Flick sat fiddling with one of her earrings, a loose strand of bright red beads she’d threaded herself, thinking about how pleasant it would be to wring Marcus’ neck, when the jewelry came apart in her fingers. One red bead remained in her hand while the others bounced down the staircase and across the hall. Flick bent over to pick them up and felt fingers slide under her skirt.
“Henry Hartington, keep your lecherous hands to yourself.” Flick squirmed away.
“Not my dad,” Giles said, “though interesting you might think it was.”
“Sorry.” Flick realized what she’d said. “No, I’m not sorry. Do you mind?” She tried to get past and he blocked her way.
“Not at all.” His grin and glazed eyes told Flick he was drunk. That and the two empty bottles she’d picked up between him and Willow. “F-for-Felicity. Can’t have too many Fs. But it’s the X factor that’s done it. Xanthe. I never thought I’d find an X. Give us a kiss, X-for-Xanthe.”
“No, Giles.”
He stuck out his bottom lip. “Please. Just a little kiss.”
“No.”
“No meaning yes?”
“No meaning no.”
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He wrapped his arms around her and as she struggled to push him away, Beck and Willow walked out of the dining room. Flick shoved Giles hard in the middle of the chest. He laughed and kissed her.
“Foxy lady,” he slurred and slipped past her into the cloakroom. He hadn’t seen Willow who stood staring like a frozen owl. Beck ushered her back the way they’d come. Flick slammed her hand to her head and groaned. That had not looked good. Why did things like that always happen to her? Sally Greene at work had got the wrong end of the stick about Flick’s relationship with Gordon, her boss. Sally fancied him and thought Flick did too. There was a difference between being friendly and flirting. Good thing looks couldn’t kill. Sally really hated her. Could Sally…? Flick shook her head.
She was about to risk re-entering the kitchen when Beck came out of the dining room and flew straight at her. He caught hold of her elbow and pushed her against the wall. An electric jolt of red-hot lust zinged through Flick’s body.
“What the hell do you do think you’re playing at?”
Ice-cold fear swept the heat away.
“I know what Giles can be like, but he’s getting married in a couple of weeks’ time, for fuck’s sake. His fiancée is sitting in there weeping.” Beck glared at her, his eyes fiery.
“Can’t you stop this cheap flirting?”
Flick wrenched her arm out of his grip and fled to the kitchen. She moaned and came straight back out. Nik and Nita posed horizontal on the kitchen table. Rather, Nita lay on the table with her bare legs wrapped around Nik’s waist. His trousers slumped around his ankles and that was all Flick wanted to see. When she came back out of the kitchen, Beck still stood there with a face like a collapsed soufflé. If it had been anyone else, she’d have made some joke about what was cooking in the kitchen. Instead, she turned her back, leaned against the wall and tried to steady her breathing.
Beck was livid with her but when he’d touched her, he hadn’t wanted to let her go. Just like before, it was as though they’d been welded together. He’d looked into her eyes, wanting to see the same thing he felt, a flashflood of desire that sent his pulse rate soaring, but the only thing he could see was fear. He’d shouted at her and yet he knew exactly what Giles was like. Damn, he was an idiot.
He leaned against the wall and waited for Giles to come out of the cloakroom. No way did he intend to leave the pair alone together. What the hell had Giles been playing at? He was drunk, but not that drunk. Beck wanted him back with Willow and away from Flick. She’d flown back out of the kitchen thinking Beck would have gone so she clearly wanted to talk to Giles.
Christ, what if they were already an item? Giles was cunning enough. That fucking alphabet game. Giles had jumped in a little too quickly for Beck’s peace of mind when Flick revealed her middle name. He had a strong suspicion Giles knew full well how to spell Xanthe and he didn’t find that knowledge at all comforting. 34
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“What the fuck was that about?” Beck demanded when Giles emerged.
“What?” Giles’ puzzlement seemed genuine.
“You and her.” Beck turned to glare at Flick’s back. “What’s going on?”
