Camellia

by Lesley Pearse

  'She'll be quite safe with me,' Nick said flippantly, but as he turned to walk away Magnus grabbed his shoulder.

  'There's more,' Magnus said. 'The FBI in the States have passed on some information about two young women who were found drowned in the last three years, again believed to be suicide cases, just like Bonny. It seems they both had a connection with Manning.'

  Nick gulped. 'But he's blown it with Mel. Surely he wouldn't dare to come back and have another pop at her?'

  'Maybe not, but he's got a gun,' Magnus admitted, licking his lips nervously. 'That's why the woman handed over her car without protest. He was heading in the direction of the Severn Bridge. Now doesn't that suggest he's making his way back here?'

  Nick's earlier irritation was now replaced with concern for his father. Deep frown lines furrowed his forehead and his eyes were muddy with anxiety. Earlier this morning he'd looked on top of the world. Now suddenly Nick was reminded of that stroke. 'Perhaps I ought to take Mel somewhere safe and come back here to stay with you?' he said.

  'No, son, Mel needs you far more than I do and the police will be patrolling around here. Just try to prevent her from seeing any newspapers and phone me each evening for reports on what's happening.'

  'I'd better go.' Nick looked round anxiously as he heard the sound of the car radio being switched on. Mel was bent forward tuning into a station. 'I'll find some way to disconnect that too. Don't worry, Dad. No harm will come to her with me.'

  'With luck he'll have been caught long before you get back,' Magnus said, patting his son's shoulder. 'Just do your best to keep this from Mel, she's been through quite enough.'

  'What did he want?' Mel asked as Nick slid into the driving seat.

  'Nothing much,' Nick leaned towards her. 'Just that if we were going anywhere near Brixham could we bring back some crabs and lobster.'

  'Are we going near there?' She was excited now they were finally pulling out of the drive.

  'You'll have to wait and see!'

  'So Brixham was a red herring. It's Lyme Regis!' Mel exclaimed as they drove down the steep hill into the town late in the afternoon. She was immediately enchanted by the cobbled streets, the tiny cottages and shops with bow windows.

  'Mum always claimed it was a romantic place,' Nick turned to smile at her. 'We used to come here a lot in the summer when I was little. Dad and I used to go out mackerel fishing, Mum used to sit on the beach or wander about the town. I think she'd approve of me bringing you here.'

  'I hope you aren't intending to take me mackerel fishing,' she laughed. 'I don't find the smell of dead fish one of life's aphrodisiacs.'

  The Bay Hotel was situated right on the seafront with only a walkway before it, so they left their car in a back street and walked down some steep steps to reach it. Nick went on ahead carrying their cases; Mel was much slower, holding onto the rail and stepping very gingerly. The wind was strong, coming straight off the sea, but the salty tang, the smell of seaweed and the pounding of waves on the shore were invigorating after being cloistered indoors for so long.

  'I'd forgotten I couldn't drive right up to it,' Nick admitted ruefully, as he dumped the cases at the bottom of the steps and ran back up to help her. 'Is your foot hurting? Maybe I should've picked a flat place?'

  'My foot doesn't hurt,' she reassured him. 'I'm only limping out of habit. By the end of the week I'll be running up these steps.'

  The Bay Hotel was a little less grand than Nick remembered, but Mel was delighted by its pink-washed façade, the slightly drunken-looking ancient windows and its close proximity to the sea. The cobbled walkway along the front was deserted, not a cafe, amusement arcade or shop in sight to spoil its old-world charm, just a gentle curve of quaint old cottages and houses that had remained intact for centuries despite the bombardment of sea spray.

  'You must be Mr and Mrs Poitier.' A man with a polished, ruddy face leapt to help them as they came through the door. He introduced himself as James Grant the proprietor and beamingly welcomed them to his hotel. 'Now would you like some tea first or shall I take you up to your room? It's all ready for you.'

  Nick had been in here often for afternoon tea with his parents and he was pleased to find it even cosier than he'd remembered. A huge log fire was blazing in the bar and comfortable armchairs and a strong smell of lavender polish reassured him he hadn't made a mistake in choosing this place to stay. Two middle-aged ladies were sitting reading magazines, and they looked round with interest at the new guests.

