One Stolen Kiss (15 page)

Forget spark. It was like a lightning bolt.

“Umm, and then, you got back in… touch, last year – about the paintings.” Christie felt the power in her spinal muscles weaken, and had to lie back on the pillow as he retraced the line upwards again.

“
A good reason for us to have met in secret on a number of occasions,” he suggested.

“
Yes…”

He turned onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow, facing her.

“I liked the sound of that ‘yes’ you just said,” he replied, in a low voice. His fingers trailed across the neckline of her shirt, barely brushing her collarbones. “Makes me wish I had asked a question worthy of it beforehand.”

She captured his hand in hers, before it could wander too far. The ceiling roses were threatening to spin.

“What were we talking about?” she asked a moment later.

“
I’ve forgotten,” he admitted, and lay back down, teasing her fingers with his, where their hands were still intertwined. “Never mind.”

* * * *

“Got to show you something, before tomorrow,” Adrik told Christie after dinner.

Elsie had cooked, while Lucas, who had been up to no good in the garden all day, bemoaned her inability to produce custard sauce for less than ten people at a time. Adrik had sneaked out to check on him once or twice, to ensure that all would be ready.

Outside, they passed the copper toads on their toadstools, and the steampunk metal octopus brandishing its hardware under the maple trees. A flock of alien invader green parakeets – real, not metalwork – had settled to roost in a tall sycamore at the far end beside the workshop, where the lights were on, beckoning to them.

Christie hesitated at the door, looking up at him for permission.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m not going to put you in a vice this time.”

She went inside, and he followed.

To their left, it was still clearly Adrik’s metal workshop. But to the right, there had been a transformation.

It had been swept out and cleared. Two large easels had materialised, and fresh canvases and rolls of heavy paper were stacked against the far wall. Shelves and pigeonholes at that end of the building had been purged of nuts and bolts and offcuts, and now contained brushes, pencils, pens, paints, charcoal, chalks, oil pastels, spray-cans, masking fluid and film, palette knives, thinners, and a multitude of other artist’s tools of the trade.

“I needed it to look like I was a painter, in case they peek in here looking for Paparazzka works of art in progress,” he told her. “But it’s also for you to play with. Maybe keep your mind off things.”

Christie was staring at the new arrangement in silence.

“It’s too clean,” she remarked. “Nothing looks used.”

“
We’ll tell them I’ve just moved it all in here. They think I was working with you in New York previously – remember?”

She nodded, doubtfully.

“It still doesn’t look quite right…”

Adrik sighed.

“You are proving to be hard work.” He strode to the far wall, picked up a stretched canvas, and slotted it onto one of the easels. Then he reached down a spray-can from the shelf, at which something in Christie’s eyes flared briefly. “Do you want me to draw you a picture?”

She approached as he popped the cap off the paint, and prised it out of his hand. The musical rattle of the bead inside as she agitated it back and forth seemed to wake her up even further.

“Roll up your sleeve,” she told him. “Put your hand flat – in the middle.”

Adrik did as prompted.

“Spread your fingers out.”

He splayed his hand on the canvas. The spray-paint was cold as she misted it across his skin, leaving a stark white silhouette, outlined in graduated red.

“How am I going to wash this off?” he queried.

“
Thinner. Turpentine,” she shrugged.

“
Another colour?” He indicated the shelf.

“
Not yet.” She cocked her head to the side, considering, and pointed to another section of the canvas. “Make another shape with your hand – here.”

“
I want a turn. Let me do yours.”

“
In a minute.” She agitated the can again, and caught the amused glint in his eye. “Thank you, Adrik. For making all this happen.”

He heard the unspoken meaning, listening between the lines. But he wasn’t sure it was intentional.

Not yet…

“
Don’t mention it,” was all he replied, for now.

CHAPTER NINE.

The interview part went surprisingly smoothly. They sat in the conservatory together with the magazine’s most senior writer, Simone, who did her best to put them at ease, knowing that it was their first public ‘interrogation’ as Adrik called it.

They managed to navigate the past history stuff as they’d rehearsed, and were fortunate that Simone was interested in Christie’s Manhattan gallery and all things vintage, and in Adrik’s metal sculpting hobby, so there was plenty of conversational diversion onto their individual pursuits.

“The managers are organising the gallery very well since the excitement has died down a bit,” Christie said, truthfully. “It’s become quite the place to be seen, according to them. All of our – Adrik’s – paintings sold, and are being handled by the various charities’ accountants. Most of them are going to new homes in Russia and the Republic of China.”

“
Will you be painting more portraits in the near future, Adrik?” Simone asked brightly.

“
I’d like to do Christie,” he replied, and Christie’s pulse drummed loudly in her ears. “But she keeps saying no. I am considering one or two requests for commissions.”

“
Now, you’re having your engagement party next weekend at Lake Como, which we have got covered – I can’t wait to see the pictures…” Simone checked her memos. “Any hints about the wedding yet? Are you planning something very special?”