“Lighten up, Beck.” Giles pushed past him back into the dining room.
When Flick came in to clear the plates, she kept her gaze down. Beck had presumed her guilty without knowing all the facts. The story of her life. She carried in the desserts, individual cheesecakes topped with delicate sugar strand cages. Eleven of them looked fantastic. Sad to say there had been a little accident with Beck’s between the kitchen and the dining room. He glanced up at her when she slammed the plate in front of him.
“Have you spat on it, too?” he asked.
Flick put her mouth to Beck’s ear. “No. Like to guess again? You know, for a guy who makes a living digging up things with extreme care and attention, you’re mighty quick to jump to conclusions.”
She stalked off with Kirsten in pursuit.
“What’s the hell’s the matter?” Kirsten asked as Flick slumped against the wall outside the room.
“Giles tried to kiss me and Beck thinks I’m a slut.”
“He’s drunk.”
“No, he’s driving.”
“Not Beck, you idiot. Giles is the one who’s pissed. Now stop frowning and start smiling or Lady C will dock your wages.”
Flick produced a smile she suspected would only attract a short-sighted chimpanzee.
“Much better,” Kirsten said. “By the way, he doesn’t have a wife or girlfriend or boyfriend.”
Flick bared more of her teeth.
“Keep doing that and you won’t be filling the girlfriend position,” Kirsten said. Flick didn’t think there was a snowflake in hell’s chance of filling any position with Beck, though several sprang to mind. She imagined the only position he’d like her to fill was six foot underground. She doubted he’d be digging her up. By the time she’d laid out the cheese and biscuits, the kitchen was tidy, the dishwasher humming and the chefs almost ready to leave. Nik had one hand attached to Nita’s hip and a satisfied smirk on his face. Flick was jealous of the simmering affection they’d flambéed up between them. She took the coffee into the drawing room along with two plates of petit fours, skillfully rearranged to disguise the fact that she’d stuffed five in her mouth and then went to ask Celia if she could go.
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Flick had lost her sparkle and Beck knew it was his fault. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Celia hand her an envelope and caught something about services no longer being required. His heart slumped into his stomach. Why had Celia sacked her? Did she know there was something going on between Flick and Giles?
“Are you listening?” Kirsten asked.
“Sorry.” Beck tried to tune back in.
“It’s my birthday next Saturday and I’m having a party with a James Bond theme. I’ve invited Giles and Willow. I wondered if you’d like to come.”
“Right.” Beck watched Flick’s mouth tighten as she listened to Celia.
“Do you think you will?”
“Uh?”
“Bring anyone?”
“Maybe, I’ll let you know. You’re not going home together?” Beck’s gaze followed Flick out of the room.
“She’s off to work.”
Beck looked at his watch. “What, now?”
“She’s always working. She does a late shift at a gas station a couple of nights a week. My boyfriend is picking me up. Flick doesn’t have a boyfriend.”
That wasn’t very subtle, Beck thought but then his answer wasn’t subtle either.
“I’m not surprised.”
* * * * *
Beck woke several times that night. Once when the clubbers came back, again when one of them thr
ew up in the bathroom and the final time when someone got into bed with him. Beck shot to his feet, switched on the light and looked down at sloe-eyed Dina.
“Wrong bed,” he said in a firm voice.
“Sorry.” She rolled over, hugging his pillow.
“You have your own bed, Dina.”
Three annoyed huffs later, she got to her feet and wandered out. Beck breathed a sigh of relief. He closed the door and wedged a chair under the handle. Back under the sheet, he felt grateful he’d gone to bed in his Calvin Klein shorts. He wondered why he was quite so opposed to the idea of sleeping with Dina, apart from the fact that he wasn’t supposed to take his students to bed. She was pretty and keen, but didn’t interest him in the slightest.
He found the maid from hell far more enticing, only Beck had a feeling she was more trouble than he could cope with.
