by Penny Henry
"Just load everything into the dishwasher." Imogen covered a yawn as she looked at the wreckage. She had just about had enough for one night.
"Are your sure?" Roger was apparently tireless.
"Yep, I'm sure. I think you've done more than your fair share tonight, Roger." She crouched down to retrieve a saucer from under the sofa. She closed her eyes to the biscuit crumbs. The hungry coppers had decimated the biscuit barrel. She would vacuum on another day. "I really think we should be going to bed." She lifted her eyes to where Roger was gathering crockery. He had ignored her careless slip. "To get some sleep if course. I didn’t mean—” She tried again. "Separately, you know what I’m trying to say, in our own beds." She gave up. Everything she said was making it sound worse.
Roger paid her no attention. He was concentrating on winding his way to the kitchen with an armful of dirty china. Imogen held her breath until she heard the clatter of the crockery as it was deposited on the side and the dishwasher being opened. She added to the pile of china in the kitchen while Roger methodically loaded the machine until the lounge was cleared. A quick tidy of the creased chairs and sofa and Imogen's apartment gave the appearance of normality. She had hesitated at her first touch of the cushion that had been held over her face with the full weight of Don Thornton behind it. Then she had angrily seized the cushion and plumped it into shape. She was a strong woman. She was not going to allow one violent episode to mar her life or destroy the intimate atmosphere of her home. The police had left a leaflet that explained the counseling that was available to her and she had carefully placed it in a drawer. The fact that support was just a phone call away gave her an added boost. First she would try it her way. Roger sauntered into the lounge, catching her pensive mood.
"Hey, are you going to be okay? Is there anyone I can call for you?"
Imogen thought of Connie before deciding it was too late to drag her out of bed. She turned on a radiant smile. “No thanks. I’m sure I'll be fine, Roger." She kept her voice as steady as she could. "Don's locked away. The apartment door has been fixed. There's nothing for you to worry about. I’m going to be okay."
"I can stay the night if you want me to."
"Roger!” She gave him a cheeky grin. “That's an interesting idea. But what would your brother have to say about it?" Humor was her first defense against the thought of spending the night alone.
The blush probably began at Roger's toes. It emerged as a crimson wave from his chest that rippled through his cheeks and ended at his hairline. At least he didn’t bolt for the door.
"I… I meant on the sofa, naturally. Honestly, I wasn’t thinking that we―” He stopped talking
Imogen laughed and it felt good. "I know what you meant, Roger. I can’t help it if I’m not your type." It was fun to tease him a little bit.
Roger's blush deepened until Imogen feared she might witness the spontaneous combustion of her unlikely hero. "I'm playing with you, Roger. Don’t take it so seriously.” She had walked towards him and was suddenly overcome with a rush of tenderness. She sort of flung herself at him and threw her arms around his neck. She pressed her cheek to the warmth of his chest. She felt a tear welling in her eye. "Thank you so much, Roger, for everything you've done. You were wonderful. I don't know what would have happened to me if you hadn’t been here.” His smell was in her senses. If she closed her eyes she could swear she was holding onto Gable. She felt his hands press to her back to hold her against his body. She raised her head to look up at him, to stare her emotion into his face. She needed him to know the depth of her gratitude. Thank you didn't sound enough. He had saved her life. And then the tears began to roll down her cheeks. They were unhindered and endless. She rested her head against his chest and allowed the tears to flow. Her body convulsed with the shuddering emotional release. She clung to his muscular frame like a squirrel to the trunk of a friendly tree. She cried and cried until the only sound was the rasping of her breath. And all the time he held her tightly and whispered how brave she’d been and how proud he was of her. By the time she lifted her eyes to his they held a different message. She didn’t want to be alone.
