Keep Me (Beggar's Choice #3) (31 page)

“We’ll be having an overnight stay,” he says huskily and
then clears his throat. “So you’ll need to take a smart day outfit, an evening
dress because it’s fine dining in the evening, and then something for the next
day. When we get to Paris we’ll hop over to the airport and fly down to the
South of France and have a couple of weeks of sun at a villa that I’ve borrowed
in Cannes.”

I’m startled. “You’ve never given me all this information
before. You’ve kept it back as classified information for your plan.”

He stares at me, his face suddenly blank. “The plan’s nearly
done love. Only one more thing to tick off.”

“Only
one
?” I echo. “Surely not?”

He nods solemnly. “That part’s nearly over babe.”

“
That
part?”

He looks at me enigmatically. “Well the rest of it very much
depends on you.” In a sudden volte face he slaps my arse. “Get your stuff
together baby, we’re travelling in style.”

I rush to do his bidding but that night lying in bed with
him curved around me, one hand resting heavy on my hip and our legs entwined as
normal, I can’t sleep. I can’t bear the thought that this is nearly it and I
feel lodged momentarily in some sort of twilight, unable to see the way ahead
but then I dismiss my fears.
Bram will know what to do
I think sleepily.
I trust him.

***

The next day I’m literally bouncing in my seat as he parks
the car at Verona train station and gestures to the porter to load our luggage
onto his cart. Our suitcases will go into the storage area of the train, and
we’ll just take our holdalls and the bags containing my evening dress and his
suit onto the train.

He looks at me and laughs. “Calm down babe.” Coming round
the car he draws me to him by grabbing my arm and threading it through his.
“You do know that it’s not a steam train anymore and Hercules Poirot isn’t in
residence don’t you?”

I pout playfully at him savouring the way that his eyes drag
over my lips. “Do I look okay?” I ask on a worried side note. I’m wearing a
beige shirt dress fastened at the waist by a brown belt. I’ve paired it with a
pair of tan ballet flats and left my hair long and wavy. He looks me up and
down with one of those practised moves that I’ve seen him make in a thousand
bars and clubs, but I suddenly realise that I’ve never seen this version before
as it’s warm and intimate.

He recalls me back to my question by lifting his hands and
signing, “You look gorgeous.”

I smile and sign back, “Are you sure? I don’t want to let
you down.” This is a justifiable worry as he looks tanned and gorgeous wearing
grey shorts, an aubergine coloured Ralph Lauren polo shirt and a pair of gold
framed aviator sunglasses.

He frowns and stops. Grabbing my shoulders gently he swings
me round to face him while the porter hovers unsure at what is happening. He
lifts his hands and thinks for a second and then signs, “You could never
embarrass me or let me down. If anything it’s the opposite. I’m scared of
letting you down.” He over emphasises the ‘you’.

I hug him amongst the press of passengers streaming around
us. “You won’t,” I say in a low, clear voice.

“I’d better not,” he mutters and then smiles at the porter
and gestures for him to lead on.

When we get onto the platform I swear that my heart beats at
double speed as The Orient Express is an inspiring sight. There may not be
steam anymore or passengers dressed in the clothes of the 1920s, but there’s
still a palpable air of excitement that’s lacking at King’s Cross Station in
London at 5pm. White gloved porters wheeling suitcases bustle by in their
bright blue uniforms trimmed with gold tape. People stroll to the shiny
carriages dressed smartly as they manoeuvre around carts packed with fresh
produce which a man in chef’s whites is examining closely.

“If I could have been born in any era it would have been the
1920s,” I whisper. “I love the elegance.”

“I’m surprised that you never wore something from that era
for that Halloween costume party then.”

I stare at him in amazement. “Bram that was over two years
ago. How can you remember what I wore?”

He shrugs and then shoots me a flirty, sidelong glance. “Who
could forget your tits in that green dress babe? They’re burnt onto my brain.”

The porter turns a bright shade of red but manfully ignores
Bram who is openly laughing at me now.

