Just Between Us (42 page)

‘Yes, wasn’t she,’ said Vic, stepping in to rescue Holly because she had that trapped look in her eyes.

Vic looked at his best in low lighting situations when his exotic dark looks appeared even more exotic and when the semi-dark hid the inevitable junior doctor bags under his eyes. Tonight, he was dressed to the nines in his only suit (Steve McQueen style from Oxfam) and looked as though
he’d languidly stepped off Concorde moments before. Pia was definitely impressed.

‘Sorry, but we’ve got to go,’ Vic said, gently leading Holly away by the hand.

Holly waved at Pia, who smiled back brightly and yelled ‘See you tomorrow!’

‘Who was that?’ asked Vic, somehow managing to part the crowds so they could sail through.

‘A woman who never bothers talking to me normally,’ Holly explained.

‘Star fucker,’ said Vic sagely.

Holly giggled at this accurate analysis of Pia.

‘Have you said goodbye to everyone and their granny?’ he inquired.

‘I think so,’ Holly replied, taking one last look back, still half-hoping that Tom would rush over and tell her the engagement was all a mistake. But he didn’t.

Holly’s last sight as she and Vic left, hand in hand, was of Tom standing on the mezzanine at the back of the club, watching her. What was wrong with him, she wondered as she ran out onto the street with Vic.

‘I’m glad you thought the same as me about leaving when that obnoxious Caroline began whining on about her engagement,’ Vic said, still holding Holly’s hand as they walked up Clarendon Street. ‘Save me from women like that. What is it about women and weddings, anyhow?’

‘Don’t ask me,’ said Holly glumly.

Vic invited her back to his place for a nightcap.

‘I’m afraid it’ll really be only coffee,’ he added ruefully. I’m on early shift tomorrow so I’ve had my champagne quota.’

‘OK,’ said Holly, not really thinking about it. ‘Coffee would be nice.’

Vic’s place was a tiny modern apartment in the city centre. He obviously hadn’t been living there long because the miniature hallway wasn’t so much decorated as littered with books.

While Vic made coffee, Holly sat on his couch thinking about Tom and Caroline.

‘Well,’ Vic sat down beside her with one hand resting easily on the back of the couch, just inches away from her.

Holly sipped her coffee and Vic casually let his arm slip onto her shoulders. She put her cup down. She knew what he was doing and she didn’t stop him. Encouraged, Vic pulled her close and kissed her. Almost experimentally, Holly kissed back. It felt good to be kissed, it felt warm and tender. Holly wanted to feel loved and when she moved closer to him, Vic pulled her onto his lap and started caressing her shoulders and her breasts through her clothes while his mouth moved softly over her face and neck. As though she was watching from a distance, Holly wondered was this what she wanted. She couldn’t tell, not really, not with the excitement of the night behind her and several drinks inside her. Vic ran his hands over her body with practised ease. Holly giggled. He must be good with bodies because he saw naked ones every day.

‘What’s so funny?’ he asked, nuzzling her shoulder.

‘Nothing,’ she said.

Before she knew it, her top was off and so was Vic’s. His hands were trying to undo her bra and Holly desperately asked herself if this was right. She wanted to exorcise Tom, but she knew that it wasn’t Vic’s lips she wanted kissing her flesh, it wasn’t his fingers she wanted caressing her; it was Tom’s. She closed her eyes and, feeling like the most horrible person on the earth, let herself imagine that the man holding her was Tom.

‘Oh Holly,’ moaned Vic. ‘I want you so much.’

She opened her eyes.

‘Vic, we can’t do this, not like this, not yet. I’m sorry.’

Sitting up, she pulled her top from the coffee table and dragged it on.

‘I’m sorry,’ Vic apologised. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you, honestly, it’s just that I’m crazy about you.’

‘I think I should go home,’ she said, standing up.

‘Sure.’ Vic stood up too. ‘It’s just that you’ll have a hell of a time getting a taxi now. You can stay the night if you’d like. I’ll take the couch and I’ll drop you home in the morning. I’m on early, remember.’

