Playing for Keeps: Harford Scarlet Series

by Toria Lyons

  ‘Oh, that explains it. The rugby link, isn’t it? He’s centralised management down here so he doesn’t have to travel so much. Good player, is he?’

  ‘Very good. I didn’t know to begin with that he had a whole other life going on; most of the players are fully professional. He manages all this and still trains and plays.’

  ‘And manages it well; he’s the best boss I’ve ever had, although I haven’t had many. I’ve been working for him for eight years, since just after graduating university. Considering I’m not even 30 yet, he’s given me so much autonomy to stretch my wings in this last year. I have my own place, and it’s all I ever wanted …’ Lindsay’s voice trailed off.

  ‘What’s missing?’ asked Sarah quietly.

  Lindsay pulled a wry face. ‘My success scares men off. I can’t remember the last time I had a date. I don’t really have the time either.’

  ‘I know what you mean. Before I met Tom it was rare for me.’

  ‘Has he got any nice single friends? They don’t have to be good-looking or rich, just not … weird. Actually, that just sounds desperate – ignore me!’ Lindsay laughed at herself.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve a friend who asked me the same thing a couple of weeks back. But, apart from the rugby players, I haven’t met many of his friends.’

  ‘I expect that’ll come soon. His father is just like him, except with grey hair. His brother is a softer version of Tom. Tom looked after him an awful lot, protected him. Even set him up with the woman who became his wife.’

  Sarah nodded, as if she knew what Lindsay was talking about. ‘You should come down to watch a game sometime; tomorrow’s is at home. It’s against the league leaders so it’s going to be one hell of a battle.’

  ‘Cool, that sounds great. I’m at a loose end and it’ll make a change.’

  They swapped business cards and chatted for a few minutes more, until Lindsay had to go and sort out a mini-crisis. Raj and Neil both came over for a few words until Tom finished with his paperwork. The room gradually emptied until it was just the two of them.

  ‘Had a good chat with Lindsay? You two seemed to be getting on really well.’

  ‘She’s going to come to watch the game this weekend; it’s my pervasive influence in all matters rugby.’

  Tom laughed. ‘Your influence on me is certainly pervasive.’ He leant on the table next to her. ‘Sorry I haven’t been able to spend much time with you; we had a bit of an emergency to sort out. But I’m glad you’re here; I want to get you on board with that consulting. We’ll go to my office for some privacy.’ His blue eyes began heating up wickedly. ‘Not that I haven’t been thinking of having you right here in the boardroom, but the accounting department are coming in for a team meeting.’

  Sarah’s body quickened. ‘That sounds like an inspired idea. Take me to your lair.’

  Chapter Eight

  They left the boardroom hurriedly and walked down the corridor to Tom’s vast office. They met few people on the way and the desk outside his discreetly plated door was empty. He locked them inside, they both unfastened clothes, and minutes later, he took her on the gleaming expanse of steel desk. The contrast between the cold metal, their hasty unbuttoning, and the sights and smells of each other tipped Sarah over the edge in double-quick time, swiftly followed by Tom. He carried her over to a chaise, held her as they got their breath back.

  ‘I can’t get enough of you – you’re in my blood,’ he whispered in her ear.

  ‘As you are in my heart.’ They both stilled as she realised she had spoken out loud her inner feelings, ones that she was so unsure of. Clumsily, she sought to cover her momentary loss of control. ‘I’ve fallen in love with those sandwiches; I’ll have to recommend them to my clients as perfect boardroom food.’

  Tom didn’t answer, but his arms tightened around her. Sarah tried to bury her head in his shoulder, flushing with embarrassment at her trite remark. Tom disentangled her arms from around him and gently lifted her chin to look deeply into her eyes. ‘Sarah, I know this is early in our relationship but I –’

  The phone on Tom’s desk rang and the moment was broken. ‘I’ll have to get that.’ Carefully, he moved her to one side and straightened his clothing before answering the phone.

  While he was engaged, Sarah tidied her attire and tried to smooth her hair, trying not to think about what she’d blurted out. She grabbed her handbag and pulled out her compact mirror, gasping in horror when she saw the state of her hair. After fixing what she could, she decided to find the ladies’ to freshen up.

