by Liz Fielding
He ignored her singularly ungracious offer of a drink and followed her into the kitchen, propping himself on a stool, watching her as she began to break eggs into a bowl.
‘Fizz, about last night. You did understand, didn’t you?’
She kept her eyes firmly on her task. ‘I understood perfectly.’
‘Then why are you so angry with me?’
‘I’m not in the least bit angry,’ she snapped, as she dropped two slices of bread in the toaster.
‘Is it because I didn’t pick the snowdrops?’ He looked around as if expecting to see them on display. ‘I’ll go right now and pick you a basketful if it’ll make you smile.’
‘Don’t waste your time. I’d only put them in the bin with the others.’ She turned away to the hob and began to beat the eggs over the heat. For a while the only sound was that of the balloon whisk rattling against the side of the pan. Luke was so quiet that she began to wonder if he was still there. She half turned and as she did so the toast popped, startlingly loud in the quiet kitchen and she nearly dropped the eggs. And Luke was still there, watching her.
Quickly, avoiding his eyes, she found a plate, buttered the toast and dumped the eggs on them. ‘What would you like to drink? Tea, coffee?’
‘Come here, Fizz.’
The width of the breakfast bar was between them and she intended to keep it that way. ‘I’ve some orange juice, if you’d prefer.’
‘Come here, Fizz and I’ll tell you what I want.’
‘Salt? Pepper?’ she continued on a sudden rising tide of panic. What on earth had made her bring him back to her flat? She should have put him in a taxi and sent him straight home. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know what to expect. The man had all the moral scruples of a tom cat. They said women continued to fall in love with the same type of man; maybe that was a type she couldn’t resist.
She held out the salt pot, relaxing as he gave a little shrug and reached for it. But he didn’t take the salt, he seized her wrist instead and before she could save herself he had whisked her around the breakfast bar and into the curve of his arm. ‘This is what I want, Fizz. I’ve been dreaming of it since you left my arms last night.’ And he kissed her.
For a moment she went quite rigid, then something sort of slipped sideways inside her as his mouth, warm balm to her jittery nerves invited her co-operation and his arms offered her the kind of comfort she had always yearned for. By the time he finally raised his head, heavy lids disguising the dark desire she had briefly glimpsed in his eyes, Fizz had become a more than willing accomplice to his blitz upon her senses.
‘I... I... Your eggs are getting cold,’ she blurted out guiltily, pulling away, turning to pick up the kettle, filling it noisily.
She plugged it in and turned to ask him if he preferred tea or coffee. But she changed her mind. They’d already had that conversation and just look where it had got her. Instead she busied herself on the far side of the small kitchen, keeping the maximum distance between the pair of them. She cleaned up, flipped the lid on the bin to drop in the eggshells.
‘Thanks, Fizz. That was great.’ His voice, too close behind her, made her jump, the bin lid clattering down as she lost control and the eggshells went everywhere. He bent to pick them up, opened the bin, looked thoughtfully at its contents for a moment. ‘The note, too?’ he said, finally.
‘Why don’t you go and sit by the fire,’ she said, with forced brightness. ‘I’ll bring some tea through in a minute.’
His mouth twisted into an ironical little smile, but he didn’t argue. But the fact that he left the kitchen without a further assault on her emotions didn’t make her feel as safe as she had hoped.
But when, after endless delaying tactics, she had finally assembled the tea tray and carried it into the sitting room, she discovered that her fears were groundless. He was stretched out on the sofa, cushion pillowed beneath his head. Fast asleep.
She put the tray down very quietly so as not to disturb him and settled herself in the armchair angled to the side of the fireplace, watching the even rise and fall of his chest as he slept. The harsh lines of worry about the damage at the factory, compounded by Melanie’s defection, had been ironed out by sleep.
He looked younger, less threatening.
Sleep, Fizz thought, made us all seem vulnerable but with Luke Devlin she knew it was a dangerous illusion.