Roger's pale gaze locked with her shiny brown eyes and he bent his head to kiss her forehead. "Imogen, I think… We… We need to tal—"
She didn't want to talk. She slipped her hands from his shoulders and cupped his face, silencing him with a finger before tracing his lips with the fingertip. Then she coaxed his head down until his mouth covered her own and they met in a kiss. The touch of their lips was tender and exploratory. There was a moment of gentleness before they came together in a crush of open, hungry mouths. They gripped furiously to each other. They were entwined by a powerful need that denied reason and restraint. His hands swept across Imogen's back, pulling her into him. She clutched at his muscular shoulders, forcing her arching body against him. A whimper escaped her throat as she surrendered to the intoxication of Roger’s kiss. The heat between her thighs was impossible to deny. She parted her legs and allowed her burning sex to press a wet patch to the muscle of his invading leg. Then the shock his powerful erection struck her with the impact of a slap. She pushed herself back from his chest and screwed her face away from the temptation of his lips.
"I'm sorry, Roger. I really shouldn't have done that. I shouldn’t have encouraged you. I don’t know what came over me. Please forgive me." She avoided looking downwards, knowing the size of the bulge she would see there. She only had so much control.
Roger let his arms fall away. “No, it was my fault, Imogen. I just lost it. I’m sorry. It was the heat of the moment. I got carried away. The excitement and everything...”
Imogen shushed his words with her fingers. "Don't apologize, Roger. Please, whatever you do, don't apologize.” She smiled into his eyes. “I think we both need a break. I need some time to think. If only Gable—"
"Imogen, I need to tel you some—"
"No, Roger, please. Let's not say anything at all. We both need some sleep. Perhaps we can meet up tomorrow and talk about what happened tonight."
Roger was flustered. He seemed unsure of how to react. "You want to meet me tomorrow?"
Imogen nodded. "Yes, Roger. I want to meet you tomorrow. When we've both had some sleep and had time to gather our thoughts."
"Err, right. So I’ll see you tomorrow then. When do you think?"
Imogen struggled to get her thoughts into some semblance of order. "Tomorrow evening. That would be good for me. I've got a lunch date and I'm determined to get back to normal as soon as possible. I’m not going to let Don Thornton make me into a victim. You could drop by around six-thirty. That’s if it’s okay with you."
"Six-thirty sounds fine. I’m not doing anything else.” Then his brow creased. He looked concerned. “Are you sure you’re going to be up for going out tomorrow?" He held her gaze without blinking
Roger’s eyes carried a sadness that puzzled Imogen. Could it be that Roger regretted not meeting her first? That he wasn’t Gable? They were arrogant thoughts that Imogen felt were beneath her. She instantly dismissed them. "I'll be fine, Roger. Please don’t worry about me. The sooner I put this behind me, the better I’ll feel. The whole night has been a nightmare." His face took on a look of hurt and Imogen's heart went out to him. She touched his arm. "I didn't mean everything that's happened tonight, Roger. It’s just that I need some time to think."
Roger managed a half-smile. "I understand, Imogen. I have some work to take me through the day. Tomorrow evening will suit me fine. Are... are you sure you don't want me to stay? I can sleep on the couch."
At that moment there was nothing in the world that Imogen wanted more. She fought to keep it together. "I'll be fine, Roger. I promise you. I’ll see you tomorrow."
He turned his face away resigned to rejection. "You know where I am if you need me."
Imogen didn't trust herself to move as he walked towards the door. She stayed anchored in the centre of the lounge. "I know where you are, Roger. Go to bed. Get some s
leep. I'll see you tomorrow."
Roger pulled back the door. "Last chance," he said hopefully.
Imogen smiled at his uncharacteristic cheek. She had a lot to learn about Roger. "Go on. Get out of here." Then she remembered Gable. "Oh, Roger, there’s one last thing. Will you tell Gable what happened tonight please?"
He leant his head to one side. "I’ll try, but I... I’m not sure when he’ll be back. He could be away for several days."
Imogen experienced a pang of disappointment. Her first reaction was swiftly followed by a sense of betrayal. Then she felt anger that Gable could simply disappear whenever the mood suited him. She had a lot of thinking to do. "Roger.” He turned his head. “I didn't mean you have to tell him everything."
Roger winked and pulled the door. The door clicked shut and Imogen removed the imaginary barrier she had erected. She couldn't allow herself to think about the twins anymore. Her mind was in chaos. She walked to the door, flicked the lock, double checked it and tested the handle with a tug. Then she turned off the lights and headed for her bedroom and blessed sleep.
