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Authors: Sadie Matthews

Fire After Dark (10 page)

BOOK: Fire After Dark
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I gasp. His touch is warm and soft. I realise that he’s staring into my eyes now, his expression intense. His thumb stops moving, his fingers rest on my cheek. I think he’s going to caress my face and I can’t imagine anything I’d like more. I blink and inhale softly; instantly he seems to snap back to himself. He takes his hand away, and his gaze slides away too, as he says, ‘I’ll make some coffee.’ Then he goes through to the kitchen, leaving me alone to recover.

Was that my imagination or did we just have a moment?

‘How do you like your coffee?’ he calls, as the kettle begins to heat up.

‘Uh – just with milk, thanks,’ I reply, turning to the mirror and frantically running my fingers through my hair, but he’s already on his way back so I have to leave it.

‘Let me take your coat. It’s rather warm for this, isn’t it?’ He lifts the coat from my shoulders. I feel as though he’s being purposely businesslike, in case of a repeat of that odd little moment we just had.

‘I . . . er . . . feel the cold,’ I reply lamely. ‘I’m very sensitive to the weather.’

He leads me into his sitting room and indicates a long square modern sofa. ‘Take a seat. I’ll just go and finish making our drinks.’

I go slowly over to the sofa, looking around. I’ve already got a sense of this room from the view opposite but it’s quite different to be inside it. For one thing, it’s much more luxurious and stylish than it appears from a distance. I suppose that it’s no surprise a man who can afford a flat in this part of town can also afford to decorate it with the best. It’s very modern, and everything is in shades of taupe and grey, with accents of black. The sofa is that off-white stone colour with plump grey and white cushions and it’s L-shaped, placed around a large glass coffee table that appears to be balanced on hunks of granite, and two elegant black armchairs face the sofa from across it. Vast glass lamps with black shades sit on polished pale-wood side tables. Placed around the room are elegant pieces of pottery – trios of white vases in varying sizes, a large dome-like ornament with black swirls all over it – and tribal art. A carved mask in black wood takes up a part of the main wall, along with a very big black-and-white picture that I think is an abstract painting until I realise that it’s an enormous photographic print of a flock of birds in flight, their wings and bodies blurred by the speed of their motion. The walls are covered in fabric rather than paper – a kind of rough, hemp-like material. The floors are carpeted in the type of thick pale wool you can dream of using only if there is no question of small children or pets coming anywhere near it. A large flat-screen television hangs over the fireplace, which is full of huge church candles, unlit at the moment. A well-stocked drinks table stands near the window.

I sit down, taking it all in.

Wow. This is a bachelor pad, all right.

It’s masculine, but not oppressively so. Everything is in extremely good taste. Actually, I expected nothing less.

My eye is drawn by a strange piece of furniture. It looks like a stool or a low seat, but it isn’t quite that. Instead of an armrest on each side, it seems to have two at one end, placed quite far apart, and at the other is a kind of broad rest with a scrolled back.

That’s a weird-looking object. What’s it for?

A picture floats unbidden into my mind. It’s a flashback to the scene inside the club earlier this evening. I see the girl in the cage, writhing against the bars, her eyes glittering from behind the studded mask. I see her following the man, docile as a tamed pony. That’s the place that Dominic went to with his girlfriend. I feel the first stirrings of something like doubt. I’ve been so entranced by his looks, by his aura and by the kindness he’s shown me, but maybe he’s not as straightforward as he seems on the surface.

At that moment, Dominic comes in holding a tray with a coffee pot, a jug and two cups on it. He places it on the glass table and sits down on the sofa adjacent to mine so that we’re close but not exactly cosy.

‘So,’ he says, as he pours out the coffee, adds milk and passes me the cup, ‘tell me about yourself, Beth. What brings you to London?’

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, ‘I got my heart broken and I came here to mend it’ but that seems a little too personal, so I say, ‘I’ve come for some adventure. I’m a small town girl and I need to spread my wings.’ The coffee is hot and aromatic. It’s exactly what I need. I take sip; it’s delicious.

‘You’ve come to the right place.’ He nods wisely. ‘This is the greatest city in the world. I mean, I like New York and Paris, and I’m a big fan of LA no matter what people say, but London . . . nowhere else comes close. And you’re right in the heart of it!’ He gestures out of the window. Hundreds of windows in buildings all around us glow bright yellow in the summer darkness.

