'Sort of, I suppose.' She was holding the flowers and bent to smell them. They were yellow roses, he saw, and they were real. Giving him a speculative glance, she said, 'Would you like to meet him?'
He hesitated, finding himself deeply averse to meeting an ex-boyfriend, an ex-lover, someone who had been to bed with her, who knew her body intimately and who would have that knowledge in his eyes, in his voice. How could he shake the hand of a man who had touched her where he had not? So he said, 'Who is he?'
'A clown.' She paused, then added, 'Someone I love very much.'
For a terrible moment his heart lurched sickeningly, but then common sense reasserted itself as he realised that she had no reason to be so cruel to him, to taunt him. So there must be some other reason for her bringing him here. Was it another of the tests she set him, the traps he had to be constantly wary of? Keeping his voice even, he said, 'OK, let's go and find him.'
They didn't have to search; Tasha knew the way. When they at last got out of the big top she led him through the fairground stalls to an area where all the caravans belonging to the circus folk were parked, and straight up to an old-fashioned caravan that was all gleaming paintwork and polished chrome. She rapped on the door and almost immediately, as if he had been waiting for her knock, it was opened by a tall, thin, elderly man who opened his arms wide to her. Tasha ran up the steps to him and was enveloped in a tight hug.
After a couple of minutes, when the man finally loosened his hold a little, Tasha turned and smiled down at Brett. 'Come and meet my grandfather,' she invited.
They stayed for nearly three hours. It was the early hours of the morning before they said goodbye, and even then the old man was reluctant to let Tasha go. 'You'll come again soon,' he insisted.
'Yes, Grandpop. Very soon.'
He walked with them to the car and in an aside to
Brett said, 'Take care of her for me. She can be headstrong, you know.'
Brett smiled. 'I'm learning, sir.' He shook hands without any hesitation.
When they were in the car and driving back to London, Brett said, 'Tell me about him. Has he always been a clown?'
'No, he was a very respectable accountant until he was over fifty. But the circus fascinated him. He used to do a clown act to amuse me when I was a child, and that led to being an entertainer at children's parties in his spare time. Then, when my grandmother died, he took early retirement and joined the circus. He's been there for over ten years now and absolutely loves it.'
'But he misses you.'
Tasha nodded. 'Yes, but we see each other as often as we can.'
'He's your mother's father?'
'Yes.'
'What about your parents?'
'My mother died in an accident when I was quite young. My father was working abroad at the time and stayed on there. In time he remarried.'
'So your grandparents brought you up.'
'Yes.' Tasha grinned. 'I had the most wonderful childhood. I was thoroughly spoilt.'
'No wonder you're so close.' Reaching out, Brett took hold of a lock of her hair that nestled against her neck and curled it round his finger. 'Thanks.'
'For what?'
'For letting me learn more about you.' She didn't say anything so he said, 'Have you any more surprises in store?'
She gave him an amused glance. 'Of course.'
'I hope they're all as nice as your grandfather.'
She liked that; it pleased her. 'Tell me about your family,' she invited.
He shrugged. 'My parents are both retired and are golf fanatics. I have two sisters, both married and with children.'
'Do you see them much?'
'Not as much as I should, probably. I left home at eighteen to go to college and never went back. My parents moved to a smaller house and it was their home, not mine; it held no memories for me. They have their lives and I have mine. We meet up for family occasions, and sometimes for Christmas, but that's it really.'
'It sounds lonely.'
'I didn't mean it to.' He shrugged again. 'That's the way it is. We're just not that close. But they see my sisters and their families quite often.'
Tasha gave him a disturbed look. 'You must miss out on a lot'
'Not really. It would be different if I was married and had kids, then I'd make sure they saw their grandparents, met their aunts and cousins, but we get along OK. If they need me they know they only have to call.'
'But it means that you've been looking after yourself for a long time.'
'Yes.'
'Perhaps that's why you're like you are,' she said musingly, half to herself.
'What am I like?' he asked, immensely interested to know her opinion of him, how she thought of him.
