Dangerous to Know (4 page)

 

Gemma saw Jerome's expression change. The line of his jaw hardened and a glint of steel appeared in his dark blue eyes.

“Who is it? What's the matter?” She followed his gaze. A portly man stood by the doorway, divesting himself of an expensive cashmere overcoat. Two other men, also dressed in suits and overcoats, stood nearby.

“Gerald Shakespeare.” Jerome ground out the man's name with pure venom.

Gemma knew who Gerald Shakespeare was. It would be hard not to. His name was all over the press and on the television.

“Isn't he the man who wants to develop the land where all those endangered species live? The place you were talking about in your radio broadcasts?”

“The very same. I'm afraid those two gentlemen accompanying him look too familiar.” Jerome's face was thoughtful.

The waitress appeared and slid steaming plates of food in front of them both.

“Thank you,” Gemma said distractedly, her attention focused on the three men, who had now taken a table on the far side of the restaurant. “What do you think they're doing here?” she asked Jerome as she picked up her cutlery.

“Having some kind of meeting, by the looks of it. Shakespeare appears to be far too pleased with himself.” He scowled.

Gemma gathered a forkful of food. She could see what he meant. There seemed to be lots of mutual backslapping and jollity going on at Gerald Shakespeare's table.

“Do you think they're celebrating something?”

Jerome's mouth quirked, but Gemma didn't think it was with amusement. “It would seem so.”

Her appetite for her meal had diminished, but she forced herself to eat. Jerome spoke little, his attention clearly taken up by Gerald Shakespeare's party.

“They're coming over,” Gemma whispered in alarm. She placed her knife and fork down on her plate. Jerome leaned back in his chair, his casual stance belying the icy gleam in his eyes.

“Well, if it isn't Tarzan! And which one of nature's innocent creatures have you come to save this time?” Shakespeare rocked on the balls of his feet, his hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets.

Jerome smiled at him, but Gemma felt a shiver run along her spine.

“It depends what sort of creature needs help. Snakes, for instance, seem to have a good sense of self-preservation and self-interest. As does the common rat.”

An unhealthy flush the color of port wine darkened Gerald Shakespeare's cheeks and his jowls wobbled with indignation at the implied insult. “One of these days, Mayer, that tongue of yours will get you into serious trouble.”

“My mother always told me to tell the truth and shame the devil. What did your mother teach you, Shakespeare?”

Gemma watched as Jerome's opponent shifted uncomfortably under his direct gaze.

“You think you're so smart. I'll have the last laugh on you yet, Mayer. Then you won't think you're so funny.” He turned on his heel and stalked off out of the café. His companions had already gone ahead.

“Pleasant individual, isn't he?” Jerome threw some money down on the table to cover their bill. “Come on, we'd better head for the campsite. I'll get my ranger friends to do some investigating as to what that little meeting was all about.”

“Do you think he has something to do with the attack on your house and the threats?” Gemma stood up and pushed her chair back under the table.

Jerome shrugged. “Who knows? I doubt if dear Gerald would get involved himself, but I wouldn't put it past some of his henchmen.”

He led the way across the tearoom.

“Aren't you concerned that he's seen you here?” She asked.

Jerome paused at the side of his car. “I don't think I'm in any physical danger from him, if that's what you mean.” A furrow of concern creased his brow. “Are you frightened, Gemma?” Her cheeks heated under his gaze. “Not frightened, exactly. Just a little concerned.” She couldn't imagine Gerald slinking up a mountain in the dark to assault them, but if Jerome was right about the man's cronies then she would be lying if she didn't say she felt scared.

He stepped forward to lightly grasp the tops of her arms. “I wouldn't be taking you with me if I thought you'd be in any danger.”

She felt the reassuring heat from his touch race into her body and her pulse quickened.

“I swear everything will be fine. It'll just be you, me and the wildlife.”

Gemma swallowed. “I don't know which is scarier - Gerald's goons or you.” She was glad she managed to keep the wobble out of her voice as she cracked the joke.

“Ha-de-ha! I'll remind you of that when it's all dark up that mountainside.”

Jerome's eyes twinkled and Gemma felt her blood heat at the idea of being alone with him.

“In your dreams,” she retorted.

Jerome's eyes darkened and he bent his head so his lips brushed hers. “You don't want to know how I see you in my dreams,” he murmured against her mouth.

Gemma gasped, shocked both by his words and the way her body had responded to him.

Jerome released her arms. “The guys will be waiting for us.”

She got into his car in a daze. He took the road leading out of the valley before making a turn along an unmarked dirt track. Soon they had climbed high above the valley floor and along the edge of a pine forest.

“I don't think this is going to do your car's suspension much good.” Gemma clutched at the handle on her side of the car as they rolled and pitched across the ruts in the track.

