Between Friends (9 page)

‘Maybe it’ll turn up.’

He had turned, without asking permission, to the cupboard where Jake stored the spirits. She watched, blinking back tears.

At least there was some good news. ‘By the way, Tom —’

‘Yeah?’ He had poured a generous two fingers of whisky into a tumbler. ‘Drink this stuff, do you?’

‘No. Listen, I spoke to my friend today, the one I told you about.’ She reached for a tissue and gave her nose a good blow.

‘Friend?’

‘The scriptwriter.’

‘Oh yeah?’ The concentration on swirling, sniffing and sipping stopped and smokey eyes focused intensely on her. ‘And?’

‘And it’s good news. There could be a part coming up.’

The golden spirits, still swirling gently in the glass, slowed and stilled. ‘A ... part?’

‘You’re to ask your agent to get in touch,’ Marta went on, disconcerted by the intensity of his gaze, ‘Miss Playfair thinks you might have the right look.’

He dumped the glass down unceremoniously on the top of the drinks’ cupboard. The whisky slopped slightly over the rim and dribbled down onto the polished wood.

‘Marta darling, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you are an angel,’ he said, a smile of extraordinary sweetness splitting his face.

Evil? Surely Jane was wrong about him – Tom craved work, that was all, and the lack of it undermined him.

On the cupboard, Tom’s whisky sat, forgotten. Some days later, Marta found a sad ring leached into the wood by the dampness and the alcohol. It took a great deal of effort to polish out.

Chapter Fourteen

Carrie Edwards was a challenge. That was partly what attracted Tom, because few women resisted him for long, or matched him in sexual appetite. Since reaching maturity (which he reckoned was when he’d walked out of his relationship with Jane and taken charge of his life), Carrie had been the only woman he’d really wanted to spend time with. She was no beauty, not a patch on the kind of arm candy he liked to be seen around town with, but she had spirit and a dry wit, and besides, he liked a challenge.

Hell, though, the woman could be impossible. She’d always been the one in control, turning him down and agreeing to meet him whenever pleased her. He hated that.

He’d miscalculated, too. He hadn’t figured for a minute that she’d refuse to see him again after he married Serena. He could still remember how angry he’d been the day he’d spotted her on the platform at Covent Garden tube station, looking frustrated as a train pulled away. She must just have missed it. He could see her nose wrinkle and made out a crisp ‘Pah’ of annoyance as he approached, unnoticed.

‘Well, look who it is,’ he’d said, sidling up behind her and throwing an arm casually around her shoulders.

‘Hello, Tom.’ She had not been welcoming.

‘You could sound more pleased to see me.’

‘Really? You think?’

‘What’s biting you, Carrie? Late for a meeting?’

‘Yep. And I could do without bumping into the biggest liar in London.’

‘Me?’ His surprise had been genuine. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Come on, Tom.’

‘What? Come on, what?’

‘You told me it was over with Jane.’

‘It was. I just had to find the right moment to get out.’

‘It took a while, didn’t it?’

‘What’s eating you, Carrie? It’s done, isn’t it?’

She stared at him. Another train was approaching, he could feel the blast of compressed air sweeping towards them as it emerged from the tunnel into the station. Carrie stepped forward, poised to board.

‘Is this about Serena? Serena’s just a career move. You know that, Carrie.’ He’d focused all his charm on her as she turned to glare at him again. ‘So when can we meet? Eh, sexy?’

The train had stopped, passengers were disgorging and he’d had to struggle to stay close to her.

‘Bugger that, Tom.’ They were on the train now and her words rang into the carriage. Heads turned.

He’d bent towards her and said in a low voice, ‘I don’t want things to change between us, Carrie.’

Silence. Another withering glance, then, ‘Poor Serena,’ she’d said. Her eyes, normally so bright and amused, had been full of a pity that had incensed him.

‘I’ll treat her right.’

‘What, by sleeping with me?’

‘What’s wrong with that? She’ll never know.’

People were looking away, but he’d sensed them straining to listen. They’d reached Holborn. The doors opened and Carrie jumped out. The last he’d seen of her had been an averted profile and a nose held high.

Fuck her, he’d thought. Then –
if only I could
.

That thought had stayed with him a long time.

He was in Marta’s spare bedroom when his agent called.

‘Hey, Angela,’ Tom smiled at his reflection in the mirror.

‘It’s fixed. Friday at noon.’

‘Okay.’

‘Is that it? Okay? Aren’t you pleased?’

She sounded whiney, desperate for bloody praise. Tom smothered a sigh and turned on his most appreciative voice. Best keep her sweet, for now at least. ‘Thrilled, darling, absolutely thrilled.’