  'I think we'll see our room first.' Nick struggled to keep his composure as Mel grinned like a Cheshire cat. 'My wife is a little tired; as I said on the telephone she was in a car accident recently and we've come away for her to recuperate.'

  'Why Poitier?' Mel whispered as Mr Grant took their cases and led them up an old winding staircase.

  'I thought it was more exotic than Smith,' Nick whispered back behind his hand. 'Besides I hoped someone might think I'm Sydney.'

  'You aren't quite the right colour for that,' she giggled, as she struggled upstairs.

  James Grant smilingly put down their cases, pointed out the minibar, the sea view and wished them a happy stay.

  'Versailles revisited,' Nick said once the door had closed, running his hand over the gilded headboard on the double bed and smirking at the ivory satin bedspread. 'A real bridal suite.'

  'I think it's wonderful – don't be such a snob,' Mel tapped his cheek playfully. 'It has a perfect, almost decadent atmosphere.'

  Mr Grant, or perhaps his wife had at least been consistent in indulging their taste for gold. The wall lights were gold cherubs, all the furniture was cream with gold mouldings, the full-length mirror had a heavy gilt frame and the dark red pelmet above the window had gold tassels. It wasn't exactly in keeping with a two-hundred-year-old inn, but to Mel it looked romantic.

  She limped across the room to look in the bathroom. She expected more gold, but there everything was white except for the dark mahogany around the bath and washbasin and the wall of mirrored tiles. If she hadn't been used to the splendour of Oaklands she would have considered it very grand.

  'Come here,' Nick said from the bedroom. Mel looked round the door and saw him standing by the window. 'Hurry up, the sun's about to set.'

  It looked like a huge blood orange, sinking down fast towards the sea, cutting a wide pink swathe through the water almost to the shore. The cob jutted out almost like a black serpent and alongside they could see lights on fishing boats, twinkling and moving as the boats bobbed up and down on the swell.

  Nick stood behind Mel, his arms round her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder as the sun slipped slowly into the sea. The sky was dark grey, but pink around the sun. Slowly it turned to purple as the sun dipped further and further into the sea. For a brief moment there was a fiery crescent, then all at once it was gone, sunk into the blackness.

  Mel nuzzled her cheek against Nick's. 'I've never actually seen it disappear before,' she said thoughtfully. 'I always lost patience.'

  He turned her in his arms, holding her face between his hands and lifting it up to his.

  A light on the hotel sign flickered on, catching his blond hair and highlighting the curve of his lips. Down in the bar music was switched on and the sound of The Stylistics' 'You Make Me Feel Brand New', played above the sound of the sea. 'They're even playing our song,' he whispered, smiling.

  There had never been a sweeter moment in her life: all hesitation gone, a feeling she was about to step into eternal bliss. Even before their lips touched the electricity flowed between them.

  Passion was tempered now with the knowledge it was to be consummated. Their lips and tongues teased and played, their breath hot and sweet, their fingers searching out soft places. Slowly Nick unzipped her dress, sliding his hand in and gasping at the silkiness of her skin. She pulled out his shirt and ran her fingers up his spine, feeling goose bumps of pleasure rising under her touch.

  He ran his hands down her neck onto her shoulders s
o delicately Mel found she was holding her breath, dropping her arms to her sides. Her dress dropped to the floor, quickly followed by her bra and Nick stared in awe.

  Mel took his hands and held them to her breasts.

  He sighed with pleasure, bending to kiss her erect nipples and she trembled with emotion, running her fingers through his soft hair. His rapt expression brought a lump to her throat.

  'They are so beautiful,' he whispered, holding each nipple between his fingers as he moved back to kiss her again. 'I never felt this way before.'

  All at once they were overtaken by a fierce thirst. Clothes were ripped off, tossed away heedlessly, two bodies straining to be as one. As they kissed, Nick sunk onto a straight-backed chair by the

  window and pulled her down with him to sit astride him.

  The window was less than a foot away. Anyone passing along the sea walkway could have looked up and seen them, illuminated by the hotel sign, but they needed release too much to move away to the bed or even to close the curtains.

