“D’you want to come in?” said Scarlett, horrified by how pleased she was to see him. “I think I have some witch hazel and arnica cream in the bathroom. Although they’re probably past their sell-by date.”
“That’s all right,” said Jake, smiling drunkenly through the pain in his face. “So am I.”
He followed her back up the stairs, admiring the tight fit of her jeans on her perfect bottom, and wondering what excuse he could offer for his presence on her doorstep, once she got around to asking.
The truth was, he hadn’t been entirely honest with her about his movements after his Sierra Leone trip. His original plan was to go to Paris and see some old clients. But after two weeks of obsessing about Magnus, he decided he couldn’t stand it anymore, and had to do something either to confirm his doubts or lay them to rest. So he’d flown up to Seattle instead. And after a little digging he had uncovered more than even he had bargained for.
It turned out that not only were Magnus and his wife not divorced, but three months ago they’d moved back in together—hence the “romantic” hotel breaks with Scarlett. Worse still, they had a two-year-old son.
“Make yourself at home,” said Scarlett, ushering him through into the sitting room where the fire was still blazing. “I’ll see what I can find for you in the bathroom.”
“I could murder a Scotch, if you’ve got any,” Jake called after her as she disappeared. The numbing effects of the tequila shots he’d been downing in the pub, before things turned nasty with the ex-client, were starting to wear off, and he suddenly felt in need of Dutch courage. On the flight back to London from Seattle he’d been rubbing his hands with glee at the prospect of finally opening Scarlett’s eyes about Shag-nus. But now that he was finally here, the thought of causing her pain seemed a lot less palatable. “Maybe some food if you’ve got any?”
“Sorry,” she called back. “I’m completely out of everything.” He could hear various bottles tumbling out of the medicine cupboard onto the tiled bathroom floor and smiled. For someone used to doing such delicate work with her hands, she could be a terrible klutz. “There’s a takeout menu by the phone. I’ll have fish and chips, and a green salad if they’ve got it. Otherwise mushy peas.”
Half an hour later, his face smeared in arnica and his lip still stinging from the witch hazel Scarlett had insisted on applying, ignoring his yelps of protest (“Oh for heaven’s sake stop whining. You’re worse than Boxford at the vet’s”), Jake was still no nearer to telling her what he’d come there to say. Ensconced next to her on the sofa, eating chunky fries smothered in salt and vinegar and rambling about his Africa trip—he skipped the part about Dr. Katenge’s orphanage, scared that she might think he was sucking up—he couldn’t seem to work out how to begin. I went to Seattle to snoop on your boyfriend made him sound like a stalker. Magnus has a kid was too blunt. I’m hopelessly in love with you and can’t stand watching you throw your life away on that lying toe-rag was probably too honest at this early stage.
“I got some terrific deals in Jo’burg,” he said instead, chickening out again. “You’re gonna die when you see the stones.”
“I’m assuming you got the certificates of authenticity?” said Scarlett, eyeing him skeptically.
“Yes, Mum.” Jake gave a salute. “All diamonds present and correct. There’s nothing to trouble your conscience, don’t worry.”
“What about Danny? Did you bring back anything for him?” asked Scarlett. She didn’t want to shatter Jake’s good mood by probing further into his business ethics.
Jake shook his head. “No point. The poor sod can’t sell a dollar for ninety cents in New York. Brogan’s got him over a barrel.” He gave Scarlett a brief rundown of Danny and Diana’s financial woes. “Plus, and this is top, top secret so you can’t breathe a word,” he said, dispatching another fry to its doom in the gloomy recesses of his stomach, “Diana’s pregnant.”
“She is?” Scarlett sounded thrilled. “Oh, how wonderful! Danny must be over the moon.”
“Not so as you’d notice,” confessed Jake. “I mean, he loves her. But he’s feeling the strain, with business going down the shitter and O’Donnell dragging out the divorce. Then there’s Mum.”
Because of Minty’s decided dislike of her prospective daughter-in-law, Danny had persuaded Diana to keep mum about the baby, at least until things cooled down. Even so, the atmosphere at Casa Meyer so far this Christmas could only be described as toxic.
