked around only to find all the waiting staff were watching them keenly.
‘I hope that’s not a reflection on the food.’
A smartly dressed waiter appeared between them with two menus.
Libby took hers and started scanning through it. ‘Ooh, what shall I have?’
He couldn’t help smiling. He loved that about her. When he used to go to Indian restaurants with his ex-wife, Josie, she always, always had chicken tikka masala. She wouldn’t even bother looking at the menu – she didn’t want to risk having something she didn’t like. Whereas Libby would choose something different every time, sometimes something a bit obscure. Last time they had gone to their nearest Indian in Port Cardinal, nearly half an hour away from White Cliff Bay, she’d had ostrich curry.
‘Oooh, can’t choose, it’s too hard,’ she said finally, her eyes shining with excitement. She put her menu down, closed her eyes and stabbed her finger randomly at it. ‘Ha, salmon and plum jalfrezi,’ she announced when she opened her eyes, ‘might be nice. What are you having, George?’
He quickly looked down at his menu. ‘Erm, I’ll have the beef handi, do you want to share a rice with me?’
‘Yes, and a naan?’
Once the waiter had taken their order they both looked out at the view for a while then Libby turned back to him.
‘OK, George, now you have to woo me.’
He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, hoping that would be enough wooing for now. ‘Shouldn’t we be wooing each other?’
‘Well yes, it should work both ways, but I’m your guinea pig remember.’
‘So you won’t try to woo me at all?’ he scowled.
‘OK, OK, I’ll do my top three – the things my characters do to make their men fall in love with them.’
‘What’s your top three?’
‘I’m not telling you, the wooing should be a surprise.’
He decided to play for time, it all seemed a bit complicated to him. ‘Don’t you think woo is a weird word?’
‘Mmm, how about entice then?’ She fixed him with a sultry smile.
He felt the heat rise in his cheeks as he cast around for a suitable anecdote to put himself at ease.
‘Compliments are a good start, women love compliments about themselves,’ Libby prompted, fluttering her eyelashes at him.
He laughed, brought her hand up to his mouth and put on his most seductive voice. ‘My darling Libby, you have the most beautiful eyes in the world. Twenty shades of green. Olive, jade, moss, shamrock…’
She swallowed as she stared at him. He ran his mouth lightly over her knuckles,
not taking his eyes off her.
‘…With flecks of emerald, apple and sprout.’
She blinked once then burst out laughing. ‘Sprout?’
‘It’s a colour.’
She laughed again. ‘Oh well, when you say such endearing things like that, let’s forget the meal and go straight back to your place.’
He smiled.
‘How about you ask me some questions instead?’ she suggested.
‘How can I ask you questions about yourself when I already know everything there is to know about you?’
‘Just pretend you don’t, that this is the first time we’ve properly met. Pretend I’m Giselle.’ She sipped her Coke.
‘OK, er, Giselle, what is it you do?’
‘I’m an astronaut.’
He laughed. ‘What?’
‘What, just because I’m a blonde with big blue eyes, did you think I’d say hairdresser or beautician? Don’t judge a book by its cover, I’m actually really intelligent.’
‘I’m sure you are. What’s the capital of Chile?’
‘Yeah, don’t do that, don’t try to trip your date up – and it’s Santiago.’
He gasped. ‘How did you know?’
‘George, I was at the pub quiz with you last month when that question came up. We’re so alike, we both store away useless information for regurgitation later on.’
He smiled. ‘OK, so… an astronaut? That’s interesting, have you been anywhere cool?’
‘This is good, asking lots of questions,’ she whispered in an aside, leaning in conspiratorially across the table, ‘shows you’re interested, and there’s nothing women like more than talking about themselves.’ She straightened up and more loudly said, ‘Yes, just last week I went to Mars for the weekend.’
‘Right,’ he nodded, seriously.
‘Yes, I’ve got three Martians as friends on Facebook now.’
He laughed. ‘Libby Joseph, how can I practise on you when you’re not taking this seriously?’