“
That’s a secret,” Adrik replied, while Christie suddenly found something fascinating about the engraved silver tongs in the sugar-bowl, and picked them up to examine closely, attempting to hide the fact that from this point she was utterly out of her depth. She hadn’t dared confront him properly yet about the fact he kept referring to the subject of their future nuptials in conversation with other people. “Christie’s entrusted the whole wedding part to me. So she won’t even know until it happens, basically.”

“
Goodness me!” Simone looked at Christie in admiration. “My, you are brave. Not even the dress, or the seating plan? What about the cake? Have you really let Adrik have full control?”

Christie fumbled the tongs back into the bowl as she felt Adrik’s hand slide onto her knee under the table, squeezing it gently. She didn’t know if it was a warning or a reassurance.

“I trust him,” she said at last.

“
Well, I admire the two of you, I really do. And I’m so excited for you. Now – we’ll need to schedule the home photo-shoot. Which rooms are you prepared for us to feature? This is beautiful, I have to say – more of an orangery than a conservatory. Stunning chandelier – is it French? It looks like a genuine antique. And you’ll both need a selection of outfits to go through with the stylist…”

* * * *

“You need more clothes,” Adrik told Christie, after Simone had left. “For the photo-shoot. And for Italy. I know you like the charity shops and dress agencies, but I’m going to give you my account cards to pick up some new things as well.”

Christie sighed. She had got comfortably used to her small assortment of jeans and tees. It was so much easier than dealing with a massive unwieldy collection like the one she had in New York, where it was a crime to be seen in the same outfit twice. Approximately half of her Upper East Side apartment was closet.

“Or I could just dress up in some of yours,” she suggested.

“
That’s a game I’d like to see you play another time. But not for this. Remember our deal – full public access coverage. Make it look real.”

“
What’s not real about this?” she asked, looking down at her blue
Snoopy
tee, and jumped as he reached out and tickled her where it skimmed just short of the waistband of the Marc Jacobs cargo jeans. “Okay, okay. But I don’t need your cards. I’ll spend my own money.”

“
Take them,” he said, holding them out. “I expect you to use them. I want to see the bill. Otherwise I know you’ll only go to Portobello, and get what you usually get.”

“
You’d never know – admit it.”

“
The readers of the magazine will,” he warned. “Get something new.”

* * * *

Christie called Mrs Rock Star, Audrey Watkins-Mosse, for advice, who immediately engaged the services of her own personal shopper to meet them at Selfridges.

“
I have to do this whenever I travel and stay away from home too,” she said to Christie in the car, getting out her touch-screen tablet phone and opening a style diary app. “Right – what we’re looking for is a six or seven-page glossy article capsule wardrobe, and an engagement party
trousseau
suitable for Lake Como… Ack! You should have seen my engagement photos. Carmen Miranda, I was…”

* * * *

“Oh, my dear – what are you like?” Elsie cried, as the front sitting-room filled up with bags. “You have been shopped to death!”

“
Tell me about it,” Christie groaned, throwing herself onto the sofa, glad to take the weight off her still-healing foot. “I hope some of this stuff is suitable for the photo-shoot. Someone was trying to make me buy a ball-gown, and one of those petticoats with hula-hoops sewn into it.”

“
I would definitely have had to confiscate that,” said Adrik’s voice from the doorway, as Elsie put down her duster and polish and went downstairs to make some tea. “So you did do proper shopping – that’s good.”

“
Yes, thank you,” Christie pointed to the coffee table. “There’s your cards. I’ll pay you back. I don’t know if I’ll even need to keep all of it…”

Adrik vaulted over the back of the sofa and landed lying next to her. Christie let out a small scream. She hadn’t even heard him crossing the floor, picking his way around the various designer label bags.

“Shopping is on me,” he said. “It was worth it to make you yell just now.”

Christie patted her chest while her poor heart tried to calm down again.

“I’ll take everything upstairs to put away,” he offered. “Besides – I have to go through it all. To make sure you didn’t buy any handcuffs, or anything else suspicious.”

She nodded. He still felt the need to search her before they went to bed. While she’d had the long bandage around her foot and ankle, he found that he couldn’t sleep next to her at all, and had been staying up late in his study and then going to sleep in one of the other rooms.

“Sure,” she agreed. “Help yourself.”

He cleared the room. Christie felt brave enough to watch a bit of entertainment and gossip news. Derek Goldman had completely disappeared from the radar, as abruptly as he had emerged to give his sound-byte in support of supermodel Olga Rose the other day. Christie hoped that meant he was back in New York, dealing with teen idol bail proceedings and the like.

As for Olga herself, an article came up on the tablet entitled
Who Missed The Maksimov Boat?
Although she had to admire the headline writer’s pun, Christie’s brain couldn’t quite contain the list of high-profile women who had supposedly been linked to him in the past. All had the disclaimer ‘unconfirmed’ and any photos of the women beside him were captioned as ‘Photo-shopped image.’ Olga Rose topped the list as the most recent rumoured courtship – one of the photographs of her waiting outside his house had made it to an editor too.