“Really?” Scarlett sounded surprised. “Your mother seemed so warm and funny when I met her. She was lovely to me.”
“That’s because you weren’t about to lead me down the aisle,” said Jake.
“I should say not!” Scarlett blurted out.
“It’s not personal, with Diana,” Jake explained. “It’s just the way it is in families like ours. You’re expected to marry a Jewish girl, ideally one whose mum and dad live down the road.”
Scarlett thought of her own parents, particularly her mother’s obsession with her marrying a local laird, and nodded in silent understanding. Perhaps her family and Jake’s had more in common than she’d first imagined?
“Listen,” said Jake, finally screwing his courage to the sticking point. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Oh?” Scarlett cocked her head and smiled, waiting for him to go on.
“Yeeeeah,” said Jake, reluctantly. “It’s, er…it’s about Magnus.”
Scarlett’s shoulders tensed instinctively. If she could steer clear of hot topics, like his dodgy dealing, the least he could do was give it a rest about her relationship.
“What about him?” she sighed, adding, “Do we really have to do this tonight, Jake?”
“I wish we didn’t,” said Jake truthfully. “Look, I’m no good at this sort of thing, so I’m just gonna come right out and say it: he’s been lying to you.”
“Jake, please,” Scarlett frowned. “I honestly don’t have the energy—”
“He’s living with his wife.”
Scarlett opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.
Eventually, she stammered, “Are you sure? How do you know?”
“I went up to Seattle,” said Jake quietly. “I saw it with my own eyes. I’ve seen cartons of milk more separated than those two, Scar. They’re together.”
He’d been expecting tears, anger, maybe even some hurled chinaware. Instead she looked more puzzled than hurt.
“Why did you go to Seattle? When did you go to Seattle, for God’s sake?”
“Last week,” he mumbled awkwardly. “I knew you’d be mad, but it was bugging the hell out of me. You can do so much better than that jerk.”
“Hmm,” said Scarlett. “So you saw Carole.”
“Yes. I saw her.”
“What’s she like?”
“Pretty, actually,” said Jake, realizing belatedly that perhaps it wasn’t the most tactful response. “I mean, she’s got nothing on you. But she’s much too good for him, let’s put it that way. They have a kid, you know.”
Now he really had her attention.
“A child? No! Are you serious?”
“On my life,” said Jake. “A little boy. And I’m sorry to have to tell you that they called the poor sod ‘Taylor.’”
To her horror, Scarlett found herself giggling. It really wasn’t funny. It was awful! Magnus had been lying through his teeth the whole time they were together. Lying about his wife was one thing, but what sort of psycho hid the fact that he had a child?
And yet weirdly, sitting here with Jake in her old flat, on her old sofa, it didn’t seem to matter. What was wrong with her?
“I can’t believe you’re laughing,” said Jake.
“Nor can I,” said Scarlett. Appallingly, she started to laugh again. Perhaps she was hysterical? “That is a dreadful name, though, isn’t it?”
“Shocking,” Jake grinned.
Without thinking, he leaned forward and kissed her, just once and very gently, on the lips. When he pulled away, S
carlett said accusingly, “Why didn’t you call me?”
“Call you?” Jake looked taken aback. “What d’you mean? When?”
“From Africa,” said Scarlett. “You never once called to see how things were going at the store.”
“You never called me either,” shrugged Jake.
Why were they talking about this? She was supposed to be distraught about Magnus. Or annoyed that he’d kissed her without asking. Or…
“How could I? I didn’t know where you were.” Scarlett sounded indignant. “For all I knew you might have been stuck up a tree on safari somewhere. Your US cell phone didn’t work—”
“How d’you know that?” Jake pounced on her unexpected admission like a rattlesnake. “Did you try to call me?”
“Only once,” fibbed Scarlett, cursing herself for letting it slip. “And only because I needed your advice on something in the accounts. It wasn’t a social call.”
“Oh.” Jake looked crestfallen.
“I thought at least you might have made the effort after the Jimmy Choo party,” pouted Scarlett. “You never even asked me how it went.”