‘I’m very lucky,’ I say honestly. ‘Without Celia, I wouldn’t be here.’

‘I’m sure you’re doing her a favour too.’ He smiles at me again and I feel that odd tension. Is he flirting with me?

I’m enjoying the sensation of being close to him. The nearness of his broad shoulders beneath the white shirt is disconcerting. I can sense the brown warmth of his skin radiating towards me. The shape of his mouth is making my breathing shallow and a small buzz of something like excitement flutter in my stomach and circle my groin. God, I hope he doesn’t notice the effect he’s having on me. I take another sip of the hot coffee, hoping it will ground me a little. When I look up those black eyes are staring at me and I can hardly hold in a gasp.

‘So, tell me about how you’ve found London so far.’

I shouldn’t be so shy but there’s something about his magnetism that is making me into the old gauche Beth I’ve been trying to leave behind. I start to tell him about what I’ve seen in the city, stumbling over my words and searching for the right way to describe things. I want to talk impressively about works of art and the places I’ve seen but I sound like any other tourist reeling off a list of sights. He is utterly charming though, asking me interested questions and appearing fascinated by what I’m telling him. He doesn’t realise he’s only making my clumsiness worse.

‘And I loved the collection of miniatures in the Wallace Collection, and the portrait of Madame de Pamplemousse,’ I say, trying to sound knowledgeable.

He looks puzzled. ‘Madame de Pamplemousse?’

‘Yes . . .’ I’m glad to be able to show off my knowledge. ‘Louis XV’s mistress.’

‘Oh!’ His expression clears. ‘You mean Madame de Pompadour.’

‘Yes. Of course. Madame de Pompadour. That’s who I meant.’ I feel awkward. ‘What did I say?’

‘Madame de Pamplemousse.’ He bursts out laughing. ‘Madame Grapefruit! That’s brilliant.’ He’s properly laughing now, throwing back his head, showing his perfect white teeth, the deep rich sound booming around.

I laugh too, but I’m also mortified to have said something so stupid. I’m scarlet with embarrassment and as I try to laugh it off, I realise my eyes are stinging again.
Oh no, don’t! Just don’t! Don’t start blubbing, this is ridiculous.
But the more sternly I talk to myself, the worse it gets. I’ve made a fool of myself and like a baby, I’m going to cry about it. I use all my strength to stop myself and keep it in, biting the inside of my cheek hard.

He sees my expression and stops laughing at once, his smile fading. ‘Hey, don’t be upset. It’s okay, I know who you meant. It’s just funny, that’s all, but I’m not laughing
at
you.’ He reaches over and puts his hand on top of mine.

The moment our hands touch, something strange happens. The sensation of his skin on me is electric, almost burning. A kind of current flows between us that almost makes me shudder, and I look up, astonished, into his eyes. For the first time I really see him, and he stares straight back at me, his expression surprised, almost disconcerted, as though he’s also feeling things he didn’t expect to. I feel as though I can see his real self, unmasked by politeness and convention, and that he can see right back into me.

Every day, as we go about our lives, hundreds of faces slide by, flickering in and out of our consciousness. We meet the glances of people on trains or buses, in lifts or on escalators, in shops, at counters, on the way to work and back again, and we make a tiny half connection that is broken and lost almost at once. For an instant, we recognise someone else’s existence, grasping for an instant the fact that they have a life, a history, a whole past that has brought them inexorably to this moment where we connect with them, and then, just as swiftly, we disconnect, our eyes turn away and we go on our separate paths, forward to different futures.

But right now, as I look into Dominic’s eyes, it’s as though I know him, even though he’s a stranger. As though our different ages and life experiences don’t matter a bit. In some strange way, it feels like we know each other.

The world beyond us falls away and disappears. All I’m conscious of is his hand on mine, the torrent of excitement that’s racing through my body, the deep sense of connection. I am staring into eyes that seem to penetrate to the core of my being, that seem to know me intimately. I have the instant conviction that he understands me. I am certain he feels it too.

It seems as though we’re frozen like this for an age, but it must only be a few seconds. I begin to grasp our situation, coming back to reality like a swimmer breaking the surface after a long dive, and I wonder with a kind of shivering anticipation what’s going to happen now.

