by Liz Fielding
‘You did, but I assumed you had your fingers crossed.’ His eyes were cloaked beneath heavy lids as he looked down at her.
‘A girl has to take every opportunity that presents itself,’ she said, by way of justification.
‘I thought I’d locked the bathroom door.’
‘It doesn’t work.’
‘I see. Well, here comes the pay off and you’d better make this look convincing, sweetheart, because you weren’t insured to drive that car and if this fellow turns nasty no amount of your father’s money will save you from a trip to the magistrate’s court.’
‘Not even with my own personal lawyer in tow?’
Her own personal lawyer did not look particularly happy about that. ‘Your own personal lawyer can only offer advice. It’s up to you whether you take it.’
‘And he advises a passionate reconciliation?’
‘Please, Emmy.’ Please, Emmy. How blissful that sounded. ‘Now,’ he urged, ‘they’re getting impatient.’
But she needed no urging. Rocking up onto tiptoe, reaching up to put her arms around his neck she looked straight into eyes as dark as rain-washed slate and then she closed her eyes and touched her lips to his. Around them the crowd drew in a single audible breath. But Emmy didn’t hear. All her senses were concentrated on Brodie. On the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers, the scent of his body, the taste of his mouth against hers.
His lips were cool and he made no move to deepen the kiss. He had just brushed his teeth and she could taste his toothpaste, clean, sharp and stimulating against her lips, but she wanted more than this chaste salute and so, she suspected did the onlookers. Make it look good, he had said. Take your lawyer’s advice. Please. And for once it would be her pleasure to obey him.
Her lips parted softly, inviting his participation and her tongue teased gently inside his lip. For a moment he remained quite still, as if transfixed by her touch. Then, without warning Brodie took control, his mouth coming down hard on hers, meeting her invitation head on until the desire she had been desperately trying to suppress since their eyes had met over her father’s unsuspecting head pooled in her body and she melted against him.
It was madness, but it was blissful madness and this had been Brodie’s idea. For one brief moment she could let herself go, forget any concern about betraying her feelings and she was going to make the most of it.
After a few moments she became aware at some basic level of consciousness that the crowd were beginning to clap in time as the kiss was drawn out, then there was a long juddering mass sigh as Brodie seemed to gather himself, easing back.
Her eyes flickered open, suddenly afraid of what she might see in his eyes. Would he be angry with her? Disgusted even that she could declare love for one man and kiss another as if one of them was going to war. But he was simply staring down at her, his face a mask, betraying nothing.
Then he turned away to murmur something to Monsieur Girard, before bending to catch her behind the knees, lifting her into his arms and carrying her back towards the hotel, pausing briefly in the entrance, turning with a slight bow to acknowledge a chorus of cheers.
Once inside, however, Brodie dropped her to her feet, looking at her as if he didn’t know quite what do with her.
Emmy, suddenly rather afraid that his tender concern was about to evaporate, hurriedly said, ‘What about the car?’ It was still slewed half way out into the road, presumably with a sizeable dent in its rear.
‘Girard is dealing with it. And he’ll settle things with the other driver, too.’ He regarded her with exasperation. ‘You’re running up quite a bill, Emmy. I hope you think your artist is worth it.’ He didn’t wait for her reply but turned and headed for the stairs. She began to follow him but he turned and blocked her way. ‘Stay here, Emmy.’
‘Why? What are you going to do?’
‘Nothing.’ There was a muscle working overtime his jaw, she noticed. He was a man holding himself very firmly in check. ‘Absolutely nothing if you stay here and behave yourself while I get dressed. I’ll be ten minutes, no more and then we’ll go and find somewhere to eat.’
‘But—’
‘Don’t argue with me. Just do as you’re told for once, because next time you try a stunt like that I promise you won’t get off so lightly.’ She was right. His concern had burned out in the heat of that kiss. Well, it had been worth it. But she wasn’t about to let him see that, so she glared up at him.
‘What will you do, Brodie?’ she challenged, hands on her hips, arms akimbo as beneath his scorn she forgot all about being sorry for causing so much bother. ‘Put me over your knee?’
