StillWaters:Book4oftheSophieGreenMysteries (22 page)

“That you hardly spoke on Sunday.”

He sighed. “I—what was I supposed to say?”

“Something along the lines of, “‘I’m sorry’?”

“What did I do?”

“Got another woman pregnant?”

Several passers-by stopped and gaped.

“Eight years ago,” I reassured them.

“Who are you talking to?”

“Random strangers.”

“I can see why SO17 got in trouble.”

I narrowed me eyes. “Don’t get me started. Listen, Harvey, I need a favour—”

“So do I—”

“What’s yours?”

“Rachel said she really liked Angel, and I figure she might be able to persuade her to take me back. Do you think you could get Angel to take Rachel for a couple of hours?”

A smile spread over my face.

“Only if I can borrow her first,” I said.

I talked a bit more to Harvey, then went back into the banquet, where dessert was being served by a bevy of besotted wenches who were all flirting madly with Luke.

“You took your time,” he said to me, ignoring them. “What was all that about?”

I grinned as I took my seat. “I found someone to talk to Gav.”

“Who?”

“Harvey’s kid.”

Luke stared. “An eight-year-old? What good is she going to be?”

“You haven’t met this eight-year-old.”

“She’d better be good.”

“Oh, she will be. And,” I smiled a bit more. “I think I’ve found a way to get Angel and Harvey talking.”

“Thought you looked pleased with yourself. Are you going to share it with me?”

No, because then it wouldn’t work. The plan was so simple. It had to work.

Dessert was surprisingly yummy, a rose-flavoured mousse that I think was supposed to be a syllabub. Luke looked longingly at mine, but I held it possessively away from him.

“But it must have gelatin in it?”

“Don’t care. It’s yummy.”

He rolled his eyes. “Women.”

As we ate, a band of what I think were supposed to be strolling players, but actually looked like bearded weirdoes, came in and tuned up a variety of odd instruments in the corner. People got up to dance, hounded into it by the wenches, and we watched them for a while.

“Bunch of losers.”

“Look, they’re trying to be medieval.”

“The waltz wasn’t even invented until the Regency!”

“Wasn’t it?”

“Or maybe the Belle Epoque. I can’t remember.”

We watched a while longer, couples dancing to the weird squeaky music, then Luke looked at me and said, “You wanna dance?”

I stood up quickly, faux-medieval mead (warm beer to you and me) going to my head. “Yeah.”

Luke took my hand, his touch warm and dry, and I felt a flush all over my body. The combined effect of seeing him half naked in the Dome, plus the alcohol (I don’t even like
cold
beer), plus his touch, plus—oh God, that aftershave I really like…

Luke held me close, regardless of the music, and I put my head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent, and I realised I really wanted him. Really, really, really.

I looked up, and Luke’s gaze met mine, hot and dark, and I could tell he was thinking the same thing. We kissed in the middle of the dark room, weird music playing, women in stupid dresses weaving around with mugs of warm beer, oblivious to everything. I pushed Luke’s stupid hat to the floor and felt his hair under my fingers, felt those scars on his skull where it had all gone wrong before, and I held him closer.

“We should go,” Luke breathed, and I nodded. This was wrong, I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t for the life of me think
why
.

Outside the air was clean and very, very cold, but I only noticed this when I breathed in, once, before Luke pulled me to him and kissed me again.

“Bike,” he said, and I blinked up at him.

“Excuse me?”

He grinned. “Where is your bike?”

“Oh.” I had no idea. “Other bike park…”

Luke made a face. “I’ll race you home.”

“Whoever gets there first blocks the steps so Norma can’t come upstairs.”

He laughed. “I’m on it.” Another kiss. “I’ll see you there.”

I raced down to the bike park on the other side of the Village Centre, heart hammering, and took three tries to get my bike unlocked. I slung myself on it and pedalled back to the villa, thinking about Luke’s mouth and his hands and all the things we’d done together and all the things I’d been thinking about and all the things I was going to do to him, and had to stop and clear my mind before I fell into a ditch.

But then somewhere between one clump of pine trees and another clump of pine trees, the perfidious little thought sneaked into my head that there was a reason why I hadn’t been sleeping with Luke, and that it had—just—become more relevant.

