Tall Poppies (45 page)

‘ Hammersmith, West London.

It was called Tall Poppies.

‘Just one second, Mr Taylor,’ Mrs Potts said brightly. She waved at Elizabeth, crossing to her office with an armful of ad layouts. ‘Personal call for you on line two. It’s a Mr ack Taylor.’

Elizabeth froze. Then she said, ‘Yeah, right, put it through.’

She put the layouts down on a nearby desk and shut her door behind her. The red light on line two was blinking silently at her. She felt herself break out in a sweat, a light dew of fear. Jack. He could still hurt her, and badly. What was he going .to say? An invitation to a wedding? His wedding? The picture she saw in Vanity Fair last month had pierced her like an arrow. Jack, impossibly gorgeous in a tux, with Clarisse Devlin on his arm. Clarisse, his longtime girlfriend, revealed in the flesh to be just the daintiest, creamiest little piece of Texas honey you could possibly imagine, and Daddy probably owned two oil-wells with it. ‘Olympic and World Champion Jack Taylor with Miss Clarisse Devlin at the

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opening of the San Francisco Opera House.’ She was sure Clarisse would never argue with .Jack or talk back to him. She would be gracious and submissive and all the things Elizabeth could never be. And would never be. No matter what.

I’ve got no choice, I’ve got to talk to him, Elizabeth

thought. She steeled herself and picked up the phone. ‘.jack! This is a surprise.’

‘God, girl, are you ever hard to track down.’

‘You could have tracked me down in the clinic,’ Elizabeth said angrily, then kicked herself. Great, where did that come from? She could control her end of a booming business operation but she still hadn’t got a handle on her runaway mouth.

There was a pause. Then he said, ‘I’ve got to see you.’ ‘I’m really busy, .jack,’ Elizabeth said negatively. Talking to him was one thing; she didn’t know if she could handle a visit.

‘Elizabeth Savage, I flew in from Dallas just to see you. I fought like a bobcat with Pa to let me go’

‘Well, I’m sorry about that, .jack, but I never asked—’ ‘Elizabeth.’ His exasperation as he cut her off was just like old times. ‘I am here and I am going to see you, if it means campin’ outside your door on the sidewalk. Now do I come over there and punch out your security guards or are you going to be a lady about this?’

‘Be a lady about it?’ Elizabeth chuckled despite herself. ‘.jack, you don’t know how to take no for an answer, do you?’

‘No, ma’am, guilty as charged.’

‘Come to my house. Twenty-four Walgrave Road in Earls Court. I’ll be there in forty minutes, but I warn you, I can only give you a little time.’

.Jack smiled to himself as he hung up.

‘We’ll see about that, sugar,’ he said.

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He found the place without any trouble. It was a cute little house, tucked away in a tiny corner of village hidden in the heart of the city. Reminded him of their townhouse in Greenwich Village, New York, that Mom used for her shopping base. It struck him that he’d never been to any place of Elizabeth’s before. They’d always met up on the circuit, in hotels or gyms. Apart from that one time in Sussex. That suddenly seemed so wrong and wasteful. Jack shook his head, smiling confidently. No more. Now he was going to rewrite the book.

He bounded up the small stone steps and hit the bell.

‘Hey,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Did it insult your mother, or something?’

‘And good morning to you too, sweetheart,’ Jack replied.

She looked different. Real different. The athletic frame

was gone, slimmed off her. No problem, she was beautiful either way. The competitive fire had also disappeared, but Elizabeth still looked tough and fpcused. He wondered what the new place was, Tall Poppies, that had given her a look like that. For Elizabeth, he’d have said you couldn’t get it outside of a race piste. She was wearing a tailored pantsuit in dusty pink, cream leather boots, an ivory shirt and a gold bangle. Her hair was coloured a dazzling blonde, layered all round her face in a feathery cut. She blew Clarisse Devlin and all the simpering Dallas debs right out of the water.

‘Come in,’ Elizabeth said.

Jack stepped inside the house. It was Sparsely but elegantly furnished, a few old oil paintings on the walls, rows of leatherbound books, the normal richolimey clutter.

‘Very nice. Your pop give you some spares?’

‘I bought everything you see,’ Elizabeth said flatly.

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‘Tony and I have split for good. The house was part of the settlement.’

Jack walked over to a far wall and examined a small pastoral. ‘Looks Pre-Raphaelite. What is it, Burne Jones?’