‘Something like that,’ he said, tightly. Then repeated the words. ‘Something like that.’
Like? Like? What the heck did that mean? And then with a little shiver she realised exactly what he meant. When he had referred to her “stunt” he hadn’t been talking about her bid for escape, or the car accident. He had been referring to the way she had kissed him.
And remembering exactly what had driven her to make a run for it, her poor cheeks heated up with a blush that would have jump-started the national grid.
Brodie had not been idly boasting about the extent of his wardrobe. When, rather less than ten minutes later he returned to the hotel lobby he was dressed in a pair of lightweight chinos and a polo shirt in an uncommon shade of petrol blue that did something curious to the shade of his eyes.
In a more self-conscious man Emmy would have suspected that it was deliberate. In Brodie’s case she had the depressing suspicion that it was the choice of some woman, some incredibly glamorous, sophisticated woman who never gave him a moment of trouble and whose kisses were responded to with rather more enthusiasm. Although, come to think of it, his response had been extremely enthusiastic. It was only on reflection that he had decided she had followed his instructions with rather too much vigour. The thought served to cheer her slightly.
‘You’re still here, then,’ he said, looking up from fastening his watch.
‘I didn’t have much choice.’ She wiggled her bare toes. ‘I left my shoes and bag in the car and your tame hotelier has them tucked away somewhere.’
‘And you let a little thing like that stop you?’ He regarded her with a certain wry amusement. ‘You really mustn’t let these minor setbacks dampen your determination, Emmy.’
‘I won’t,’ she promised, ‘but all the determination in the world won’t get me beyond the end of street without shoes.’
He retrieved her possessions from the girl behind the reception desk and handed them to her. ‘All you had to do was ask.’
She made no attempt to disguise her disbelief. ‘You really expect me to believe that?’
He shrugged. ‘It was worth a try. Now you’ll never know whether you’d have got away with it.’
‘There’s about as much chance of pigs flying,’ she retorted, irritably. ‘Besides, I’m hungry.’
He smiled at that. ‘If you want to eat I’m afraid you’ll have to return the money you took from my wallet.’
She opened her bag and gave it to him. ‘It was only a loan. You would have been quite welcome to reimburse yourself from the money you took from me,’ she informed him.
‘I’ll remember that, should the need arise.’ He made it sound extremely unlikely. He waited while she slipped into her sandals. ‘Ready?’ She nodded, rising to her feet. He frowned. ‘Sure? You still look a bit pale.’
Only because she spent so much time in his company blushing. ‘I’m absolutely fine. Don’t fuss.’
‘I’m not fussing. If you hit your head in that shunt, just tell me. I don’t want you passing out with concussion.’ He did care, she thought happily, before he spoilt the effect by adding, ‘I’d never be able to explain it to your father.’
For a moment she was tempted to consign her father, and Brodie with him, to the devil. But she couldn’t stay cross with him for more than two minutes together and instead she giggled. ‘It would almost be worth it to s
ee you try,’ she said. Then she slipped her hand through his arm. ‘Come on, Brodie. Let’s have a look at this sunset you’ve been promising me. I warn you, it had better be good.’
The sunset was brief but spectacular, colouring the sky in a kaleidoscope of reds and pinks and purples that provided a brilliant backdrop to the city and the harbour with its forest of bobbing masts belonging to all kinds of crafts from huge luxury yachts to the more workaday fishing boats.
‘Well,’ Brodie asked, as he settled her at a restaurant table on a terrace overlooking the harbour. ‘Did it live up to its billing?’
‘Not bad,’ she said. ‘A bit flashy for my taste. I prefer the silver and pink ones with the little bubbly clouds.’
‘I’m afraid there is a cloud shortage in this part of the world right now and frankly I hope it stays that way. Storms in this area tend to be rather like the sunsets.’ Emmy lifted a querying brow. ‘Spectacular with a definite leaning towards flashy,’ he said.
‘You seem to know your way about around here.’