‘Tom—’ The hesitation was almost palpable.

‘What?’

‘You won’t mess this one up, will you? Get there late, forget your audition piece...’ Her voice tailed away nervously.

‘What do you think I am, Angela? Some kind of amateur?’

‘No, darling, but I was wondering if I should perhaps come up? Be with you?’

Fuck that. Tom had plans for Friday night and Angela Cutler didn’t figure in them.

‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I don’t need that.’

‘I just thought ... maybe I could ... help relax you?’

Christ. Maybe he should get a male agent, it would be a load less demanding. On the other hand ... Tom thought about the male agents he knew and took barely half a second to decide to stick with Angela. At least he could control her.

‘Not necessary, darling. I promise. I’ll be great.’

‘If you’re sure.’

‘Sweetheart, listen, if I get this part I’ll be back in London before you can blink. And I’ll give you a night to remember, I promise you.’

‘Really?’

‘Scout’s honour.’ Stupid expression. Tom, never having been a Boy Scout, had no idea what it meant, but Angela seemed to appreciate it.

‘I’ll hold you to that. Come to think of it, I’d hold you to anything.’

He laughed indulgently.

‘Call me after.’

‘I will.’

Call me after.
Maybe he would. Call her after a celebratory night with D.A. Delight, the delectable Caroline Edwards. Carrie Delight. He hadn’t contacted her for a week, but now the time was not only right, it was necessary – he needed someone to pay for his room in Glasgow.

Jake had gone to work. Marta was out. Tom walked into Jake’s study, booted up the computer and logged on to the bed-buddies.net site.

He thought she might not reply, or that he might have to wait till she got home from work – Carrie wouldn’t be so stupid as to use her work computer for this site. But the answer popped up right away.

He laughed out loud.

There was a pause. He had backed off deliberately, to throw her, but it was a calculated risk. After three minutes, Tom stared out of the window and watched a magpie pecking at something on the lawn, its black and white plumage resplendent in the sun. Nothing. Had he miscalculated? Four minutes passed. The magpie had hopped out of sight. One for sorrow. Damn.

Ping. He twisted back to the computer.

Result!

It had worked. An audition for a television part, a free hotel room for the night and some fantastic sex thrown in. What could be better? Tom smoothed back his hair and winked at himself in the mirror behind Jake’s computer. Star Turn had come up trumps again.

Humming softly, he opened Jake’s desk drawer to find a pen and paper to jot down details of the hotel. He rummaged inside and dislodged a notebook. Beneath it, partially hidden by a pile of bills and bank statements, was a bundle of bank notes.

Handy. Thanks mate, many thanks indeed.

He left half a dozen notes, folded the rest and stuffed them in his pocket. With any luck Jake would forget how much he’d put in the drawer, stupid sod.

Chapter Fifteen

Carrie eased her car through the evening traffic on the motorway, her mood darkening with every mile. She should never have agreed to this. In the days since she’d exchanged emails with Tom, she’d been on the point of calling off at least a dozen times, but each time lust had countermanded common sense. She had turned down three invitations from Bed Buddy regulars – and for what? A romp with an old flame – never a good idea, because there was always the risk that old emotions might be smouldering rather than cold.

Look after Tom for me.

Jane’s words. The words that had sparked the whole affair. And no matter how much Carrie had rationalised things, she’d felt guilty from the beginning. What sort of friend had she been? A criminally poor one, whichever way you looked at it.

In front of her, the traffic ground to a halt again. Carrie hit the brakes and stopped so suddenly that her body swayed forwards, then back, hitting the seat with some force. Damnation. She should concentrate more or she’d never even get to the hotel. If she did decide to go – even at this late stage she could easily pull off at the next exit from the motorway, turn around and head for home.

Sight, touch, sound, smell, taste.

She knew in her heart she wouldn’t cancel. She was weak willed and self-indulgent and she despised herself – but this would be the last time, the very last. It was too dangerous. Tom was gorgeous, but totally untrustworthy. If he said something to Jane, all her careful efforts to sustain their friendship would count for nothing.

The traffic eased. Three times before her turn off she was offered choices. Left here, instead of right? Down the first road, not the second? Round the roundabout and head back to Edinburgh? Yet ten minutes later, she was easing her car into a space in the car park under the hotel – because this was going to be the last time.

Truly.

There was an edge to illicit sex that was a sure-fire turn-on.

‘Tom, we shouldn’t – this is a big mistake—’ her words were stopped by Tom’s lips and tongue, hot on her own, working feverishly on and in her mouth as his hands tugged at her clothes.

