Soaring

by Jassy Mackenzie

  I stared back at him as silence fell again. I knew Dave didn’t want the silence. He couldn’t understand it.

  “I need to think this over,” I told him eventually. “I—I can’t see a second honeymoon working out, Dave. Why this, and why now?”

  “It just seems like the right time…” he began, defensively, but I overrode him.

  “Where were you when my mother had her accident and I had to deal with it all on my own? And when my parents moved and needed help packing and unpacking, all you could do was complain that it was cutting into my training time. It would have taken less time if you’d been there to help me when I asked you, Dave, instead of making excuses that you had to go out of town with Daniel. And where were you on my last birthday, and the one before? There have been so many times when I needed you—really needed you—and you weren’t there for me. So why is it important to you now?”

  Dave’s face was like thunder, and I couldn’t help but notice the strong family resemblance he had to Daniel, which showed so clearly when they were angry.

  “You’re making a stupid mistake!” Dave shouted.

  “Why is asking questions a mistake?”

  “You’re not asking questions; you’re assuming the worst. You’ve just called me an adulterer and a user. I can’t talk to you when you’re like this. You’re being so goddamned critical and judgmental. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Leaping up, Dave stormed out of the living room, slamming the door so hard that the ornaments on a nearby shelf rattled. He banged the front door behind him, too, and a few moments later I heard the growl of the Audi’s engine and the squeal of tires as he sped away.

  Chapter 21

  I found I was shaking. I hated these confrontations, and I realized that as good as it had felt to stand up to Dave and win the argument, it wouldn’t get me anywhere long-term. Like Toby had said, I should be behaving very, very nicely to him, because my financial future was in his hands. I should be playing along with him, agreeing to what he said. Once the money was in our bank account, I could try to lay down the law.

  I still had not replied to Patrick, and I was torn with guilt about it. What could I say to him, though? I needed to think about all of this, and hard.

  A knocking at the front door made me wonder if Dave had forgotten his house keys when he stormed out, and he’d come back for them. Seething at the knowledge I would have to grovel and apologize to him, I opened it to find Monika there.

  She stared at me, and for a moment I saw blank shock in her face.

  Did I look that bad, I wondered.

  The next moment, she had her arms around me.

  “Hey there, bestie! You’re looking great! So much less stressed than you were a week ago. I almost didn’t recognize you!”

  Relieved, I hugged her back. “It’s wonderful to see you, too.” Why was she here? Oh, yes, she said I might have accidentally taken her scarf home.

  “I’ve only just got back,” I said. “I haven’t had a chance to look for your scarf.”

  “There it is!” She pointed to the chair in the hallway, and I saw it, neatly folded. Dave must have found it when he did the laundry, and realized it was hers.

  Closing the door behind her, I walked with her to the kitchen to fix a glass of her favorite drink, Diet Coke.

  Monika was four years younger than me and extremely slim—a feisty redhead with a sharp wit that was as quick and dangerous as her fencing skills. She was a far better athlete than I was. She’d been the youngest team member when we’d won the medal in London, not just the reserve. She was ranked number two in saber in the country, and eighth in the world.

  “So, welcome home,” she said after we’d sat down in the lounge. The memory of the argument I’d just had with Dave seemed to linger in the room. It felt as if his shouted words were still reverberating in the air.

  “It’s good to be back,” I told her.

  “What did you do in Ireland?”

  “I had a holiday, I guess. I met…” I was going to tell her about Patrick, but at the last minute, I decided not to. My feelings for him were so intense, the situation so impossibly conflicted. I’d discussed it with my mother, but I found I couldn’t share it with my best friend.

  “You met who?” Monika repeated, eyes sparkling. Clearly, she was eager for some salacious details.

  “I met a crazy Irishwoman who lives on one of the most beautiful farms you’ve ever seen,” I said. “I stayed in the farmhouse with her. I ate really good food, and slept like you can’t believe, and went for walks in the countryside, along paved lanes that had strips of grass growing down their center. I even rode a horse. First time since summer camp!” I told her proudly.

  Monika looked disappointed. I guessed she’d been hoping for something more salacious.

  “What’s happening with you and Dave?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You need to leave him. He’s a jerk.”

  “I wish it was that simple but it’s not. It…”

  Thinking of my sponsorship contract, I remembered with a jolt about the evening’s commitments.

  “Oh, my God, what’s the time?” I asked her.

  She checked her phone. “It’s quarter to six.”

  “I’m so sorry. I have to get ready in a big hurry for an awards function. I’ll be going on my own. Dave—er—went out a few minutes ago.”

  “Which function is that?”

  “At the Park Hyatt. It’s the Sports Stars Achievement Awards. College Sport is the major sponsor, so it’s important that I’m seen there.”

  “I’ll let you get ready then. Great to have you back. We must train together on Friday. I’ll let you know what time.” She drained her Diet Coke and I hurried with her to the front door, closing it before she’d even climbed into her small Ford.

  I was used to getting ready at short notice, but this was cutting it even finer than usual.