“We're going the rest of the way on foot.” Jerome halted in a small clearing in front of a locked five-bar gate. A dark green Land Rover with ‘Forestry Commission' stamped on the side had already parked up. Two rangers waited by the gate.

“We wondered when you'd get here.” The taller of the two men called out as he crossed over to the car. Jerome opened his door and got out.

“Slight hitch on the way. We bumped into Gerald Shakespeare and two suits in the tearooms.”

The ranger scowled as Jerome opened Gemma's door.

“We'd heard rumors that he's trying to get central government onside to overturn the planning restrictions for Maggie's Fell.”

Gemma climbed out of the car and slid her seat forward so she could help unload the camping gear. Jerome introduced her to his companions and she colored as the rangers exchanged knowing smiles.

“Surely he won't succeed though?” She hoisted her backpack on to her shoulders, staggering a little under the weight.

Maggie's Fell was a large tract of mountainside famous for its unspoilt beauty and abundant wildlife. It also comprised a large area of flat land that was the main target of Gerald Shakespeare's development plans. Under any normal circumstances Gerald wouldn't have stood any chance of success, but the area was short of jobs and Gerald had influential friends.

“We wish we could be sure of that, but people want jobs and a few rare bats and newts might not hold enough sway to stop him pushing the plans through.” Jerome lifted a large rucksack onto his back and lifted out the camera equipment.

The rangers took the tents, sleeping bags and the pack that contained their cooking equipment and food. Once Jerome had locked the car they set off through the wood with the forestry men leading the way.

“Are you okay, Gemma?” Jerome paused beside her as she gasped for breath on a steep, uphill turn in the trail.

“Fine, just need a breather,” she gasped as the blood pounded in her ears.

“Give me your pack.” Jerome eased the straps of her rucksack from her shoulders.

“Really, I'm fine.” Gemma wheezed and wondered if anyone had ever died from carrying too many clothes.

Jerome shook his head and hefted her pack on to his arm. “We haven't far to go now. Do you need a drink?”

She shook her head, feeling guilty that he had taken her pack. The rangers were out of sight, so after she'd recovered some of her breath, they set off again.

A few minutes later they emerged on the far side of the woodland. A small stream burbled down the side of the Fell and the rangers had already begun to erect the tents in a flat space sheltered by some large boulders.

Ominous dark clouds scudded across the sky. A light breeze tugged at her hair as they crossed the field to the campsite.

“You two should be fine just here.” One of the men straightened up from knocking in the tent pegs.

“If you've got your map handy, I'll mark those sites for you.” The other man walked over to Jerome and helped him lower the bags he carried on to the ground.

Gemma carried the equipment over to the tents as Jerome and the ranger spread the Ordnance Survey map out on the top of a flat rock.

“There you go, the tents are up. Just as well. I reckon you'll be having a shower of rain soon, judging by that sky.” The other ranger grinned at her as he knocked in the last of the pegs.

“Thank you. It's very kind of you to help.”

“Our pleasure. It looks as if Jerome and Andy have finished.” He nodded towards the boulder where Jerome had refolded the map and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans.

The ranger passed the hammer to Gemma as he joined his companion. “Have a good shoot. We'll see you on Sunday.” The forestry men took their leave and set off down the track into the forest.

The nerves in Gemma's stomach fluttered as she watched their green uniforms disappear from view between the trees.

“Can you give me a hand to get the gear inside the tents? We might just get a chance to make a drink before the heavens open.” Jerome had already moved the bag of camera equipment into his tent.

Gemma wriggled inside her own small blue tent, tugging her rucksack after her. What had she been thinking when she'd agreed to do this? It was one thing trying to prove she could be adventurous. However, as she surveyed her new small canvas home, she couldn't help wishing there had been a more comfortable way of proving her point.

By the time she'd arranged her sleeping bag and accommodated some of the cooking equipment Jerome handed to her, Gemma felt ready for that cup of tea.

Jerome filled a small pan with water from the stream and set it on top of a gas camping stove. A couple of weathered grey boulders made convenient seats as Gemma joined him.

“I doubt if we'll get any photography done tonight. It's too cloudy. Tomorrow's forecast is clear so we should get some good shots then.” He smiled at her as he poured boiling water into her mug.

“So, what do we do now?” Gemma squinted up at the clouds as they continued to mass overhead.

Jerome added some milk to her drink and fished out the tea bag with a spoon. “If it rains heavily, then not much. With luck, this shower will pass and we can go out tonight and scope out where the best places for filming are likely to be.” He passed her the mug.

“How do you know where to go?” She blew on her drink to cool it down before taking a tiny sip.