We’re handed over to another man in a blue uniform who
smiles urbanely at us. “Mr O’Connell and Miss O’Neill, welcome aboard. I am
Johannes and I’ll be looking after you on this journey.” He shows us down a
narrow corridor lined by windows on one side and shiny walnut panelling on the
other. He comes to a door and opens it with a slight bow. “Your suite, Sir and
Madame.”

I go past him into the room and stare around in delight.
It’s small but perfectly proportioned like a little doll’s house. The walnut
panelling gleams and the seating is upholstered in a rich red velvet, giving it
an opulent feel which is enhanced by the heady scent of a vase of lilies placed
on one of the small walnut tables. The room is bright and warm.

Johannes points to the lilies. “As you requested Sir,” and I
smile at Bram who looks a little self - conscious. The two of them bend over an
itinerary that Johannes starts to go through, and I wander through a door into
another room which turns out to be the bedroom. A double bed is swathed in a
rich red and gold bedspread and the room is lovely and light due to the large
windows. There’s a dressing table with another vase of lilies on it, and lots
of little cupboards that my fingers are just itching to look into.

I wander back out into the other room where the men are
still talking and kneel on one of the seats looking out of the window in
fascination at all the people coming and going. Finally Johannes takes our
order for drinks and a cream tea and after he has shut the door I leap onto
Bram who receives me with a muffled humpf as I hang from his neck. “It’s beautiful.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He smiles, pulling me close and hugging me tight. “Anything
for you
a stór
.”

I pull back slightly and smile. “It’s still too much but for
this
I’m prepared to get over it.”

He throws his head back laughing. “Oh there
is
a
limit to your principles. I’m delighted that you’ve finally reached it.”

I smack him and wander back to the window and then shoot a
look at him. “A suite eh? How swanky.”

He shrugs, kicking off his leather Vans. “It was the only
option. Normal cabins have bunk beds.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Not your thing?”

“Not since scout camp.”

“You
were a scout?”

“Not since scout camp.” I laugh out loud and he smirks. “No,
I didn’t want fucking bunk beds and a suite gives you the option of a double
bed if you pay a bit more.”

I stare hard at him. “You’re not fond of sleeping alone are
you?”

He shakes his head firmly. “I don’t mind sleeping on my own.
I’m just not a fan of sleeping without you. I don’t know what it is but I sleep
better with you next to me.”

I nod. “Me too.”

We stare at each other and he opens his mouth as if to say
something but the moment is lost when a whistle sounds and the train slowly
sets off with the people on the platform waving goodbye.

An hour later I curl up on the seat next to him. We’ve just
been served a cream tea that was absolutely sumptuous. I’d laughed at first
because it seemed so anti rock and roll but I’ve noticed that Bram is a
chameleon. He’s at home anywhere from rough pubs to expensive hotels, and I
think a lot of that is down to his warm manner and utter confidence. He expects
to welcome people and be welcomed and it happens. Although he
had
refused tea with a shudder and ordered a whisky.

I turn to him where he’s lounging looking out of the window
at the countryside flying past with a contented look on his face. We’d both got
out of our proper clothes as soon as we’d set off, and now he’s wearing grey
sweatpants and a loose, white t-shirt. I’ve got yoga pants on with an orange,
long sleeved, slub t-shirt and my hair pulled up into a messy bun, and I feel
comfortable and replete.

“You’re not who I thought you were,” I say suddenly and he
starts as if I’ve drawn him from a daydream.

“Why?” he asks, looking slightly worried.

“Oh, just that when I first met you, you were always so on
the go and seemed to feel like you should be the life and soul of the party all
the time. You’ve got so much energy and can never sit still, but in this time
away you’re so much calmer.” The rest of what I want to say is too gushy
because he’s been warm and funny and approachable, and the absolute best person
to travel with because he’s so engaged and present all the time.

He turns a face of incredulity to me. “It’s because I’m
happy,” he says simply and I feel a lump in my throat. “You’re my best friend
in the world babe, the one person that I don’t have to pretend to, or for. I
tell you everything and I feel what I want.” He shrugs. “It never occurred to
me that I shouldn’t because I’m comfortable.” I smile mistily at him and he
looks alarmed. “You’re not going to cry are you?”

I punch him lightly but then turn serious. “You’re my best
friend too babe.”

He smiles. “I know.”

