A Song in the Night (42 page)

Gavin halted and tilted her face towards him. “I beg to differ there, Rosie. I’ve never seen you looking so beautiful as you do tonight.” He kissed her then. It was a slow, gentle kiss and Rosie found herself melting into his arms with a sense of helplessness.

It was long after midnight when they arrived at Gavin’s flat. Gavin flicked on the lights and strode across the walk-through lounge into the kitchen area. “Coffee okay?” he called to her as he filled the coffee maker. “I can do black, white, latté, or cappuccino.”

Rosie stifled a yawn. She was beginning to wish she hadn’t drunk quite so much.
Black, eh? Normally can’t stand the stuff but I could do with coming round a bit.

She was about to go with the first option when Gavin interjected. “It’s all decaff by the way, but you’ll never tell the difference.”

I will if I try sobering up with it,
she thought as she lay back on the settee and closed her eyes.
Why does he have to be such a health freak?
She decided on a latté. It would have been so easy to fall asleep just then. She’d drunk more tonight than she’d done in a long while, and her body didn’t seem to be taking kindly to it. She forced herself to sit up.

“D’you want anything to eat?” Gavin’s voice called out again.

His back was to her as he moved about the kitchen and rummaged in cupboards. Rosie could hear the crinkle of packaging as he pulled something out and tossed it with a light thud onto the work surface.
Probably lentils,
she thought to herself. She’d seen now the type of people Gavin mixed with; paragons of healthy virtue, every one. They certainly hadn’t gotten to look that way by stuffing their faces with sausage and chips. Even the party food had been noticeably salubrious – not a pork pie in sight.

“No, I’m okay,” she called back lightly. “I already ate plenty.”

She cast a surreptitious glance around the flat. It wasn’t the first time she’d been here, but tonight, somehow, certain details seemed to stand out to her. Over by the window, a column of black and white cityscape photographic mounts. Scattered tastefully around the room, various examples of abstract wall art in bold, arresting colours. The ceiling mounted light plates with their spotlight heads throwing a bright glare over everything in sight. And all this set against the stark, brilliant white of the walls. The effect of the décor was ultra modern, and very masculine.
A real bachelor pad,
thought Rosie with drowsy amusement. She yawned again. Despite its sterile appearance, the flat was surprisingly warm. Rosie pulled the wrap from her shoulders and lay back once more. The leather settee was suddenly cold against her bare back and arms. She gave a slight shiver.

“Here we are.” Gavin came through with a tray and laid it on the glass coffee table. “I brought you a couple of biscuits in case you changed your mind.”

Biscuits?
Rosie smiled wryly behind closed eyes.
After tonight, I’m surprised any of you lot would let so much as a drip of hydrogenated fat over your thresholds.
She opened her eyes and sat up. The sudden glare of the spotlights made her frown as she reached out and took her coffee between her hands. Gavin noticed.

“It
is
a bit bright in here, isn’t it? Hang on …” He went over to a chrome floor lamp by the back wall and switched it on. Then he turned off the ceiling spotlights. The place was instantly transformed. “That better?”

Rosie nodded and took a sip of her coffee. Gavin smiled and went over to a sound system in the corner. “A bit of music too, eh?” He flipped through a few CDs and made a selection. “Can’t go wrong with a compilation album,” he said, almost to himself. He came back to the settee and flopping heavily into it, loosened his bow-tie and unfastened his collar. “It’s been a good evening, hasn’t it, Rosie?” He sighed contentedly and reached out to her, bringing his hand gently to rest on her thigh.

Rosie smiled in agreement, but felt suddenly disconcerted at Gavin’s closeness. It wasn’t as if he’d never touched her leg before. It was something he always did these days, especially when they were out; an alternative to holding hands when they were sitting together having a drink. But she usually wore jeans or trousers on dates, and somehow tonight, the warmth of Gavin’s hand through the flimsy satin of her evening dress made her feel slightly vulnerable. She couldn’t help wondering if it would have been better for her to have gone straight home. She felt terribly sleepy, and the alcohol had dulled her ability to think clearly. She took another mouthful of coffee, willing herself to stay alert, but realising with every passing moment that she was losing the battle. She put her coffee on the table and leaned back into the settee with a sigh. It was all too much effort. Gavin reached for her hand. She offered no resistance and he moved closer to her.