Claudia might profess to revel in living on the edge of that kind of danger, Melanie could certainly twist him around her little finger, but Fizz knew that she wasn’t built for such games.
If she didn’t put a stop to what was happening to her, she might as well press a button marked “self-destruct”. She had the uneasy feeling that she might already have left it far too late.
CHAPTER TEN
TEARING her eyes from Luke, she picked up a book and tried to read, but although the pages were turned with a regularity that suggested concentration, her eyes were just sliding over the words. She was merely keeping them busy so that they would not be tempted to simply watch the figure slumbering so peacefully on her sofa, apparently unaware of the confusion he had unleashed within her breast.
At half past nine she put the book down and walked across to him.
‘Luke?’ she said, quietly. He did not stir. She would have liked to shout at him, bring him crashing painfully from sleep; that was what he had done to her. One moment she had been quietly cruising along, dealing with life’s small crises, content in a career that she loved. Then she had lost her concentration for just a moment and hit the metaphorical brick wall.
But shouting at Luke wouldn’t help. If her body marched to a different drummer to her head she could hardly blame him. So she resisted the urge. Instead she forced her reluctant fingers to gently stroke the warm curve of his ear. After a moment his eyes flickered open and she saw the blankness that betrayed he was not truly awake and she repeated his name. Then his eyes creased in a smile as he recognised her.
‘Hello, Fizz. Did I fall asleep?’ He sat up, rubbing his hand over his face. ‘It’s been a long day.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t have woken you at all, but since you issued Melanie with a ten o’clock curfew I thought it would be too bad if you missed it yourself.’
He sighed. ‘Melanie.’ Then he gave a rueful little smile. ‘To think that I could have been sleeping peacefully on your sofa if I didn’t have to worry about her.’ He stopped, raked his finger through his hair. ‘Well. Perhaps it’s just as well.’
More than perhaps. But even so Fizz leaned forward. ‘Why do you worry about her?’ she asked. He looked at her, clearly expecting more. Fizz, aware that she had probably said far too much already, gave an awkward little shrug. ‘Don’t you think it’s time to let her go?’
‘To Andy Gilbert?’
‘She should be mixing with people of her own age, having fun. Not sitting at home like a ten-year wife waiting for her husband to come home and take some notice of her.’ She stopped. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘No. You’re right.’ His brows drew down, creasing his forehead as he considered what she had said. ‘I’m being over-protective I suppose. I know she’s nearly twenty and she’s had loads of boyfriends. But she seems so vulnerable and I promised my sister I’d look after her. Frankly, it’s harder work than I thought.’
‘Your sister?’ Fizz felt her blood chill. She shook her head a little, as if to clear it. It couldn’t be true. She couldn’t have made that big a mistake. But quite suddenly everything seemed to make a lot more sense. ‘Melanie is your niece?’ she asked, woodenly.
‘Of course she is. What else?’ She tried to answer, opened her mouth even, but nothing came out. Luke’s frown deepened. ‘Fizz?’
‘I… I thought…’ She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t tell him the truly awful things she had been thinking. ‘I thought you wanted to go home,’ she said. ‘If Melanie is there first you’ll never live it down.’ Her attempt at a teasing laugh was a disma
l failure and as she made a move to pass him, he rose to his feet, blocked her way.
‘Tell me what were you thinking, Fizz?’
‘Luke, please.’ But as she forced herself to meet his eyes she saw from the grim set of his face that he had worked it out for himself.
‘You thought I was her lover didn’t you?’ His voice was harsh with disbelief. ‘Good god, she’s nothing but a child!’
‘Hardly that. She’s well over the age of consent. And she’s very lovely. I mean who would blame you?’
By way of justification it was hardly likely to improve matters. It didn’t. The muscles in his jaw tightened and the skin drawn tight over his cheekbones darkened ominously and Fizz suddenly found the wallpaper behind his head utterly fascinating.