  I ran upstairs, where I put a hasty triage system into place. Shower, make-up, hair, dress, shoes, nails. I did my make-up while my hair air-dried, before blowing it to a glossy finish and adding a few diamante hairpins. I chose a red evening gown with a chiffon skirt that I’d worn only twice before. Probably not the best color for a scarlet woman to wear, but still. I slipped on high heeled court shoes—since Dave wasn’t coming along, I could at least flaunt my stilettos—and only then applied a coat of varnish to my fingernails in a nude color, so that any slips or smudges wouldn’t be too obvious. A hair dryer on the nails to set the polish, and a spritz of perfume on my wrists and neck. I slung my beige coat over my shoulders before hurrying downstairs to where another cab had just arrived.

  The Park Hyatt in New York City was a forty-minute drive away, and to my relief, traffic heading into town was light. At seven o’clock exactly, I walked into the Hyatt, following the signs for the awards, which were being held in the ballroom on the third floor. I reached the elevator just before the doors closed, joining a group of formally dressed people who were obviously headed for the same function.

  “Evening, Claire!”

  I turned to greet the woman who’d called my name. She was standing behind me, her arm linked through her partner’s. It took me a moment to remember that she was a product manager at College Sport. She’d been appointed less than a year ago, and even back then, we hadn’t been friends. Now, from the obviously fake smile she gave me, I suspected she had been reveling in my public disgrace. As soon as I turned my back, I could imagine her whispering all the scurrilous details to her dark-suited consort.

  “Evening, Maddie,” I responded politely.

  “Are you sure you’re on the guest list for tonight?” she asked, in a way that made me think she knew more about that list than I did.

  This comment drew the attention of the four other occupants of the elevator, who turned to regard me with interest and curiosity…a gatecrasher in their midst?

  “I assume so,” I said. “I’ve been away, but I was
told I have to attend.”

  My face was burning under the fascinated stares from the strangers. When, oh, when, would we reach the ballroom level? The elevator pinged, and I glanced hopefully toward the buttons, but saw we were only at the second floor. The doors opened to admit yet another formally dressed man, and seemed to take forever before they closed again.

  Maddie’s smile widened.

  “Your husband said he wasn’t going to attend. I don’t recall receiving an RSVP from you.”

  She put a meaningful emphasis on the word “husband,” and suddenly I wondered whether she might be one of Dave’s conquests. Either way, it was clear, she was making life difficult for me.

  Well, if the people in the elevator hadn’t signed up for the equivalent of Days of Our Lives, they were going to get it regardless.

  “Dave and I are separated, pending a divorce,” I told her. “However, I’m still the brand ambassador, and I was told I have to be here tonight.”

  Now Maddie’s smile was positively saccharine.

  “What a pity about the misunderstanding. I’m sure I can get you back onto the list.”

  “It’s very kind of you,” I thanked her, while smoldering inside.

  I was the first to leave the elevator, walking toward the reception table with everybody’s stares burning into my back.

  “Your name?” the uniformed attendant asked. I noticed she was flanked by two smartly dressed security guards.

  “Claire Harvey, from College Sport,” I said with a confidence I did not feel.

  She ran her finger down the list.

  I could sense the expectation building.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Harvey, the only guests from College Sport are Madeleine Butcher and partner.”

  Maddie stepped forward.

  “I’ll be able to add Ms. Harvey, but I’ll have to call the organizers first.” She glanced at me. “Until then, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.”

  Wait in reception? For how long? Anxiety filled me as I wondered whether Maddie was going to make sure I missed the event altogether.

  There was no empathy in the smile she gave me.

  “I’ll call as soon as I’m inside,” she said, waiting for me to move aside before stepping forward to receive her own name tag. Without a backward glance, she and her partner headed through the security cordon and disappeared into the venue.

  “If you could please wait somewhere else, ma’am.” The uniformed woman at the registration desk was obviously as much at a loss for what to do as I was. But there were other guests arriving, and I was holding up the line. Embarrassed, I stepped aside to allow another couple to pass. I would have to stand near the elevator and wait for Maddie to reappear.

  If she reappeared.

  “No need to wait anywhere,” a deep and familiar voice said from behind me. “Luckily, I have a spare ticket, and Ms. Harvey is welcome to use it, as a guest of Maguire Media.”

  No! It couldn’t be!

  My heart literally stopped as I spun round and found myself staring straight into Patrick’s eyes.

  Chapter 22

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Patrick was here? At this event? Standing within arm’s reach?

  He clasped my hand in his own, a formal handshake that somehow didn’t feel that way at all. If it hadn’t been for that supportive grasp, I might have fallen over from shock. What on earth was he doing here? Had my imagination conjured him up? But no, he was real…the touch of his fingers warm on mine, his willful bangs for once tamed sleekly into place. His black suit was perfectly cut, the fine wool weave hugging the breadth of his shoulders. The formal outfit brought out his stern, powerful demeanor…a side of him that I was not used to seeing.

  His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he stared down at me. That tiny change in his expression was like a caress, and I felt something deep inside me melt.

  “Your name again, please, ma’am?” the uniformed woman asked, and I turned to face her in confusion, because for that moment I’d forgotten that anything else in the world existed.

  Patrick spelled it out for her and the printer whirred.