“How’s Beth doing?”

The question threw her. It was the last thing she’d been expecting him to say.

“She seems okay. Happy to be home at least. It’s hard to know without seeing her. I’ll be able to tell you better after next weekend.”

Gavin nodded. “I think about her a lot, y’know. And your brother.”

Rosie felt a sudden pang of guilt as the realisation hit her. She’d gone a whole evening without giving either of them so much as a thought. The night had been so perfect – she’d felt so happy. Beth’s illness had slipped out of her mind. How could she have
done
that? How could she have been so busy enjoying herself that she could forget something like that? She felt strangely ashamed.

Gavin noticed her discomfort and frowned. “What’s up, Rosie? Did I say something?”

Rosie shook her head, but she couldn’t hide the feeling that had gripped her. She slid her hand away from his.

“Rosie, tell me – please, what did I say?”

To her horror, Rosie found herself beginning to fill up. She swallowed hard, determined this time not to let the tears fall. “I had such a good time tonight,” she faltered. “It’s just hit me. I almost forgot about them – Beth and Ciaran, I mean. They went right out of my head.” She swallowed again and swore under her breath.

Gavin sat up straight and looked at her directly. “Rosie, you mustn’t feel bad about that. You needed a night out. You’ve been carrying this situation for ages.” He stroked her cheek softly. “You needed to forget about it for a while. There’s only so much a person can take without going crazy. Don’t go beating yourself up over it.”

There was something oddly releasing about his words, and for a few moments Rosie looked into his eyes. Then she dropped her head and stared down at her knees, embarrassed at her own candour.

Gavin took her hand again. “Hey – come on, pretty girl.” His voice was soft as a whisper. “That’s what I’m here for. To look after you. I told your brother I would.” He leaned towards her and softly kissed her forehead. “I
have
looked after you, haven’t I, Rosie?”

She looked up slightly and nodded.

He reached out and began to tenderly caress the back of her neck. “That’s good …” His voice was huskily low. “Because I want to look after you, Rosie. I want to look after you in every way I can.” Gently, he reached his hands into her hair and unpinned it so that it fell over her shoulders. Rosie was taken by surprise. She opened her mouth to say something, but Gavin lifted a finger and pressed it to her lips. “Sshh. Don’t talk, Rosie.” There was a fire in his eyes that made her heart quicken. Ironic. The track just starting to play was Seal’s
‘Kiss from a Rose’.
Had he timed it, she wondered?

Suddenly she was in his arms, her resistance melting in the heat of his hold like a candle surrendering to a flame. She could feel his hunger as he kissed her, and realised with a sense of helplessness that she was hungry too. Her mind swirled with a thousand thoughts and feelings, and all the time, the scent of Gavin’s skin, so close, so warm, intoxicated her.

“
Oh, Rosie –
” Gavin muttered almost inaudibly, “I’ve waited so long.” His breath was hot on her neck as the strength of his body forced her back against the sofa. She tried to think. Was there any turning back now? Did she even want to?

“
Gavin, I –
” She tried to speak, but her words seemed to disappear in the waves of passion engulfing them both. She felt Gavin’s hand move to the zip at the back of her bodice. He slid his fingers gently under the diamanté-studded straps of her dress and eased it from her shoulders. For a few moments, she lay exposed to his gaze. Then something in her head exploded.

“Gavin –
no –
” Her voice sounded pitifully weak, even to her own ears. Gavin’s lips came down hard on her own, his hands pinning her back into a position of forced helplessness. Rosie felt panic rising in her throat. She pulled her head away from his kiss. “No!
No, please –
”

Gavin started to kiss her neck again. “Come on, Rosie. You know you want to. We both want to …”

Rosie’s mind went into overdrive. Suddenly she knew very clearly that she didn’t want to. Whatever she may have felt a few minutes earlier hardly mattered. Now all she wanted to do was get out. She tried to move, but he held her fast. Gavin’s arms were strong; taut, hard, pump-iron muscle. She knew she didn’t have a chance of breaking free from his grip. She felt sick at the realisation. Here she was again, after all these years, helpless before a man. A plaything, a prisoner. Completely at his mercy.

