Between Friends (7 page)

‘We’re going to have a baby, Tom.’

She said it in exactly the right way. Not, ‘I’m pregnant’. No coy euphemisms. A child.
Their
child.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Don’t be sorry. A baby. You’re going to be a father.’

She didn’t see the violence coming. He moved across the space between them in an instant, caught her wrists in his hands, was holding them hard, twisting them, burning the skin viciously so that she cried out.

‘No. Don’t kid yourself, Jane. Get rid of it.’

‘Tom! You’re hurting me!’ She yelped with pain and shock. She had never seen Tom like this, his face twisted and dark with fury. ‘What are you talking about? I can’t—’

He shoved her roughly against the table. The edge cuts across her buttocks painfully. ‘Is it mine?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘All those weeks away. Leeds. Manchester. Birmingham. Taunton. West-of-back-of beyond. Wherever. All those
fiddlers
,’ he said the word sneeringly, ‘the drummers, the brass. Fine strapping men those brass players. Don’t tell me you never slept with them.’

‘Tom! I never – would never – how could you—?’

‘I’m told getting rid of these things is easy. Tell you what, I’ll be generous. I’ll even pay for it. There should be some cash in our account, unless you’ve been on a spending spree.’

‘I won’t! I can’t! I would never do that.’

His face darkened and for a minute she thought he was going to strike her. Then he shrugged.

‘Suit yourself. Just don’t come running to me for cash when the kid needs school clothes – or anything else, for that matter. And don’t expect me to acknowledge the little bastard either, because I never will.’

He tossed the keys on the kitchen table.

‘Here. I won’t need these again. I’m taking the last of my stuff. And by the way,’ he stopped in the doorway and spun round, ‘I’m getting married.’

His smile was more wounding than any accusation.

‘Wish me happiness.’

Jane sank onto a chair, her legs weak. Married? Who to? What was he talking about? How could he accuse her of infidelity? Had he been unfaithful? All those times she was away, had
he
been sleeping with someone else?

Married?

‘After your little mistake...’

Dear God – how had she ever thought the past was buried? She raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. It wasn’t dead, it never had been, it had only been hibernating.

‘Bye, Witchy.’

Tom half turned, and registered the brown eyes, wide and scared. Great stuff, really great.

He stepped onto the path. Behind him, the door clicked shut.

On the coatstand in Jane’s hall, a brown fedora hung limply.

Chapter Eleven

Carrie logged on to Bed Buddies after work. She was sitting cross-legged on the white rug in her living room, her laptop perched perilously across the angle between her calves and her thighs, Lily Allen crooning on the sound system. She scanned her message board.

Nothing from Jury Service. Shame – she quite fancied a romp with the dear man tonight. She abandoned her message board and searched the Edinburgh area lists.

Star Turn? She had spotted his posts before. He always sounded entertaining – a little spicy, a little full of himself perhaps, but deliciously wicked. Once before, when she was in London on business, she’d been on the point of sending him an invitation, but something urgent had cropped up at work and her attention had been diverted. She clicked a link and went into a secure chat area.

< Star Turn, this is D.A. Delight, responding to your offer. I can be as serious as you like. Or maybe we could just have a few laughs? Free tonight, just say the word. And the word is ... justice.

The reply came at once.

It wasn’t the wittiest of chat-up lines, but it would do. The usual precautions were necessary, that went without saying. The arrangement was to meet for drinks in the bar at the Salamander Hotel. Over a couple of gins she would be able to assess whether or not she wanted to proceed upstairs. If she didn’t like the look of the man, she would simply say goodbye. It had happened a few times and it was no big deal. Carrie was very discriminating and took no risks. When she met her regulars, she often had dinner first – though sometimes she preferred room service. Room service with Jury Service. That was funny.

The Salamander Hotel in Leith, Edinburgh’s dockland district, was a bit of an oddity. Tucked away in a side street, it missed out on custom by being off the beaten track. The area was hardly Edinburgh’s most salubrious but the hotel itself, originally the home of some
nouveau riche
dock manager in Victorian times, was hidden behind a large wall and had a pretty garden. Some years ago, Carrie remembered, the building had been derelict, the tiles on its roof slipping, the windows cracked and dismal. Green fungus had lurked round leaky downpipes, and the paint on doors and window frames had been peeling. The potential of the place had been spotted by an enterprising young couple, Tim and Stella Morrison, who had used all their savings to renovate the building and turn it into a small hotel.

Carrie liked the Salamander because it was discreet. The car park was hidden behind the high wall, the area was not much visited by the smart set of Edinburgh city, more by foreign tourists unaware of the environs and by businessmen on the move, looking for value for money and comfort. Tim and Stella didn’t ask questions. Over the past couple of years – she’d been one of their first guests – Carrie had stayed at the Salamander maybe once a month, sometimes more often.

