Never Too Late (23 page)

She remained silent and her thumb crept towards her mouth. She didn’t see his lips twitch as he noticed her realise what she was doing and push her hand between her other arm and ribcage, tucking it out of harm’s way. He knew she was very proud of her beautifully manicured nails.

Adam regarded her for a few moments. “Come on,” he told her, standing and pulling her to her feet. “You’re obviously not in the mood for getting dressed up for one of your favourite restaurants but you do need to eat. Go pull on a pair of jeans and we’ll go for some pub grub down at The Swan.”

She hesitated and was about to object.

“Go on,” he warned, “or I swear I’ll cook for you and force every mouthful down your throat

She threw the cushion at him and fled to her bedroom, well aware that he was both an awful cook and that he was quite capable of carrying out his threat. Much to her surprise, after feeling so awfully depressed, she found herself giggling as she pulled out a change of clothes. No surprise really, though, as Adam had always been able to amuse her.

As they left, Chloe tucked her arm into Adam’s, already feeling much less tense. He felt rather overdressed for the occasion, and certainly didn’t see any romantic opportunities in it, but what the heck; it had always been what Chloe wanted that was most important to him. In The Swan they opted for scampi and chips, Chloe drowning hers in vinegar and washing it down with a continuous stream of lager, most unusual for a woman who loved her haute cuisine and normally sipped decorously at a glass of white wine.

She chattered on continually about inconsequential things and Adam had the distinct impression she was subconsciously trying to swamp all of her senses so she wouldn’t have to think or feel about anything of any real consequence. Out of it all, between the lines, he did gather that she felt rather adrift without the rock of her father there for her, that, maybe, she didn’t really feel ready to stand on her own two feet, for all her proud front of climbing the rungs towards a high powered career and living in her own very chic flat. Iain had always encouraged her to remain Daddy’s Little Princess and now the princess was facing the big bad world by herself. There did seem to be something else troubling her though. Was it related to this huge change in her family’s life or something entirely separate?

Slapping the third empty pint glass on the table she declared, “Come on – we’re going to play pool!” She got up and had to grab hold of the table as her legs tangled in the chair. Giggling, she weaved her way to the door to the public bar. With a half shrug of his shoulders Adam followed her and went to the bar, while she fumbled in her purse then slapped a coin on the table to indicate her place in the queue to play.

There were four men around the pool table, two playing and two more lounging against the wall watching while they waited their turns, their pints on a ledge running around the wall, cigarettes burning between their fingers. The banter between them identified them as a single group of friends. Adam also caught the sniggers as it became evident the pint was for Chloe, the mineral water with a twist for himself. The juke box was hammering out heavy rock at an uncomfortable volume, fed by coins from one of a group playing darts. The number of empty glasses spoke of heavy drinking.

“Are you sure about this, Chloe?” he asked her, feeling uncomfortable about the company she was about to share if she played pool. This was a good area of town and normally this was a pleasant place to come with friends. Tonight, though, he had a gut deep feeling trouble was brewing. “Why don’t we come back another night and play when it’s a bit quieter?”

“No – I want to play now!” Chloe declared. She sounded like a child about to have a tantrum.

The tallest of the pool players took his shot and turned to Chloe, assessing her coolly and obviously liking what he saw. He ran his finger down her cheek and crooned at her, “Don’t worry, honey, you can play with me in a minute when I beat this no-hoper.”

He had the arrogance of a man who knew himself to be physically well built, of a man who didn’t much care for rules and knew he could back up his actions with his muscles, not just from necessity but from choice. Adam wanted to object to this stranger touching Chloe but she herself was obviously not concerned by it and he didn’t feel he had the right to do anything on her behalf.

“Hey, Steve, we all want a chance to play with her,” declared his overweight, greasy-haired opponent, the innuendo not lost on Adam, but he was hamstrung in the face of Chloe’s obvious glee at instant inclusion.

The man called Steve stared hypnotically into Chloe’s eyes several seconds longer before he turned back to his friend, a small smile curving his lips. “The lady may not have the energy left to play with anyone else after she’s played with me.”

“Ah, take your shot and put me out of my misery.”