Luke was going to Saudi Arabia.

Damn and bugger and bollocks! If we got back into what we had before, and then he left…just left, bye-bye, that was fun, see you around some time. I wasn’t sure I could survive losing him again.

I slowed to a halt, chewing my lip. Maybe I should tell him this. Maybe, if I told him how much I wanted him and needed him and couldn’t live without him, he wouldn’t go. And then he’d miss what might be his only opportunity to get back into the service.

Boy, I might not be much of a saboteur, but I really know how to fuck up a relationship.

By the time I pulled up outside the villa and locked up my bike, I was nearly crying. I really, really wanted to sleep with Luke. But I really, really didn’t need to either face the pain of losing him again, or the guilt of knowing I was ruining his career. His stupid, bloody career. I didn’t miss the irony that it was the same career which had brought us together in the first place.

And damn my feelings for him. Why couldn’t I just not care about him? Then it’d be easy. But nooo, I had to go and fall for him, and care about his career, and want what was best for him.

Bugger, bugger, bugger.

I let myself in. Luke had found some candles from somewhere and lit them. The villa looked soft and beautiful, the only light from the candles and the Christmas tree lights. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and I knew what I wanted wasn’t going to be under the tree.

I looked up at the balconied bedroom, and Luke was leaning over the railing watching me, shirt open, looking so lush I nearly caved. I looked away as I took off my scarf, hat, coat, shoes, gloves, really slowly while I prepared what I had to say.

 “You want to take any longer?” Luke asked.

I screwed up my face in resolve, then turned to face him.

“We can’t do this.”

Luke shook his head, smile disappearing. “No,” he said.

“No?”

“No, no, no,” he came down the stairs two at a time and grabbed me. “You are not stopping this time. And I don’t believe that bollocks about it not being safe for you, and besides, I’ve got—”

“It isn’t—” I began.

Luke kissed me, and it was only about thirty seconds before I gathered the willpower to push him away.

“Stop,” I said, hating myself.

He looked desperate. “Sophie, I’m serious. You give me one good reason why we can’t—”

“I slept with Docherty,” I blurted, and Luke froze.

With every bit of my soul I wished I hadn’t said that, and with every bit I wished it wasn’t true. The look of hurt on Luke’s face was unbearable.

“I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it.

“You slept with
Docherty
?”

I nodded miserably. Luke started backing away.

Docherty is a sort of associate—first Luke’s associate, then mine. Like a freelance spy. A while back, in the summer, I accidentally got his £150,000 car blown up, and he mentioned casually that I owed him an apology for it.

Well, four months ago he came to collect that apology.

Luke was staring at me, looking horrified, like I’d just told him I wanted to have sex with a chicken.

“When?” he croaked.

“After we broke up,” I said quickly.

“
When
?”

The same day. God, I
loathe
myself. “Just…after,” I said. “It was just the once—”

Well, it was one
night
, and that’s all that counts, right?

“You slept with Docherty?” Luke repeated in tones of disgust, and I nodded again. “Are you in love with him?”

“No! No, I—I haven’t even seen him since. It was just a stupid thing.”

“Right, it meant nothing,” Luke said with such venom I stepped back.

“It really didn’t,” I said, blinking because my eyes were stinging.

Luke looked at me with hatred. “You are such a—” for a second I thought he was going to hit me, and I think Luke thought so too. But then he whirled away and stomped up the stairs. “You’re sleeping down here,” he threw back at me, like I was a bad dog.

Bitch.

I washed my face in the kitchen sink and peeled off the pretty dress I’d worn for the banquet. The banquet where Luke had held me and kissed me. God, I missed him already. What was I doing to myself?

I crawled under the blanket Luke had used last night and cried quietly until I passed out.

In the morning it was like we were strangers. Cold, hardly cordial strangers. Luke was already up, waking me as he brushed past the sofa on his way to let Norma Jean out.

“Morning.” I rubbed my eyes.

He flicked a glance in my direction but didn’t say anything. I knew I looked a mess, but he’s seen me look worse.

He’s seen me at my very worst.