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Chapter Five
Gerry, the manager of Polecats, gave an approving smile as Flick threw herself into her routine with uncharacteristic passion. For this set she wore her python outfit—silver serpent necklace, mock-snakeskin thong with matching boots and an eye-mask. Gerry grinned as she hung upside down, wrapped herself around the pole and slithered down. For a tall girl, Flick had nicely proportioned boobs. They suited Gerry’s personal taste. He’d never been one for the pneumatic look favored by so many of his punters. Flick alternated her routines between cat, snake and cowgirl. Gerry liked the snake best. She was a good dancer, supple and athletic, though most nights her performances never strayed beyond controlled and deliberate. Tonight, something was different. She’d worked the audience, left them open-mouthed and drooling into their overpriced cocktails. Gerry licked his lips.
He wished Flick would come in more often but she refused to do more than two nights a week and no more than five or six dances a night. Unlike his other girls, she wouldn’t collect tips after her set which was how the dancers made the bulk of their money. When she’d auditioned, Flick made him an offer—he could have whatever they threw on the platform if he paid her more per dance than the rest. It made her the cheapest dancer he had, though she didn’t know it. Much as he liked her, business was business.
The other thing Flick wouldn’t do was lap dance. Despite his continual requests, she’d only work the pole. Gerry knew she wanted to keep her distance from the punters, but if any of them had tried to touch her or any other of his girls for that matter, they’d receive an instant and very intimate introduction to the pavement outside.
Gerry adjusted his pants. Flick was on fire tonight. She’d even turned him on and he’d begun to think he was becoming immune to women’s bodies. When you worked alongside semi-naked or nude women every night of the week, you began to take them for granted. Gerry found half the time when he was talking to them, he didn’t even notice whether or not they wore clothes, but he liked Flick. He liked her body, but he liked her mind more. She made him laugh.
By the time Flick finished her final routine her limbs felt leaden. Two thirty in the morning and the place was still hopping. She wiped off her makeup in the dressing room, changed into her little black skirt and white blouse, and went to get her money.
“You were hot tonight, princess,” Gerry said.
“So those were flames coming out of your ears.”
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“When are you going to come home and meet my mum?”
“When you go and meet mine.”
“I thought your mum was dead?”
“Sad to say that’s true.”
“Baby, you’re breaking my heart.”
Flick laughed. “I wasn’t aware you had one.”
Gerry clutched theatrically at his chest. “Now I need CPR.”
“What’s that? Constant Penis Rubbing?”
He gave her a sly wink. “Was that an offer, Miss Knyfe?”
“You know I don’t work with inferior material, Gerry.”
He threw his hands up in defeat, but beamed.
* * * * *
The digital clock perched on the end of the dressing table read 3:21 by the time Flick finally crawled into bed, and less than two hours later she rolled back out again. When she agreed to do the extra stint at the gym, she’d decided not to go to bed after her shift at Polecats, and instead put her mind to making a list of anyone who could have set her up for the theft. Sheer exhaustion changed her mind. Now she sat behind the reception desk in the leisure club, wishing she hadn’t slept at all because she was sure it had made her feel worse.
Only two of them worked the early shift. They took it in turns to man the desk or clean the equipment. It was Flick’s turn for the stool and she perched there determined to smile and be helpful, even if it killed her.
“Towel please.”
She handed over a towel and swiped the membership card of one of the three super-fit individuals she’d seen exercising outside while they waited for the gym to open. Those who turned up before dawn cracked were grim-faced, toned and in her opinion, completely insane. Though the quietest time of the day offered the perfect opportunity for undisturbed domination of the equipment, despite the rules about hogging the machines, it was hardly worth losing sleep. On the other hand, early mornings also offered the unfit and embarrassed a chance to exercise out of sight of people they knew. Though after a couple of weeks, they almost always gave up. These quiet early mornings were not a good time for Flick. Far too much time to think about her life and how it had all gone wrong. Minutes passed so slowly she might have thought she’d died and gone to her own private hell if it hadn’t been for the draught of cold air that shot her way every time the door of the cardio gym opened. Flick lived in constant dread of Kirsten or Josh finding out about Polecats. She couldn’t tell them she danced out of financial desperation so they’d assume she craved the attention, or the feeling of sexual power. In fact Flick had been shocked by how 38
Digging Deeper
much some of the dancers hated men. Shocked too how quickly she’d lost her fear of taking off her clothes. The feeling of being utterly exposed and humiliated lasted one dance before Flick switched off that part of her mind. Compared to the humiliation of the accusation of theft, the pole dancing was nothing.