“Just what I intend to do, Joe.”

True to his word it took just three more shots for Steve to 7-ball his friend. He tossed Chloe’s pound coin to Joe with the instructions, “Rack them up for us while I help the little lady choose a cue.”

He pulled Chloe to her feet and led her to the rack on the wall. “Now, we want a good one for you don’t we – long and straight and hard.” He stood behind her as they faced the rack, his arms either side of her as he selected a cue for her approval. “If we’re going to get better acquainted it would be real nice if I knew your name,” he whispered into her ear.

She turned towards him, cue in hand, to find herself still imprisoned by his arms. She caught her breath, delighted to be the centre of attention. The unaccustomed level of alcohol surging through her veins had drowned any sense of caution. She’d left all her inhibitions behind in the glass that sat on her table, already half emptied. “I’m Chloe,” she told him, and giggled when he raised her fingers to his lips.

He kept hold of her hand as he led her to his friends. “Joe, Zak, Gary – meet the lovely Chloe.”

She mock curtsied to them, a broad grin on her face.

“Don’t forget,” Steve continued, “you’re in the presence of a lady so no swearing.” He turned back to Chloe, “Would you care to break?” he asked, gesturing towards the table.

Adam felt worried and helpless as he sat watching Chloe. She swayed slightly as she chalked her cue preparatory to taking the first shot. He knew he needed to get her out of this place, but how could he do so without either creating a scene or, even worse, having her send him packing and staying here without him present to watch out for her? He gestured to the barman who had come out to collect the empties.

“Do you know these people?” he asked quietly.

“No, mate, they’re not locals.” He looked over his shoulder. “Don’t like the look of them any more than you do, but so far they’ve not done anything to warrant getting chucked out. As far as the manager’s concerned it’s trade, end of story.”

Adam nodded in understanding. He just had to watch for his chance to get Chloe home.

Steve stood very close behind Chloe as she bent over the table to strike the cue ball, thoroughly enjoying the view of her taut behind encased in tight denim, wiggling side to side as she settled down to the shot. It was a good clean break and Chloe jumped up excitedly. “I got one in!”

“You most certainly will,” Steve murmured.

Chloe moved around the table and bent down to line up for next shot, giving Steve and the others a view of cleavage and lacy bra down the V-neck of her angora sweater. She seemed oblivious to the wolf whistles as she concentrated on the angles. Adam’s frown deepened but still didn’t see just what he could do. Her next shot was too enthusiastic and the cue ball, after almost missing the target ball entirely, careened madly around the table, coming to rest at Adam’s end of the table. Adam didn’t like Steve’s expression at all as he rested his hand on Chloe’s buttocks in passing her to walk over to take his next shot.

The game continued and it was obvious Steve was capable of potting nearly any of his nonchalant shots. He kept missing deliberately so that Chloe was repeatedly lured back to the table, away from Adam. Each time she returned it was just for another large draught of her lager, her eyes remaining on Steve and the game.

“Get me another,” indicating her glass, was the most she spoke to him in the next half hour as she and Steve circled the pool table. Meanwhile the comments between the friends were becoming more and more suggestive.

“Damn!” Chloe swore. “I was sure that was going down.”

“I’ll go down whenever you want, honey,” was Steve’s reply as he walked to the end of the table for his next shot.

Steve stood with his back to Adam, ostensibly weighing up his options as he negligently chalked his cue. He rubbed his hand up and down the cue then bent over and farted loudly into Adam’s face. The stench was horrendous.

“Sorry squire,” Steve mock apologised as his friends roared with laughter.

Adam stood up, jaw clenched, and glared at Steve as he pushed past him. He went over to Chloe and held out her jacket to her.

“Come on, Chloe,” he told her. “We’re going home. This isn’t fit company for you.”

Steve grabbed Adam’s arm, snarling, “The lady’s not ready to go yet, squire. I suggest you get along home by yourself.”

The next few moments were a blur to Chloe. Suddenly Steve was prone across the table, pool balls flying in all directions, and Adam was stood over him holding Steve’s right arm up painfully behind his back.