‘Yes, well, I worked as a deck-hand on a yacht based here for a couple of summers. While I was at university.’
‘Lucky you. After the unfortunate affair with Oliver Hayward I was condemned to spend all my long vacations trailing around museums in the company of an aunt.’
‘Poor lady,’ he said, with feeling. ‘She has my sympathy.’
‘No, I was good.’ She flickered a glance in his direction. ‘Honestly, Brodie. She would have been so distressed if I’d done anything scandalous … Besides, the Victoria and Albert Museum has a very sobering effect on me,’ she added, seriously.
‘I wish you’d told me that before we left London, I’d willingly have sacrificed half a day in the interests of dampening your sudden urges to bolt. But I’m sure I could work up a fairly convincing degree of distress if it would encourage you to behave,’ he offered.
‘Could you?’ She smiled absently. ‘No, Aunt Louise felt so utterly responsible, I just couldn’t upset her. She’s a perfect love.’
‘And I am not?’ He grinned. ‘Don’t worry, you can say it. You won’t hurt my feelings.’
‘You are not like in the least bit like my Aunt Louise,’ she said, carefully.
‘And besides, you had the whole of term-time in Oxford in which to get up to all the mischief in the world.’
‘That’s true.’ She regarded him evenly. ‘I also managed to cram in a first class honours degree. It was a busy three years.’
He stared at her for a moment and then he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Emmy. I was being extremely rude—’
‘Yes you were.’ Then she reached across and laid her hand on his. ‘But there’s no need to apologise. I’ve given you a rotten time and you’ve been wonderful. I don’t know what I would have done about that man who ran into me if you hadn’t been there.’
‘Yes, you do.’ He ignored the fact that if he hadn’t been there, she wouldn’t have felt the need to make a dash for it. But no matter how sweetly her hand lay on his, he wasn’t about to let her think she was kidding him. ‘You’d have batted your eyelashes at him and had him at your feet in ten seconds flat.’
‘That’s a perfectly horrible thing to say!’ she protested, jerking back her hand.
‘Is it? You forget I’ve had first hand experience of the technique. When you were swinging from that drainpipe? And then you have a very interesting technique with stockings—’
‘I did not bat my eyelashes! I was far too desperate to think of it at the time and I had to put on my stockings or my shoes would have rubbed. Anyway, it’s perfectly obvious that you’re not at my feet, Brodie.’
He wasn’t so sure about that, but it would undoubtedly be a mistake to tell her so. The slightest sign of weakness and she’d be twisting him around her little finger.
‘No, well I seem to spend all my time chasing after you. Even when you’ve promised to be good. I can’t do that if I’m on my knees.’ The waiter was hovering and glad of the distraction, he asked Emmy what she would like to drink.
‘St Raphael, white, please,’ she replied.
‘And a Ricard for me,’ he added, taking the menu. ‘So, if it’s not to be bouillabaisse, Emmy, what would you like to eat?’
‘Grilled rougets, and a green salad, please.’
‘Wouldn’t you prefer to look at the menu before you decide?’
‘No.’ She smiled, propping her elbows on the table and her chin in the palms of her hands. ‘I know what I want.’ He turned to the waiter, who, eyes fixed on Emmy, smiled and nodded.
‘Do you always get what you want that easily?’ he asked, when the man had gone.
‘Not always. I didn’t get Oliver Hayward. And if you and my father get your way, I won’t get Kit.’
‘Oliver Hayward? He’s the guy your father bought off when you were eighteen? Are you still mad at him about that?’
‘No. I have to admit that Oliver was a mistake,’ she told him. She gave a little shrug, embellished it with a tiny smile. ‘I met him on that really long holiday you get between A-levels and University. I was staying with friends in Italy for the summer and so was he. Long, golden days with nothing to do except eat, drink, swim and fall in love. And Oliver was terribly easy to fall in love with. He was as pretty as a picture, a charmer of the first water, the kind of man that mothers warn their daughters about.’ She pulled a face. ‘Unfortunately my mother was always so busy having affairs with men exactly like him that she never got around to it. I suppose I should be grateful that he took the money and ran. It showed him up for what he was.’ She leaned back and linked her hands behind her head. ‘He was very apologetic about it. Assured me that he was heartbroken but he could see that my father was serious about stopping the wedding, whatever it took. He said he didn’t want to make life difficult for me.’