“How did it go?”
Scarlett looked up. Jake’s violet eyes bored into hers in a most disconcerting manner. The sexual tension in the air was so thick she could have swum in it.
“It went very well, thank you,” she said, trying to sound unruffled but failing miserably.
“I wanted to call,” said Jake. “But bloody Magnus was there, wasn’t he?”
“So?” said Scarlett.
“So I couldn’t deal with it, all right? I try not to hate people, but I really hated that fucker. From the very beginning, I hated him.”
“But why?” said Scarlett. “I mean, I can understand it now. Now you know about the lies and everything. But before?”
Jake swallowed hard. “Because he had you,” he said softly. “I hated him because he had you.”
He kissed her again, and this time there was nothing tentative about it. Scarlett felt the urgency in his lips, his arms, his chest, years of frustrated desire rushing at her like a tsunami. But it wasn’t Jake’s desire that surprised her so much as her own. The rough graze of his stubble on her cheeks and neck felt so good, so right, she wanted to scream with delight. Instinctively her back arched at his touch, her hands grasping hungrily for his hair and back, pulling him closer. He was unhooking the clasp on her bra, and she found herself thinking, Faster, for God’s sake, faster! Wriggling out of her jeans, she was dimly aware of her own voice, calling his name, begging him to touch her. When he did, slipping two fingers inside her while his thumb gently stroked her clitoris, it felt so wonderful she was terrified she might come on the spot, before she’d so much as touched him.
“Wait!” she gasped, fumbling for the buckle on his belt. But Jake was too quick for her. In one fluid movement he shed his clothes like a snake shedding its skin. Scarlett felt his huge, hard erection press against her belly like an iron bar.
“Please,” she whispered. And he was inside her, possessing her, fucking her with an intensity that she had not known possible.
In that moment, she knew why she had not felt upset about Magnus. The lies he’d told her were terrible, unforgivable. But lies like that only had the power to hurt you if you were in love with someone.
Scarlett was in love with someone. But it wasn’t Magnus.
Wrapping her long legs tightly around Jake’s back, she realized that it hadn’t been Magnus for a very long time.
Jake’s lovemaking was a revelation. Scarlett had often wondered in the past (idle curiosity, she used to tell herself) what he might be like in bed. She decided that, while no doubt technically skilled, he was probably a selfish lover. Women had always thrown themselves at him, so he didn’t have to try.
Boy, was she ever wrong. For hours on end Jake explored her body, delighting in every inch of her as if he’d never seen a naked woman before. After the desperate hunger of the first time, they both relaxed a little. There was nothing hurried, nothing demanding in Jake’s touch, none of Magnus’s impatience or perfunctory, brutish desire. His body was strong but not over-muscled, his dick big but not overwhelming. If she had to pick one word to describe their sex it would have been “playful.” They were both rejoicing in the miraculous unexpectedness of finally being together.
“I feel like Lady Chatterley’s lover,” said Jake, rolling onto his back at three in the morning, once they were both too tired to move another inch. Having made love on the sofa, then in the shower, then again twice between the soft, worn sheets of Scarlett’s four-poster, sleep was overtaking both of them. “I’ve never shagged a posh bird before.”
“Rubbish!” laughed Scarlett. “What about Izzy Davenport? Or Camilla Manley-Walters?” She reeled off the names of the socialites whose names had been linked with Jake’s over the years. “Or Serena Walsingham? Her family own half of Norfolk.”
“And her sister,” said Jake dreamily, earning himself a thwack on the head with a pillow. “All right, all right, I may have had a few silver-spooners back in the bad old days. But none of them were real ladies. Not like you.”
“Steady on, Lionel Richie,” said Scarlett, humming “Three Times a Lady” under her breath. Picking up the pillow, Jake hit her back. “If it’s any consolation, you’re my first proper bit of rough too. My diamond in the rough,” she smiled, kissing him.
“Am I?” He looked really pleased. “Brilliant. ’Course, I always knew you fancied me.”
“Oh, please!” Scarlett rolled her eyes. “You did not.”