In that moment, a sense of rage welled up in her. Gathering every ounce of her strength, she pushed Gavin off her and sat up, pulling the satin bodice around her and folding her arms across her chest to preserve what little dignity she could.

“
What the …?
” Gavin’s face was a mixture of anger and confusion. “What are you playing at, Rosie?”

“I want to go home.”

“
Home?
Why?” Gavin’s eyes were dark with frustration.

“I just want to go home.”

Gavin shook his head incredulously. “I can’t believe this.” He sighed heavily and put his face in his hands. Rosie seized the chance to slip her arms back through the straps of her dress. It made her feel slightly more in control. She stood shakily to her feet and pulled Mel’s wrap around her shoulders. Gavin glanced up at her and she couldn’t help noticing something like hurt in his eyes.

“Why did you lead me on like that?”

Rosie swallowed. “I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. Coming back to my place, sitting there with your come-to-bed eyes while I was making the coffee. Don’t think I didn’t see you.” He looked down again. “There’s a name for girls like that, Rosie.”

Rosie wanted to hit him. Hard. But she kept quiet. She wasn’t out of his flat yet and she knew things could still turn ugly. “I’m sorry … I drank too much. I wasn’t making any sort of eyes at you.”

“Whatever.” Gavin ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. For a few moments neither of them spoke. Then Gavin stood to his feet. “Come on. I’ll run you home.”

Rosie shook her head. “It’s okay. Just get me a number for a taxi. That’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be stupid, Rosie.” Gavin’s voice was irritable. “I took you to the party – I want to make sure you get home. At least allow me that.”

The journey back was tense. Neither of them said a word. When they arrived at the house, Gavin turned to her. “I’m not sure where we go from here, Rosie. I’m confused. I thought we had a great evening – but then it went and turned out like this. I don’t know how we follow it.” He paused and looked out of the window. “Maybe we need a break to think things over … though I can’t help feeling –” He stopped as though he had thought better of it.

Rosie was curious despite herself. “You can’t help feeling
what?
”

Gavin shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” Rosie persisted, suddenly nervous. “Tell me.”

Gavin breathed out slowly. “I was going to say …” His voice was low now. “I can’t help feeling the problem’s in you, Rosie. Maybe you need to give it some thought.”

She looked at him hard until tears pricked her eyes, then she opened the car door. “Thank you for everything, Gavin. And for seeing me home.”

She stepped out into the cold night air and walked towards her front door. She heard Gavin’s car speed away down the street and held her breath until it turned the corner. As she fumbled in her bag for her keys, hot tears dripped onto her shaking fingers. Once inside her room, she sobbed as though she would never stop.

Houtkerque March 18th 1917

Dearest Em – we’re encamped here and, for the time being at least, having a break from the fireworks. All rather pleasant, I have to say. I’m happy to report that Boxer has at last returned to the ranks. He seems in good health and has lost that gaunt look that marks the rest of us. It’s easy to spot a man who’s spent a bit of time away from the front. He looks properly fed for one thing …

Boxer had been in a military hospital in Etaples. In conversation with Sam and Jimmy, he explained that the medics had managed to get the shrapnel out of his leg quite nicely. At first reckoning, the whole thing had promised to be a fairly straightforward affair. That was until infection had set in. Sam was hardly surprised by that. The ground in the salient was literally rotten. It had been one of the first things he’d noticed when they’d arrived in the area. The horrible, sickly sweet smell of putrefaction – its stench could turn a man’s stomach. It didn’t do to think about the composition of the noxious sludge, but it seemed that there were probably as many men and mules buried
in
it as there were walking around on top of it.
That
, thought Sam darkly, had been one of the good things about the winter cold snap. In its frozen state, the solid earth had made a far better job of concealing its gruesome contents. Even the malignant odour had weakened somewhat. Obviously, as Boxer’s infected wound had proven, the bacteria were still present in the icebound earth – just not as noticeably.

“They had me splinted up, with tubes here and drains there and all manner of paraphernalia,” Boxer grinned. “But I kept thinking about the trip home they’d promised me when I was sorted out.”