She seldom stayed the whole night. She settled her bill in advance and left hours before breakfast, knowing that the Morrisons would be too polite to comment. Not that she was ashamed of her lifestyle, but she knew that not everyone would approve. The ‘not everyone’ included her bosses at Ascher Frew, and with the partnership review coming up soon, it wouldn’t do to blot her copybook.

She turned into the Salamander’s car park and slid into a narrow space next to the wall, under the spreading branches of an old chestnut tree. She turned off the ignition and sat for a few moments, relishing the quiet.

Work was manic. She had been putting in extra hours – and heaven knows, that meant extra on extra – and there had been little time for play. Tonight was pure self-indulgence. She deserved it. Whatever happened, she would leave early, hopefully reinvigorated and ready for whatever Ascher Frew could throw at her.

The bar was a small one, but it had nooks and crannies. A bay window, a recess half hidden by bookcases, an old inglenook fireplace, big enough to house a small table and two bench seats. There was privacy.

‘Hi Stella.’

‘Hello Carrie. The usual?’

Stella Morrison was a tiny woman, plain looking but with an energy that translated into attractiveness. A well-tended dark bob framed her small face, dark eyes gleamed brightly as she held her head to one side inquiringly.

‘Please.’

Small arms reached for a glass, poured Tanqueray into a measure, splashed in tonic water from a bottle – never draft – added ice and a slice. Carrie slid onto a tall stool at the corner of the bar and surveyed the place carefully. In the window, two businessmen were intent on some spreadsheets, forgotten pints glinting in front of them as they talked. A young couple sat in the inglenook, holding hands across the small table and looking intently into each other’s eyes. Honeymooners? Dirty weekenders? No, definitely not the latter, they looked far too pure.

Carrie sipped her gin and smiled to herself. She couldn’t picture sanctified sex. Would it be exciting? Racy? Wicked? Deliciously exploratory? How could it be? She imagined sorry fumblings under winceyette nightgowns, coyness and, ultimately, boredom.

‘Hi.’

The voice came from behind her, deep, rich – and amused.

She whipped round. Tom Vallely! Bloody flaming hell! Of all the bad luck, for Tom to be here, of all people, just as she was waiting for Star Turn. Carrie felt her cheeks ignite. She put her hands up to shield them from him.

‘Tom? Hi.’

She tried to sound calm, but this scenario had thrown her.

‘Can I join you?’

‘No! Sorry, I mean, no, it’s not a good time. I’m waiting for a friend.’

‘I’ll wait with you.’

‘No, you can’t—’ She checked herself. Disaster! ‘I’d prefer if – why don’t we meet some other time?’

‘Another time? I can’t really, no. I’m only here for a few more days.’ He beckoned to Stella. ‘Pint please. Thanks. Who are you waiting for?’

‘A friend. A colleague. A business colleague. Private business. Things. Not really suitable—’ She was stuttering like a schoolgirl. Surely she could handle this?

‘That’s all right. I can leave when she comes. Or is it a he?’ The wretched man was beaming. He was
enjoying
her discomfiture. She had to get control.

‘She’s a he. I mean, I’m waiting for a man, not that it’s any business of yours. Listen, you have your pint, I can wait in the snug next door. My meeting really is private.’

Tom took a long pull on his pint. She watched, transfixed, as his head went back and the muscles in his throat contracted and relaxed. God, he was still beautiful. Always had been.

But now she was older. Mature. She knew how to handle a man like Tom Vallely. If she could handle Jury Service she could handle anyone. She slapped her gin down on the bar and stood up purposefully. Beside her gin, a half-empty pint glass appeared. She watched the hand as it placed it on the granite surface, the hairs on the wrist dark and smooth.

Leave. Now.

The hand moved. It was round her wrist.

Tom was standing close to her, so close that she could actually feel the heat of his body, like a furnace, a calling card from the devil.

She reacted automatically, pulling her arm away, trying to release her wrist from his grip.

He lowered his head towards her, his hair falling across his brow with picturesque grace. His eyes were like a hawk’s, as grey as the sky before snow, mesmeric. His lips were moving, he was whispering something. At the bar, the businessmen, abandoning their spreadsheets, were ordering more beer. Tom’s words hung by her ear, floating on the cloud of her disbelief.

‘I think, D.A. Delight, that it’s me you’re waiting for.’

The coolness of his eyes was as enticing as an icy lake on a hot summer’s day and just as dangerous.

‘Sorry?’

‘I’ve been looking forward to this. Really looking forward to it.’

‘I don’t know what—’

‘Oh come now. You didn’t guess I was Star Turn? You’re slipping, Carrie darling, you really are. I thought you were cleverer than that.’

He released her wrist and she sat down abruptly on the stool, her mouth open, her eyes wide with shock.