“The forestry guys have marked some likely places on the map.” Jerome fumbled inside the flap of his tent and produced a packet of chocolate biscuits.

Gemma took a biscuit and dunked it in her tea. She needed chocolate.

* * * *

As Jerome watched Gemma take a bite of her biscuit he realized that a lot of girls would have cried off from a trip like this. Miles from anywhere, no bathroom, and a tiny tent to sleep in. She hadn't even complained on the long walk up the mountainside carrying her heavy backpack.

A stiff breeze blew across the clearing, making the canvas of the tents flap against the poles.

“We should move inside.” A raindrop splashed down on to the ground as he spoke.

Gemma picked up the biscuits and her mug.

“Come inside my tent.”

She paused and raised an eyebrow. “That's not much of a line.”

“I've a pack of cards. They'll while away the time.” He ducked inside his tent and scooted towards the back to make room for her.

She'd just joined him when the clouds burst and the rain began to beat down in torrents on to the canvas.

“I think ‘I've got a pack of cards' is on a par with ‘come up and see my etchings'.”

The soft, spicy aroma of her perfume tantalized him as she eased closer in the confined space.

“You think I'm losing my touch?” He watched the fine pulse in her neck flutter.

“Any touching and I'm going in my own tent.” Her words were brave but her voice sounded breathy. Jerome allowed himself to imagine feeling Gemma, of snuggling down with her on the puffy softness of his sleeping bag.

“I'll get the cards.” He shuffled around to get them, glad of the excuse to avoid her gaze for a moment. He suspected she might well have guessed what he had been thinking if she'd looked him in the eyes right then.

He lit the small storm lantern since the light had deteriorated with the onset of the rain. Gemma's skin looked pale, almost translucent, in the mellow glow of the lamplight. Her eyes were dark as she cradled her mug in her hands and peeped at him over the rim as she drank.

“Before you suggest it, I'm not playing strip poker either.”

Jerome did his best to look wounded. “I'm shocked that a young lady like you would even know how to play such a game.”

Gemma giggled. “I told you, I'm not as boring as you might think.”

“You'll be confessing to pole-dancing next,” Jerome teased as he shuffled the cards.

“A girl has to have a hobby,” she retorted.

His pulse picked up speed at her quick wit. He enjoyed Gemma's company. Too many of the women he dated had little to say for themselves beyond which hairdresser they favored. It was a refreshing change to be with a woman who answered him back.

The atmosphere inside the tent felt snug and intimate with the soft light from the lamp, the small space and the sound of the rain beating down on the tent.

“What game did you want to play?” Gemma moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.

It took him a moment to realize she meant the cards. He wasn't certain what kind of game he'd thought he would be playing when he'd invited her along for the trip.

“Can you play crib?” It was the first card game that popped into his head.

“Sure, if you want to keep score.”

His face must have shown his surprise as she laughed.

“I'm good at crib.”

“Really? We'll see how good.” He pulled out a pad and pen.

Gemma smiled and waited for him to deal the cards.

Three games later, he conceded defeat. “Who taught you how to play?”

She collected up the pile of cards and stashed them neatly away in the box. “My Dad was a killer player when I was little. I haven't played for ages though, not since…” Her voice broke and she blinked hard as she turned her head away.

“Are you okay?” Jerome stroked a stray tear away from her cheek. He longed to take her in his arms and comfort her.

“I'm sorry. It's been three years now, you'd think I'd be over it.” She sniffed and fumbled in the pocket of her fleece for a tissue.

“You still miss your dad?” He watched her dab at her eyes and nose.

“Yeah, sometimes. Stupid things like playing cards bring it all back.”

He slipped his arm around her as she leaned into his shoulder. Her hair brushed against his cheek and he could smell the fresh clean scent of her shampoo.

“You've not had a great time of it lately, have you?” He kissed her hair.

She moved against him so her mouth could claim his and he closed his eyes, reveling in the sweetness of her lips. The kiss deepened as he reciprocated her movements, tasting and exploring her with a passion that matched hers.

He groaned as she arched into him, the rounded fullness of her breasts pressing against his body. She slid her hands around his back, loosening his shirt to touch the skin beneath the soft cotton.

He maneuvered her backwards in the confined space of the tent, breaking the kiss and tumbling her down on to the sleeping bag. Gemma lay still for a moment, her face opposite Jerome's where they had fallen. Her eyes locked with his, mysterious in the dim light.

She raised her hand and caressed his cheek. Jerome felt his pulse race and his blood heat at the delicate touch of her fingers. He captured her hand in his, stilling the movement.

“Don't start anything you'll regret later,” he warned. His voice sounded ragged and he watched her eyes widen at his words.

“Don't worry, I won't.” Her fingers trembled a little where he held them, before she guided his hand to her lips.