by Fox Brison
Georgia Maskel was a delightful contradiction of confidence and uncertainty that I wanted to get to know, and not just in a professional sense. However, if my chat with Dana did nothing else, it cemented my own misgivings and I knew that was a step into the unethical I wasn’t willing to breach. Plus, if I gave into my desires I would be giving up on George and that was something I wasn’t prepared to do, not now, not ever.
But damn those muscles were attractive and her hands were so expressive when she was explaining a particular shot, and that laugh which pulled in all the right places…
She wasn’t exactly making it easy on me. I watched her walking towards me with an eager step and I could feel my tongue tracing her abs which were visible beneath the tight white t-shirt she clearly favoured.
God, she really wasn’t making it easy on me.
Step awaaay from the client, I whispered to myself.
But my warning may have come a tad too late.
Chapter 24
Georgia
I was amazed how the beauty of Emma’s house on the outside was replicated on the inside. She certainly had taste because where the clinic bordered on bland and uninteresting, the main house was exquisite. A highly polished, red hued mahogany table stood in the middle of a large entrance hall. A glass vase filled with lilac and snowy calla lilies sat, proudly, in the centre on top of a pure white lace doily. On one wall an imposing ornate gilt mirror reflected the light from the doorway, and opposite an old fashioned monk’s bench (which had been modified to act as a coat stand) stood out against the cream walls. Hiking paraphernalia, a worn leather rugby ball and a pair of football boots casually strewn next to the bench indicated that not only were the other members of this household sporty, they weren’t too concerned by neatness either.
A grand dark wood staircase led to the upper floor and there were two reception rooms off of the main entrance, but Emma bypassed these and went straight to the rear of the house into an expansive and brightly decorated kitchen diner. This had sliding doors running the full length of the back wall giving a stunning view of the beautiful mature garden I immediately recognised, I’d seen it often enough when pacing during therapy. At one end of the sage green room was an L shaped sofa and television, a scarred oak dining table was in the middle and at the other end of the room was a white marble kitchen. Italian, I guessed.
“Tea? Coffee?” Emma approached a rather complicated looking contraption, chrome and bright red with more levers than an old-fashioned steam train.
“Just a water thanks. I had two coffees this morning and that’s enough caffeine for one day. Your home is stunning.” I said from behind the counter still admiring the décor. My first home had, literally, been painted magnolia throughout and owned about as much personality as a dead clown fish.
“Thanks, but I can’t take any of the credit. This was my parent’s home. My Mum left it to Lawrie and I when my father died and she moved back to the States. My uncles and aunt still live in Baltimore, as does my grandmother. She was torn, of course, but we go and visit her at least twice a year and she comes to visit us. But the opportunity to teach at a university over there was too good to miss and I also think this place reminded her too much of my father. She’s an educational psychologist, so everything was set up for me when I started my own practice.” Emma handled the complicated coffee contraption expertly.
“Next time Sally’s short-handed I’m going to give her your number!” I joked as she produced an aromatic Americano. She passed me my juice and led the way toward the comfy sofa, her hips undulating hypnotically. After kicking off her sandals, she sat down and tucked her feet underneath herself. “Come and sit down, George, make yourself at home.”
“What was I saying the other day about Kermit never letting me down?” I asked and Emma laughed. And there was that smile again. “I don’t actually have breakdown cover. It was something I’ve been meaning to do but I’ve just never got round to it. I could call Sean, he’d probably come and take a look oh… damn… no… he and Caroline were taking the kids for a walk down at Audley End House.” I shuffled nervously. I felt incredibly stupid and immature right now. A grown up would definitely have had breakdown cover for the most ancient of camper vans. “I don’t want to disturb him…” I pulled nervously on my earlobe and then quickly swiped and pressed my phone. “I could get Jules to… no… she’s getting ready for Milton Keynes…”
I couldn’t believe this. Did everyone I know have to be having a life at the very moment when mine was looking so sad and pathetic? Yeah, okay, over exaggeration, but I was feeling incredibly nervous next to Emma’s exceedingly toned calves. And smooth. Did I mention how smooth they were? Be. Still. My. Beating. Heart.
