Coconuts and Wonderbras (22 page)

We are staying in a monastery. Our personal food supplier, named Bourey, proudly showed me around the allotment where everything I could possibly need was growing. I asked if he could bring me some supplies to make a curry. That night I made chicken Thai curry, sticky rice and cupcakes. Before I retired to bed the men were giving me their food preferences. I ask you, I get kidnapped and where do I end up… in the kitchen. And I don’t mind telling you, I am feeling quite taken for granted, in a good way. It is nice to be making cakes. It relaxes me and what’s more, I feel so content at the moment that I am not even eating them. Who would have thought that somewhere like Cambodia, in the middle of an uprising I would learn to feel contented. The past two evenings I have spent writing using the information I have gleaned from Bourey and his friends and family, although I am still very nervous about showing my articles to Alex.

    ‘Carrots, papaya, onions, coconut and chicken,’ Bourey says now, smiling widely as he drops the provisions onto the large battered table.

    ‘Tea, lemons and bags of sugar also,’ he adds in good English.

    ‘And flowers for the lovely lady cook,’ grins Alex, who comes in behind him. ‘Happy Christmas, Libby.’

I had forgotten it was Christmas. There is so little here to remind me. Lucky comes in carrying a huge wreath.

    ‘It’s the nearest we could get to a tree,’ smiles Alex. ‘Where would you like it?’

    ‘Oh, it’s lovely,’ I gush before I can stop myself and as usual, I blush.

Whenever he so much as looks at me, I flush scarlet. He must think I have Rosacea or something.

    ‘Thank you,’ I say, accepting the small bunch of flowers which he had obviously picked from the garden. I mustn’t read too much into this.

    ‘We see you later,’ says Bourey with a wave of his hand.

Lucky proudly affixes the wreath to the wall. We are cooking dinner for six this evening. Alex has asked Bourey to join us along with Mr Navy and Lucky. It is a special occasion, for we are hosting dinner for Samnang, the head of the rebels. I feel a little nervous having him in the safe house, but Alex said all will be fine. I have a horrible sneaky feeling that Alex may well inform me that we are going home and that is the last thing I want. All that awaits me there is Toby, who I am starting to see as more useless than Orlando and Gordon. I know I am being totally stupid in thinking that Alex might notice me in a romantic way. Let’s face it, I am one of those all rounded homely girls and not half as athletic looking as Penelope, who, Alex told me, goes to the gym every afternoon as well as her 15k run at weekends. The only ‘K’ that I do is ‘Special K’ and I didn’t like to say that I feel people should only run when being chased. I would go to the gym every day, you understand, and even run at weekends, if I was fit. That’s the problem; I’m far too unfit to go running. I only have to walk briskly and I am huffing and puffing like a steam train. Yes, I know, you have to work up to these things. The truth is, exercise just doesn’t appeal to me that much. I’m also pleased to say that sweet foods don’t appeal to me much either at the moment and I can actually feel where I have lost some weight. I imagine, and I must admit to imagining this quite a lot, that a woman who sleeps with Alex Bryant, and I go all hot just thinking about it, would need to be quite athletic to keep up with him. What a thought, it is enough to make me go all atremble. Going to bed with Alex must be a bit like going to bed with James Bond. I would most certainly like to be his Pussy Galore for one night. Although I am aware a homely, slightly overweight woman, such as me, hasn’t got a chance in hell.

    ‘I’ll help with the cooking this evening,’ says Alex as the door closes on Bourey.

    ‘You will?’ I say stupidly.

    ‘Unless you have some objections, do you?’

What possible objections could I have? I shake my head dumbly.

    ‘Good, I’ll meet you in the kitchen about five. Dress casual.’ He smiles and wanders off.

Good Lord. I rush to my room to again rummage through my sparse collection of clothes. This is ridiculous, how on earth can I make a good impression? I spend all of an hour choosing something that I can wear that is both practical and glamorous. Let me tell you, this is almost impossible. Finally, after building up a sweat that even Alex would be proud of, I settle on a top with straps as thin as shoe laces, a short-sleeved cardigan and a flouncy skirt. I can think of a thousand reasons why I would not appeal to Alex Bryant in these clothes but choose not to. Instead, I try to muster up what small amount of confidence I have and continue to bash away at the keyboard in an effort to finish the article that Alex had asked me to write. Two hours later I head back to the kitchen where he is waiting.