She didn't answer for several minutes and Brett thought that she was going to ignore the question, but it seemed that she had been pondering her reply because she eventually said, 'Enigmatic is, I think, the most appropriate word I can find. Behind the sexual side of your nature, I feel that you have hidden depths, things you don't want to share. Perhaps can't share.'
Brett was stunned by her perceptiveness; he'd always imagined he'd managed to fool her. Afraid that she might probe further, he quickly said, 'I'm very willing to share the sexual side. Any time.'
'Oh, Brett!' She made a face at him. 'Stop being a conventional male.'
That made him laugh. 'I'll try. I'll try!'
But the dangerous moment had been averted and he talked of other things until she dropped him off at his house, almost casually telling him that she would be busy for some time.
'Does that mean we can't see each other?'
'I really must concentrate on my programme. My boss has started asking when he can schedule the filming.'
Alone, Brett realised that he was walking on ever more treacherous ground. What if Tasha wanted to meet his family? The fact that he'd been a journalist for more than ten years was bound to be mentioned. And he knew with utmost certainty that if Tasha ever found out he would lose her. But not, perhaps, if they were already lovers. He had to get her down to Cornwall and make her his, make her need him so much that she wouldn't care about his past.
He let a few days go by then bought a large sea- shell and sent it to her with a note. 'Hold this to your ear and you'll know the sound I wake to every morning at my cottage.' Over the next couple of weeks he sent her various books, both fiction and non-fiction, all set in or glorifying the county of Cornwall, and these were followed by a photograph of the cottage, an old building of weathered grey stone set in a garden ablaze with foxgloves. Brett daily expected some reaction, but it wasn't until the day he had a hot Cornish pasty delivered to her office that Tasha at last phoned him.
'I think you're trying to tell me something.'
'Could be.'
'I'm very busy, Brett.'
'How's it going?'
'Very well. I've interviewed nearly everyone I want to see and I just have to work out how I want the programme to go before we start shooting.'
'Have you got a lap-top?'
'I can borrow one. Why?'
'You could take all your notes down to Cornwall and work on your script there in peace and quiet No phone calls, no interruptions,' he added persuasively.
'No one wanting to make love all day long?'
'Only all night long,' he assured her, but not meaning it
Tasha laughed and he heard her speak to someone, then she came on the line again and said, "That was my boss. He wanted to know if you were the nut who sent the pasty. And he says if you're into sending things from Cornwall he'd liked some clotted cream.'
'Tell him you'll send him some yourself when you're down there. When am I going to see you?'
'Why don't you stop by the office and take me out for a drink tonight?' Tasha invited.
They arranged to meet at six, but Brett got held up in the rush hour traffic and then had difficulty parking so was a little late. Tasha was standing outside the building, chatting to a man who had just come out. There
was something vaguely familiar about him, so Brett paused in a shop doorway and let the man leave before he joined Tasha. She was wearing a deep green fitted jacket and a Black Watch tartan skirt that was well above her knees. She looked sensational and he felt a thrill of pride to be with her. He wanted to feel the joy of possessiveness and ownership too, but that emotion was still denied him. But he kissed her lingeringly before saying, 'Who was that? A colleague?'
'My boss.'
'Oh? What's his name?'
'Joe Hedley.'
Brett cursed inwardly, immediately recognising the name. Hedley had once worked on a news programme for a national broadcasting network and they had sometimes covered the same stories. If Tasha mentioned Brett's name Joe Hedley would be bound to remember him.
'Have you told him about me?'
Tasha looked a little surprised. 'No. My private life is just that—strictly private. He wouldn't have known about you at all if you hadn't sent the pasty. It was very good, by the way; I had it for lunch. Who did you get to make it for you?'
'What makes you think I didn't make it myself?'
'You mean you can cook on top of everything else?'
'Of what else?'
'Oh—just being gorgeous and handsome and sexy, I suppose.'
He stopped and caught her round the waist, stared down at her in delighted disbelief. 'You paid me a compliment!'
'Well, don't get carried away; I don't intend to do it too often in case you get big-headed.'
