Fire After Dark (16 page)

‘Do you want to stay the night?’ he asks.

‘What time is it?’

‘It’s after eight o’clock.’

‘Is it?’ I’m amazed. Then I nestle into the warmth of his arm. ‘Yes please, I’d love to.’

‘We’ll get up and have dinner,’ he says, but the bed is warm and delicious and before long, we’ve both fallen asleep, exhausted.

Chapter Nine

I wake in the morning to hear the shower going in the en-suite bathroom, and a few minutes later, Dominic steps out, wrapped in a towel. He’s utterly gorgeous, with his black hair wet, drips of water falling on to his shoulders.

‘Hi,’ he says with a smile, his eyes bright. ‘How are you? Did you sleep well?’

‘Very well.’ I have a Cheshire cat’s grin as I stretch luxuriously.

‘You look delectable,’ he says as he gazes at me appreciatively. ‘I wish I didn’t have to get into the office today. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than get right back in there with you for a repeat performance.’

‘Then why don’t you?’ I ask, giving him a coquettish look. Just the sight of him has sent my nerve endings into action again, making my skin tingle all over.

‘I’ve got a job to do, sweetheart. And I’m late enough as it is.’ He picks up a smaller towel and starts rubbing it over his hair. ‘And don’t you have a job to go to as well today?’

I don’t know what he’s talking about for a moment, then I sit bolt upright. ‘Oh my God! The gallery!’ I’ve completely forgotten about my new job in the whirlwind of excitement I’ve been caught up in. ‘What time is it?’

‘Nearly eight. I have to get moving.’

I relax a little. ‘Phew. I don’t have to start until ten.’

He shakes his head, laughing. ‘You arty types, you certainly have an easy life.’

I’m just thinking that I ought to get back to Celia’s to get dressed when I slap my hand over my mouth with a gasp.

‘What now?’ Dominic asks, one dark eyebrow cocked enquiringly.

‘De Havilland! I didn’t feed him last night!’ I scramble out of bed and reach for my clothes. ‘Oh poor De Havilland! How could I forget him?’

‘Don’t worry, I have a feeling he’ll still be alive. And I’m rather glad you didn’t call a halt to proceedings because you were so busy thinking about your cat.’

‘Celia’s cat – that’s why it’s so dreadful!’ I pull on my dress in double-quick time and then rush over to him. ‘Thank you, thank you, for yesterday and last night.’

He pulls me close to his still-damp chest. I can feel the thump of his heart and smell a delicious concoction of soap, aftershave and his own musky warmth. ‘I should thank you,’ he murmurs and the sound rumbles in his chest. Then he leans over and picks up his phone. ‘I haven’t got your number, you’d better give it to me.’

I quickly reel off the number and he taps it into his phone. ‘Great. I’ll text you and then you’ll have my number.’ He drops a soft sweet kiss onto my lips. He tastes of mint and honey. ‘Now off you go. Don’t be late for your first day.’

De Havilland, of course, is furious with me. He’s yowling crossly as soon as he hears my key in the lock, and as I come in, his yellow eyes seem to flash with anger at me.

‘All right, all right, I’m sorry! I forgot you, it was wicked, but I’m here now.’

He runs ahead of me into the kitchen, his black fluffy tail straight up in the air as if to indicate his displeasure, then stands at his bowl, still miaowing, as I tip his biscuits in. Then he sets to, crunching them with relish as though he hasn’t seen food in weeks.

I check the time. I’d better be speedy. I need a shower, and soon. But in the shower, I’m almost reluctant to wash away the scent of last night’s activity. It was so wonderful, just the slight flash of replay can make my stomach swoop like a waterfall dropping over a cliff edge. It was like nothing I ever experienced with Adam, that’s for sure. We made love, yes, but it was always the same: pleasurable, in a quiet way, but predictable. He never made me feel one tenth of that excited, uninhibited ecstasy that possessed me last night. The feeling I had as Dominic entered me was one of profound intimacy and the climax of our lovemaking was a kind of satisfaction I’ve never known. It shook me to the core. I look down at my body, the breasts covered in slippery soap, the soft belly, the mound below with its covering of fair hair, and I feel as though I’ve understood for the first time what I might be capable of.

Was that really me? And can I do it again? Oh my goodness, I do hope so.

I’m already craving him with a deep, inner need, like the thirst you feel on a hot afternoon.

Dominic.

His name makes me shiver with delight.