“Don’t move,” he warned Steve’s friends, “or I may forget what I’m doing and accidentally break this arm here.” He applied more pressure and Steve cried out in pain. The other three backed off. “Chloe, put your jacket on.”

She numbly obeyed and Adam threw Steve sideways onto the floor before taking her arm and leading her out of the pub.

*

Next day the alarm was thunderous in Chloe’s ears.

“Oh no!” she wailed and flung her arm sideways to blindly knock the button to turn the raucous noise off.

Mercifully the noise stopped, a blessed relief, but how, she wondered? She squinted painfully trying to see why. Her eyelids felt like ton weights as she tried to open them and focus on the clock face.

Surely it can’t be 7 already? What day is it come to that?

She tried to turn over and found it difficult, the far side of the bed weighted down. Adam was laying there, his clear blue eyes watching her wake up. His arm was across her still, his finger on the clock’s button. In her half waking, half sleeping state she thought nothing of it. Then her eyes shot open and she shot up in bed.

“Oh!” she moaned and held her head in her hands. “No, we didn’t, did we? Please tell me we didn’t.”

“Well,” he drawled, “I’m not sure what you’re thinking,” he said, tongue in cheek, “but I don’t normally combine care of the sick with other duties.”

Then she groggily realised that he was laid on top of the duvet. She was beneath it, and while her jeans and jumper were neatly folded over her bedroom chair, she was still wearing her bra and knickers. She also noticed the bucket beside the bed, the bowl of water and towel. It all started coming back in horrifying detail.

Adam got up and went to the kitchen, returning with a glass of iced water for her. “After four pints of premium strength lager you darn nearly passed out,” he told her. “I was afraid you’d continue to vomit and maybe inhale it. Your guardian angel appeared to have other duties so I deputised last night.”

Chloe’s cheeks burned in shame at her behaviour. “What on earth came over me?”

“The devil!” Adam chucked her under the chin. “Cheer up – we’ve all done daft things before. No harm done.” He put his jacket on and went to the door. “I suggest a long shower and some toast and tomato juice if you can manage it.” He paused in the doorway, wondering if that would be the closest he would ever come to sleeping with the love of his life.

As he left she groaned and flopped back onto her pillow, pulling the duvet up to cover her head and her shame.

How could I have behaved like that? Oh, my head! Thank goodness today’s Sunday.
Then she groaned again and pulled the duvet over her head, remembering she was due in Holmsford. She’d definitely cry off that one, just as soon as she was capable of seeing the phone, she promised herself.

*

Maggie opened the front door as she heard Richard’s car come up the drive, her face wreathed in a smile of welcome, the ever present shadow of Deefor at her side. He took his cue from Maggie and stood impassive when Maggie held out both hands to Richard and he kissed her cheek, accepting from her body language that this was ‘friend’, not ‘foe’.

“So this is the boy whose fame is spreading around the Home Counties,” Richard said admiringly.

Deefor regally accepted a scratch behind the ears, but Richard definitely got the impression such restraint was purely because that was what Maggie wanted, not that such intimacy was desired. He quickly returned his attention to his host. “You’re looking absolutely stunning, Maggie. Is that extra sparkle in your eyes all due to the new male in your life?”

She did, indeed, look well in her powder blue cashmere sweater and black slacks. “I didn’t look so stunning half an hour ago,” she chuckled as she drew him into the house. “We’ve been gardening, haven’t we Deefor.” Her hand lovingly drew his head against her leg as she stroked him. “He decided to help me with some of the digging and we both ended up with more soil over us than in the flower beds. Luckily we have the shower room off the kitchen so I decided it was easiest to get both of us in there for a wash down. Now all I have to do is clean the shower!”

They went through the conservatory and out into the warm evening sunshine.

“Keela,” Richard called, “how nice to see you again.”

Keela straightened up from her position crouched over one of the beds, trowel in hand, and shielded her eyes from the low evening sun which was sparking blue highlights from her luxuriant black hair. “Hi, Richard. Have you come to help with the planting too?”

“I’d love to help but I don’t think Joanne would appreciate another trip to the dry cleaner with this suit.” He tried, and failed miserably, to look distraught at not being able to assist, ducking as Keela pretended to throw a clod at him.