Fire After Dark (21 page)

‘Oh,’ says James in a surprised voice. ‘Now I wasn’t expecting that.’

I giggle.

Another corseted woman comes out and begins to berate the singer, who puts on a good act of looking astonished, and then ashamed. This woman – who seems like the real thing as far as I can tell – produces a riding crop, which makes the singer cower and pretend to be frightened. She drops to the floor and the other woman starts laying about her with the whip, bring it down with hard smacks across the white back and shoulders, all the time scolding the singer’s outlandish exhibitionism.

The audience are evidently enjoying the show. Perhaps this act is why there seem to be plenty of dominant woman and their vassals here this evening.

‘I’ve no idea what we’re going to say when they ask which room we want,’ James murmurs, pouring some more wine.

‘Perhaps we can just make our excuses,’ I say, still watching the performance onstage. Someone is approaching us through the gloom. ‘I think the waiter’s coming now,’ I mutter to James. ‘Better get the excuse ready.’

But as he nears, I see it is not the waiter at all. It’s Dominic, his face white and set, and his eyes icy cold. My insides clench with a mixture of pleasure and fear, and I’m frozen as he approaches.

‘Beth,’ he says in a low voice, ‘what the hell are you doing here?’ He glances at James, a horrible, hostile look. ‘And who the fuck is this?’

‘Hello, Dominic,’ I say, trying to be cool, though it’s hard with him so near. He’s wearing a black cashmere jumper and dark trousers and looks gorgeous. ‘I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.’

‘Well, I am,’ he says, his voice almost trembling. I can see he’s trying hard to hold in his emotions.

Why is he angry with me? He’s got no right! He doesn’t own me, for Christ’s sake, and as far as he’s concerned, it’s all over.

The thought helps me to be strong.

‘How did you know I’m here?’ I ask boldly.

‘Your names came up on the system,’ is his brief explanation, though I still don’t know how that information reached him. Dominic looks over at James again. ‘Who is this?’ he growls.

‘A friend,’ I say quickly.

Dominic’s black gaze flickers at me. He knows I don’t have friends in London, but he won’t ask me more in front of James. He stares at me for a while, and then says coldly, ‘I don’t want you here.’

The words wound me horribly but I pretend that they bounce off me. ‘I don’t care what you want,’ I reply, my voice cool. ‘I’m a free agent.’

‘Not to come here. This is a private club. I can ask you to leave.’

‘We can leave,’ James breaks in, ‘but do you mind if we finish this bottle? It’s rather good, you see . . .’

Dominic looks at him as though a worm has just spoken, then says, ‘All right. Finish your drink and go.’ He turns to me. ‘Beth, are you all right with this man? I can put you in a taxi home.’

I stiffen my shoulders and raise my chin defiantly. ‘I don’t need your help. I can look after myself.’

Dominic opens his mouth, then closes it again. He stares at me again, one more burning gaze, and then says briefly, ‘All right.’ Then he turns on his heel and strides back across the club. We watch him go as the rest of the audience concentrates on the beating being meted out on stage.

‘Well, there’s one thing I’ll say about that,’ James remarks, lifting his wine glass to his lips. ‘That young man is clearly not over you in any way, shape or form. Quite the reverse, in fact.’ He smiles at me. ‘If you wanted to set the cat among the pigeons, I think you’ve succeeded.’

James and I share a taxi home, even though he’s going in completely different direction.

‘I don’t mind,’ he says, ‘I can take the long way round to Islington. Are you sure you’re going to be all right on your own tonight?’

I nod. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m used to it, and I’ve got De Havilland to keep me company.’ A black cloud of depression has fallen on me and now I can’t really remember what I expected to get out of the whole exercise. If I had thought that Dominic was going to greet me with open arms, then I was sadly mistaken.

‘As long as you’re sure,’ James says, and he gives me a kiss on the cheek and a squeeze of the hand as I climb out of the taxi. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. And ring me if you need to.’

‘I will. Goodnight.’

I go upstairs slowly, feeling the full weight of my misery. My experience at the club has made me unsure about everything I thought I’d decided. I wanted to take my own first tentative steps towards Dominic, to see if he might meet me halfway, but I’ve no idea how I can go any further. There’s only so far James can help me, and there’s no one else I can turn to at all.