  She peeked around the door, sure that what Tom had been doing to her was written all over her face. Thankfully, the desk outside was still empty, so she dashed the short few yards to the swish powder room.

  A few minutes in front of a large mirror sorted her hair out, and likewise her make-up, as she patted down the hectic colour in her cheeks. Her trousers had a few marks on them and so, taking a damp towel, she shut herself in one of the cubicles, sat on the closed toilet seat, and stripped them off. As she was dabbing at the fabric, she heard the door to the room open and the tap-tap of a couple of sets of high heels entering.

  ‘So, how long do you have left here?’ The voice was young and female, with a cut-glass accent.

  ‘Hopefully a couple of months. That old bag Marian keeps calling to check everything’s OK but she left such comprehensive instructions, only a complete fool would manage to fuck it up. And she’s still coming in a few times a week.’ The second voice was a soft drawl with a hint of an accent Sarah couldn’t quite place.

  ‘And your plans?’

  The second female giggled huskily. ‘Tom’s already asked me for drinks a couple of times. So much for the new girlfriend; looks like she’ll go the way of the others once the novelty has worn off. And did you see her? Nothing special at all: in fact, rather plain. And fat. A bit of an Amazon and not in a good way. I can’t think what he sees in her.’

  ‘There is her work; he’s probably going to get her on board for his new conference centre project. Despite the way she looks, she is supposed to be good at what she does.’

  ‘She’d better be good – it’s the only thing that’ll keep her warm once he dumps her in the new year. Only Natasha keeps his attention.’ Both girls giggled. ‘Right, I have just enough time to pop downstairs before I’m back on duty. Fancy nipping for a quick coffee?’

  ‘Of course.’

  There was the sound of water running and the door opening, then the heels fading away.

  Sarah felt nauseous and confused. She needed time to think about what she’d accidentally overheard. She sat down heavily on the toilet seat but got up again nearly straight away; she didn’t want Tom to come after her and find her like this. Pulling her trousers back on and exiting the cubicle, she glanced in the mirror above the sink and was relieved to see she looked normal: not the unattractive lump that they had just described.

  Quickly, she made her way back to Tom’s office, not wishing to bump into anyone. Still on the phone, he watched her come in and gather her things, write him a note and go to leave. He stood up to stop her but Sarah was too fast, waving goodbye and whipping out of the door. As she exited the building, she concentrated on not looking at the reception desk and headed towards the nearest train station for the journey home.

  Her phone tinkled just as she stepped onto her train. It was Tom. She ignored the ringing and sat down. Returning her mobile to her bag, she noticed the paper towel she’d been using to dry her shaking hands was scrunched up in there.

  ‘Pull yourself together, Sarah!’ she muttered, ignoring the strange looks from her fellow travellers.

  Nothing he’d done or said had revealed any sign of him getting tired of her. But what she’d heard sounded too close to how she thought the relationship would end. He’d lose interest or some other woman would seduce him, take him away from her. According to that girl, he’d already asked her out for drinks. At the thought of losing him, pain speared through her ches
t. That he might only prolong the relationship for business reasons wounded her even more.

  How had she come to care this deeply for him? She could acknowledge that her feelings for him had always been complicated. He had pushed into her life, made a place for himself in her heart, and she now knew she had only a few weeks left before he would vacate it.

  They still hadn’t confirmed Christmas plans and, with the holiday season fast approaching, Sarah decided to spend some more time with her family. He’d already said his family would be visiting and she didn’t see any point in gatecrashing their celebrations if she wouldn’t be around in the next year. Why bother to meet them if she and Tom were just going to break up a few weeks later? She resolved to protect herself; perhaps try to pull away gradually, not spend so much time with him. Wean herself away from his all-encompassing presence.

  And who was Natasha?

  Her phone rang again and she picked up the call this time. ‘Hi, Tom, sorry I had to dash.’ She sounded light and breezy, even to herself, belying the white knuckles grasping the phone.

  ‘I understand, your note explained it,’ he replied patiently. ‘I’ve got to get to training in a bit but I’ll see you tonight.’

  Sarah steeled herself to take that first step to pull back from him. ‘Better make it tomorrow at the club. I’ve got some work on your father’s project to do tonight.’