‘How did you—?’

‘Guess? Darling.’ His voice was dry, amused. ‘It didn’t take a genius. As I recall, you always were fascinated with the American legal system.’

D.A. District Attorney. It was true. She had always wished she could have trained in the States, ever since she’d watched Gregory Peck in
To Kill a Mockingbird
.

‘You remembered that?’

A long finger slid down her cheek. She met his gaze reluctantly.

‘I remember everything, Carrie.’

He released her face, dropped his hand fleetingly to the soft curve of her breast, brushed his fingers across it. It was designed to look accidental, if noticed, but the intent was quite different and the touch did its work. The blaze that had earlier lit her cheeks licked through her body and ran along her nerves like a flame along touchpaper.

‘We can’t.’ She was trembling now. ‘We mustn’t.’

‘No? Why ever not?’

His mouth was still pliant, deliciously curved, deeply sensual. She looked at it, riveted, fighting her instincts as valiantly as she could.

‘Janie ... dangerous ...’

He laughed. ‘Janie? But Carrie darling, that was over many years ago.’

‘If she finds out—’

‘Why would she find out? It’s a story long ended.’

‘Tom. I—’

He leaned closer again.

‘You’re not frightened of
falling in love
are you, Carrie darling?’

‘Certainly not.’

She spoke the words loudly, defiantly. Further along the bar, the businessmen turned their heads in her direction. She cleared her throat and said more softly, ‘With you?’ She tried a laugh and was more or less successful. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Tom Vallely.’

‘Then what are you so afraid of?’

He laid his hand on her thigh. She felt the touch like a brand on her skin.

‘Bed Buddies. That’s what you’re into, darling, isn’t it? “Safe sex without commitment”. That’s what you like. You’ve always liked sex, Carrie, don’t forget I know that. I’m no threat to you. I’ll be gone in a few days. No pressure. You need never see me again. But for tonight—’

Carrie was melting, her insides had turned into an unfamiliar kind of mush. She no longer had any control over this. None. She made one last attempt to think. He was right – he would be gone soon. What harm could it do? Just this once, just tonight. Below the level of the bar, masked from public gaze, his hand slid between her thighs, moved upwards and despite herself, the audacity of it thrilled her.

‘All right.’ She caught his hand and stopped him. ‘Just once. And don’t you dare say “For old time’s sake”.’

‘So corny. No, not for old time’s sake. But because you’re still a very ... very...’ he moved closer, inched his hand up her thigh and breathed heavily, ‘... attractive ...’ his tongue flickered lightly in her ear, ‘...woman.’

She had to stop this, now. Again she stood up. This time she lifted her handbag from the bar and said quietly, ‘All right. Once. I’ll get the room. I’ll call you in ten minutes, give you the number. See you there. Got it?’

He didn’t even nod; he just gazed at her, a mocking satisfaction in his eyes. She hated him. Hated herself. And knew it would be very, very good.

Tom saw that she was still dressed when she opened the bedroom door. Why was she still dressed? He’d have her knickers off her as soon as spit.

‘Just this once, Tom, and only because you’re going back to London.’

She was a gorgeous bitch. ‘Why only once? I’m not with Serena anymore.’

‘Why am I not surprised?’

‘So what’s the problem?’

‘The
problem
, Tom, the
problem
is I don’t really like you very much. I don’t like your morals, or rather your lack of them. I don’t like the way you treat women—’

‘Morals, Carrie?’ he said mockingly. ‘What about you?’

Carrie, normally so speedy with her retorts, hesitated for a fraction of a second, just long enough for him to silence any further objections with a kiss.

The bonfire reignited and the heat consumed them both.

The woman was just as voracious as she’d ever been, never mind the passing of the years. Christ. The reluctance he’d sensed in the bar switched into a ferocious sexual energy as soon as he touched her. Thirty seconds more and he was inside her knickers. The spark between them needed little to ignite it, never had. That first night, back in Richmond had been crude, lewd and unforgettably sensational. Seventeen years later – slightly to his surprise – nothing had changed. Her waist was maybe an inch thicker, her breasts a few tasty ounces heavier, that was all.

He left, reluctantly but at her steadfast insistence, a few hours later.

‘I’ll be in touch.’

‘No.’

‘I will.’

‘I won’t answer.’

‘Oh Carrie, darling, I think you will.’

He leant towards her naked body, lowering his head to kiss her thigh, but she kicked him, firmly, and rolled away and out of bed on the other side.

‘What part of “go” don’t you understand, Tom?’

He laughed, dressed, flicked the main light on maliciously as he left, so that she’d have to get up to put it off.

All the way along the plushly carpeted corridor and down the stairs he had the fun of picturing her walking across the room, magnificently naked, her firm breasts bouncing gently as she moved.