“I’ll get the number of the local garage I use,” Emma interrupted, looking a little worried Kermit wasn’t the only one who was going to have a breakdown today. Either that or I was going to put my right index finger through the screen of my phone. “Kevin’s great. I’m sure he’ll have Kermit fixed in half a tick, there’s no need to trouble your friends.”
“Emma, I really am sorry about this,” I said totally mortified.
“George, relax. You can wait here for as long as it takes, you’re honestly not disturbing me one bit. Besides of all the gin joints, in all the towns for Kermit to croak, is mine so bad?” Emma teased. She watched me battle first with the need to remain in control and then with the need to let someone else take over before I had a meltdown. Finally I nodded and added a small nervous smile of thanks.
“I’d better let Jules know,” I was again swiping my phone. “She was expecting me back to see her off… hey Jules, it’s me. Yeah I’m cool. What? No, no, I’m stuck in Cambridge. Yeah ha, ha, yeah Kermit finally croaked.” I shook my head and mouthed ‘great minds’ to Emma, who chuckled. “The mechanic should be here soon. No, it’s alright, I know you have to leave…” there was longer pause which caused me to blush furiously. “Yer an eejit Julia Ryan! I’ll call Sean tomorrow, sort it out with him. Okay, drive safely. Text me when you get there… yeah I know. I love you too.”
“You and Julia sound incredibly close?” Emma asked when I disconnected the call.
“Yes like sisters. In fact we’re closer than that and best friend doesn’t quite do it justice either. She’s always there for me, you know? Even when I was at my lowest she stood right beside me.” And I silently admitted to myself that in the last decade there had been many lows.
“How long have you been friends?”
“We met on our first day of school when we were four years old. Christ, it’s scary to think it’s been over twenty years now. I’d lost my life when Mum left me in the classroom all alone. She didn’t stick around like the other kid’s parents had. I remember feeling so scared so… so alone. I hid in the corner with my little brown leather satchel slung over my shoulder. I held it so tight it was like my force field, repelling all who looked my way. Next thing I know there was this other little girl standing in front of me. She had red hair tied tight in pigtails, I mean really red hair. I’d never seen hair so vibrant. So this kid gently took my hand and said with a confidence that belied her tender years, ‘Don’t cry I’ll look after you.’ and Julia has, even when I was on the tour full time and barely home. I think I would have been lost without messenger.”
“Not Facebook?”
“Heck no! I leave social networking to those who are both social and have friends to network with.” I was faintly embarrassed by the fact I was billy no mates, but the truth was, I just wasn’t the type of person who made friends easily. Mind when I did, we became friends for life. Still, I felt I needed to qualify my lack of bosom buddies.
And no, the pun was definitely not intended.
“Tennis has always been the focus of my life, so I didn’t have time to socialise.” I looked at the water ring my glass had left on the table. I ran my finger through it, drawing a curly S through the middle and long tail; it looked remarkably like a tennis ball in flight. I quickly r
ubbed it out.
“It’s interesting, isn’t it, how obsessed we’ve suddenly become with how many friends people have and whether or not they like a particular picture we post. Statistics show you are actually the norm, George, because most people only have two or three very close friends and the rest are mere acquaintances. Research also indicates it’s not the quantity of friends you have but the quality that matters. A bit like life in general.”
I chuckled wryly. “I’m sorry, Emma, this is turning into another session.”
“Not at all. It’s just two people getting to know each other.” The words were barely out of Emma’s mouth when she clearly realised how they could be misconstrued. We looked at each other, both suddenly accepting that there was an attraction and it was mutual. I wanted to say something, the silence was filled with an unexpected, but not unwelcome, anticipation, however, Emma beat me to the punch.
“Julia sounds like the best sort of person to have in your corner. Do you fancy something to eat?” She downed the last of her coffee and I almost got whiplash at the change of subject. The unspoken subject. The subject that should remain locked away and never brought out in the light of day.