“Clear as daylight, right from the start,” said Jake. “You were worried about what everyone else would think, that’s all.”
“No I wasn’t.”
“Your friend Nancy hates my guts.”
“She’s protective of me,” said Scarlett, unable to deny the accusation. What was Nancy going to say when she told her about tonight?
“And somehow I doubt I’m exactly the Mr. Right your family had in mind for you,” said Jake.
Again, too true to deny.
“Well, your mother’s not going to be thrilled about me either, is she?” asked Scarlett, deftly lobbing the ball back in to his court. “I mean, if she loathes Diana O’Donnell…”
“I think dishonesty is probably the best policy there,” said Jake.
“You mean you’re not going to tell her?” said Scarlett, slightly put out.
“Well, not now,” Jake hedged. “Eventually, obviously. But there’s no rush, is there? I mean, a few hours ago you were with Magnus, remember?”
“Was I?” Scarlett sighed happily. Magnus already felt like a fading memory from her gallery of exes.
Part of her wanted to argue the point about not telling Jake’s family. Yes, they’d been together only a matter of hours. But they both knew this was serious and not some fly-by-night affair. They might as well start as they meant to go on: honestly. But exhaustion was pulling her inexorably toward sleep. They could talk more in the morning.
“I know I’ve been a shit in the past,” Jake murmured in her ear, his voice ebbing and flowing as Scarlett drifted in and out of consciousness. “But I can change. I want to change, Scarlett. For you.”
“Change,” she mumbled incoherently.
Three seconds later she was deep, deep asleep.
The next morning, Scarlett had to race for the airport to catch her flight to Scotland, leaving Jake to make his reluctant way home to St. John’s Wood.
Minty, insane with worry when he didn’t come home, or even call—“I don’t care how old you are, Jacob Meyer! How dare you turn your mobile off?”—switched from anger to horrified dismay when she saw his bruised and battered face.
The whole family was in the sitting room. Jake felt like he’d walked into a gathering of the Spanish Inquisition—if the Spanish Inquisition used to gather on a motley collection of chintz and World-of-Leather sofas. The walls were papered in a noisy blue floral print, which clashed cheerfully with the
yellow-and-pink upholstery. Knickknacks from Minty’s travels to Israel and America fought for space with Rudy’s Spurs memorabilia, and every object appeared to have a white paper doily placed between it and whatever it was standing on.
The room never failed to make Jake smile. It was hideous, but it was home.
“I’m fine, Ma,” he sighed, his attempts at brushing away Minty’s fussing, fluttering hands all to no avail. “Honestly, it’s not as bad as it looks. I stayed at a friend’s last night, and she cleaned me up pretty good.”
“Pretty well, Jake. She cleaned you up pretty well,” said his father, shaking his head at his son’s poor grammar. He hadn’t moved from his lazy chair when Jake walked in, and wouldn’t until the strain on his bladder made getting up an absolute necessity. “Speak English, boy. You’re not in bloody America now.”
If this last comment was directed at Diana, for once it missed its mark, as she was deeply engrossed in an article on up-and-coming London artists and didn’t even look up.
“She did not clean him up pretty well, Rudy,” said Minty furiously. “Look at him. That lip needed stitches right away. You’ll have a scar there now, Jakey, because this so-called ‘friend’ didn’t get you to the emergency room. It was a woman, I suppose?”
“It’s no one you know, Ma,” said Jake wearily. “Give it a rest, eh?”
“Dear oh dear.” Danny, who’d run out to the corner store for the paper when Jake came home, walked in to find his brother being dabbed at with a warm washcloth on the couch. For the first time in days, he smiled. “What happened to you? Walk into a door or something?”
“He says it was a pub fight,” said Minty, skeptically. “Bloody fishy if you ask me. And he won’t say where he stayed last night.”
“Trust me, Ma,” grinned Danny, “you probably don’t wanna know.”
“Know what?” asked Diana, looking up from her article at last and reaching her arm out to Danny, who squeezed her hand.
“Mind your own beeswax, Wallis Simpson,” snapped Rudy, referring to the American socialite whom King Edward had abdicated the throne to marry.
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