But you’ve got a job to do, remember? Time to haul your mind out of the bedroom, missy! Now let’s rinsed and get on with this thing.

I arrive at the Riding House Gallery on the dot of ten. I can see that James is already inside, and when he hears my knock, he comes to the door to let me in.

‘Good morning! How are you, Beth? Nice weekend?’ He’s looking very smart in an English gentleman way, in khaki chinos, a pink shirt and a dark blue tank top. He’s taller and thinner than I remembered, the glasses perched on his aquiline nose as he gives me a friendly smile.

‘Yes, thank you,’ I say cheerfully. ‘I had a wonderful time.’

‘Glad to hear it. Now, let me show you the ropes . . . Coffee first, that’s the general rule. Whoever gets in first makes it – no takeaways, though, that’s also a rule.’

‘Are there lots of rules?’ I ask, smiling, as he leads me through the gallery to a small kitchen at the back.

‘Oh no, it’s very relaxed. But I do have standards.’

I’m not surprised to hear it, he looks like a man who has particular likes and dislikes. Freshly ground Colombian coffee, a strong, spicy roast, is one of those likes, and there’s a shining silver Gaggia coffee machine to make it. In a moment, he’s handing me a delicious-smelling latte and sipping his own strong black coffee from a china cup. ‘There,’ he says, ‘we’re human again. Now we can get started.’

As the morning progresses, I know I’m going to like this job. Beneath his calm, elegant exterior, James proves to be witty and amusing, with an expectedly playful side, joking and laughing as he shows me round. My work is fairly undemanding. I have to answer the phone, help any customers that come in and sort out the general admin. Of course, as I know nothing, James has to do it all but I’m quick to understand his systems.

‘I’m sorry this is all a bit junior,’ he says apologetically. ‘There is more interesting work to do, in time, I promise.’

‘I don’t mind starting at the bottom,’ I say.

‘Good girl.’ He smiles again. ‘I think we’re going to get on very well.’

We do. In fact, we hit it off wonderfully. James is very easy to be around and he makes me laugh all the time. If I’ve got any suspicions about whether he might be flirting with me, they’re put to rest in the afternoon, when a middle-aged blond man comes in, his weathered face looking rather battered in contrast to the smart white suit he’s wearing. He goes straight up to James, kisses him on the cheek, and starts talking to him in a language I don’t recognise. James replies, then looks over at me.

‘Beth, let me introduce Erlend, my partner. He’s Norwegian, you must excuse him.’

Erlend turns and greets me very politely. ‘How do you do, Beth? I hope you’ll enjoy your time working with James. Don’t let him be bossy, he always likes to be in charge.’

‘I won’t,’ I smile.

So James definitely isn’t flirting with me then.

As the two men chatter away easily in Norwegian, I look about the bright, clean gallery and want to hug myself with happiness.

I’ve got this job, and I’ve got Dominic. Could life be any better?

In the late afternoon, I get a text.

Hi, what time do you finish? Do you want to go for a drink after work? Dx

I send back a reply:

Sounds great. I finish at 6. Bx

The answer flashes up a moment later:

I’ll meet you outside All Souls on Regent Street, by the BBC. 6. 30 x

‘Good news?’ James asked, one finely shaped eyebrow raised over the top of his gold-framed spectacles.

I flush and nod. ‘Mmm.’

‘Boyfriend?’

I flush even deeper. ‘Um . . . no . . .’

‘Not yet,’ he finishes with smile. ‘But you’re hoping.’

I must be crimson by now. ‘Sort of. Yes.’

‘He’s a lucky man, I hope he’s treating you well.’

I have a flashback to just how well Dominic treated me last night, and get that rush of excitement, like I’ve just dived off a high board towards a pool very far below. I nod again, unable to trust myself to speak.

The gallery closes at six, and it’s such a short walk to the church Dominic suggested – James tells me how to get there – that I’m there with plenty of time to spare. The church is obviously old, built in dark golden brown stone, and I loiter in the circular portico with its ring of columns, looking out at Regent Street. Traffic hums busily past the imposing facade of the BBC which stands next to the church. I’m quite happy watching people going past but I’m eager for Dominic to arrive all the same. It feels like waking up and remembering it’s Christmas, or the day of a special treat – a delicious anticipation of pleasure.

In the end, I’m reading some of the information on the church noticeboard when he arrives, and I jump as I hear his voice say, ‘Beth?’