“Oh no, don’t go to any trouble on my account.”
“Saving yourself for Caroline’s plate?” My stomach growled angrily again and Emma laughed. “I don’t know if your stomach will last that long. Have something with me, I’m sure your dinner will keep for tomorrow.”
“A biscuit will keep me going.” I bit my bottom lip shyly.
Emma shook her head. “I hope that’s not your attitude when you’re on tour because you could have saved yourself some money.” My brow furrowed in confusion. “A lack of food would obviously result in a distinct lack of concentration! You don’t need a psychologist to tell you that, but I know a couple of nutritionists who could help. And on that note, do you like sea bass?”
“I love it. Thank you.” I replied. “Can I help?”
“I want you to relax, just like you would have at home.” Emma’s voice echoed in the fridge. “Make yourself comfortable and keep me company.” She held a red pepper up to her nose, nodded, and then placed some other vegetables next to it on the worktop. A few minutes later the knife was a blur as she began to confidently chop a carrot. “What film did you watch last night? Anything good?”
“Umm we watched a few actually, nothing new, just a couple of our old favourites.” I didn’t know why I was being so evasive.
“I love old movies. When I was younger, my father and I would cuddle up on the sofa watching black and white movies from the thirties and forties. He loved gangster films, James Cagney, Humphrey Bogart, but I loved Barbara Stanwyck, Bette Davis. They were strong women who always played good parts, more than equal to their male counterparts. I’m not sure how many actors there are now of the same calibre, the same level of panache. I also loved the style of that era, the clothes, the architecture… it was so classy. They don’t make movies on that grand a scale any more do they?”
I didn’t answer for a heartbeat and I stared into Emma’s eyes. I was imagining her wearing one of those slinky silk dresses. She coloured slightly. I wondered if she could read my mind? “Well they weren’t actually that old. Julia loves romantic films, so we watched Imagine Me and You first. She got hacked off with me when I pointed out several inconsistencies. A bit of a bad habit I’m afraid.”
“Inconsistencies?” Emma sounded intrigued.
“Yes. I mean come on, who has the florist at their wedding reception? It’s totally stupid.”
“Fair point.” Emma agreed easily indicating she’d seen it. A tick in the L or B box?
I quickly ran away from that thought.
“That was swiftly followed by Saving Face, another of Jules’ choices. The last one was my pick. A mickey take called D.E.B.S. It’s pretty funny, very camp, but I think you have to be in the mood. And Jules wasn’t in the mood, especially after I criticised her two most favourite films in the world.” I was actually holding my breath. I couldn’t forget the brief flare of attraction in Emma’s eyes, or the slight hitch in her breathing. It may have been a while, but that look and sound were something you never forgot.
“Quite the marathon then.” Emma avoided eye contact and started rummaging around in the fridge again. “Would you mind setting the table, George? You’ll find everything you need in the dresser over there.”
“Sure.” I began to lay the table. Probably be the only thing I lay for a while. “Will you be having wine with your meal?” I asked, wondering what glasses I should use.
“Absolutely, I have a nice white burgundy I’ve been saving for a special occasion.” Emma’s reply sent me into raptures for all of two seconds. “But, I guess today will do just as well.” I physically felt the slap in the face and it fell sharply. “George, are you okay?”
“Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking about Kermit,” I said still reeling from the mental body blow. I found the wine and poured it into a fine crystal goblet whilst Emma brought the plates to the table. I played it over and over in my head why I shouldn’t be disappointed, but this scene was just too perfect, and it was a scene I would love to replicate, again and again. I had fallen into the trap of believing this was something it wasn’t, something it could never be, something I didn’t deserve.
But it was something I suddenly discovered I wanted - and I wanted it with Emma Myers.
Chapter 25
Emma
Georgia’s stomach was now a gurgling volcano and she was mortified that not only could I hear it, but that I found it incredibly funny. I couldn’t help it; I blamed my inappropriate sense of humour which was forever getting me into trouble.