'I don't think I stand in much danger of that.' ! Keeping his arm round her waist, he began to walk on, then said, 'I didn't make the pasty.'
'I didn't think you did,' Tasha laughed. 'Who did?'
'I got my next door neighbour to do it.'
'What's she like?'
'In her late twenties, blonde and very curvaceous,' he responded at once.
Tasha gave him an old-fashioned look, not sure whether or not to believe him. 'Is that supposed to make me jealous?'
'Are you?'
'No.'
Brett sighed theatrically. 'She also happens to adore her husband and is very pregnant with her third child. And her mother lives nearby and supervised die pasty.'
'You see how right I was not to be jealous,' Tasha said with satisfaction.
'I feel very frustrated,' Brett complained. 'It's all very well getting to know me as a person but when am I going to become a sex object?'
That made her gurgle with laughter, the sound rich and happy. 'Believe me, you wouldn't like it'
'How do I know when I haven't tried it? I'll let you exploit me any time.'
She threw him a quick glance, surprised at his choice of the word, but he gave her a mock-lascivious look and she laughed again. They found a pub and sat outside on the pavement under a big sunshade. It was a very warm evening and there were many workers there, having a drink before they caught the train home, avoiding the worst of the rush hour. Like Brett, most of the men had taken off their jackets and removed their ties. Tasha, too, took off her jacket and draped it on the back of her chair. The sun caught her hair, turning it into a gleaming, burnished halo around her head, and her long lashes cast misty shadows on her cheeks. Brett thought that she had never looked lovelier, but then he seemed to think that every time he saw her.
Glancing at him, Tasha saw the flame of desire in his eyes, in the sharpened features of his face. Often, when she caught him looking at her like that, she would raise a mocking eyebrow and turn away, but tonight she looked him fully in the face and slowly ran the tip of her tongue across her lips. It was so sexy that Brett could have laid her on the pavement and taken her there and then! He let out his breath in a deep sigh of frustration, and said feelingly, 'Jezebel!'
Demurely, she said, 'But, Brett, I'm awfully thirsty.'
He got up to get the drinks and Tasha watched him go, enjoying his back view in the tight jeans. There must have been a stack of people waiting to be served because Brett was gone for some time. After a few minutes a middle-aged man carrying a briefcase walked by, stopped, then came back and sat down on the seat next to her. 'Hello. You look rather lonely. My name's Rob. What's yours?'
'I'm with someone,' Tasha returned calmly.
'Obviously no one of any importance if he can only afford to bring you to a place like this. How about having dinner with me? We can go anywhere you like. The Savoy, The Trocadero, just name it'
'Thanks, but I'm not interested.' And Tasha turned her head away.
But the man only moved closer along the bench and put a familiar hand on her shoulder. Angrily Tasha shook him off and swung round to tell him to get lost, but before she could do so she heard Brett behind her say, 'Take your hand off her, you creep.'
The man's head came up and he paled when he saw the venomous look in Brett's face as he loomed over him. Quickly he got to his feet and picked up his case, but as he moved away he said spitefully, 'What else did she expect when she makes eyes at every man walking by?'
Brett had put down one of the drinks he was car- lying, but at this he lunged forward and grabbed the man by his belt, then, holding his terrified eyes, he very deliberately tipped the pint of beer he was carrying down the front of the man's trousers. 'Explain that to your wife, you old goat.'
The man scuttled away and some girls sitting at a nearby table gave Brett a cheer as he came to sit with Tasha again. He grinned at them and said with satisfaction, "That should suitably dampen his ardour.'
But Tasha gave him a tight look. 'Did you have to react so strongly? In fact, did you have to react at all?'
Brett gazed at her in complete astonishment 'You did want to get rid of him, didn't you?'
'I'm quite capable of dealing with types like him myself. I didn't need any help, and I certainly didn't need the big he-man act.'
'Did you really expect me to just stand by and let that creep paw you?'
Tasha's eyes grew cold. 'You paw me—you do it all the time.'