It was hopeless. Talking was impossible. From the second she opened the door to Tom’s knock, their bodies were drawn together with a force she couldn’t resist.

‘Stop,’ Carrie moaned as he bit on her breast. He had tugged open her blouse and pushed her bra up roughly so that she was exposed, but the roughness of it only added to her state of deep arousal. His hands were everywhere, pulling, stroking, rubbing, he was walking her towards the bed even as they were entwined. She heard the door to the corridor click shut as they fell together onto the mattress, and then sensation overtook thought completely, as he pulled her knickers down forcefully and entered her.

‘Aaah...’ It wasn’t a cry of pain, but of ecstasy. They climaxed together in an explosion of lust. Carrie lay under him, panting, a sheen of sweat on her face, her thighs wet with their mingled body fluids.

Tom lifted his head and grinned down at her. ‘You little minx, Carrie, you just can’t keep your hands off me, can you?’

‘You cheeky bastard!’ Despite herself, the impudence of it amused her and she laughed.

He rolled off, picked up her knickers and used them to dry himself. ‘Well, what shall we do now? We’ve got all night.’

‘We could talk.’

‘Talk? Now there’s a novel idea.’

She regarded her soiled underwear with a sudden surge of distaste. What was she doing here? Just dragging an unnecessary and absolutely unwanted complication back into her life.

She eased herself away from Tom, leant over to rescue her Max Mara shift dress and slipped it over her head.

‘Take it off.’

She stood up and turned to look down at him. ‘No, Tom. This was a mistake. I’d like you to leave. Now.’

‘Leave? No chance. I’m enjoying myself.’

She couldn’t help noticing that his lean body was still in magnificent shape, despite the fact that he was forty now.

‘And don’t tell me you’re not because, darling Carrie, your orgasm spoke for you, I believe.’

‘I mean it Tom. I’m sorry I came here. It’s time for this to stop. Jane—’

There was a sudden movement and a whirl of arms and then the room was spinning and next thing Carrie knew was that she was on the floor and there were flashing lights in front of her eyes and a scalding pain in her head.

‘What the—?’

He was standing above her, his hair across his eyes, the muscles in his body tense.

He’d hit her! Her hand shaking, Carrie lifted it to her head and felt a trickle of blood down her temple. It was throbbing. She could feel the pain pulsing in rhythm with her heart.

Not good.

Talk.

Nicely.

Get him to move. Calm him.

Through the haze, voices of logic and reason counselled her.

‘I seem to be bleeding. Will you help me, Tom?’

It took all her bravery to raise her hand to him, but some deep-seated instinct was dictating to her, telling her not to oppose him. It might have been counter-intuitive but it paid off. She saw him hesitate, then the tension eased and he held out his hand to help her up.

‘Thanks. I’ll just wash this. Are you all right? I’m not sure what happened.’

She was lying, talking smoothly, placidly, making her voice even, lowering the tone, using every trick she knew to try to relax him. She needed to defuse his sense of power, because she guessed that domination was a turn-on for him, as it was for most bullies.

She took a tentative step towards the bathroom, terrified that he would stop her, try to follow her, attack her again.

‘I must have fallen. Thanks.’ A wobbly smile. ‘I need a towel. Wait there. I’ll just be a moment.’

The carpet under her feet was rough. Through the pain she felt the texture change to smooth coldness as she entered the bathroom. It took all her willpower not to shut herself in, bolt the door, protect herself from the man’s wildness – but there’d be no point. Her mobile phone was in her handbag in the bedroom, she could hardly stay there until the maid came in the morning. She would simply have to deal with the situation.

Think, Carrie.

She had always known that when she used Bed Buddies there could be a danger of something like this happening – she had just never thought that it might be someone she knew who would do it.

Stay calm. Keep talking.

‘So, Tom,’ she called as she ran the water, stared at her white face in the mirror and examined the cut. Her hands were shaking and she was scared, but thinking fast. How to get out? What was the next move? What caused the violence? The rational intelligence that had always been her gift kicked in through the fear.

Jane. She’d mentioned Jane. Had that been it – or the fact that she’d told him it had to end?

‘So, Tom, you haven’t told me why you’re in Glasgow?’

She took the white flannel, soaked it in cool water, dabbed it against her head. This would look nasty in the morning, but it wasn’t fatal and it wouldn’t need stitches.

‘I had an audition.’

Carrie jumped. He was right next to her, staring at her, the grey of his eyes steely. Christ, this was scary.

‘Yeah? Did it go well?’

Could he see her shaking? She tried to still her hands.

‘Here. Let me help.’