She crawled into bed thinking that she never wanted to experience day like that again. She found it impossible to believe that one minute she had been breathing the air on Parliament Hill with her grandparents and the next she had been struggling for her life. Maybe not quite like that. But that was how she felt. She shuddered and avoided dwelling on what might have been if Roger hadn’t kicked in the door. The reality of how close she had been to death would probably hit her over the next few days. Or maybe she had dealt with it in Roger’s arms. For the moment her brain was dangerously overloaded. She was saved the trouble of what to think of next by the hand of Nature switching off her cerebral functions and sending her to dreamless sleep. Everything would look better in the morning.
On Sunday morning she woke late and in a state of panic. Her brain was instantly alert and her eyes were wide-open. She stared wildly round the room and drew in a dozen rapid breaths before she gained her bearings and got control of her thoughts. It was over. She allowed herself to relax for a minute then rolled out of bed and walked naked to the bathroom. She began a vain attempt to catalogue the previous day as she tested the water and stepped under the spray. Imogen scrubbed herself clean as she fought against the growing sense of anger and frustration that threatened to overwhelm her. She toweled herself fiercely, put on her robe and walked to the kitchen. She made coffee and toast as normal. Then she switched on the dishwasher and returned to her bedroom to dress. She had to get out of her apartment. It was too early for her lunch-date with Connie and Rose. She could drive to Greenwich and take a walk by the river. She desperately needed to get things into perspective. She knew she would eventually rationalize her outrage at Don Thornton's invasion of her personal space. Imogen Mercouri would not be a victim. Her emotional turmoil was not so easily dismissed. It was not possible to love two men at the same time, was it? Maybe she could have them both? She tut-tutted at her brazen thoughts. She could never come between brothers. Yet her attraction to both of them was undeniable. Maybe she could have a little of each. She didn't know enough about either one of them to even think of judging them. She was facing an impossible task. She picked out a stitched denim shirt dress, a strappy pair of heels and a light cardigan against the breeze. She applied the minimum of make-up and decided she looked okay. She walked back to the kitchen and stacked away the clean dishes in a calmer frame of mind. Then she went to the lounge, transferred her mobile phone and a few essentials to her Sunday bag and walked out from her apartment without a backward glance.
The whisper quiet motor of Imogen’s car was already running when Roger stepped out from the elevator. Imogen paused in her first reaction to switch off the engine. She watched as he walked into the car park. Her heart sank a little. The adrenaline-fuelled transformation of the previous evening had evaporated. Roger was back to his usual humble self. He looked like a rumpled professor from a red brick university. He was wearing brown corduroy trousers and a chunky, nondescript jumper from a long forgotten Christmas. No jacket. He was laden down with briefcase, several thick files and to all appearances a laptop computer in a padded case. It was the computer that threw her. Roger was supposedly unable to find his way round a CD player let alone a laptop. She watched him struggle between the resident's vehicles. The car park was always busier at the weekends. She couldn't spot his Mercedes. She monitored his progress feeling guilty. He was heading for Gable's Porsche. She watched horrified as he dumped his armfuls of work onto the polished roof of the car and searched through his pockets for the fob. She was sure that Gable would have had a fit. Then he wrenched open the passenger door and piled his belongings inside. He was using Gable's Porsche! Perhaps Roger’s car was in the garage. He was using Gable's absence to borrow his car. The throaty roar of the engine stung Imogen into action. Without thinking it through she nosed the car in the wake of the fast motor. Roger exited the car park and headed west. She followed at a respectable distance keeping several vehicles between them. Roger handled the powerful motor with expertise, weaving through the light Sunday traffic and using the gas to good effect. It was all Imogen could do to keep the racing Porsche in sight. She nearly lost him twice. Each time she was lucky to spot the Porsche as he executed another speedy overtake. Imogen was driving too fast. She lost sight of him for the last time. Wherever Roger was headed wasn't worth killing herself for. What the hell was she doing stalking him anyway? She looked round at the changes in the area she was passing through. It had been a while since she had travelled this route. The thought struck her that the web design company that Sblig used was located in the vicinity. Even if she knew the address she doubted they would be working on a Sunday.
