ThornyDevils (28 page)

‘How do you like my flat?’ Poppy asked as she hung her handbag on a hatstand, shrugged off her coat and made her way to a drinks cabinet. Peter took off his suit coat and hung it over Poppy’s.

‘I really like it,’ he lied, gazing up at a small chandelier. Chandeliers were another of his dislikes. His eyes wandered from there to the cabinet with the figurines, past them to a set of photographs of Poppy at play: Poppy skiing with friends, Poppy at the top of the Eiffel Tower, Poppy standing next to a grenadier guard.

‘I have a pretty good selection of alcohol,’ Poppy announced, ‘but I prefer a muscatel at the end of an evening.’

‘That suits me.’ He looked away from the pictures to the more alluring vision of Poppy pouring drinks. ‘Looking at those pictures makes me want to travel.’

‘Why don’t you?’ she asked, as she handed him a glass. ‘I love travelling. It broadens the mind.’

‘I’d like to work in London. It’s always been an ambition of mine. To work for the
Times
—not one of the tabloids.’

‘What’s holding you back?’

‘I like Melbourne too much. It has everything I need. Or maybe I like living in a rut.’

Peter drew in the syrupy drink. ‘A nice drop,’ he announced as he examined the glass.

‘Yes. It’s good. You really should go. London is an amazing city to live and work in. I worked in the City for two years. I loved it. Representing all manner of villains at the Old Bailey.’

‘I’ll think about it. I don’t have any ties. Not expecting any anytime soon.’

‘No failed marriages? No girlfriends?’ Poppy teased, placing her hand on Peter’s shoulder. ‘I’ve heard you journalists are hard people to live with.’

‘Never been married or engaged. I’ve always been footloose and fancy-free. I’ve never even lived with a woman.’

‘Quite the playboy, aren’t you?’ Poppy slid her hand off his shoulder and took hold of his hand. She put her glass down.

‘Playboy?’ Peter laughed, ‘More commitmentophobe.’

Their eyes locked onto each other. Peter leaned forward to kiss Poppy on the lips. She smiled and pulled away.

‘Let’s take those blue eyes of yours and sit on the couch,’ she suggested, gesturing towards a pink floral couch. Peter quickly drained the reminder of his glass and returned it to the cabinet.

‘Let’s get comfortable,’ he said. ‘Have you got any music? I mean, if we’re going to relax on the couch we need something atmospheric.’

Poppy crossed to a three-in-one German stereo. ‘What sort of music do you like? I have an eclectic collection, but I particularly like Sting, Meatloaf, Bruce Springsteen. And a little jazz.’

Peter winced and wondered if he could ever see past her musical tastes. ‘How about a little jazz?’
If you want to stop my romantic ticker, just play Stung or bloody Meathead.

Poppy shut the drawer, picked up a CD and read it. ‘How about Miles Davis?
Kind of Blue
.’

‘Perfect.’ He was a hard rocker but there was always time for Miles and Miles was ideal for what he thought lay ahead.
Miles Davis plus jazz noir equals romance. I hope.

What floated out of the stereo speakers was like a gentle, intoxicating zephyr. Poppy settled back on the couch and cuddled in next to Peter. The music pulled them together in an embrace and soon they were kissing passionately.
She’s so beautiful
, Peter kept thinking.
A perfect woman. I want her. I want her.

Poppy lay down on top of Peter, their lips still fixed together. He felt the roundness of her breasts on his chest.
I’ve got to have her.
He tried to loosen the buttons of her blouse with one hand, while running the other up and down her slender legs.

‘It’s all getting hot and heavy,’ she gasped as she squirmed away from him. She sat up, adjusting her blouse.

‘Is something wrong?’ Peter asked as he too sat up. ‘Am I being too forward? I can’t help it. You’re just so beautiful.’

Peter tried to touch her but Poppy pulled away. She folded her arms across her body and looked down. He couldn’t have imagined Poppy ever looking vulnerable but now she did.

‘Sorry, but I don’t want you to think I’m a complete slut. I’m not that type of girl. I find you really attractive but I don’t want you to think…’ Her voice trailed off.

‘I’m sorry too,’ Peter replied. ‘I got carried away. It’s only the first date and I had wanted to come across as the suave gentleman. We can always start this again—I mean, go out on another date.’

He was about to stand up but Poppy grabbed his arm and pulled him back on the couch. ‘Really, I don’t want you to go,’ she confessed. ‘I’d feel really lonely if you went.’