Unless . . . Vanessa’s face floats before my consciousness. She’s the only other person I know in London, and she must be the only one with that much influence over Dominic. Could she . . . would she help me? It’s unlikely, I suppose, but then again . . . But how will I reach her?

In the flat, I go to the window of the sitting room and look out but of course the flat is in darkness. I know where Dominic is. I remember how I stood here last night, and what I did.

Did I humiliate myself?

I sigh. I have no idea. But it seems that gaining entry to Dominic’s world is going to be harder than I thought.

Chapter Thirteen

The next day is busy at the gallery and James has me stay late to oversee the removal of the current exhibition. The artist comes in to check that all is going well and that his pictures are being treated with the appropriate care, so James opens a bottle of white wine and we end up having a fun evening. This is definitely the kind of career for me, I think. Schmoozing artists and getting a bit tipsy with the boss? Fine with me.

I try not to think about Dominic and instead concentrate on my plan to get hold of Vanessa. The only thing that I can think of is going to back to The Asylum and demanding to see her – but Dominic could well be there, which would ruin that particular plan. I don’t know her surname or anything else about her.

Later that evening, I feel more depressed than ever. I’m approaching halfway through my stay, and time feels as if it’s speeding up. I love my job but how will I be able to do it if I can’t live in Celia’s flat? It doesn’t pay very much and I’ll need to start planning now if I intend to stay in London. Right now, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do. The idea of going home is awful. I’ve taken the steps towards a new life and I can’t imagine turning back now.

And then there’s the fact that I haven’t got any further with locating Vanessa.

The only bright spot is that James has invited me out over the weekend. He’s going to take me to the theatre and then on to one of his favourite restaurants where he’s promised we’ll see someone famous, as there’s always a celebrity or two eating there.

I’m settling down to watch a DVD, which I bought in my lunch hour to watch on my laptop. With no television, I’ve stocked up on some films to entertain me during quiet evenings in the flat, and today I’ve opted for an old favourite,
The Lady Eve,
a black-and-white movie from the forties with Barbara Stanwyck and Henry Fonda. The razor-sharp dialogue always makes me laugh.

I’ve just settled down and the opening credits are playing when there’s a knock on the door.

Instantly my heart starts pounding. I pause the film and pad over to the front door, hardly able to breathe. I open it, and there he is. He’s in jeans, a pale shirt and a dark grey cashmere sweater, and the smoky colour makes his dark eyes even more intense.

‘Hi, Dominic.’ My voice comes out in a whisper.

‘Hi.’ He looks cold, his eyes flinty. ‘Have you got a few minutes? Can I talk to you?’

I nod and stand back to let him in. ‘Of course.’

He strides through to the sitting room and regards the computer with its frozen frame. ‘Oh. You’re watching something. Sorry to disturb you.’

‘Don’t be silly. You know I’d rather talk to you.’ I go over to the sofa and sit down, wishing I’d known he was coming so I could have brushed my hair and checked my face.

He says nothing but goes over to the window and stares out. His profile is stark against the glass and I admire the long straight line of his nose. I can tell from his mouth that his jaw is clenched. He looks stiff and tense.

‘Is something wrong, Dominic?’ I venture. De Havilland has jumped up next to me and is roosting on his paws like a long black fluffy chicken. I run my fingers through his soft fur and his purr rumbles away.

Dominic turns to look me and his eyes are flashing. ‘I’ve tried to keep away,’ he bursts out. ‘But it’s killing me. I have to know who that man is and what you’re doing with him.’ He crosses the floor towards me, reaching me in two strides. ‘Please, Beth. Who is he?’

I stare up at him, keeping calm by concentrating on the slow steady purr under my fingertips, De Havilland sitting unperturbed beside me
.
Am I going to lie or am I going to tell the truth? I have a feeling that what I say now will influence the course of everything.

‘He’s a friend,’ I say softly. It’s hard having Dominic so near to me and yet unable to touch him. ‘A friend who’s promised to help me.’

He pounces on my words. ‘Help you do what?’

I wait for a long time before I speak, staring at his face. I’ve known him such a short time and it already means so very much to me. I don’t know if what I’m about to say will change everything, but I do know that I don’t want things to stay the way that they are. Then I say very softly, ‘He’s going to help me enter your world.’