'That's different,' Brett protested.
'Is it? And do you suggest I use that method to dampen your ardour the next time you get the hots for me?'
Becoming annoyed now, Brett said shortly, 'You're being ridiculous.'
'Am I? Am I really?' Bright spots of anger came into Tasha's cheeks. Standing up, she said curtly, 'Thanks for the drink, Brett. Why don't you go and get yourself another one? You might even get to drink it this time. And sit with those girls, why don't you? They obviously admire your "me Tarzan, you Jane" act.' She gave him a fulminating look. 'But I don't!' And, turning on her heel, she strode away.
Brett caught her up in three strides, furious at her lack of understanding, furious that she could do this to him. Catching her arm, he swung her round to face him. 'What the hell's the matter with you? Anyone would think you wanted the man to pick you up.'
'How dare you say that?' Tasha returned with equal anger.
'So what is this about?'
'It's about taking over, about you thinking you have the right to interfere whether you're needed or not.'
'Any other woman would be grateful for—'
'I am not any other woman,' Tasha interrupted acidly. 'I'm me. And if you haven't realised that yet then we might just as well say goodbye now, because—' , r. Brett shook her. 'I told you never to say that to me �gain. How can you build up something so trivial iato—?'
.« 'It wasn't trivial. Not to me.'
Struggling to contain his anger, Brett ran a hand through his hair, then said, 'So what are you trying to say?'
'Just don't interfere in my life.'
His voice became urgent. 'But I want to be a part of your life; you know that.'
'Be part of it, yes—but don't try and take it over. OK?'
It wasn't, and he still thought she was making far too much of the incident, but he wasn't yet sure enough of her to openly argue, so he held up his hands placatingly and said, 'OK. I'm sorry. It won't happen again. Now, will you come back and have that drink?'
Tasha hesitated, awa
re that his apology had been too pat, too makeshift for him to have really thought about her feelings. But maybe he would later; she hoped he would. So she nodded. 'Yes, all right.'
Brett got himself another drink, inwardly cursing; he had fully intended to exert all his powers of persuasion tonight to get her to come to Cornwall with him. His hopes had been high but now they were at zero. He guessed she would at least make him wait for a couple of weeks just to punish him, and fully expected her to be cold to him for the rest of the evening. But he was prejudging Tasha on his experience of other women.
She wasn't like other women, as she'd told him, and he was gratified to find that she smiled at him when he went back to her and behaved as if die nasty little incident had never happened and that nothing had come between them. They had their drinks and he told her a couple of anecdotes that made her delicious laugh turn heads, and she looked at him with that special look, the one that made him feel he was the only man in the world. Really, he supposed, he couldn't blame that old creep for trying to chat her up, but to say that his feelings for her were the same was utterly ridiculous.
He was even more pleased when she took him back to her place and cooked him a meal, which they ate by candlelight, sitting at the window and feeling the air gradually cool with the night. Afterwards he stretched out on the settee and she came to lie beside him, her head on his shoulder as they listened to a new classical CD. But it wasn't long before he tilted her head and took her lips. As always, she immediately set his blood on fire. Soon his kisses became demanding, impassioned, and his fingers, fumbling in his eagerness, pulled off her top and undid the delicate lace of her bra.
He groaned as he touched her, his breath already hot and unsteady. He had never known such a deep ache of need, such hunger for a woman. It was so strong it was like a physical pain that sawed at his insides. He took her nipple in his mouth and it was so wonderful that he wanted to eat her. He wanted to kiss every inch of her, to leave no part of her that he hadn't caressed and fondled, that he hadn't loved.
His hand moved down to her legs. They were bare, soft like silk, long and beautiful. He caressed her ankle, moved to her knee and up to her thigh. There was sweat on his face and his breath was burning in his rasping throat His hand tightened on her thigh and he kissed her fiercely, then said her name in raw, desperate need. Tasha! Oh, God, Tasha, I want you. I can't go on like this. Not any longer. I'm mad for you. Crazy.'
Sally Wentworth - A Typical Male Page 8