Christie found herself wondering if Adrik was as innocent as he made out in all this. If Derek could hide his past so efficiently, it was quite likely that Adrik could do the same – although perhaps less efficiently, judging by the gloating content of the news story.

She had a surprise of her own on one of the online gossip pages, where there was already a photo of Christie and Audrey going into Selfridges from earlier that afternoon, under the category
Celebrity BFFs
, which Christie found rather flattering.

She was reading the caption under the photo when her cell phone rang, and she looked quickly first to check Caller I.D.

Oh, God…
she’d been building up to this. Maybe it was a quiet day in Paris today.

“
Bonjour, Maman,” she answered. “Ça va?”

* * * *

It looked as though Christie had been careful in her selection. Adrik couldn’t find anything with lacings, sashes or self-tie belts, as he checked everything methodically before hanging each article up in the space he’d made for her on one side of the dressing-room. Even the shoes she had picked out only featured buckles or zippers as fastenings.

What was it described as? OCD? More of the post-traumatic variety, he thought. He knew he was capable of making light of it, but it had been his main barrier facing relationships since. Knowing that a woman might find his interest in the details of her clothing unusual. Being the cause of his concerns, Christie was the first person to fully understand it – and co-operate – so far.

He opened another bag to find holiday swimwear, and met his first stumbling-block. A beaded string-tie bikini. Perhaps it was the current fashion and nothing else was suitable, or perhaps she didn’t think it would count, being intended only for the poolside.

Or perhaps, she thought she could sneak it past him.

He unwrapped it and left it out on the bed, for later discussion.

Another bag contained more items, wrapped in tissue paper, and he unfolded each of them. Night things.

Underwear.

* * * *

Christie heard the faint beep in her ear before disconnecting her mother’s call. It hadn’t been too bad. She’d had to cajole and reassure her with promises of a new dress worthy of a visit to Lake Como. The story of Christie’s engagement had reached her mother, predictably, by the plethora of sudden invitations out to lunch – mostly by parents of finishing school students, and some former students themselves.

“
Everyone in Paris wants to know how you got him,” Mme Harding had wailed. “What do I tell them?”

Christie calmly related to her the same story that they had told Simone in the interview. It was somehow good to hear her mother’s mild hysteria. It made her feel all the more normal in herself, for coping with things.

“And you are not involved in anything bad?” her mother flustered. “You hear so many stories about his family – the Russian Mafia, darling…”

“
I haven’t met any Russian Mafia,” said Christie, honestly. “Just some nice elderly relatives from Belgravia. And his cousin Roksana was in the school with me – remember? We had fun.”

“
Too much fun,” her mother had scolded. “I should have insisted on sending you away to University immediately. But Papa wanted to keep an eye on you for a little longer while we were working…”

“
Just say yes to lunch, Maman,” Christie sighed. “And enjoy yourself. Go shopping.”

She opened the messages to see who had texted her, after she hung up.

ADRIK: Come upstairs please. X

Her heart started to pump, and she felt her ears burning. Surely he hadn’t found anything offensive in amongst her purchases? She’d been really conscientious…

* * * *

The bedroom door was open, and she went inside timidly.

“Better close it behind you,” said Adrik.

Feeling her mouth go dry, Christie did so.

He was standing by the bed with his arms folded. A few of her things were spread out on the bedcover.

“
I have a problem with some of these,” he said. “I need to ask you about them.”

She approached to take a look at what he meant.

“It’s just underwear, and slips and whatnots,” she replied. “You said make it look real. They’d have thought it was weird if I wasn’t buying new stuff like this, for an engagement party in Italy.”

“
Why does that bikini have strings to hold it on?”

“
Because otherwise it would fall off?” she suggested. “Look, Adrik – it’s just the current style. The alternative was some horrible electric blue latex thing. I wasn’t expecting to wear it except for sunbathing or swimming – you’d hardly be at risk from it.”

“
These aren’t like your other pyjamas.” He pointed out a short silk nightdress.

“
Well, obviously not,” she replied, blushing until her face smarted. “That would have looked even more weird. I might as well have bought myself an animal-print onesie and made you out to be a Furry-fan.”

“
Hmmm.” He hooked up the nightdress by the spaghetti-thin straps, with one finger. The early evening light from the balcony windows filtered through the thin lavender silk. “I think maybe you planned on seducing me again. Leaving me tied up in Lake Como this time.”

“
I just bought it for show. I wasn’t necessarily going to bring it…”

“
I don’t know if I can trust you. I think you might try to spring a surprise on me.”

Christie sighed.

“Are you like this with all of your girlfriends?” she asked. “Seriously?”

His face was unreadable, as he held it out towards her.