‘Very good. I’ve started collecting.’

‘Without the earl’s help? Come on, Elizabeth, where would you get that kind of money?’

Jack settled himself in a deceptively plain leather armchair and found he was sinking into perfect posture. It must be orthopaedic. Eames, most likely. He took another look around the room, paying greater attention. Sure the d6cor was sparse, but everything here was top quality, costly stuff.

‘I can’t believe you, Jack.’ Elizabeth sat opposite him and allowed herself to sound annoyed. That was simple, so much easier than actually confronting what she was feeling right now, a sort of dizzy joy combined with sick apprehension, the way she was desperate for him not to leave, how she was telling herself to get a grip and failing so miserably. ‘You come over here, you drag me out of work, and all you can ask is how I pay for my decorating?’

‘So you think I should ask you about your leg?’ ‘Shouldn’t you?’ Elizabeth demanded. He was totally wrongfooting her. She’d expected belated tears and hand wringing, and here he was, joking and squabbling with her like nothing had happened.

‘Honey, there’s nothing to say: You know how sorry I

am. I know how it would feel.’

‘Oh, you do?’

‘Yes,’ Jack said gently. ‘Of all the people in the world, I do know what it would mean not to ski again. What it must mean to you.’

Elizabeth looked away before she started to cry. That was perfectly true. Only Jack, and maybe Hans, could

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have any idea. She swallowed hard to push down the dry lump in her throat.

‘Think what it means to me, babe. You can’t ski, so I can’t collect on my bet. That would have been real intriguing. We’d both have got the goldsb’

‘You think I’d have won?’ Elizabeth blurted out, then kicked herself. That was not the next thing she was planning on saying.

‘There was never any doubt,’ Jack replied. ‘I wouldn’t have let you bet me otherwise. When you had to come to my room and pay up, it had to have been at least a little interesting.’

Elizabeth pushed herself to her feet and rounded on him. ‘For God’s sake, Jack! I’m a fucking cripple and all you can do is fly over here to make sex jokes! Where were you when I needed a friend? Out partying with Holly Ferrell and all your stupid American groupies—’

‘Hey. Hey.’ He jumped up and grabbed her hands. ‘You know I tried to visit. I begged to. Your father told me to get lost. And I never partied from first to last. Got ,the medal, flew home and tried to forget all about you.’ ‘And you couldn’t?’

‘I’m here, ain’t I? And you’re no cripple, girl, you’re standing up like Lady Liberty.’

‘But I’ve lost my foot,’ Elizabeth muttered. ‘I’ve got a plastic foot.’ ‘So what? It was never your foot I was interested in.’ ‘But what about Holly Ferrell? And Clarisse Devlin?’ Jack’s hands had left hers and were cupping her face now, one finger delicately tracing the line of her jaw and her cheekbones. His touch on her skin was like an electric charge. Her stomach was melting into a liquid, shifting pool, she wanted him so badly.

‘Y’all want the truth, or the PG version? PG, I never touched them, I sat in my room and pined like a dog. Truth is, I saw them both for a little while and I slept

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with them. I was mad at you, and you weren’t there. It was OK. And then,’ Jack added with a disarming grin, ‘I sat in my room and pined like a dog.’

‘Jack … it won’t work, it never does.’

‘It won’t work? Baby, you know we ain’t ever tried it.’ ‘What about Sussex?’

‘Not bad for a warm-up,’ Jack said, reaching up to the ivory silk at her neck and undoing one of the buttons. Elizabeth knew this was her cue to push him off but she didn’t. It was weird, like one of those running-in-treacle nightmares when you couldn’t move. Except it didn’t feel too much like a nightmare.

‘But that’s not a relationship, Jack …’

‘Yeah?’ He breathed it, bending down to kiss her, just brushing her lips. ‘That’s just fine with me, sugar. I don’t want a relationship.’ Jack’s tanned face was tight with scorn as he pulled her to him, one arm cradling the small of her back, supporting her whole weight like she was made of straw. ‘I got a relationship with my cousin Sarah in Fort Worth. I want you. In case you’re too blind mulish to notice. This makes twice I’ve flown round the

world for you, and I’m not doing it again.’

‘Jack—’

‘Jack, Jack.’ He kissed her again, briefly and impatiently. ‘Is that all you want to say? Objections? Reasons we both should be somewhere else, right now? If you don’t want me, Elizabetl4, you just say so. Look me right in the eyes and say go.’

