‘Hey,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t cry. We’ll sort something out.’
He went to wipe away her tear with his thumb. She put out her hand and held him by the forearm. For a moment they stared at each other, then she put her lips to the inside of his wrist. His pulse was beating at an incredible rate. She must be able to feel it. Despite himself he put out his fingers to stroke her face, to cup it in his hand. Her eyes closed, she ran her mouth over his palm, then over the tips of each finger.
He should never have touched her. He knew that. But he just couldn’t resist, because the memory had never faded. She was the only woman who had ever made him lose his self-control. It was pure animal instinct that made him pull her to him and kiss her savagely. George, who could always be relied upon to keep his head, was a man bewitched. At that moment, he would have gladly given up everything just to feel her skin against his, her mouth, to run his hands through her hair.
When their lips met, it was incredible. Could he stop here? George wondered wildly. A kiss was excusable. A kiss could be a gesture of fondness, reassurance; he could justify it to himself later, no problem. Just pull away, he told himself. Be strong—
Strong? Who was he trying to kid? No man on earth would be able to resist. He ran his hands up the inside of her chiffon kaftan, recalling each familiar rib with the tips of his fingers, then finally reaching her breasts.
Before he knew it, they were rolling around on the picnic rug like a pair of randy teenagers. And George didn’t care. Moments later, she let herself fall on to his chest, so they could feel their hearts pounding together, their sweat mingling.
‘Shit.’
‘I know,’ breathed Victoria. ‘That was amazing.’
‘I don’t mean shit wow,’ said George grimly. ‘I mean shit I shouldn’t have done that.’
‘Listen,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry. It never happened. I’m sorry.’
She gave a twisted little smile.
‘It’s a long time since I’ve had a shag.’
George didn’t reply. It stung him to hear what had just happened referred to as a shag. To him, it had been almost spiritual. It had felt like a real bond, an incredible moment when time was suspended. He told himself not to be so fanciful. Victoria was right – it was just a shag, and shags often tried to masquerade as something deep and meaningful.
He should be grateful Victoria was being so sensible for once. He was amazed that she didn’t leap upon his weakness straightaway and start manipulating him. It was a pretty explosive weapon, after all. If she chose to use it, his whole world would be blown apart in an instant.
‘So,’ he said shakily, re-buttoning his shorts with trembling fingers. ‘Where do we go from here?’
Victoria adjusted her clothing, pulling her kaftan back down so she was decent. She lifted her hair from the back of her neck, in a gesture that made his heart hammer even faster. It was still pounding furiously, but now more from panic than the exertion of sex.
‘I mean, what do we do?’ he gabbled. ‘You can’t stay at The Rocks much longer, Victoria. It’s not fair on any of us.’
‘I know.’
She took both of his hands in hers, staring into his eyes with a mixture of fondness and regret.
‘I’m just so sorry I blew it. I can’t believe I was such a crazy, messed-up bitch and destroyed what we had. You were the only good thing that ever happened to me, George, and I chucked you away like last season’s shoes. But that’s just me all over, isn’t it?’ She sighed. ‘Do you think I’ll ever get another chance? With someone else?’
‘I’m sure you will.’ George did his best to sound convincing, but at that moment he would gladly have killed anyone who stepped into the frame and tried to win her affections.
‘Hey, you,’ said Victoria. ‘You’d better take a shower.’
She ran a finger down his chest, which was glistening with perspiration. He shivered. Should he say it now? Should he say he’d have her back? Face the music with Lisa? Destroy everything they’d built up? Create total chaos and mayhem? Safe in the knowledge that he would be plunging straight back into a life fraught with danger, insecurity, tantrums and histrionics. Victoria could say what she liked, but George was fairly certain she hadn’t changed. Not deep down. But it had to be worth the risk. They’d just proved that. And he’d take control this time. Remind her of the lesson she’d learned.
Luckily for George, at that moment Justin came round the corner, back from his trip.
‘What have you two been up to?’ he demanded.
‘Fucking like snakes,’ drawled Victoria. ‘This heat always makes me incredibly horny.’
She picked up her paperwork and wandered off. George could barely meet Justin’s suspicious gaze as he hastily jumped to his feet and picked up the lunch tray.