‘You’re right of course. Which is why I’d rather she stayed away from Andy Gilbert.’ For a moment, a single blissful moment, she thought he had accepted that she had made an honest mistake and she eagerly sought his gaze. But his eyes chilled her to the bone. ‘So, let’s get this straight. I am supposed to be having the time of my life educating a girl young enough to be my daughter in the delights of sexual adventure?’ He ground the words out. ‘I’m not misunderstanding the situation? That is what you thought?’
‘Luke -’
He had asked, but the question had apparently been rhetorical. No answers required. ‘So what was going through your head last night, Fizz? You know, when you decided, entirely on your own initiative, to step out of your dress and tempt me into sex games on the study floor?’
‘I don’t think -’
‘Had you been on the look out for a likely tutor yourself and I just happened to fit the bill? I know you live like a nun, but maybe you’ve decided on a change of lifestyle. Or did you just want to keep your sponsor happy? I’d be really interested to know.’
Fizz took a step back. ‘I thought…’ No, that was wrong.
Thought had nothing to do with what happened behind the locked doors of his study. She hadn’t been thinking. She had been feeling.
The world had been nothing but sensation and she had been reacting to his touch, his expert mouth, teasing hands.
Oh, yes, he could teach her everything she had ever wanted to know about herself. She didn’t doubt it for a moment.
‘Well? What did you think?’
She stirred, lifted her hand in a forlorn little gesture. Dropped it again. ‘You decide, Luke,’ she said. And she saw, actually saw the moment when he made his choice; when his eyes turned to granite chips and her heart, her poor vulnerable, melted heart, disintegrated like a defrosted strawberry. But this time she didn’t disintegrate with it. Instead she lifted her head and looked directly into his eyes. ‘But you will remember that you were the one who locked the door.’
His face darkened as her dart found its mark, but she could see he wasn’t in any mood to admit that he had played his part, apologise.
‘Yes, God help me. I locked the door. And then I kissed you. You did want me to kiss you?’ he demanded. ‘The signals seemed all set on go?’ She didn’t answer him, he knew the answer, but her silence made him even angrier. ‘Answer me, damn you!’
‘Yes.’ Her throat was so tight that she could scarcely speak. ‘I wanted you to kiss me.’
He nodded, satisfied. ‘I just wanted to be sure I’d got it right. You accepted my invitation to join me in the study. You invited me to kiss you, took off your dress with breathtaking alacrity and all this as a little offering of gratitude for my support of Pavilion Radio. Or did you think I’d change my mind before the next instalment fell due? No wonder you were so keen to get Melanie involved with someone else.’
Fizz welcomed the surge of anger that bubbled up from deep inside her, bringing the life flooding back into her veins. Anger would wash her clean.
‘I just wanted to get her away from you!’
‘Self-sacrifice? The noblest of all motives. I don’t think so.’
She glared at him. ‘Have you ever seen it in action? Up close, day after day? You wouldn’t be so quick -’
‘I’ve seen it, Fizz. Believe me, I can recognise the genuine article.’ He shook his head. ‘Did you know that everyone thinks your father gave you a job to keep you occupied because you can’t do anything else? But they’re wrong aren’t they?’
‘Quite wrong.’
‘You are a very talented lady, indeed.’
‘Not especially talented. I just work hard.’
‘Well you certainly could have fooled me. I’d have said it was all down to natural talent. It certainly ensured Michael Harries generosity for the last five years.’
She suddenly realised that he wasn’t talking about the fact that she ran the radio station. He was talking about something quite different, quite dreadful and she gasped at such slander, but he was unimpressed.
‘I trust Edward Beaumont is suitably grateful. It seems a quite remarkable sacrifice to make for any man’s financial gain. I believe there’s a word for it.’
Fizz. Bang. His head cracked back at the force with which she hit him, but apart from that there was no reaction. He didn’t even raise his hand to the livid imprint of her fingers on his cheek. But his eyes cut her to ribbons with razor-edged scorn.
‘Two actually. One for him and one for you.’
She swung again, her hand clenched into a tight little fist, but this time he caught her wrist. Her throat finally released from the grip of pent-up tears that now began to flow silent and unchecked down her face, spewed out the bottled up angry words.