    ‘Reporting for duty ma’am,’ he says saluting me. ‘Where do you want me?’

What a question. I ask you. It is all I can to do to stop myself from replying with
Stand erect and follow me into the bedroom. We’ve got some undercover work to do.
Instead I blush furiously and clearly give away what is on my mind.

    ‘Can I stand down ma’am?’ he asks grinning.

Good heavens did he read my mind about the erectness. For goodness sake, I must pull myself together.

    ‘As long as you follow protocol,’ I say stiffly, and point to some onions.

    ‘I’ve got a visual ma’am, shall I take them out?’

    ‘Roger that.’

He grabs three onions and moves next to me at the kitchen table where he sees my folder with the articles inside.

    ‘Have you finished them?’

I nod as I chop the chicken into quarters. I try not to look as he glances through the sheets of paper before slipping them back into the folder. We are both silent for a time and all that can be heard is our joint chopping and slicing. He washes and slices peppers while I chop a chilli. I am struggling to think of something to say but nothing comes to my mind.

    ‘Toby is asking for me to be court-martialled,’ he says breaking into my thoughts.

I freeze over the saucepan. How does he know this?

    ‘What?’ He surely is joking? Toby wouldn’t be such a fool. I know he is stupid but surely not
that
stupid.

    ‘But, that’s mad. You’re not in the forces any more and anyway why?’

He takes the wooden spoon from my hand and stirs the pan. I feel sure his hand lingers on mine longer than it should.

    ‘For allegedly sexually interfering with you,’ he says huskily.

I’m not sure if it is the huskiness in his voice or the words
sexually interfering
that produce the tingle in my loins, but produce it does. Sexually interfering with me? God, I should be so lucky.

    ‘I feel sure I wouldn’t have missed that,’ I say without thinking. He turns sharply to look at me.

I’m sure I can feel the heat from his body, or is it mine? I swear I am on heat. Pussy Galore has nothing on me. If only Penelope was not on the scene I might have just found enough confidence to flirt with him. After all, Toby has let me down hugely and in the worst possible way. It has occurred to me over the past few days that I would be mad to forgive him. Who knows what he has been doing behind my back. The truth is that the whole Toby debacle has had a massive impact on my self-esteem. I honestly believe that no man could be attracted to me, let alone Alex Bryant. I’m not unattractive, I know that, but I just don’t have the extra something that Penelope has. However, what I do have, that she most certainly does not have, is fresh chilli in my eye. God it is killing me. I attempt not to let Bryant see it but it seems like I am constantly winking at him and after his comment about sexually interfering with me, my winking seems highly inappropriate.

    ‘Have you used your phone to speak to Toby?’ he asks, barely looking at me and stirring the onions more than is necessary. I shake my head. I haven’t turned my phone on and presumably neither has Alex, so how does he know Toby is asking for him to be court-martialled?

God, I can barely see. My eye is stinging so much. I fumble for a tissue and he turns to see why I have not answered and shakes his head despairingly at me.

    ‘You haven’t gone and chillied your eyes have you?’

    ‘Well, I certainly didn’t poke it,’ I say miserably.

Trust me to use a word like poke after we had just been discussing his supposed sexually interfering of me.

    ‘Come here,’ he smiles, guiding me to the sink.

    ‘If our phones are off, how do you know this about Toby?’

    ‘I know everything,’ he mumbles while looking at my eye.

He runs a cloth under the cold water tap and then lifting my head with one hand he uses the other to lay the cloth gently on my eye. Oh, bliss. I try not to swoon too heavily into his arms.

    ‘How does that feel?’ he asks. I find myself winking at him.

    ‘Say no more,’ he laughs.

I really daren’t say anything more, unless I want to make a fool of myself. He turns to the pan that is sizzling and holds up the chicken.

    ‘Shall I stick this in?’

Good Lord, why is it that everything he says seems to refer to something else and why do I find my eyes, or at least my good eye, wandering down to his crotch? It is all I can do to pull it back up. I force myself to nod and dab at my eye. I take the wooden spoon from him and he moves to the side so I can reach the pan. I turn and collide with him. Why is he standing so close? He is looking beyond me and out of the window. I see his shoulders tense. What now? What have I said for goodness sake? He is so close that his thigh is touching mine. My breath catches in my throat.