‘I hope you haven’t.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not a fool.’
Justin looked at him coldly.
‘You’d better go and have a shower before Lisa gets back. You reek of it.’
‘I’ve been treating the decking!’
‘Yeah, right.’ Justin looked him up and down with distaste. ‘Just get your brain out of your trousers and put it back where it belongs, will you?’
George clutched the sides of the tray for strength. He really did feel peculiar. The morning’s exertion, the heat, the shandy, the sex, being nearly caught out . . . his head was swimming. For a moment he thought longingly of a lie-down, but that was out of the question.
He smiled winningly at Justin, hoping to distract him.
‘Come and have a look at what’s been done while you’ve been away.’
Later that afternoon, when Justin had admired the transformation that had taken place during his absence, he cornered Victoria as she came out of her room. She was looking deceptively demure, in a white cotton cardigan and linen skirt, a silk camellia tucked behind her ear. Justin wasn’t taken in for a moment. He grabbed hold of her hair and pulled her head back, holding her against his chest as if he was taking her hostage.
‘I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but pack it in now,’ he told her.
Victoria smiled.
‘You’re just jealous.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know why you don’t admit it.’
‘Victoria – I don’t fancy you if that’s what you think.’
‘No. Because I’m not your type, am I? After all, I’m the wrong sex.’
Justin gave a bitter bark of laughter.
‘You think I’m gay? Just because I don’t fancy you? Don’t flatter yourself.’
‘No, darling. Because you’re in love with George.’
The two of them locked gazes, staring into each other’s eyes, as if the first to look away would be the one to lose.
‘Why else would you buy into this place?’ she taunted. ‘It was just so you could be near him. And it’s why you don’t want me around, isn’t it? Because you know I drive him insane with lust. Lisa’s not a threat. Lisa doesn’t get under his skin. Lisa’s safe. Plus she doesn’t mind having you around, because she’s as naive as George is.’ She laughed. ‘I’m amazed George has never sussed it. Why else have you never had a girlfriend? Only those flaky little bimbos who only hang off your every word because you give them money. And why else do you follow those cute little bands around? And as for the beach here, well – you must be in seventh heaven. All those tanned surfer dudes to drool over.’
She finished her tirade with a brilliant smile of triumph. It was all Justin could do not to put his hands round her throat and throttle her. He gazed back at her coldly.
‘For your information, I’m not gay. I’m just not particularly interested in sex. To my mind, it messes everything up. It stops you getting on with the important things in life. Therefore I am not, as you so smugly assume, in love with George. I happen to respect and admire him. He’s one of the few people in the world who isn’t a total jerk – except when he comes into contact with you. So I will do everything in my power to make sure you are out of his life.’
Victoria gave him a slow hand clap.
‘Beautifully spoken.’ Her voice was mocking. ‘Lucky old George, to inspire such loyalty in his friends. It’ll be interesting to see where
his
loyalties lie, I must say.’
Justin watched her sashay back down the corridor, bubbling with hatred, thinking that if he’d had a gun on him at that moment he would quite happily have shot her. In the back as well. That was the thing about Victoria. You couldn’t be ambivalent about her. You either loved her or hated her.
As she walked along the corridor, Victoria held her head high, but in reality she was struggling to hold back the tears. Bloody Justin, he always managed to remind her just what a waste of space she was. She should never have done it. She should never have slept with George. It was a cheap trick that underlined just how worthless she was. Anyone could get a man by using their body.
She wanted George to want her for
herself.
For everything they shared in common – their hopes and dreams and ambitions. This week at The Rocks had convinced Victoria just how much they belonged together. If she hadn’t been such a selfish, vain, introspective monster, it would be her name at the top of the invitation she’d designed that morning. But now she’d really blown it. By bringing sex into the equation, she’d scuppered all her chances of getting George back. She knew him well enough to know he’d be cursing his weakness. That rather than being drawn towards her, she’d only succeeded in pushing him away.
And, anyway, as long as Lisa was around, why on earth would he want her? Lisa was gorgeous. Lisa was worthy. Lisa was absolutely everything she wasn’t and never could be, no matter how hard she tried.
Later that evening, George was lying next to Lisa, listening to her talking but not really hearing the words.