“I’m going out,” he said, not looking at me, and the door closed seconds later. I was alone.

I fed Norma Jean and took her for a paltry walk around the lake, packed up my bag for the day and ate some breakfast. I called Angel and tried to sound a little perkier than I felt. It was tough, especially since she sounded rougher than I’ve ever known.

“What’s up?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“I’ve been up since six being sick.”

“Oh.” Eww. “Have you told Harvey yet?”

“No, ’cos if I do I’ll be one of those sad women who’s trying to trap a man through the pregnancy thing.”

“Angel, you already trapped him. You’re the one who broke it off, remember?”

“Have you spoken to him?”

I hesitated. “He misses you.”

“I miss him,” Angel wailed.

Am I the only one who sees an easy solution here?

“Call him.”

“I can’t call him! What am I going to say? ‘Can we get back together, and by the way, I’m having your baby’?”

What was wrong with that?

“Listen, Angel, I’m having an indulgence day. They do treatments for pregnant women—”

“I’m hardly at the swollen ankle stage,” she laughed, and I was glad she could make a joke.

“Well, yes, but you could get a pedicure or something. I can get you a day pass. What do you say?”

She said yes, happily, and I said I’d make an appointment and call her back.

Then I called Harvey, and made sure he was on schedule. “I’ll meet you at the lodge,” I said, “on the way in?”

“Are you sure she’s coming?”

I rolled my eyes. “No girl would say no to a free pedicure.”

“Can you afford all this?”

How adorable is he? “I’ll manage,” I said. “I’ll see you in an hour?”

After I put my phone down I looked up the extension number of the spa and booked Angel in for a pedicure, then texted her with the time. I straightened up a few things in the villa, something I’d never do at home. Boy, I must be feeling edgy.

Then I went to put my shoes on to walk down to the Arrivals Lodge to meet Harvey, but as I was messing about with the insole there came a knock on the door, startling me.

I opened it, and a man in Eden overalls stood there with a large box. On said box was my name.

“Sophie Green?”

I nodded, pulling my trainers on.

“Delivery for you.”

“Who from?”

“I don’t know. It came to Reception. Can you sign here, please?”

So sign I did, puzzled, and took the box into the kitchen to open it. I slit open the tape and listed out a large hard-sided cool-box, the kind we used to take with us on those long, long car journeys to the south of France when I was a kid, the kind that always used to sit under my feet because I was the smallest one and had the shortest legs.

Hah!

I looked at it for a while, wondering who the hell had sent me a cool-box, and what on Earth might be inside it. I played the old birthday present game of shaking it and listening to it—and that was when I became aware that it was buzzing.

Loudly.

Angrily.

This could not be good.

Chapter Thirteen

I pressed my ear to the plastic wall of the coolbox and listened again. It sounded like there was a nest of wasps in there. Or bees. It was really loud.

I very, very cautiously unfastened the catch and lifted the lid just half a centimetre. And then I screamed.

Loudly.

Angrily.

And in utter terror, because the box was
full of fucking wasps
. A nest or something. I didn’t stay to look. I slammed the lid down, crunching several segmented bodies as I did, my hands already stinging all over from dozens of stings, and I ducked the wasps that were flying manically around the kitchen. Maybe a dozen of them. Shit!

I grabbed the box and ran, and Norma Jean, who’d been sitting there watching me laconically, leapt up, yelping, as one of the wasps got too close. I ran for the patio doors and realised I was sobbing in fear as I tried to get the doors open. The box was buzzing and shaking now; the wasps were angry, and I didn’t know what to do with them.

Then I saw the lake.

I shoved the door open, leapt over Norma Jean who was yelping around my feet, and tripped over branches and brambles on my way to the water. And then I hurled the coolbox at the middle of the lake, where it bobbed, shaking madly.

I stood there, trembling, my hands throbbing, trying to wipe away tears with fingers that stung. Now what did I do? Surely someone would see it and try to get it out? Someone could die!

I could have died.

Shakily, I went back in. There were still wasps buzzing insanely around the kitchen, grateful to be free, aiming straight at me as soon as I entered the villa. Where had they even come from? Surely wasps died out at the end of the summer?