He was beside her, taking the flannel. Jesus. She closed her eyes and sent up a prayer.

‘It was for a part in a soap.’

His touch was surprisingly tender.

‘It went well. I thought we could celebrate.’

‘Fine. That’s good. Great. What was the soap?’

‘Thing called
Emergency Admissions.
Heard of it?’

‘
EA
? Of course. I’m addicted,’ she lied. She had watched the hospital drama a few times, but though it was well written and the core characters believable, it wasn’t really her kind of thing. ‘Wow, it would be brilliant if you got the part. What are your chances, do you think?’ The bleeding had abated, though her head was still thumping.

‘If they have any sense they’ll offer it to me. Hey, Carrie, come to bed. Lie down. Come.’ His voice was gentle, but every sinew in her body screamed at her to resist and she tensed, clutching the basin. ‘No more talk about leaving, hey? You and me, Carrie, we’re good together.’ The tone was back to normal, rich and deep, though what once sounded to her ears like sexual allure was now repulsive. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, Carr. You upset me.’

Carrie forced herself to relinquish the steadying feel of the porcelain. ‘I know,’ she said softly, ‘I know, Tom. Sorry.’

How could she get out of there? She couldn’t get back into bed with him, she really couldn’t.

‘I don’t like to think about Janie. I don’t like to think about how upset she would be if she knew about what you’d done to her. Sleeping with me while I was still living with her. That wasn’t a very loyal thing to do, was it, Carrie?’

The red haze in front of Carrie’s eyes deepened and intensified. She heard his words with disbelief.

‘Not really something a friend would do. Hey?’

‘No. You’re right.’

‘Because if you don’t behave yourself, my D.A. Delight, I might just have to tell our Janie about just how much you valued her friendship back then. How the way you seduced me destroyed my relationship with her. She knows about Bed Buddies, I take it?’

This time there was nothing Carrie could do to stop the trembling.

No. Christ no. Please.

‘She doesn’t? No, I suppose dear Janie, who has neatly protected herself behind her sanctimonious husband, her dear, sweet old mother and her nicely brought up little children, might be a little bit shocked about that. Maybe she should know. Hey? What do you think? Maybe she should have a little glimpse into how her
very dear
friend chooses to spend her nights off?’

He had her wrist in his hand. He was leading her towards the bed.

Think, Carrie, think.

She shook her head. ‘I think maybe that’s best between us, Tom.’

‘What? I didn’t hear?’

‘Best between us.’ She tried to keep it level, firm but warm. She even tried a smile.

‘You may be right.’ He appeared to consider this. ‘Yes, perhaps you may be right. Little secrets can be fun, can’t they? But I’d like to hear your views, Caroline darling, on my performance.’

‘Performance? The audition? I—’

‘Not that.’ He pulled her closer, so that her face was up against his naked chest and she could smell the sweat on him. How had she ever thought he was desirable?
Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Control. You can do this.

‘In bed, my little Bed Buddy.’

‘Magnificent.’

‘A stallion in full splendour.’

‘Exactly.’

‘You’ve never known a better lover.’

‘I was just going to tell you that. You’re great. You know you are.’

She was trapped. Flatter him and he’d want to repeat the experience. Criticise him and he’d get violent. Panic invaded her every sense.
He’s going to make me do it again.
Her head was whirling, with possibilities, with anxiety, trying to weigh the options, take a view on a course of action.

It’s just sex, Carrie. Just do it. Don’t provoke him. He’s dangerous.
Something in her had always known that, tonight had proved it. Best to play along with it, grit her teeth, do what he wanted.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and tried to ignore the pounding of her head.

Just. Do. What. He. Wants.

Afterwards, he slept. She lay next to him, stiff and fearful, every minute like an hour, every hour a day. By three o’clock, she could bear it no longer. He seemed to be in a deep sleep. She got up, dressed hurriedly, went into the bathroom and, using the tiny flashlight on her key ring, scrawled him a note.

‘Dear Tom. Sorry, had to go – I know it’s Saturday but I have an early meeting at the office. Thanks for everything. Room is paid for. C.’

She thought for a minute before signing off, but couldn’t bear to put ‘Love, Carrie’. That was a lie too far. She put a vague squiggle under the initial, something that might be a kiss or merely a flourish, and propped it on the tap. She opened the bathroom door a crack and listened fearfully. His breathing was still steady. She sped through the door to the corridor before he could wake. Even if he tried to follow her now, surely she could get away.

The hotel was silent, its transient occupants slumbering, each in the square box designed to accommodate this most basic of human needs.

He wouldn’t come now, she was safe. For the moment.