“Mmmm, wow, talk about taste bud explosion,” she said taking another bite. “I don’t know the last time I tasted something so good.” Spearing a floret of broccoli, another moan issued in pleasure.
I bet you’d taste twice as good, popped into my head. What was wrong with me? No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about George in that way. But so long as they just stay as private thoughts everything will be okay…right? I wasn’t sure my mental pep talk filled me with anything but more unease. “It’s very simple. I think too many flavours can ruin the actual taste of the fish which is why I just season and then pan fry it.” I explained the thinking behind my rudimentary, and even if I do say so myself tasty, cooking technique. “And it seems your stomach agrees.”
“Oh yes, my stomach agrees. The broccoli is amazing too. I was a little dubious when you added the orange into the pan, but it really does work.” Georgia licked her lips, her gorgeously pink lips, and the action sent a tingle right to my core. “You can cook dinner for me anytime my van breaks down in your drive.”
I smiled and took a sip of wine buying a bit of time to regain my composure. “Are you not having a glass? I thought one with a meal would be allowed.”
“Oh, it is. I just don’t drink is all, I haven’t had a drink since I decided on my comeback. It’s a bit like my sex life, all or nothing.” Georgia clearly thought she’d overstepped the mark and quickly asked, “Do you still row?”
“I only row for fun these days and not that regularly. It was difficult enough to finish my degree with a child in tow let alone train to be a professional athlete. The Olympics were an incredible experience and I’m glad I got to compete at that level at least once, but when Lawrie came along he was more important than any regatta.”
“It still looks like you could compete, you’re in great shape.” Georgia said and then coloured. The attraction between us was like lingering subtext in a thriller and it didn’t take a doctorate in psychology to empathise with what she was going through; wanting something that you know is bad for you, even though it looked so good and was ripe for the taking.
“Thank you kindly,” I teased, keen to put her at ease. She stared into space, and I wondered where her mind had gone. “George, are you okay?” I asked softly.
“Sorry, just thinki
ng,” she prevaricated.
“Good thoughts?”
“Too good.”
I did a handbrake turn on the wrong side of a dual carriageway in order to steer us back to calm waters, because I was starting to get warm in all the right places. “I hike quite a bit. It’s great for keeping fit.” Thankfully it worked.
“Do you go over the fens?” she asked.
“Sometimes, but it’s a bit flat and I like more of a challenge. I love nothing more than going up to the Lake District or the Highlands for a few days. How about you? You mentioned reading, but what else do you find relaxing?”
“I don’t get a lot of time to chill now I’m back on tour. I play the guitar and I quite like gardening too. I got in to it when Jules and I moved into the cottage.” George swept around her plate with her final piece of broccoli, clearing the last lingering dribble of sauce. It was now so clean I could have put it straight back in the cupboard. She began tidying the dishes from the table.
“Leave that, George, I’ll do it later.” I poured myself another glass of wine and walked back to the comfy sofa. “Sit down, relax.” I patted the seat beside me when my phone began to ring. She ignored me and continued cleaning up; it wasn’t like I could insist when I was on the phone. “Bloody perfect,” I said after hanging up.
“Is everything okay?”
“That was Kevin from the garage. He’s been called out on an emergency and won’t be able to get here until eight. I could try somewhere else but this time on a Sunday?” I shrugged. “I think we’d be wasting our time. I shouldn’t have had any wine then I could’ve driven you home!”
“Don’t be silly, you’ve been more than generous. You’ve fed and watered me, honestly, I’ll call a cab if you don’t mind me leaving the van here overnight?” Georgia yawned loudly and despite my earlier annoyance at the delay, I quickly realised I didn’t want her to leave. I was enjoying her company. She had an easy way about her outside of the therapy room, something I had noticed the day we met in the Birdcage. I also smiled a lot more when she was near. My facial muscles hadn’t had this much of a workout since the day I first held Lawrie in my arms.