‘We can sit here and talk. We haven’t got to know each other yet. I don’t even know what football team you follow.’

Poppy smiled faintly and unfolded her arms. ‘You could have persisted. ‘Although, to be honest, I don’t like being dominated.’

‘I’m not going to persist if you don’t want me to. I’m not a caveman.’

She edged herself closer to Peter and pecked him on the cheek. ‘That’s what I like about you. You’re all rough and ready on the outside, but underneath lurks a gentleman. You’re David Niven and Peter Finch rolled into one.’

‘David Niven?’ Peter shuddered, ‘Do I look like a weedy Englishman?’

‘You’re much, much better.’

Peter leaned towards Poppy and lightly kissed her on the lips. ‘Is that too forward, Miss Reynolds?’ he joked as he pulled away, ‘I don’t want to take too many liberties, but I find you most awfully pleasing to the eyes. I shall have to speak to your father.’

‘Funny.’ She grabbed Peter’s head with both hands and kissed him hard on the lips, mouth open, her tongue caressing his.

Peter exhaled. ‘Wow. I’m lost for words.’

‘Tell me,’ Poppy demanded, ‘do you like women to take control of the situation?’

‘You take control of the situation and I’m happy to follow. As long as it ends in the same result for both parties, who cares?’

‘I like your answer,’ she replied as she undid her blouse. ‘I like being in charge. It really turns me on.’

Poppy took hold of Peter’s right hand and placed it on her breast and let him caress it. She moaned softly.

‘You have beautiful breasts,’ he whispered. He attempted to lean in to kiss her breasts but she stopped him.

‘How much can I control you?’ Poppy questioned.

‘As long as it doesn’t get too painful.’ His mind returned to his deep and meaningful relationship with Amber the stripper. Every time they were locked in a passionate embrace, Amber liked to bite Peter’s neck, and when they were making love she would rake his back with her fingernails. After a short while, the missionary position was taken off the menu.

Poppy took hold of Peter’s hand and pulled him off the couch. ‘You’ll have to follow me to find out,’ she winked.

***

Peter arrived home relatively early—at nine the next morning. He expected to be met by a worried Sam and Dave at the door. Not the case. There were two notes sitting on the kitchen bench, one from each of them, saying they’d be staying elsewhere for the night. Sam at Babs’s house and Dave at Shazza’s place. Shazza and Dave? Peter didn’t see that coming. He’d noticed the long conversations between the two of them and the occasional shared lunch. Shazza and Dave. Everyone was hooking up. There was a glimmer of hope for him and Poppy.
Poppy! What a night!
He was walking on sunshine—that dumb song again—but exhausted after a night of lovemaking.

Where did Poppy’s energy come from? How had he kept it up?
Peter Clancy, you sly dog. Yes, and what an explosive night.
He rubbed his sore wrists. The impressions from the handcuffs were still there.
Not that unbearable but I’m getting educated
. And where in the hell were Sam and Dave? He was desperate to relate his exploits to the boys. Or maybe not. He had feelings for Poppy.

There was a knock at the door. ‘Did you lose your keys, you old tomcat,’ Peter laughed as he swung open the door, expecting to see either Sam or Dave. It was Con.

‘Sorry,’ Peter laughed, ‘I thought you were one of the boys.’

‘We’re still coming for lunch today,’ Con asked. ‘The barbecue?’

‘Today? That’s right. I invited you.’

‘Of course. Of course, Peter,’ Con shook his head with amusement. ‘You invite us a whole week ago.’

‘I must have forgotten. Sorry,’ Peter shrugged.

‘Is all right for the barbecue, yes? Or you want to make another time?’

‘No, no, it’s fine. At Yarra Bend. Twelve o’clock Greek time.’

‘You really need a good woman,’ Con’s voice rang with despair as he examined Peter’s state of dishevelment. ‘If you lucky enough, maybe she even help you dress yourself. You look like… you look like a beggarman.’

‘I’ve only just got home.’ Peter tucked his shirt back into his pants, noticing that was at half-mast. He did up his fly quickly and brushed back his hair.

‘You had big night, eh? Looks like you didn’t get much sleep.’

‘I had a very restless night. Just couldn’t settle. If you know what I mean.’

‘I think I know what you’re talking about. I meet this girl today? If you happy, you make Roula happy. She worry too much about you.’

‘We’ll see.’

‘Do you want us to bring anything?’

‘No, nothing.’

‘If you sure.’ Con turned and walked back down the stairs.

