Fortune in the Stars (16 page)

'I think I should get out of these things,' she stated
agitatedly, rising. 'You're right—they are a bit damp.'

'Penny, sit down and finish your drinks,' Dominic urged
gently. 'And, if it's any consolation, I don't think you're mad.' He
paused as she resumed her seat. 'I can't say I've ever experienced that
sort of thing, and to be honest I doubt if I'm the type of person who'd
allow himself to be swayed by it if I had. But I envy you your
conviction… God knows how I envy it.' he sighed, lifting his
glass and staring moodily down into its contents. 'You see, beneath the
casual surface of our relationship there's a bond between Lexy and me
that goes beyond our being brother and sister… Obviously the
circumstances of our childhood brought it about—with each
being virtually all the other had for so long.' He gave an almost
embarrassed shrug, then took a sip of his drink. 'The only time I've
ever known Lexy really freak out completely was when I was involved in
a bad skiing accident, and it's only now that I'm beginning to
understand exactly how she must have felt.'

Penny reached over and filled both their cups, unable to
find any words that might ease the palpable torment within him as she
handed him his.

'When I first started getting worried about
Lexy— before Langton's name had ever cropped up—I
mentioned the drug scene, as well as kidnapping, as an area of
concern,' he continued, staring down into his cup. 'I'd hate to have
given the impression that I thought Lexy capable of becoming in any way
involved with drug-taking—'

'Of course you didn't give that impression!' exclaimed
Penny, horrified that he should even feel the need to make such a
statement to her. 'And there's no way she could be tricked into it
either. Not after what happened to Erica,' she added quietly.

'You feel Erica was tricked into taking drugs?' he asked,
his tone non-committal.

'To be honest—no,' she sighed. 'Not that I know
enough about the subject even to know if it's possible to trick someone
in that way.' She paused, reluctant to put the thoughts she had always
kept buried deep within her into words, but feeling almost compelled to
do so. 'Dominic, there are some things even friends can't bring
themselves to discuss…because a peculiar form of loyalty
prevents them. I think that deep down Sarah, Lexy and I came to realise
that, of the four of us, what happened to Erica could only have
happened to her. I'm not even sure I can put it into words.'

Dominic's eyes met hers, almost commanding her to do so.

'There mere fact that Lexy would never so much as mention
her background was indication enough that there was something badly
wrong, but there was never that terrible vulnerability in her that
there was in Erica. From what you've told me it's obvious to me that it
was having you as a constant in her life that made all the difference.
But until the quartet Erica had had no one…she was passed
from pillar to post from when she was tiny… The older I get
the more I can see how incredibly vulnerable she always was.' Penny
broke off, searching for words. 'We had lived virtually in one
another's pockets at school, yet once we left we often went for months
without meeting up. It made no difference to the
friendship—just as I'm certain it wouldn't even if we didn't
meet up for years at a stretch. But after what happened to Erica we all
felt a terrible collective guilt. In retrospect we felt that perhaps
she had needed something a lot more substantial than what we had
offered—after all, we were her surrogate family; she need
more of us than we gave.'

'That's just what Lexy felt,' agreed Dominic. 'She came
over to me in Paris after Erica's death and spent night after night
pouring out her guilt and anguish over what had happened. I had hoped
she'd got it all out of her system then… The last thing I
envisaged was her doing something hare-brained like this years later.'

'Dominic, we don't actually know she's doing anything
hare-brained,' Penny pointed out gently.

'Precisely how would you choose to describe her
involvement with Langton?' he asked grimly.

'But it appears she's not even with him,' protested Penny,
feeling more and more confused the more she thought about it.

'No, but it's Langton's name that first cropped up and
which keeps cropping up. Believe me, he's around all right.' He rubbed
his hands wearily across his face. 'It's the waiting, the constant
going round in circles that I'm finding almost impossible to take.'

Penny looked at him helplessly; there was nothing even
remotely constructive she could think of to say.