  Mel's hunger matched Nick's. Other men had held her like this in the past, but not once had she experienced such savage joy or such oneness.

  Tenderness washed over her as she held him to her shoulder. He was quivering, panting against her, sweat turning cold with the draught from the window.

  'I love you,' she whispered, lifting his face so she could look into his eyes. 'Stay with me forever?'

  The hotel sign lit up his face, golden and glowing, softer than she'd ever seen it before. 'Could I leave you now?' he whispered back, his eyes glistening with tears. 'We were meant for one another.'

  He lifted her up, carried her over to the bed and laid her down on the satin covers. Then he switched on the bedside light before returning to the window to draw the curtains.

  The feel of the silky material against her bare skin made her writhe sensuously. As Nick turned from the window she held out her arms for him.

  He paused, just looking at her. He had imagined her naked so often, but even in his dreams she had never looked so beautiful. Her skin was honey-coloured, her dark hair shiny and tousled against the cream satin. The soft light hid her remaining scars and emphasised her long slender limbs, full firm breasts and small waist.

  But the rush of tenderness he felt made him suddenly shy of his own nakedness. He took a hand towel from the radiator and put it over his arm like a waiter. 'Will madam be requiring anything else?'

  Mel smiled. She knew why he felt he had to clown, and loved him for such absurd, unexpected shyness. 'A great deal more,' she said, and wriggling up the bed she held out her arms again. 'Come here and I'll show you.'

  Time and place ceased to have any meaning as they held one another in that big warm bed. Mel felt as if she was coming back to life. As they explored each other's bodies, long suppressed desire and emotion welled up and overflowed.

  She sensed Nick was intent only on pleasing her now, his own needs put aside. She watched him as he caressed and kissed her breasts, delighting in the sensuality of his touch, but moved more by his desire to thrill her. He made her feel as if her skin were virgin, as if each sensitive spot he discovered was new to her too.

  Slowly he kissed and licked his way down her body, his fingers probing deep within her. Again and again she felt she was on the point of orgasm, writhing against him, trying to draw him inside her, but still he continued to play with her.

  'Tell me what you like best?' he whispered. But she couldn't answer. Everything he did, everywhere he touched was magical. She wanted to thrill him too, yet she couldn't move, only moan and hold him, wanting release, yet not wanting the bliss to end.

  When he finally moved right down her body, Mel held her breath, her whole being wanting to scream at him to lick her there, and yet an exquisite shyness preventing her.

  But he knew that was what she wanted; each touch and tentative lick was mere teasing. He was waiting for her to demand it.

  'Please kiss me there,' she called out at last, unable to contain herself any longer. 'Please Nick, please!'

  She heard him make a little chuckling sound and at last he obeyed her. He parted the lips of her sex and began to feast on her lasciviously.

  Wild, heady sensation, white hot in its intensity engulfed her. She clawed at his hair and shoulders, all thought of modesty gone. 'More,' she shouted, widening her thighs and holding him trapped against her. 'I'm coming!'

  She was still trembling from her orgasm when he entered her. His hot deep kisses, the taste of her on his lips and the urgency of his need for her made her cry with love and ecstasy.

  There were more tears as they lay entwined, damp and sticky with perspiration. There was so much she wanted to say, yet her heart was too full to express it.

  All those other men she'd been with, all the cheap, squalid, humiliating things she'd done were washed away. She knew somehow that this was the beginning. Here in this hotel room, past mistakes and misfortunes were wiped out for good.

  'I knew you were meant for me the first night I saw you,' he murmured, lips in her hair. 'Like my whole life up till then had been waiting for you.'

  Her silent tears broke into a sob at such tender, beautiful words.

  'Oh Nick,' she whispered, lifting his face so she could see him better. His eyes were soft and adoring. No man had ever looked that way at her before. 'I wish I could tell you how you make me feel. Just saying "I love you" isn't enough.'

  He leaned up over her, just smiling. His lips were swollen with kissing, the glow of the bedside lamp highlighting his cheek bones.

  'Do you remember those miracle stories they told us at school, ones from the Bible where lame men walked and stuff?' she asked.