She could see the wisdom of this.

‘OK, but I’ll take the couch. You’ve got to save lives tomorrow,’ she joked.

‘I didn’t upset you or anything, did I?’ he asked. ‘I didn’t mean to, I thought you wanted to as much as I did…’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she said. ‘This is all too soon for me, that’s all.’ As soon as she’d said it, Holly hated herself for lying to Vic. But she couldn’t face telling him the truth there and then.

Holly woke up next morning feeling worse than she thought it was possible to feel. Tom was engaged to Caroline; he’d made his choice and he hadn’t chosen her. And in her attempts to exorcise him from her mind, Holly had messed around with a kind, decent man who didn’t deserve to be used as a distraction. She was a bad, horrible person and she was deeply ashamed of herself.

Vic dropped her home on his way into work. When his alarm clock had gone off loudly at a quarter to six, Holly was relieved that the twenty-minute gap between the alarm and when Vic had to leave meant that there was no time for any early morning conversation. She would have found that particularly hard to bear, because she knew she had only one thing to say to Vic.

‘The only good thing about going to work at half six in the morning is that there’s no traffic,’ he said, kissing her goodbye when he’d stopped the car outside her apartment.

Holly did her best to return his kiss but felt like a traitor as she did so. If last night had proved anything, it was that the feelings she had for Vic would never be love. She felt ashamed of how she’d treated him.

‘Talk to you later,’ she said breezily, climbing out of the car. She ran up the steps to the front door and then turned
and waved. Vic sat and waited until she was inside. Shutting the door quietly, Holly leaned against it and closed her eyes. Why did you do that? Why?

She went up to the second floor and was just about to insert her key in her front door when she heard footsteps on the stairs above.

The key was upside down and she hastily twisted it the right way round, shoved it in and pushed…

‘Helloo, Holly,’ said Caroline chirpily. ‘It must have been a good party if you’re only coming home now, you naughty girl.’

Holly turned round. Caroline, clad in a baby blue velour tracksuit and ostentatiously stretching her calf muscles, was clearly ready to go out jogging. Tom, whom Holly had never seen go jogging, was behind her, looking uncomfortable. If Caroline was all matching perfection, with her blonde hair in girlish pigtails, Tom looked dishevelled in a sloppy T-shirt and jogging pants that looked as if he usually used them as a dishcloth.

‘Hi, Tom,’ said Holly. She wouldn’t blush. She was entitled to stay out all night if she wanted to. She was young, free and single. And she’d tell them so too! ‘Yeah,’ she said, feigning exhaustion, ‘it was a great night. And the party was good too,’ she added.

‘We left early and watched Moulin Rouge,’ said Caroline, her sweet expression implying that this type of coupley behaviour was far preferable to single-girl screwing around town.

Holly thought of how much she’d have preferred to be sitting snuggled up to Tom watching a video.

‘Nice,’ she said, managing a smile that Hermesetas could market. ‘Well, bye.’

Holly shut the door behind her and for the second time in a few moments, found herself asking herself why she’d done something so clearly stupid. She should have said nothing, or else said they’d been out all night at a club. She didn’t want Tom to think badly of her. But he would. He knew
she’d only known Vic a short time and he’d believe she’d gone to bed with him. And he’d never think nicely of Holly ever again…At that, Holly sank to her knees in her tiny hall and burst into tears. How could one of the best nights of her life have turned into one of the worst?

At the party to celebrate
National Hospital
’s highest ever ratings, the Dom Perignon flowed like water. Godzilla, the executive producer, had decided uncharacteristically to push the boat out and brought the entire team – writers, crew and actors – out for a night of expensive partying. Partners were not invited, which was even better, according to some of the partygoers.

Tara had not felt in the mood for celebrating. Despite all Finn’s assurances to the contrary, his bonus still hadn’t appeared. He seemed unconcerned about this, insisting that ‘it’ll happen, Tara. Loosen up.’