Imogen made a right and did a perfect taxi-turn using the mouth of a convenient road. Time was slipping away and she needed to get to Greenwich for her lunch date with Connie and Rose. She had a lot to tell them. She was driving with half her mind on the road, suddenly being plagued with disturbing flashbacks. She was driving erratically and barely noticing the angry gestures from the drivers she was cutting up. Then she took a deep breath. She exhaled slowly and calmed herself down. She crossed the river at Vauxhall Bridge. The traffic was mainly headed in the opposite direction and she managed the remainder of the drive to Greenwich without falling apart.
Rose and Connie were left speechless. They had met at the usual restaurant with Imogen almost arriving on time. All three had turned off their mobiles and ordered from the menu before settling into a cozy chat that would normally last through lunch and into the afternoon. The proprietor's name was Rodney. He was someone Rose knew from when she had worked in the City. Over the years they had remained on friendly terms. Neither Imogen nor Connie asked too many questions. Rose appeared to be on the best of terms with Rodney's wife Annette and was an honorary aunt to their two daughters. Of course Rose could charm the Trafalgar Square statues from their plinths if she had a mind to. It was better left at that. Today the three women needed every ounce of Rodney and Annette's patience as they lingered over every mouthful. Rose and Connie listened over their starter with increasing incredulity as Imogen told of her shock at discovering the intruder in her apartment. Then Imogen explained Roger's timely rescue through the main course. The police action was discussed with the pudding and her dalliance with Roger over coffee. Rose refused the coffee and ordered a large brandy. She was the first to find her voice.
"Damn it, honey. You sure know how to make up for lost time."
Rose and Connie were impressed that Imogen had managed to make it to the lunch date. They were quick to offer anything she wanted to see her through her terrifying ordeal. When they got round to the subject of the brothers the two women were unusually reticent.
"I don’t know what to say, honey,” began Rose. “I’m not sure either of them will be any good for you in the long run.” She wrinkled her brow. “I think that it must have been Gable I saw partying with a bunch of glamour models at the Gold Sta
r Cafe. Am I right?!
Imogen nodded. Connie shook her head. “Keep me out of it.” she said firmly. “I can see it ending in tears.” She didn’t add that she’d be there to pick up the pieces when it did.
“Sounds as if you’ve got them both eating out of your hand, honey,” said Rose, thinking it through and coming from a different point of view. “Why don’t you give them both a whirl?”
Imogen blushed. "Well, maybe because it’s about me and not you, Rose.”
Rose didn’t take offence. “I know what I’d do, honey. And that would probably include both of them. Gable’s a hunk. And so is his brother by the sound of things.”
They all laughed at Rose’s uncomplicated solution. The problem for Imogen was that it wasn’t that simple. She wasn’t Rose.
“There’s something else,” said Imogen hesitantly.
“Do tell, honey.” Rose was interested.
Imogen spoke in hushed tones as she told them about following Roger that morning. It was why she had been late. He had been driving Gable's Porsche and she didn't know why. Something was wrong. She was feeling confused and mystified at the secrecy that surrounded the twins.
Rose pursed her mouth and led the three women in a huddle over the table. She looked directly into Imogen’s eyes. "Twins can be odd. And I’m speaking from personal experience here, honey. They have this bond thing that regular brothers and sisters don’t.” She leant back in her chair. “You do know that some twins share everything, don't you, darlings?"
"Rose!" Connie admonished her flame-haired boss. "Shame on you for saying that. You’ll upset Imogen."
"It was just a thought." Rose smiled mischievously. "It worked for me. I not saying that—"
"Oh, yes you are," said Imogen accusingly. "You have a dirty mind, Rose." She tossed her hair in feigned disgust and smothered a giggle. “You don’t think I’d tell you if I did, do you?”
Rose and Connie looked at each other before nodding their heads in a definite yes. Rose drained her second glass of brandy and checked her watch. "Talking about fit young men - which I do believe we were. I don't want to run out on you but Tony should be here to pick me up about now.”