  'You're not going to tell me I've made your foot better?' he laughed softly.

  'You might very well have done, I haven't checked it yet,' she smiled. 'No, I mean like baptism washing away sins. I tried meditation, celibacy, even prayer to wash away the past. I never thought love could do it, but it has.'

  Nick didn't reply, just snuggled down on the pillow beside her. He was quiet for so long she thought he'd fallen asleep. Then he sighed, and reached up to trace round her lips with one finger.

  'I thought you'd dropped off,' she whispered.

  'It isn't gentlemanly to fall asleep before your lady does,' he said. 'I was just wondering how I'm going to go downstairs for dinner tonight pretending I'm Mr Poitier with his convalescing wife, when really I want to go down there and buy a magnum of champagne and tell anyone who'll listen that I'm the luckiest man in the world.'

  'Dinner,' she said thoughtfully. 'Now you're talking. I'm starving!'

  Nick sat up in bed, snatched the pillow from under her head and held it over her face. 'You unromantic pig,' he said in a mock severe voice. 'There I am pouring out my innermost thoughts and all you can think of is food.'

  'Let me go.' She struggled against him. 'I promise I can be twice as romantic, and twice as sexy with a full tummy. I won't even giggle when Mr Grant calls you Mr Poitier.'

  They drove out of Lyme Regis late on Friday afternoon. Mel had never had a real holiday before and now she understood why people set such store by them. It had been such a blissful lazy time: hours of lovemaking, breakfast in bed, long wallowing baths, lunches in quaint old pubs, gentle walks around the town followed by delicious dinners in the evenings. It was the first time she'd ever slept close to the sea. Lying in Nick's arms listening to the waves pounding the shore, it seemed the most blissful, soothing sound she'd ever heard.

  They hadn't fooled anyone in the hotel that they were Mr and Mrs Poitier. Mr Grant admitted he recognised Nick's face from the papers and the curious and often affectionate looks they got from the older guests suggested that most of them recognised young love.

  The scratches and bruises were gone now, the faint pink lines here and there easily concealed with a little make-up. Rest and fresh air had brought colour back to Mel's cheeks. Even her foot had healed completely. That morning she'd had her hair washed an
d trimmed in a hairdressers, in readiness for the evening's party. Nick still hadn't guessed there was a surprise in store for him when they got back.

  'We'll get away again soon.' He reached out for her hand as he drove, instinctively sharing her sadness that the holiday was over. 'Why don't we tell Dad tonight that we're getting married?'

  'Is that a proposal?' Mel wriggled nearer to him. 'Or just an excuse for another holiday.'

  'Do you want me to attempt to kneel while I'm driving?'

  'No, that can wait,' she joked. 'But what are your prospects young man?'

  'If the critics are kind after tonight, excellent/ he grinned. 'I've got a month's filming in Rome lined up for early next year. Who knows after that.'

  'Rome!' she exclaimed. 'You haven't mentioned that before.'

  'I've been saving it for a surprise.' He patted her knee affectionately. 'If we got married at Christmas you could come with me and it could double as a honeymoon.'

  'Are you serious?' Mel's eyes grew wide with delight.

  'Never more so.' Nick turned into a petrol station and pulled up by the pumps. 'I don't ever want us to be apart again. But you've got as long as it takes me to get some petrol to make up your mind.' He dropped a kiss on her nose. 'This is a limited offer.'

  As Nick filled the car he blew kisses to her through the window and Mel felt tears prickling her eyes.

  He liked to tease and clown, and he made jokes about things to hide the true depths of his feelings, but she knew he was entirely serious about marriage. She knew too that she wanted it more than anything else.

  She took a lipstick from her bag, found an old envelope stuffed into the glove compartment and wrote 'Yes Please' in large letters. The moment he had disappeared into the garage shop, she propped it up on the windscreen so he'd see it as he came out.

  Nick picked up a couple of bars of chocolate and while he waited to be served he glanced at the display of daily papers.

  The headline 'Armed and Dangerous' on the front of one of the tabloids attracted his attention, so he picked it up. As the folded paper dropped open, he gasped in horror at the photograph of Edward Manning.