Dominic looks both awkward and amazed, as though something he never imagined has just happened. He opens his mouth, and is about to say something, when we hear a sound in the hallway. Dominic’s gaze shifts at once to the door, and I turn as well, just in time to see a woman marching in. She’s wearing a long dark fur coat despite the warm evening, and her expression is cross.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ she demands as she walks in, and then stops dead when she sees me, looking me up and down with a rapier gaze. ‘Oh.’ She turns to Dominic. ‘Who’s this?’

The spell, our connection, is broken. He hastily removes his hand from mine. ‘Vanessa, let me introduce Beth. Beth, this is my friend Vanessa.’

I murmur a quiet hello. This is the woman I’ve seen before. So that’s her name. Vanessa. It suits her.

‘Beth’s staying just across the way,’ Dominic goes on. He’s very self-possessed but I can pick up the slightest hint that he’s a little flustered under that calm surface. ‘I’ve been neighbourly and asked her in for coffee.’

Vanessa nods a greeting at me. ‘How gallant,’ she says coolly. ‘But we were supposed to meet two hours ago.’

‘Yes, I’m sorry, didn’t you get my message?’

I notice he doesn’t mention coming to my rescue in the dark Soho streets.

She stares back at him, obviously telegraphing that she doesn’t want to talk about this in front of me. I get to my feet at once.

‘Thank you so much for the coffee, Dominic, it was terribly kind of you. I’d better be getting back now, I mustn’t leave De Havilland on his own for too long.’

‘De Havilland?’

‘Celia’s cat,’ I explain.

Vanessa looks amused. ‘You’ve got to look after the cat, have you? How sweet. Yes, well, don’t let us keep you.’

Dominic gets up too. ‘If you’re sure, Beth. Don’t you want to stay and finish your coffee?’

I shake my head. ‘No, I don’t think so. Thank you anyway.’

He walks me out into the hall and as he hands me my coat, I look into those dark eyes again. Did that moment between us just happen? He appears just he did before it: a kind, polite stranger. And yet . . . something in those black depths is still there.

‘Take care, Beth,’ he says in a low voice as he sees me out. ‘I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.’

Then he leans towards me and brushes his lips over my cheek very lightly. As our faces touch, it’s all I can do not to turn to him so that he can kiss my lips, which is what I’m longing for him to do. As it is, my skin burns where he’s touched it.

‘I’d like that,’ I reply almost on a sigh. Then, as the door closes, I head back down towards the lift, wondering if my weak knees will manage to carry me all the way back to Celia’s flat.

Chapter Six

My inbox is full of messages but most are rubbish. I scroll through, deleting as I go, wondering why I subscribe to so many gossip and shopping sites. A large frothy coffee sits cooling beside me, the chocolate powder on the top melting into the milky foam. I’ve found one of those coffee chains where everyone is sitting with a half-drunk cup and a laptop, taking advantage of the free Wi-Fi. There’s a message from Laura, though, and I click on that. She’s travelling in Panama now and has sent an email with several attachments showing her bent under a huge backpack, grinning at the camera, a jungley greenness behind her, and some incredible views.

Missing you loads,
she writes.
Can’t wait to see you when I’m back. Hope you’re enjoying your summer and are totally loved up with Adam. Hugs and kisses, Laura.

I stare at it, wondering what to tell her. She thinks I’m still at home, working as a waitress during the day and hanging out with Adam in the evening. I’ve come so far from that, and something tells me that my own adventure is only just beginning. For a moment I consider writing it all down and telling her, but I’m not quite ready to share yet. My secret is too delicate and strange, and it doesn’t quite exist in the real world. If I talk about it, maybe I’ll inadvertently kill it.

I shiver with a sweet deliciousness as I recall the moment I had with Dominic last night. (Amazing how quickly he’s become Dominic to me – the name Mr R seems ridiculous and childish now. )Just remembering that look, the strange and immediate intimacy sets everything in me swirling crazily, as though my innards are taking their own personal rollercoaster ride around my body. It’s half pleasant and half unbearable.

But then . . . there is Vanessa. His girlfriend. The one I’ve seen him with and who was expecting him to meet her.

But he didn’t tell her that we met in Soho, or that he stood her up for me.

BOOK: Fire After Dark
10.79Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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