  ‘Tomorrow, then. There are some overdue matters that we really must discuss. Bye.’ He took a deep breath as if he was going to say something else, but disconnected a second later.

  Another Saturday, another home game at the Park. Dark clouds hung heavy in a leaden sky and a damp breeze added to the wintry chill in the air. Sarah prayed in vain that it would stay dry for the game but the first heavy drops descended a few minutes before kick-off. Lindsay had made it, and was huddled between Sarah and Clare in seats in the stand. There was no way they were going to stand out in the open; getting soaked to the skin in the bitter conditions would be tempting pneumonia.

  Despite the weather, they were cheerfully giving Lindsay some background about the game and swigging from a couple of hip flasks. Some of the other supporters had claimed places in the sheltered part of the stand but others stood outside, braving the rain.

  They stamped and cheered when the team ran out – anything to lift their morale.

  Lindsay winced. ‘They must be freezing with only shorts on – and look, a couple are in short-sleeved shirts.’ She continued, ‘I’m only just warm in all the layers you advised me to wear. It’s forecast to freeze tonight, perhaps a bit of snow, and they’re running around barely dressed.’

  ‘It’s incredible how little you feel the cold when you’re running around,’ Sarah recalled. ‘Especially if you’re a forward.’

  ‘Oh yes, I forgot you used to play. I feel like I’m in some kind of parallel universe: in England, with Welsh people, drinking Welsh whisky, and watching Scots and others dashing around,’ Lindsay commented mournfully. She focused for a moment as a couple of the players did some extra hamstring stretches. ‘Although I’m not complaining.’

  ‘That’s the spirit!’ Clare giggled. ‘Here, have some more Welsh whisky.’

  ‘Most wear those tight-fitting base-layer thingies under their shirts. They help them keep dry and warm. And compression is supposed to improve blood flow and muscle repair,’ Sarah explained. ‘Whereas we in the stand just need thermals to keep warm.’

  ‘I won’t need thermals where I’m going tomorrow.’ Clare beamed smugly. ‘Well, actually I will; it’s currently colder there than here.’

  ‘Tomorrow? To Italy? So soon!’ exclaimed Sarah. ‘How did you get work sorted?’

  ‘I had loads of leave to use up and they didn’t mind. In fact, we’re overstaffed due to a couple more returning from secondments, so – ta-da!’ Clare grinned and rubbed her gloved hands together. ‘I’ll do a month out there for Christmas and New Year, come back for a couple of months, and go again for high summer if it works out.’

  ‘New Year? Fancy a visitor to keep you company for a few days?’

  ‘That’d be excellent. But, aren’t you spending it with your family? Or Tom?’ Clare leant forward as the game kicked off.

  Sarah ignored a dart of emotional pain and rolled her eyes. ‘No, I won’t be. My family would drive me mad and Tom will be busy with his.’

  ‘Are you sure? He’s planning –’ Lindsay stopped herself and blushed. ‘He’s playing really well at the moment – look, he just caught the ball and ran through lots of people.’ She pointed towards the far end of the pitch.

  Both Sarah and Clare switched their attention to Tom, who was now crashing over the try line with half the opposition attempting to stop him. Sarah cursed. ‘He must’ve caught the ball from kick-off or soon after. Damn, I missed it.’

  ‘Right, no more gossiping for the rest of the half unless it’s rugby-related,’ ruled Clare.

  For the next 40 minutes, they stayed quiet, apart from commenting on the game and explaining some of the refereeing decisions to Lindsay. At half time, they remained huddled in their seats.

  ‘There’s no way I’m walking across there and getting soaked just to get a pint,’ declared Clare, gesturing out at the rain.

  ‘Lightweight,’ Sarah teased her. ‘Talking of lightweights, what’s this truce thing with Alex Prince?’

  ‘Just as I said at the time, we’ve agreed not to pester each other.’

  ‘Alex Prince? Alex, Tom’s friend, is here? Is he playing?’ Lindsay’s voice rose and she looked around anxiously, even though the players had returned to the warmth of the changing room.

  ‘He’s the scrum half, the number nine. You know him, then?’ Clare asked curiously.

  ‘I didn’t recognise him under all that mud. He’s my sister’s ex-fiancé. Not sure how pleased he’ll be to see me.’