'Perhaps if we watched television…or something,' she suggested tentatively, and wished she
hadn't—it sounded so pathetically hopeless.

He gave a soft, half-groaned laugh. 'I must say I'm rather
tempted by the "or something",' he murmured, rising. 'But I think I'll
take a walk. I did say to Rob— the barrister
friend—that I might drop round to his place later.' He
reached out and gently ruffled her hair. 'Would you mind taking
messages if any of the others happen to ring?'

She nodded, a peculiar choking sensation in her throat as
she watched him put on his jacket.

'You'd better take a raincoat,' she said, the sensation in
her throat distorting her voice. She coughed, conscious of the open
amusement in the look he was giving her. 'I mean…it's
probably still raining.'

'If you say so, Ma,' he chuckled, taking his raincoat from
the wardrobe and waving it teasingly at her as he left.

It had been at the precise moment he had reached out and
ruffled her hair—a gentle, affectionate and completely
unexpected gesture—that a feeling of recognition of something
she was unable to define had leapt within her.

She topped up her now luke-warm coffee, frowning as she
drank it, and found herself wondering what exactly the difference was
between infatuation and love. She immediately felt slightly queasy. He
would be so dangerously easy to love, she thought warily—
especially as he had been in those past moments of quietness and
honesty.

Penny crashed her cup down on to its saucer. Except that
the honesty had not been hers, she reminded herself guiltily. Right
from the word go she seemed to have been telling him one lie on top of
another—the irony being that she was essentially an honest
person.

Tonight she should have undone every single one of those
lies she had told him, she accused herself harshly…making no
allowance whatever for the fact that the idea simply hadn't crossed her
mind at the time.

When he returned she would tell him everything, she vowed,
no matter what the cost to her pride.

She awoke to a series of muffled sounds, followed by a
more distinct thud and then by a very recognisable stream of whispered
oaths.

She sat up, groping for the light-switch.

'Really, Dominic, someone should have washed your mouth
out with soap when you were a child,' she complained, her expression
turning to one of startled disbelief as the soft light filling the room
picked him out sprawled across the bedroom floor. 'My
God…you're drunk!' she croaked in bewildered accusation.

For an instant his prone body seemed to freeze, then he
struggled upright, grinning conspiratorially at her as he proceeded to
remove first his raincoat and then his jacket.

'Drunk?' he eventually queried benignly, swaying
precariously as he removed first one then the other of his shoes. 'What
on earth makes you think I'm drunk?' As he spoke he took a step back,
while at the same time attempting to remove his tie. An expression of
irritation flitted across his features as he suddenly seemed to
collapse backwards against the wardrobe.

'What on earth, indeed,' murmured Penny, trying
desperately not to laugh. 'Apart from the fact you're having such
difficulty remaining upright.'

'Something which, I suppose, has nothing to do with the
fact that the floor is littered with your shoes,' he grumbled, with a
grin of such lazy affability that any doubts she might have had were
erased. 'I could have broken my neck falling over those in the dark.'

'Stop trying to blame me,' she chuckled, fascinated by the
sheer unexpectedness of what she was witnessing. 'You're in what is
usually described as a state of inebriation and you might as well own
up to it.'

'I'll have you know,' he admonished, while having another
stab at removing his tie, 'that according to Lexy—and you
know what an expert she is—we Librios—'

'Librans, Dominic,' giggled Penny helplessly.

'Well…whatever. We held our drink remarkably
well—even when we're completely plastered.'

'As you are now,' she choked through her laughter.

'Have it your own way, darling,' he retorted amiably, at
last succeeding in removing his tie and adding it to the heap of
clothing amassing at his feet.

Penny held her breath, terrified her laughter would
distract him as he commenced the monumental task of removing his socks.
But as she watched she felt her silent laughter die in the wake of an
almost suffocating surge of love.

This was all she needed, she told herself frantically. The
man was as drunk as a lord…and here she was, all dewy-eyed
over him and deciding she loved him.