Tara didn’t want to loosen up. She still felt humiliated after her encounter with the bank when they’d agreed to up her overdraft for six months to cope with the financial crisis. Tara had come out of that meeting feeling like a schoolgirl who’d just been rebuked. Under the circumstances, a party was the last thing she felt like but Isadora had persuaded her to get dressed up and come.

‘It’ll do you good to get your glad rags on and stop behaving like an old curmudgeon,’ she’d told Tara briskly.

So Tara had gone for the full monty, just to show that she still could.

And even Isadora had been surprised to see her friend clad in high-heeled sandals and a breathtaking jersey sheath dress, held up by straps as thin as a spider web which kept falling provocatively off her shoulders.

‘Wow, what did Finn think when he saw you leaving the flat dressed like that?’ Isadora had asked.

‘He wasn’t home,’ replied Tara in a flat little voice. Finn had reacted to news of Tara’s party by saying he might just go out with Derry and the lads himself. Tara didn’t like to think what that meant.

‘Just as well Finn wasn’t home,’ said Tommy chauvinistically. ‘No man in his right mind would let a gorgeous creature like you out of the house in that outfit.’

Tommy wasn’t the only one who commented favourably on Tara’s outfit.

‘Nice dress, Miller,’ remarked Scott Irving, wicked dark eyes sliding over her body appreciatively. ‘I might have to bring you up for a dance later.’

‘If I dance, the dress will fall off,’ Tara joked, to hide how jolted she was by Scott’s obvious admiration.

‘Dance, dance,’ yelled Scott and Tommy in unison.

By the time the party got to the nightclub, Tara was worn out with the emotional stress of the past weeks. She had drunk two glasses of champagne but it had failed to inject some fizz into her. She was wondering whether it would be very rude to slope off home when Scott appeared beside her and plonked himself down on the squashy leather couch beside her. Tara perked up.

‘You look great, Tara.’ Scott put an affectionate arm around her waist and held on, and somehow it wasn’t affectionate at all. It was something else: a signal as subtle as a silver bullet. Tara didn’t know which was most astonishing: that Scott was behaving in this way or that she could feel herself responding. Her breath quickened and she looked at him, eyes widened, lips parted.

Scott’s expression was just as friendly as ever but as the conversation rolled on around them, his arm stayed round her waist. Aware of how it must look, she moved slightly so his arm dropped to the couch, just inches away from her body.

She turned to Tommy, who was on her left telling some convoluted story about the Oscars, but all the time she was aware of Scott beside her.

He was hugely magnetic and since he’d been working as a writer on
National Hospital
, the number of female staff who found they had to walk past his cubicle on a daily basis had quadrupled.

Tara, mired in the pain of her marriage, had managed not to notice Scott since the day he’d asked her out to lunch. But he wasn’t the sort of man who liked remaining unnoticed. He’d deliberately sought her out on many occasions, sat beside her at the daily meetings and bumped into her by the coffee machine more times than was purely coincidental. He’d done everything but say ‘are you avoiding me?’, a question Tara would have found difficult to answer truthfully.

Tommy’s meandering story came to its confused conclusion, and Tara found herself, almost unwillingly, turning back to Scott. She watched him for a moment, taking in the wild dark hair, the pale, unshaven skin and the dissolute but utterly exciting expression on his mobile face. She tuned into his conversation. He, Aaron and Lisa were talking business.

As though he knew she’d tuned in, he patted her knee but kept facing the other two. Tara leaned closer as the waitress arrived with more champagne. Tara refused a glass: she’d had enough. When Aaron was busy signing for the wine, Scott turned back to Tara.

‘Having fun?’ he asked, coal-black eyes roaming over her flushed face.

She nodded.

His eyes glittered, as if a thought had just come into his head. ‘Hey, what are you up to at the weekend?’

Tara shrugged. ‘Same old, same old.’

I’m going to London for a few days, want to come?’

He wasn’t joking.

Tara was astonished at how much she wanted to go.

‘I, I can’t,’ she said automatically.

‘Can’t or don’t want to?’ whispered Scott.