    ‘We have visitors,’ he says quietly.

My good eye darts around, while the other winks madly at him. Is this a mating call I have never heard of? Well it’s better than
Hey babe, I wanna give ya 12 inches
, I suppose.

    ‘I’m going to lean forward and kiss you, so for God’s sake don’t pull away and slap me. I promise I am not making any attempt to sexually interfere with you.’

I try not to look too disappointed.

    ‘I want to get a clearer idea of their positions and I don’t want them to know I have spotted them,’ he whispers, leaning closer.

Well, I’ve been strung some lines, but this one takes the biscuit. He leans forward slowly, his eyes so clearly focused on the window that I feel I should aim my lips for his. After all, I don’t want him to miss now do I? All’s fair in love and war so they say. I needn’t have panicked, however, as his lips land expertly on mine. For a brief second my arms stay loosely at my sides but as the kiss deepens the overwhelming desire to bring one arm around his back and the other his neck is too much for me to resist. His lips are so warm and insistent. As I do so, his hand cups the back of my head and brings me nearer while the other arm is clasped around my waist. I feel my lower back being pushed gently against the cooker and have to hold onto him as I feel my legs go weak. His thigh feels hot against mine. If this is acting, what must the real thing be like? The kiss ends as quickly as it began and my lips feel bruised and numb. His head is slightly above mine and he looks into my eyes.

    ‘I’ve got a visual. I need to get the alarm that is behind you so I can alert Lucky. Don’t give anything away. I don’t want them to know we’ve seen them.’

Good heavens, he was serious about the whole ‘intel’ thing. He wasn’t giving me a line after all. He pulls me towards him again and covers my neck in gentle kisses and I feel myself shiver. This isn’t real, I tell myself. You are like that hari currie woman, or whatever her name was. Mata Hari, that’s it. But she looked like Marlene Dietrich, where I look more like Marlene Boyce out of
Only Fools and Horses
. Oh my goodness. I can barely think straight with his lips all over my neck and at one point, much to my shame, I feel sure I moan. His hand fumbles behind me as he tries to find the small square box. I reach behind and feel under the kitchen counter until my hand curls around the alarm.

    ‘Quickly, Libby, before they realise I’ve got them in view.’

I pull it out of its casing and expertly slide it into his hand which strokes mine more seductively than it ought to. I can feel his heart beating against my chest and his breathing seems to have accelerated. He’s a good actor I think, convinced he couldn’t possibly have enjoyed kissing me. He fiddles with the alarm while keeping it hidden between our thighs and I feel his hand brush my leg several times. Apart from the simmering of the pot on the stove there is silence and the only sound is our breathing. Then I hear Lucky’s voice coming through.

    ‘I’ll take him from the side,’ Alex whispers into the box while looking into my eyes. I can’t help noticing his lips are pink and shiver when I think he may be aroused.

    ‘Do you need my bra?’ I say through trembling lips. Well, there’s no harm in asking is there?

His eyes seem to dart to my breasts and then up again.

    ‘It can be quickly removed if I do,’ he replies, and yes, there is a definite huskiness to his voice.

His eyes dart to the window again, and a few seconds later he gently pushes me to one side and runs through the main door. There is the sound of breaking glass and running footsteps. I grab the stove for support and realise I am trembling. I struggle to recover and sneak a look out of the window where Alex and Mr Navy are wrestling with someone while Lucky is waving a torch around. It is difficult for me to see what is going on but it looks as though Alex gets into animated discussion with the man before letting him go. I stare flabbergasted. Why would he do that? I pull a chair out and lower my trembling body into it. I feel quite emotionally battered. If just kissing Alex Bryant does this to me, what on earth would I be like if I had sex with him? I’d need a week off work. The three of them come roaring into the kitchen and Lucky sniffs hungrily at the pot on the stove. Alex smiles shyly at me but I find I can barely meet his eyes.

    ‘What happened?’ I ask while looking at Mr Navy.

    ‘See you in a bit guys,’ says Alex.

He waits for them to leave and then says,