He tipped her face up to his. His eyes locked on hers were probing, intense. Elizabeth didn’t say a word.

Jack pulled her closer still. Close enough to feel him hard up against her groin.

‘That’s what I thought,’ he said.

It was wonderful. Elizabeth’s fears and nerves couldn’t withstand the hot longing for him that was racing.

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through her. She let Jack undress her, because he wanted to and because she was trembling so much her fingers were all fumbling. When he peeled off her shirt and the filmy scrap of nothing over her breasts she was anxious, because she’d always been small and now she was flat, but Jack breathed in sharply at the sight of her, brushing his fingers over the pale-pink buds, then bending to suck them, until she was almost crying from pleasure. The feelings in her breasts distracted her from the way he was unzipping her boots and trousers, and then she was naked, and Jack took her left ankle in his hands, curiously, muttered, ‘Poor baby,’ kissed the flesh where her calf met the metal band, and moved right back up her leg, slowly, deliberately, kissing and biting the skin at the back of the knee, trailing his tongue up a little way and then stopping, his strong hands locking her in place; Elizabeth gasped at how he made her feel, she was squirming around under him, losing her control, it was all she could do not to moan out loud. Jack kicked off his shoes, tore off his shirt. Elizabeth heard the buttons thud

on the carpet as he unzipped his fly.

‘Your shirt—’

‘Fuck my shirt.” He was naked now, leaning over her, his hands all over her, his fingers palming the slickness between her legs. It was broad daylight, pale sun streaming through her window, letting her see every inch of him: just like her fantasies, huge chiselled muscles, his arms were thicker than her th!ghs; not narcissistic like a bodybuilder, but about as big as you could be and still look like a normal man. Elizabeth knew girls that hated that look, said it was too big and too macho, and it was true, under him she felt as fragile as a reed; but it was painfully erotic, and she felt heat blaze through her like a forest fire. Something female and primal responded to that physical strength, that total masculinity.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ Jack said. She saw him register

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the hunger in her eyes. He smiled, but there was nothing of humour about it. It was pure sex, that smile; pure triumphant sex. ‘You like?’

‘You’re huge,’ Elizabeth said.

‘And you like that.’ Jack straddled her. He was like a Greek sculpture of Hercules. He lifted one knee and firmly, slowly, pushed her thighs apart. Elizabeth heard the breath wrenching out of her in a sob of desire. Jack pushed his knee up just a little, pressing into her, pushing against the wetness there, looking her right in the eyes so she could see he felt it. ‘You like-me to be a man. Admit it.’

‘Yes,’ Elizabeth managed. ‘You know that.’

‘You’re right, sugar,’ Jack said thickly, ‘I do know that—’ and suddenly he slid down the bed, cupped his two hands under the globes of her butt and pulled her up to his mouth, like she weighed nothing, burying himself in her. His tongue flicked over her in a light, sweet rhythm, sexy, relentless, ignoring her when she cried out. Her fingers twisted in his hair, and her fingernails dug into his back. Jack drove her forwards, until he felt her involuntary surrender. Her body melted against him, her back arched, and right at that second he grabbed her hands, pinning them back over her head, up against the bed-rails. She was open and waiting. Jack thrust right into her, all in a single motion, not gently, giving her exactly what she wanted thrusting, as deep and as hard as he could go, automatically now because he couldn’t wait either. Elizabeth rose to meet him and he was still pinning her there, it made the orgasm stronger. Their eyes were wild, locked on each other, as the white-hot scalding spasms broke over Elizabeth and her fierce clenching and releasing set Jack off, and then they were in each other’s arms, drenched with sweat, fighting for breath, and kissing.

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‘I can’t believe it,’ Jack said.

‘Believe it,’ Elizabeth answered. She showed him round the crowded offices packed with people, sixteen different programmers hunched over their workstations. Tall Poppies had taken over two floors of the Hammersmith

offices. Downstairs was Elizabeth’s own marketing divi’ sion; a fancy name for a team of four people, but they were all rising stars poached from the big agencies, and the way things were going she might need to hire some more. ‘Yesterday was the first day off I’ve had in four months. We’re growing so fast I’m getting altitude sickness.’

‘ Jack stared at her. Elizabeth did look frazzled, but she was happy too. ‘We’re stretched to the limit, but we’re making a lot of money.’