‘You’re such a prig, Luke Devlin. It didn’t take much to bring you to the boil, so don’t you dare get sanctimonious with me! But you’re like a child in a sweetshop. Not content with the toffee in your hand you’ve got to have the chocolate too. But then Claudia is some chocolate.’
‘Chocolate?’ He laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. ‘Your sister is as pink and obvious as a stick of Broomhill rock. And as hard.’
‘But sweet, Luke. Sweet.’
‘Jealous are we?’ His eyes were hard, dark as obsidian, his mouth a thin angry line. ‘I flirted with her and you cared? Come on, Fizz, you thought I was living with Melanie and that didn’t bother you one bit.’ Oh, it bothered her. It bothered her a lot. ‘And you see, poor saphead that I am, I wanted…’ - he seemed to have difficulty breathing - ‘…I just wanted to protect you.’ His laugh was harsh, humourless. ‘You did seem anxious that your sister shouldn’t know what you had been up to and it seemed to me that the easiest way to divert her was to make a fuss of her. She did seem to expect it.’
‘In other words you were simply being a gentleman?’
‘A gentleman?’ he repeated, dangerously. ‘The gentleman and the whore. It would make a great title for a film, don’t you think?’
‘It sounds a touch clichéd to me. I do hope you don’t expect me to be grateful?’
‘Frankly, Fizz, I no longer care either way.’ He finally dropped her wrist and she rubbed it in a vague, distracted manner while he stared down at her. ‘It’s extraordinary. My sister and I were such good friends that I’d never considered the possibility that siblings could dislike one another quite as much as you two seem to. I can understand you being jealous of her, but -’
‘Jealous?’
‘Of her success.’
Fizz walked across to the door and opened it. ‘There’s a taxi rank on the seafront, Luke. I hope for your sake, that there’s someone there this late on a Sunday, or you’ll have a long walk home.’
He didn’t argue, but picked up his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about it, Fizz. The fresh air will help to clear away the smell of the Beaumont family.’
Fizz resisted the urge to slam the door, closing it very carefully behind him and shooting home the bolts before leaning heavily against it, shaking from head to foot while all the terrible words that had been spoken spun around inside her head.
Awful words.
He had insulted her beyo
nd belief. And her father. And poor Michael. And she had behaved so badly that she wouldn’t want to look her face in the mirror for a very long time.
But worse, far worse was the suggestion that she was jealous of Claudia. And it wasn’t true. It wasn’t. God alone knew that they had no illusions about each other. She knew Claudia’s weaknesses and Claudia understood her better than anyone else ever had. They had shared a strangely pampered, yet neglected childhood, the nightmare of their mother’s accident, dark secrets.
They cared for one another in a way no one else would ever understand.
That was why Claudia hadn’t told her about the snowdrops. Despite her cynical attitude, her warning that Luke was not for her, she had seen his note and left the flowers beside it hoping to foster a little romance.
*****
Turning up his collar, sticking his hands deep in his pockets against the biting wind, Luke took the hill at a punishing pace. Punishing himself.
He had thought he was in control, perfectly safe flirting with Fizz Beaumont. When you made a lot of money as young as he had, it was essential to learn to keep your emotions under control and he had learned his lessons well. He had never made the same mistake twice.
But he had never fallen in love before, not like this. Which was why he hadn’t recognised the danger signs.
Idiot! Just what had given him the impression that he could break Felicity Beaumont’s heart at will? Why indeed had he supposed she would have one when the rest of the family had been so sparsely equipped? Phillip had warned him that revenge had an unpleasant way of backfiring. No doubt he would say that it served him right, but at least he would take no pleasure in it.
But how was it possible that he could have been so taken in? She was the one whose nerves were in tatters, who trembled when he touched her, who had melted so unexpectedly in his arms. He would never forget her face. The way she looked then, her skin in the firelight. Even now he felt the tug of longing. Something so much deeper than physical need.