‘Hello!’ I whirl round, beaming. ‘How was your day?’

Dominic looks beautiful as usual, this time in a dark navy suit, elegantly cut even to my untutored eyes, and he smiles at me as he drops a kiss on my cheek, his hand touching the small of my back. ‘Very good, thanks, how about you?’

I start to tell him about my first day at the gallery as he leads the way across Regent Street and westward into Marylebone. Dominic listens but doesn’t ask much. He seems a little preoccupied.

‘Are you all right?’ I ask, concerned, as he leads the way into an atmospheric wine bar with a vaulted stone ceiling and tables tucked discreetly into alcoves. Candles flicker in mercury glass holders, casting strange shadows on the walls. He doesn’t answer until we are sitting down in our own separate alcove, and he’s ordered drinks for us both: glasses of cold Puligny-Montrachet. When he does speak, I realise at once that he’s not really meeting my eye.

‘I’m fine,’ he says. ‘Honestly.’

‘Dominic?’ I put my hand on his and for a moment he clasps it, but quickly releases it. ‘What is it?’

He stares at the table, frowning.

‘You’re worrying me. Come on, what’s up?’

The waitress arrives with our drinks and nothing is said until she’s gone. My stomach is clenching with nerves. Why is he so cold and distant? Just this morning he was warm, flirtatious, intimate. Now he’s put up a barrier, I can feel it. ‘Dominic,’ I say when we’re left alone, ‘please tell me what’s wrong.’

At last he lifts his eyes to mine and I’m horrified to see that they’re full of sadness and apology. ‘Beth,’ he says slowly, ‘I’m so sorry . . .’

I understand everything instantly, with a punch of horror. ‘No!’It comes out before I can stop it. Fury races through me. He’s not going to do this.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says again. He’s interlaced his fingers and is staring down at them, his face creased as though he’s in pain. ‘I’ve been thinking about this all day and—’

‘Don’t say it.’ I don’t want to sound too pleading but I can’t help it. ‘You haven’t given us a chance.’

He looks up at me again. ‘I know, but that’s the point. I can’t give us a chance.’

‘Why not?’ I feel as though I’ve been caught by an avalanche, engulfed by a powerful force that’s spinning me around, but I tell myself that I must stay calm. ‘What we did last night was amazing, incredible . . . Am I just a stupid naive girl, or does that kind of experience happen all the time for you? I thought it meant something, that it was special to you—’

‘It was!’ he breaks in, looking agonised. ‘Christ, it was. It’s not that, Beth, I wish it was.’

‘Then what?’ The thought that’s been lingering at the back of my mind, the one I’ve been steadfastly refusing to entertain, pops to the fore.
You know why
, it whispers to me, almost gleefully.
You’ve seen what he doesn’t know you’ve seen . . .
‘Is there someone else, someone you haven’t told me about?’

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. ‘No. No.’

‘Then . . .’
Come on,
whispers that evil little voice,
don’t play dumb. You know more than he thinks. Tell him.

I want to shout back at it:
But I know it wasn’t him, he had no marks on him!

Perhaps she’s very clever at not leaving marks,
wheedles the voice.

Oh God, I never thought of that . . .
Everything seems to be collapsing around me. When I speak, I sound tentative, almost afraid. ‘Is it because of what you and Vanessa do together?’

Now I’ve shocked him. He freezes for a moment, then his mouth opens as if he wants to say something but can’t think what.

I draw on all my courage and say, ‘I saw it.’

‘You’ve seen
what
?’

I thought he might be angry with me, but the look on his face is more baffled now. I stop, uncertain, but he’s staring right at me, his gaze boring into me. He looks stern, his eyes taking on that icy quality I’ve come to dread.

‘Beth, I want to know. What have you seen?’

The images flash into my mind: the crouching man kissing the implement, the rhythmic movement of the woman’s arm, the vivid shadow theatre of the beating.

‘I saw . . .’ My voice drops low again, and now I’m the one who can’t meet his eye. ‘Saturday
night. I saw from my flat into yours. The curtains were drawn but they’re transparent with the light behind them and  . . . I saw you and Vanessa. At least I think it was her. I don’t know.’ I look up into the beautiful depths of those black eyes, flecked with gold light from the candle, and wish I didn’t have to say what I’m about to say. ‘I saw her beating you. First, over her knee like a naughty child, then in a different position and after that, I saw her whip you with a belt while you lay on that strange stool you’ve got.’