Dominic’s face drains of colour. His lips are pale and hardly move when he says, ‘How is he going to do that?’

‘You don’t think I can.’ All my emotions boil up to the surface, and I fix him with an intense look. ‘But I can, and I want to, and he’s going to help me.’

‘Oh my God.’ Dominic sinks down into an armchair and puts his face in his hands. I know what’s racing through his mind: images of James and me, together. In his head, I’m letting James do all the things to me that he has sworn he’ll never do. It must be torturing him; I can understand that. When he looks up at me at last, his dark eyes are tormented. ‘You’d let him do that.’

I lean forward towards him, desperate to make him understand. ‘I want to be close to you, I want to be with you. If this is what it takes, then I want to do it.’

‘No,’ he says, sounding broken. ‘Not that. I can take giving you up, but I can’t stand this.’

I get up and go to him, sinking to the floor and putting my hands on his legs, as if in supplication. ‘But you don’t have to,’ I say pleadingly. ‘It doesn’t have to be him. It could be you.’

Slowly he uncovers his face and looks at me, half desperate and half reluctant. ‘You really mean it? It’s what you want?’

‘Yes. It’s true. And if it’s not you, I’ll find someone else, if that’s the only way.’

Our eyes are locked on one another. I’ve never felt more complete than when looking at him. He leans down and lifts me slowly towards him. ‘Beth,’ he says throatily. ‘God, I want you so much. You don’t know what you’re asking. But it kills me to think of you with anyone else.’

‘Then let me be with you.’ I lift his hand to my mouth and kiss it. I take one of his fingers in my mouth and suck it gently, wrapping my tongue around it, loving it. He watches, his eyes becoming hooded as desire fills them. I move closer to him, release his hand and let it slide behind my head and pull me towards him. Slowly, tantalisingly, our mouths touch and press together. I feel the warmth of his tongue slid over my lips, and I automatically part them to grant him entry. His tongue explores me, and I breathein his familiar, delicious taste. I press back into his mouth and we are lost in our kiss, his hand on my head pulling me ever closer to him.

At last we part, breathless. Our eyes are locked, the heat between us incredible, and then he says, ‘I saw you. That night. In here.’

‘You mean . . .’

‘Yes. When you were alone.’ His eyes glitter darkly. ‘It was extraordinary.’

‘Did it . . . make you happy?’

‘Happy?’ He strokes my hand. ‘I’ve never known anything like it.’

I smile, embarrassed but pleased. ‘It was only for you.’

‘I know. It was a beautiful gift.’ He laughs and adds, ‘Let’s hope old Mr Rutherford on the floor above me wasn’t looking out, or he’ll have finally had that heart attack he’s been talking about.’

In that moment, we both relax.

‘Will you stay?’ I ask.

‘I don’t know how I could leave,’ he replies, his eyes glazed with lust.

‘Then come on.’ I stand up, take his hand, and we go together to the bedroom.

He undresses me slowly, stopping all the time to kiss the skin that he is uncovering. The feel of his lips brushing mine, the tip of his tongue lapping gently against me sends my nerve endings haywire. When I’m in my underwear, I can’t resist the need to touch him in return any longer.

‘Let me,’ I say, running my hands up under his shirt and sweater, and he does. I pull his sweater up over his head, then unbutton the shirt slowly, kissing his torso where each loosened button reveals his bare chest. I can see from the shape of his jeans that his erection is standing proud, eager to be free, and I unbutton those too, sliding them down over his long, firm thighs.

When he is in just his boxer shorts, I take his hand and lead him over to the bed. We lie down together, stroking our hands along the shapes of one another’s bodies, me taking in his muscular hardness and he the soft curves of my breasts and yielding belly.

I slide my hand downwards, brushing it lightly over the trail of black hair that leads from his navel to the waist of his boxers. When I touch the velvety top of his penis, it throbs and moves under my hand.

I run my hand up and down the hot shaft for a moment, then slowly I bend to kiss his stomach, licking the skin gently as I descend towards his erection.

He moans slightly. ‘Oh, Beth . . . that’s so good.’

I move so that I can pull the boxer shorts down, sliding them down his calves and over his ankles. Then I edge my way slowly up his body, until I am straddling his thighs. His eyes are glazed, taking in my breasts still confined by my bra and the knickers concealing my sex from his gaze.