  ‘You’re not the only one,’ Clare grumbled. ‘He seems to take particular delight in winding me up.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like Alex; he was always lovely to her. It was such a shame when they broke up, but cheating on your fiancé wouldn’t have been the best start to a marriage.’

  ‘Cheating? Doesn’t sound like he’s changed that much,’ scoffed Clare.

  Lindsay was quite shocked. ‘No, no. It wasn’t him who cheated, it was her. She had an affair while they were living together in Edinburgh. He returned to their flat to find her in bed with her boss.’

  Clare blanched. ‘She cheated on him?’

  ‘Yeah, it was just before Christmas last year. My parents nearly disowned her; they loved Alex like a son and he’d placed my sister up on a pedestal. I hardly speak to her now. What’s worse is that her boss was already married and she had no intention of calling off the ceremony, just carrying on as before.’

  ‘Oh hell, poor Alex,’ sympathised Sarah.

  ‘Exactly. Tom gave him a hand to sort things out but he was going through his own personal stuff with his father.’ Lindsay grimaced. ‘It was all a bit awkward for me; my sister and I are similar in looks but not in temperament. I was on the verge of quitting when Tom asked me to come down here and we haven’t really talked about it since.’ Lindsay shrugged. ‘There’s Alex now.’

  As the players ran back out onto the pitch, the girls cheered for them and returned to talking about rugby.

  The second half became an icy mudbath and the scores stayed close, Harford just a handful of points behind. As the last minutes ticked away, play slowly shifted up to just below the seats they were huddling in, and a handling error by the opposition knocked the ball out into touch. A lineout was awarded to the home team, and Clare and Sarah began shouting for Harford as the forwards lined up to claim the throw.

  ‘We need a try here to win; three points from a drop goal or a penalty won’t be enough,’ said Sarah.

  ‘C’mon, Alex! Now’s the time for one of your runs!’ yelled Clare at the top of her voice.

  A muddy Alex glanced up to the stands and grinned when he sa
w Clare – but his smile quickly faded as he glimpsed Lindsay next to her. He frowned, wiped his eyes with his hand, and continued staring through the sleeting rain.

  ‘Watch out, Prince!’ The yell from the sideline came too late as the ball was caught and knocked towards an unwary Alex. As the opposition forwards attacked swiftly to seize the loose ball, Tom shot across to grab it. He collided with the huge opposition prop and they both thumped down, the ball spilling towards Alex who finally moved to spin it out to his backs. Somehow, the slippery ball made its way through hands out to the opposite winger who scored in the corner.

  ‘He’s not moving!’ cried Sarah. ‘Tom’s not moving!’ Her eyes were fixed on the two ominously still and quiet bodies.

  Both teams’ physiotherapists, wearing fluorescent tabards, dashed the few yards to Tom and the hefty player lying on top of him. The celebrating home supporters and players fell quiet as they realised something was wrong. Long moments passed as they strained to see what was happening.

  The prop’s legs began twitching and he was slowly, carefully rolled away from Tom and onto an orange backboard. Several of the replacements carried him off towards a waiting ambulance which had rocketed up a cleared route to the pitch.

  Alex stood motionless in the middle of the pitch, his eyes fixed on his friend.

  Tom gradually raised himself up, with the assistance of the one remaining physiotherapist. She checked his eyes, asked him questions. He kept nodding. She backed off slightly and he clambered to stand. His heavily strapped knee immediately gave way beneath him and she struggled to help him balance. After trying again to walk unaided, he was helped by a couple of the replacement players and hobbled off painfully, leaning heavily on them.

  Sarah sat in the stands feeling helpless, Lindsay beside her, head in her hands. Clare stretched an arm across to hug them both. ‘It’s OK, they’re both OK. It’s all precautionary, you know that.’

  ‘But it was my fault, I distracted him,’ Lindsay muttered from between her hands.

  ‘Hah! I distracted him, I think you’ll find,’ Clare said with forced jollity. ‘This kind of thing happens all the time. It’s rugby after all, a contact sport. And look, after all that, the prop’s up and walking now. Although I don’t think he knows who he is, never mind where he’s supposed to be playing. Now, both of you take big gulps of the rest of the whisky and we’ll go and get it topped up.’