I get ready that night excitedly. Over the last few weeks
we’ve eaten in some very high priced famous restaurants, although not that
often as Bram has a tendency to know lovely out of the way places where he
won’t be bothered. However, tonight feels like turning back time with old style
glamour and I’ve pushed the boat out with my dress.

It’s an ankle length Oscar de la Renta strapless dress,
black with red flowers on it. It looks faintly like a prom dress as the skirt
stands out stiffly, and I’ve teamed it with another pair of Christian Louboutin
heels, this time black, peep toe, platform sling backs. I’ve drawn my hair back
in a bun which draws attention to my shoulders and my neck and I feel really
good.

At first I’d been a bit worried that it was over the top but
I’d stood outside an hour ago watching the scenery fly past and seen the people
who were early for dinner. The women had been wearing very glamorous long gowns
and the men were in tuxedos.

I take a breath and open the connecting door between the two
rooms. Bram had got ready in the other room because it might be The Orient
Express but space is tight for two people, especially one with a big dress.
He’s standing pouring himself a drink from the selection brought earlier and as
he turns I catch my breath.

He’s eschewed a tuxedo, opting instead for a narrow cut,
black suit which he’s teamed with a gleaming white shirt and a narrow black
tie. He looks urbane and sophisticated but the rock star is creeping in because
his top two buttons are undone with the tie slightly twisted down, and he’s
wearing Converse. He looks up at me and stills. “Oh my God,” he says softly,
motioning me to twirl. “I don’t think that I have
ever
seen you look so
beautiful love.” He stares at me hotly for a very long minute and then laughs.
“Although I think that about every outfit you put on.” He pauses and then
smiles wickedly. ”Especially that black lace nightie you had on the other
night.”

I laugh. “You look pretty spiffy yourself babe.”

He crooks his elbow. “Ready Madame?” I give him my arm and
look fully at him watching his brow furrow.

“I am ready,” I say clearly and he swallows hard as he gets my
meaning.

A few hours later I sit back in a comfy chair and watch the
man playing old show tunes on the piano in the cocktail lounge. We’re drinking
Whisky Sours and I’m pleasantly full from the beautiful dinner and a little bit
tipsy because damn these cocktails are strong. Bram has definitely been
recognised tonight with some curious, knowing looks directed his way. The
pianist had looked longingly at him as if expecting him to push him off the
piano and start playing, although why he would is beyond me seeing as he plays
the bass. Bram however had easily deflected everything by remaining completely
focused on me. Now he sits with an easy smile on his face, his arm draped heavy
and warm over my leg and his long fingers keeping track of the beat on my thigh.

“How was it when I left?” I ask suddenly. “Was it strange?”

He starts and looks cautiously at me. “It was horrible,” he
says simply. “Really empty and cold.”

“I’m sorry.”

He starts. “Why? You didn’t do anything.”

“I handled that night badly.”

He smiles softly. “It was all on me love. All the fuck ups
have been mine, but I didn’t realise what the boys tried to tell me was true.
I’d never known that feeling before so I didn’t recognise it.”

“What feeling?” I ask leaning forward but his reply is lost
by the arrival of a young woman with teased, blonde hair and red lips.

“Could I have an autograph?” she asks breathily, proffering
a piece of paper and pen. I sigh heavily and lean back and even Bram who is
known for his grace with fans looks agitated. However, he smiles and complies,
but when she tries to extend the conversation while ignoring me he turns his
shoulder to her until she gets the hint and leaves.

A silence falls while he swirls his glass, looking into it
contemplatively. “It did teach me something,” he finally says.

“What?”

“That I don’t need you to come home.” I’m so hurt at this
that I can’t get a reply out but he speaks hurriedly. “I realised that I don’t
need that because it’s not the flat that’s home, it’s you.” I look up sharply
and he nods. “You’re my home babe so no matter where we go, and if allowed I
intend to show you the world, I will always be home.”

I open my mouth but I’m unable to talk because of the tears
in my throat. No one has ever thought of me as home before and I’ve never had a
home in someone else, but I know that I feel the same as him. We could be in an
empty room and if he lights it up with that wicked, lopsided smile it will be
home.