But the fact that he was drunk was immaterial, her common
sense argued with her panic. She knew enough of him to know that this
was a state he would rarely get himself into—and, given what
he was going through at the moment, it was something for which he could
certainly be excused.

And love was a luminous tenderness in her eyes as she
watched his laborious attempts to remove his socks—nudging
aside her now-faltering attempts to reject it until it finally took its
rightful place as part of her very being.

She had seen Rupert drunk—twice, she began
remembering. And twice she had been deeply disturbed by his aggressive
ill-humour in that state. Whereas Dominic, who could be so disturbingly
aggressive when sober, was the complete opposite now.

'Dominic, what on earth are you doing?' she asked, alarm
scattering her thoughts as, having succeeded with his socks, he was now
fumbling with the buckle of his belt.

'Whatever it is,' he grinned, 'I'm bound to be doing it
with considerable difficulty—given the state I'm in.'

Love and laughter bubbling side by side within her, she
watched his painstaking attempts to remove his trousers finally meet
with success as they slid down his long, strongly muscled brown legs to
his ankles. But when he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his
shorts, her eyes closed.

It was the sound of his falling body that brought her eyes
wide open again in consternation.

'Dominic?' She flung herself out of bed. 'Dominic!' she
shrieked, racing to his side and almost falling herself as she tripped
over a shoe. 'What happened?'

'It must be this drunken state I'm in,' he murmured, his
eyes refusing to meet hers. 'Perhaps it would be safer if you finished
my undressing for me—my trousers seem to have got themselves
caught up round my feet.'

For a split second she gazed down at him
uncertainly—he hadn't sounded in the least intoxicated. Then
his head rose, his eyes meeting hers as he beamed up at her from what
she was convinced could only be an alcoholic daze. Briskly she
extricated him from his trousers.

'Are you capable of getting yourself into bed while I put
away your clothes?' she asked with an exasperated chuckle.

'Of course I am,' he grinned, staying put.

Penny hung up his clothes and put them away, then stood
over him, her hands on her hips.

'So,' she giggled, 'you're capable of getting yourself
into bed, are you?'

'Yes…but I'd rather be here looking at you,' he
murmured angelically. 'With that light behind you, you might just as
well not be wearing that nightdress.'

Her cheeks suddenly aflame, Penny leapt out of the line of
the light.

'Don't worry,' he cajoled, pulling a droll face. 'You're
doubtless aware of the havoc alcohol creates with a man's
libido…as well as affecting his sense of balance. Penny,
would you mind awfully giving me a hand up?'

After several attempts at giving him a hand up, all of
which almost resulted in her joining him on the floor, she gave up.

'Dominic, you'll just have to get on your hands and
knees,' she giggled, 'and haul yourself up the bed.'

With much humming and hawing and seeking her advice, he
eventually succeeded—though it was her bed on to which his
body finally sprawled.

'Great,' she murmured drily. 'Now see if you can make it
to your own bed.'

'Don't be such a sadist,' he protested, burying his face
in her pillow. 'Besides, this was the bed I was aiming for,' he
announced, raising his head again. 'For a start it's
warm…and for another thing it's obvious what a state I'm in.'

'I take it that's your idea of a couple of cogent reasons
for turfing me out of my warm bed,' she mumbled, giving in to an
irresistible temptation to reach out and stroke his hair.

He caught hold of her hand and drew it down to his cheek,
holding it firmly in place.

'It wasn't my intention to turf you out of your bed,' he
muttered. 'If you'd given me a chance to finish I'd have explained that
I'm worried what might happen to me in my present helpless
condition… Penny, I really think it would be best if you
were to get in the bed with me—in case I fall out of it.'

'Oh, I see,' she replied. 'You're frightened of falling
out of bed—is that it?'

'Yes.' He even nodded to give more weight to his
affirmation. 'And, of course, you'll be completely safe because you
know what alcohol—'

'Does to a man's libido,' she finished for him, her words
distorted by laughter. 'Yes, you did mention that a few moments ago.'

'And also, we whatsits…hell, Penny, what is my
wretched star sign?'