Peter quickly closed the door and headed for the phone. Thoughts of rejection ran through his head. Funny, he was always the one doing the rejecting, but this time the shoe was on the other foot. Did she want to see him again? Was it just a one night stand? And so soon? But he had to try. He had to see her again. The sooner the better.
Stuff caution. Caution’s for boring people
.

He made a quick call to Poppy, happy to have a reason to talk to her. To Peter’s delight, Poppy had agreed to come along the minute he asked her. She told him she had been to Greece several times and loved the culture. Then he made an inaugural outing to the supermarket. By the time Dave and Shazza, Peter and Poppy and Sam minus Babs arrived at Yarra Bend, about thirty members of the extended Theophilis family had already descended and commandeered several tables and an electric barbecue.

Rebetiko
music blared from a stereo sitting alongside its speakers on a folding table. Chattering women were depositing mountains of food on the long wooden tables while the men were gathered around Con, who was attending to pieces of lamb rotating on the charcoal-
fuelled rotisserie he had brought along. By the look of things, they had arrived very early.

The adults were drinking wine out of water glasses and talking loudly over each other. Con and Roula’s children dodged in and out, between the adults, with their cousins. For the uninitiated it was probably an assault on the senses, but Peter had been to their house many times.

Everyone turned as they approached. Dave and Shazza looked uncomfortable, but Poppy seemed unfazed. Sam glanced at the trays of pink pork sausages nestled in Peter’s bags and the plastic container full of coleslaw and then at the meat rotating slowly over the coals.

‘I prefer the look and smell of their tucker,’ he said.

Roula darted towards them, grabbing Peter with both hands and planting kisses on each cheek. ‘You here at last,’ she announced. ‘Everybody, you know Peter. And these are his friends.’

Peter introduced the others and glanced at the tables piled with salad, cooked greens and pita. ‘I told Con to tell you not to bring anything.’

‘Yes, yes,’ she said. ‘But what you bring? What we eat? One sausage and some lettuce?’ She looked at Dave’s Esky. ‘And plenty beer. No good.’

‘This isn’t like a normal barbecue, is it?’ Dave commented to Sam. ‘No cheap sausages, warm beer and cold hospitality here.’

‘I’d better tell you now,’ Peter warned them as Roula returned to distribute paper napkins. ‘Most people are going to want to kiss you. Even the men.’

‘What the…’ Sam stiffened.

‘Don’t worry. It’s a tradition. I always found the people in Greece really friendly, even to complete strangers,’ Poppy laughed.

Peter introduced Poppy to Con, leaving the others to introduce themselves. He cracked open beers and handed them around, then fed coins into the electric barbecue and laid the sausages on the hotplate. He found the end of a bench to perch on. To his surprise, Poppy sat on his lap, chatting about her last trip to Santorini. Dave and Shazza settled themselves opposite, with Sam alongside.

While Peter’s sausages fizzed, Con pulled the pieces of meat off the spit and deposited them onto platters and placed them on the tables.

‘Good tucker,’ Sam announced. ‘Better than yours. I think I’m going to become a Greek.’

Poppy slid off Peter’s lap and squeezed herself in beside him. ‘A Greek Aborigine?’ she said. ‘Hilarious.’

‘You two look cosy,’ Sam observed. ‘For only a second date.’

‘Pissed off that Babs didn’t come today?’ asked Peter.

‘I asked her, but the dog was sick or something. She had to take it to the vet. She reckons someone tried to poison it.’

‘Who’d do something like that?’ said Poppy ‘That’s awful.’

‘Some people are just plain evil,’ continued Sam, eyeing Poppy. ‘Peter says you’re a high-rolling solicitor. And from what I saw, you’re a mate of the O’Learys.’

‘Well, I don’t know about that.’ Poppy replied defensively.

‘I saw you at the wharf the other day talking to Tommy and Robbie.’

‘I talk to them all the time. Not that it’s any of your business, but they’re clients of mine.’ She paused to take a sip of wine. ‘So, do you work for them? I didn’t see you there.’

‘Well, you wouldn’t. I was too busy working,’ Sam grinned. ‘I bet those boys keep you busy, too.’

Poppy put down her fork. ‘Are you trying to say something?’

‘No. Just saying that defending crooks must be hard.’

‘If I’m not mistaken, those men you call crooks employ you, don’t they?’

‘Wasn’t talking about the O’Learys. They have to be good blokes for giving me a job. All I was saying is it’s a lawyer’s job to defend crooks. Must be hard to do.’

They’re not crooks,’ she snapped at Sam. ‘They’re a respectable family.’