‘For you?’
‘Hmmm. Thoughtful, huh?’ She grinned, broadly, dispelling any thoughts that she might be harbouring a lingering passion. ‘And he managed to console himself with a new car.’
‘Were you really in love with him, Emmy?’
‘Or just winding up my beloved papa? Not guilty, Brodie. I’ve never had to work at it that hard. All I was guilty of was being eighteen years old and madly impressionable.’ She shrugged. ‘Then I was just mad. At Dad and Oliver. Dear God, the man could at least have held out for more. To have taken Hollingworth’s first offer suggested a certain lack of…’
‘Commitment,’ Brodie offered, when she hesitated.
‘The word I had in mind was guts.’
‘Maybe he just had a particularly firm grasp of reality. Maybe, once someone had offered him the choice, he weighed the advantages of a hundred thousand pounds in the bank against the responsibilities of marriage and realised that he needed a new car more than he needed a wife. Particularly one who was likely to cause him a whole lot of bother.’ He paused. ‘What is Kit Fairfax driving, by the way?’
She lowered her lashes. ‘That was below the belt, Brodie.’
‘Just a thought.’
‘Well think about something else. As far as this conversation goes, Kit is off limits.’
‘Whatever you say.’ He leaned back, regarding the harbour. ‘It’s odd though. In my experience women usually find it impossible to stop talking about the man they are in love with.’
‘I am not most women.’
He glanced briefly at her. ‘That has not escaped my notice.’ Then he gestured to the scene in front of them. ‘Which of those boats do you wish you were on right now?’ She regarded him distrustfully. ‘I’m changing the subject as requested, Emmy,’ he said, quite gently.
‘Oh.’ She glanced at the harbour, then pulled a face. ‘I sail in nothing smaller than the QE2. I get seasick.’
‘You do have a bad time travelling, don’t you? Frightened of planes, sick in boats… Now me, I’d like to be aboard that big job over there, setting out for the Aegean, cruising around all those lovely islands, poking about the
ruins, picnicking on the beach, sun bathing.’
‘Is that what you used to do? When you were a deck hand?’
He gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘No, Emmy. That’s what the people who chartered the boats did. I fetched and carried and cleaned up after them.’
‘Did you enjoy it?’
‘Not all of it. But I had the sun and the chance to swim whenever I had an hour to spare. And some of the people who chartered the boats were really kind.’
‘The women, you mean,’ she said, cynically.
He laughed, revealing a full set of white, even teeth. ‘Maybe I do. I can assure you that it beat the hell out of stacking shelves in a supermarket. And I didn’t have to pay rent.’
She looked at him for a moment, then said, ‘You must think I’m very stupid.’ She stared down into her glass. ‘Over-privileged and thoughtless and very stupid.’
‘No, I don’t think that. We come from different worlds, that’s all. I’ve had to work for everything I’ve ever had. But that’s okay. The harder you work for something the more you appreciate it.’
She thought about his amazing apartment, the pictures he had collected. Everything by the sweat of his brow, unlike her own flat filled with hand-me-down antiques. Even the flat was a hand-me-down, inherited, along with her wealth, from her grandmother.
‘Where do you come from, Brodie? What kind of people?’ He didn’t answer straight away and once more she reached across the table as if to touch his arm, then apparently thought better of it and withdrew. ‘I’d really like to know.’
He shrugged. ‘My father was a miner. He was a big man, full of life. He loved to play cricket, he was good too. And he liked to walk, anything really to be out of doors breathing good, fresh air.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘He was killed in an accident underground when I was twelve. A machine…’ He caught himself. What the machine had done to his father was not a fit subject for polite conversation. ‘I’d just been picked for the school cricket team. The youngest boy ever. He’d spent hours coaching me and he was so proud…’