  Behind me, from the watching guests, I could have sworn I heard a collective sigh of relief.

  A minute later, I had my name tag, and was heading past security and into the function hall, accompanied by Patrick. I was desperate to find a private corner, to ask him what on earth he was doing here…to turn toward him again so that I could see the expression in his green-gold eyes.

  But Maddie was standing nearby, watching the door, and as we entered the opulent ballroom, I caught a glimpse of her face. Confusion warred with fury as she watched me walk in. She wasn’t even on her phone, trying to sort out my entrance pass…she had a glass of champagne in her hand, which was already half finished.

  I smiled at her, hoping it was as obviously artificial as hers. “Thank you for your help,” I told her, “but, luckily, I met up with a friend.”

  “Patrick Maguire,” Patrick said, extending his right hand to Maddie and her partner. His left palm rested on the small of my back, in a gesture that could, to an outsider, have looked like simple friendship. The caress of his thumb through the thin fabric of the bodice convinced me it was not.

  “Good to meet you,” Maddie’s partner said, while she mumbled something in response. I hoped we could move away, because her angry gaze was drilling straight through me, but Patrick seemed to be enjoying the confrontation and he clearly wasn’t done with the pleasantries.

  “Congratulations on your third quarter financial results,” he said. I didn’t know what he was talking about, but Maddie obviously did, because her expression changed from furious to furtive.

  “I heard from a connection that you’ve seen twenty percent growth in this quarter. I guess that proves the old saying that any publicity is good publicity.” I didn’t dare look at Patrick’s face, but suspected there was a smile in his voice. “You can thank Ms. Harvey for that.”

  Maddie was silent for a while and I noted she was turning crimson. I couldn’t take in Patrick’s words. College Sport had shown an uptick in profit…and he was implying it was as a result of all the media attention?

  “Who leaked that information to you?” Maddie’s voice was high and unsteady.

  Now I could definitely hear the smile in Patrick’s voice. “I’m afraid I cannot reveal my sources. It would go against all my ethics. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we must go and greet our hosts.”

  “Why are you here?” I whispered to him as we turned away.

  “I came to see you,” he told me in a low voice. “I’m still on the mailing lists for these events. You told me you’d be here. How could I stay away?”

  The next hour passed by in a whirl as we circulated among the guests. Patrick was a consummate professional at the art of working a room. We moved from group to group, identifying key people and speaking briefly to each one. I smiled serenely for photo opportunities while, inside, I was still reeling from the surprise and excitement of his arrival. Patrick kept a discreet distance from me, with no trace of anything but courteous friendship in the way he spoke to me. He gave no signs away that we had ever been intimate.

  “You’re…you’re so good at this,” I murmured to him as we approached the final cluster of people.

  “Years of practice. Haven’t done it for a while, now, but old skills die hard. And present company makes it a pleasure,” he whispered back.

  Ten minutes later, just as the opening speeches began, we were done. We stood near the back of the ballroom as the lights were dimmed and the MC walked onto the stage to a smattering of applause. Patrick moved behind me and I breathed in sharply as I felt his hands, under cover of the semi-darkness, clasp my waist and move down to caress my buttocks.

  “You look so gorgeously beautiful in that gown,” he whispered. “And so incredibly sexy, the way it hugs your body. It’s almost a shame to say this…but all I can think of is how much I want to take it off.”

  I leaned
against him, turning my head so that his lips could brush mine. His hands roamed to the front of my gown to press briefly, lusciously, into the folds of chiffon, stroking over the lace of my panties and the soft, plump flesh beneath. Desire welled inside me, the clamoring of my own body far louder than the booming from the microphone and the recorded music that filled the hall. In that breathless instant, it was easy to forget we were in a public place; that at any moment, the lights could be turned up again.

  “We don’t need to overstay our welcome,” he murmured. “Let’s go.”

  Clasping my waist, he walked with me, guiding me sideways, and in the gloom I saw he was heading for an exit door. Except this didn’t lead into the large hallway we’d come from. It led into a smaller annex, where a couple of sofas were pushed against the wall, and chairs stacked into piles. It was warm and smelled slightly musty. Beyond, through another open doorway, I glimpsed a staircase, but as the door we’d come through swung soundlessly shut, the room was plunged into almost total darkness.

  “Give it a minute,” Patrick advised. He was facing me now, his breath warm on my face. “Our eyes will adjust. Then we can take the stairs.”

  I didn’t want to take the stairs anywhere, though; not when the alternative was to stand in this quiet, dark place, with my body pressed against Patrick’s, his arms locked around me, the feel of his body under my fingers and the smell of him—warm, spicy, incredibly masculine. The physical need between us was so intense, so all-consuming, that the flames seemed to burn stronger after every separation we endured.

  “I still can’t believe you’re really here. I have so many questions to ask you,” I whispered.

  “You do?” His voice caught on the words. “Because I only have one for you.”

  I knew what that question was…it was the most important one of all. Perhaps the most important I’d ever been asked. I drew in a shuddery breath, blinking fast as a rush of emotion overwhelmed me.

  “Hey,” he murmured. “Hey, it’s okay, Claire. Don’t cry.”