‘I’m a happily married woman,’ she said lightly.

‘So?’

His look contained such naked sexuality that Tara gulped nervously. Normally, she’d have laughed this off but Scott was too serious to be laughed off. And suddenly Tara found she didn’t want to.

She bent her head closer to his. ‘We can’t do this, Scott.’

‘Why not?’ His head was beside hers. Nobody could hear what they were saying although Tara wondered if people could hear the machine-gun pumping of her heart.

‘You’re amazing, Tara,’ he murmured. He reached out and let his arm encircle her waist again. ‘So slim,’ he said admiringly.

‘People will see,’ she said.

‘So?’

‘Is that your word for the night?’ she asked, looking up at him curiously. He was so different from Finn, like a negative image. Finn was fair and golden, while Scott was dark and definitely dangerous. Devilish to Finn’s angel. But then, Finn was no angel. The thought pierced Tara’s bruised heart. She wondered where he was now? In some bar with Derry, drinking another mortgage instalment? She should never have let him go out. She should have confronted him about his drinking.

‘You’ve got that sad look on your face again.’ Scott’s grey eyes burned into hers. ‘What is it?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing you want to talk about, you mean?’

‘That’s it.’

‘Still family problems, huh?’

She could feel Scott’s fingers splayed over her back, moving softly, a gentle massage on her muscles. What would it feel like to have those fingers splayed over naked skin, touching and massaging?

‘I’ll be right back,’ she said, getting abruptly to her feet. She bashed knees with Tommy getting out past him, the more difficult exit. But she didn’t want to pass Scott in case he held onto her. If he had, she knew she mightn’t have been capable of tearing herself away.

Away from the group, she walked quickly in the direction of the women’s room so her dramatic exit wouldn’t look too weird. Once out of sight, she stopped and leaned over a balcony, staring down at the normal people laughing and having fun on the level below. She didn’t know how to have fun any more. She was so wired up with nerves and anxiety that a little light flirtation had sent her over the edge. Scott had only been joking with her, surely…

‘I wondered where you’d gone in such a hurry.’ It was him, his body inches away from hers. She hadn’t even seen him walk up to her. More proof of devilry.

‘Are you following me?’ she asked lightly.

He nodded. Then he leaned down and kissed her. Tara watched his face, watched his eyes closed and his expression transported by kissing her. She tried to remember seeing Finn’s face the same way, then she closed her eyes and let her mouth move with Scott’s, their tongues probing fiercely. And then Tara’s fingers were grasping Scott’s head as though she could pull him physically closer to her by force. Scott moved away first.

‘Come back to my place,’ he said, his breath ragged.

Tara shook her head.

‘Please,’ he urged. The grey eyes roamed longingly over her face. He reached his hand up and the fleshy pad of his thumb caressed the softness of her lower lip. Despite herself, Tara closed her eyes and leaned towards the caress, her mouth opening to lick his thumb and pull it inside the soft cavern of her mouth, sucking and biting.

‘Please,’ he said again.

Why not, she asked herself. Why ever not? The sexual attraction she felt for Scott was like a monster deep inside herself, demanding and urging. And would anyone blame her for giving in to the temptation, would anyone blame her if they knew what her life was like?

Tara opened her eyes as Scott gently removed his hand. ‘Nobody must know,’ she said fiercely.

He nodded.

‘I’ll go first,’ she added.

She went to the women’s room and avoided looking at herself in the mirror. She didn’t want to have to look hard into her own eyes and ask herself what she was doing. Back at the group, she reached in and pulled her coat from the couch. Scott was sitting there, talking to Aaron again, not even looking her way.

‘I’m going, everyone,’ she said. ‘Headache.’

She waved goodbye to them all, trying not to let her eyes linger on Scott.

‘Do you want me to walk you out?’ asked Aaron.

‘I’m fine.’ She shot him a weak, headachey smile. ‘You stay. I’ll grab a taxi.’