‘I really feel on top of everything now,’ she was saying. ‘I must say there was a moment when I started to panic, but everything’s fallen into place. I’m even getting used to having Victoria around – I have to admit she has some really great ideas.’
‘Mmm,’ replied George non-committally. He couldn’t even say her name, in case some ghastly confession came spilling out.
‘You’re very quiet,’ said Lisa, stroking his forehead.
‘It’s . . . hard work,’ George replied. ‘Oiling the decking. I’ve found muscles I didn’t know I had.’
‘Perhaps you need a massage.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ mumbled George, feigning exhaustion. ‘But I think I might just go to sleep.’ He was terrified Lisa might find some sort of evidence; some trace of Victoria on his skin. Even though he’d scrubbed himself nearly raw with Japanese washing grains in the shower.
As Lisa curled an arm round him, he tried to relax, but his mind was racing. He was pretty certain Victoria wouldn’t say anything about what had happened. It had been a moment of madness, something they’d had to get out of the way. A quick trip down memory lane to prove they didn’t need each other. A kind of carnal closure. That was it, George reassured himself. Nothing more, nothing less.
He just hoped Victoria saw it the same way.
B
runo didn’t think he had ever felt so depressed.
Today was his mother’s birthday. And even though the sun was shining, bouncing off the water, with a light breeze to ruffle the hair, he would have preferred relentless rain, because the day’s perfection made a mockery of the way he was feeling.
Joanie was sitting on her sofa, the rose-pink cashmere sweater he’d bought her clutched in her lap. He’d bought it because it was pretty and soft and luxurious, and he hoped it would prompt her to wear it, even if only out of politeness. He couldn’t bear the shapeless grey cardigan and tracksuit trousers she seemed to wear indefinitely. He felt sure it couldn’t be the same outfit she wore day in and day out, but it certainly seemed so. Bruno didn’t believe in anything as flaky as colour therapy, but he felt strongly that her mood would never lift while she wore such dowdy clothes.
Choosing the card had proved horrendously difficult. He’d avoided anything that referred to ‘mother’ or ‘son’. And anything sickly and sentimental – all those flowery poems wishing happiness would ring hollow. All he wanted was a card saying happy birthday that wasn’t vulgar and didn’t depict some scene that would rub salt into her wound. Even flowers seemed reminiscent of funeral wreaths. In the end he’d bought one of the Grand Canal in Venice – it was completely irrelevant to anything in her life and couldn’t possibly remind her of Joe.
Joe had been good at birthdays. Joe had always deliberately bought her the biggest, most tasteless card he could find, and it had always made her smile. The last card he’d bought her, just before he died, had been padded and musical, playing ‘My Favourite Things’ when it opened. His mother had left it on the kitchen dresser ever since. Bruno had picked it up one day to find that the tune had given up the ghost, even though Joe’s signature was still inside, and it had made him feel incredibly desolate. He’d wanted to prise the card open, take out its workings, replace the tiny battery so that his mother could hear the tune again. It was, after all, one of the few tangible reminders that Joe had ever thought about anyone but himself. But the card was made in China, it wasn’t designed to have its battery replaced. Bruno had put it back on the dresser feeling more powerless than ever to do anything to alleviate his mother’s grief.
Today, Bruno had been absolutely determined to get Joanie out of the house. He’d booked a table for lunch at the Admiral Hotel on the estuary just outside Bamford. It wasn’t his sort of place, but they had a terrace where you could look out over the water, an excellent carvery and an infamous pudding trolley with cream-laden trifles and gateaux.
‘Come on, Mum,’ he was urging her now. ‘I’ve booked us a table on the terrace. It’s a beautiful day.’
But she shook her head.
‘I’ve got one of my headaches,’ she replied. ‘I wouldn’t be able to enjoy it. It would be a waste.’
For a split second Bruno felt a surge of anger. Why wouldn’t she let him try to make her happy? He was sure if he could persuade her out, she might enjoy it. Even if it was only for a nanosecond. He looked at her as she folded up the wrapping paper from his present neatly, smoothing it out with her fingers. Did there come a point where guilt became a habit? he wondered. An indulgence? Should he shout? Should he force her?