It really wasn’t that big a deal. She danced. Men watched. She went home. Only Flick knew her friends wouldn’t see it like that, a boyfriend wouldn’t see it like that, not the sort of boyfriend she wanted anyway. Now she’d seen Beck’s reaction to Giles’
grope, she knew a pole-dancing girlfriend was not what Professor Beckett was looking for.
* * * * *
By the time Flick returned home, Pierce had gone and Kirsten was getting ready to go for lunch at her parents’. Flick changed into her best going-out gear—her green skirt, mid-thigh length on the left, calf-length on the right, a fluorescent pink top and blue plastic sandals decorated with goldfish. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d bought something new. It wasn’t by choice she trawled the local charity shops. Faced with cast-off woolen skirts, button-to-the-neck polyester blouses or over-bright trendy gear bought by mistake and only worn once if at all, Flick found herself the owner of some unusual items of clothing, not all of which were revolting. The phone rang and Kirsten yelled for her to get it.
“Buckingham Palace. How may I help you?” Flick said in as posh a voice as she could manage.
“Hi, Xanthe.”
Her antennae twitched. “Hello, Giles.”
“I’m ringing to apologize about last night.”
“Oh, okay. So have you told Beck it wasn’t me, it was you?” she asked and then cursed herself for being obvious.
“Meet me tonight in Headingley for a drink. Eight o’clock. The Cock and Bull. Bring your birth certificate.”
“What? Get stuffed.” Flick slammed the phone down.
“Who was it?” Kirsten asked as she walked in.
“Wrong number.”
“Hurry up then.”
/> On the way to the car Flick stopped in front of a clump of feathery purple foliage.
“These are pretty. Do you know what they’re called?”
Kirsten peered over her shoulder. “Rosebay Willowherb.”
“Ohh, what a great name. Do you think your mum would like them?” Flick snapped several stems.
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“They’ll definitely bring a smile to her face.” Kirsten grinned. “Now get in or we’ll be late.”
Flick moaned as she sank on to the seat. “God, I’m exhausted.”
“How much sleep did you get last night?”
“Not enough.”
“Me neither. I wish I’d hidden the condoms.”
“Eugghh.” She valued Kirsten too much as a friend to lose her over Pierce, but when Kirsten did start to see the light, Flick intended to stake her out in the sun and tape her eyes open. And if necessary, she’d smother her with honey and threaten her with an army of ants until she admitted that Pierce was not “the one”. Flick didn’t like Pierce. He arrived on time, sent flowers and told Kirsten she looked nice but there was something too organized about him, as though he’d decided a lawyer and an accountant were a perfect balance. The same flowers arrived on the same day every month. He was never spontaneous.
“Maybe you should drop the gas station,” Kirsten suggested.
“No. Can’t. Need the money.”
“Why don’t you look for a proper job? You wouldn’t have to work such crazy hours.”
“Maybe I like things this way.” Flick warned by her tone she did not wish to continue on that track. As usual, Kirsten missed it.
“Do you want me to help with your CV? I mean, I can’t understand why you don’t even get any interviews.”
“I’m considering my options.” Gagging you, being one of them. Kirsten sighed. “Go on then, ask me.”
“What?”
“If he’s coming to my party.”
“Who?”
Kirsten laughed. “Mr. Phwoar.”
“You needn’t have bothered. He thinks I’m a tart who only appeals to lower life forms—sheep and Giles Hartington.”
Digging Deeper Page 5