The huge bar was pulsing with excitement as Tara walked down the stairs, clutching her small bag and her coat, her mind racing. She wove her way through the crowds, and at the door, she slipped her coat on. A taxi stood outside on the pavement, letting two women out. A third was paying the driver. Tara pushed through the door and hopped in. The driver nodded at her in his mirror, telling her he’d be with her as soon as his passengers had paid. She sat back in the seat and closed her eyes. She’d tell him to drive her home. She’d be home in no time and all this madness would be forgotten. What had she been thinking?

Her eyes jerked open with the opening of the cab door. Scott leapt in beside her, eyes glittering, pupils huge.

‘Where to, love?’ asked the driver.

‘Fordham Road, Killiney,’ said Scott, his eyes locked with Tara’s. ‘My place,’ he added softly.

Suddenly Scott’s mouth was hard on Tara’s, his arms tight around her waist and hers wrapped around him. The taxi driver drove off into the night.

Even before she opened her eyes, Tara knew she wasn’t in her own bed. The pillows felt different and the scent of fabric conditioner was a strong launderette one, not the subtle one she liked. She moved slowly, feeling her muscles ache
strangely as she hauled herself up in the bed. Then she opened her eyes. The room came instantly into focus in the dawn light. Teal-blue walls, framed film posters and one huge expanse of wall covered with the sort of blinds that weren’t conducive to long lie-ins. The views in Scott’s apartment were incredible and the windows were floor to ceiling to take advantage of this fact. Tara remembered standing on the balcony the night before, staring out at the breathtaking view of the sea. Scott had produced a bottle of champagne from the fridge when they’d got to his apartment, and they’d stood in the chill night air, drinking slowly and talking. That had been her last chance to say that coming there had been a mistake and she was leaving. She hadn’t taken it. Scott had shivered and pulled her and the champagne inside, shutting the balcony doors and leading the way into his big, minimalist bedroom with the huge bed that would have taken up the entire living room in Tara and Finn’s cramped flat.

It could have been a hotel bedroom, Tara thought now, propping herself up and looking around. Apart from the film posters –
Giant
and
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
– it was impersonal. The show apartment, in fact.

She let her gaze settle on Scott. He slept with the duvet thrust down to waist level, arms splayed out, his lean body lying at an angle across the bed. Last night, she’d made love to that body and it had made love to her, had held her, kissed her, entered her, tensed in orgasm with her. And now it looked like a stranger’s body. She could remember the passion and the way they’d made love like they were making war, with ferocity and wildness. She could remember leaning back in Scott’s arms after the first time, feeling the ice cold of his champagne glass against her nipples, laughing as she’d told him she’d never had sex like that before, that she’d never felt such abandoned arousal.

How could she have said that? It wasn’t true. Nobody ever made her feel the way Finn did. Their lovemaking could be wildly passionate, and then exquisitely tender. That
was what she loved about him. And she’d betrayed him doubly, by sleeping with someone else and by saying that the adulterous sex was the best ever.

Tara lay there in Scott’s bed and felt the breath leave her body in one, long shuddering gasp. What had she done? As quietly as she could, she slipped from the bed and tiptoed across the American Oak floor to the en-suite.

She’d avoided looking at herself the night before but now her eyes stared out at her, eyes that shone dully. How could Finn look into those eyes and not know? He’d know because she wasn’t home, anyhow. She looked at her watch. It was ten to six in the morning. Even if he’d been pissed the night before, Finn was capable of adding two and two and coming to the correct conclusion.

Tara pulled off a piece of loo roll and wet it to scrub the make-up from her eyes. They were still sooty with the remains of mascara when she was finished, but it was an improvement. She rinsed her face with Scott’s soap and debated whether or not to use his toothbrush. It was funny, she thought wryly, that she’d shared every centimetre of his body the night before, glorying in every part of him, and now she wondered if he’d mind her using his toothbrush.

She used it anyway. Then ran his comb through her hair. Her face was pale but she looked reasonable. Or she would until she put on her sexy black dress and high heels. She might as well get ‘dirty stop-out’ embroidered on the back of her fitted leather jacket.