The Language of Spells (15 page)

‘Really?’ Patrick frowned. ‘Has Ed been to see you?’

‘Ed?’

‘He manages the Travelodge. I say “manages”, but that’s something of a matter of opinion.’

‘Never met him.’

‘Well, that’s a relief.’ Patrick cleared his throat again. ‘As a new resident in the town, I was wondering how you felt about progress.’

‘Are you a politician?’

‘No. Not yet, anyway.’ Patrick gave a little laugh. ‘I own some businesses in Pendleford and I take a keen interest in the future of the town.’

‘And what can I do for you?’

‘It’s just a small thing,’ Patrick said.

‘What?’ Gwen tried to keep the impatience out of her voice, but her social skills, rusty at best, were stretched to breaking point.

‘Did Ms Harper leave you anything?’

‘She left me End House,’ Gwen said. ‘As you are already aware.’

Patrick poked the asparagus on his plate. ‘Did you inherit the contents, too?’

‘You know I did. You’ve seen the furniture.’ Gwen had a horrible feeling she knew what Patrick was going to say next.

‘Right. Well. Did she leave papers of some kind? Diaries. That kind of thing.’

And there it was. Gwen thought about the sacks of paper: the notebooks, the receipts, the used envelopes with lists of numbers scrawled in biro. ‘She left me everything and I haven’t had a chance to go through it all yet.’ Of course, she had a pretty good idea of which papers Patrick was particularly interested in. Iris’s diaries.

‘Completely understandable,’ Patrick said.

‘Did you know my great-aunt well?’ Gwen said. She wondered whether Patrick knew about his unfaithful wife, and a very evil part of her imagined his face if she
were
to let him read that particular entry.

‘Not well, no. We didn’t move in the same circles.’

‘So, you’re interested in her diaries because—’

‘May I be frank?’ Patrick leaned forwards and, without giving Gwen time to say ‘no’, he continued. ‘A lot of people visited your aunt. A lot of people had faith in her… um… abilities. It was a load of nonsense, of course – forgive me – but harmless nonsense, I’m sure.’

Gwen nodded. ‘No worse than aromatherapy.’

‘Exactly,’ Patrick said, visibly annoyed at the interruption.

‘And a damn sight less dangerous than organised religion.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I’m pretty sure Iris never started a war or burned anyone at the stake.’

Patrick faltered, then rallied. ‘Well, yes. I suppose that’s true.’

‘And you’re interested in taking a peek in her diary in case there’s some juicy gossip about your colleagues, employees, whatever.’

‘No!’

‘What, then?’

‘As a businessman, sometimes I make investments, back community projects, that kind of thing. It’s sound practice to research people who I may be entrusting with considerable sums of money.’

Gwen nodded. ‘And you wondered whether any of these potential business associates had visited Iris and told her all about the time they lost a ton of cash or built a housing estate on marshland or—’

‘Nothing salacious. Just anything that might be pertinent to my business interests. I wouldn’t expect you to show me things that weren’t of my concern. You could vet the information first.’

‘I don’t believe this,’ Gwen began. ‘If you think I’m going to show you my aunt’s private papers—’ She broke off as she realised that Elaine had stood up and was walking purposefully towards her table.

‘I can see I’m wasting my time,’ Patrick was saying.

‘Hello, Gwen. You haven’t changed a bit.’ Elaine’s cut-glass tone was as terrifying as it had been back when she was a teenager.

Patrick stood up quickly. ‘Elaine! You look radiant as always.’

‘Don’t talk drivel, Patrick,’ Elaine said, looking pleased. ‘I’m simply haggard at the moment. Too much to do, too little time.’

‘Would you care to join us?’ Patrick looked around for a waiter.

‘No, thank you. I just had to take a closer look at Gwen here. I didn’t know whether to believe the rumours.’

‘Believe them,’ Gwen said. ‘I’m back.’

‘Not for long, I hope.’

Gwen was staggered by her open hostility. Patrick didn’t seem sure what to say, either.

‘I don’t see what business it is of yours,’ Gwen managed.

‘We were just having a spot of lunch,’ Patrick said, indicating the plates of food unnecessarily.

‘Well,’ Elaine said. She gave Gwen a swooping look up and down. ‘I hope you manage to conclude whatever business you believe you have here.’

After she’d walked away, Patrick gave Gwen a questioning look. ‘I didn’t know you knew Elaine Laing.’

Gwen shrugged. ‘I don’t. Not really.’

‘Well, I hope you’ll think about my request. I might be able to help you settle into Pendleford, if that’s what you decide you want. Smooth the way.’ Patrick nodded in the direction of Elaine’s retreating figure.

‘I wouldn’t let you look at my great-aunt’s private material if it would make the entire community council prostrate themselves in front of me.’

‘There’s no need to be vulgar,’ Patrick said. ‘I can see this is a waste of everybody’s time.’

‘Not at all,’ Gwen said, getting up to leave. ‘It’s been very eye-opening.’ The only question in Gwen’s mind now was: how badly did Patrick Allen want the information in Iris’s diaries? Enough to have broken into End House? Gwen hadn’t got enough of a sniff to know whether his aftershave matched the one she’d smelled before. She tried to picture Patrick Allen breaking into her house and smashing up her boiler, but it was difficult. He didn’t seem the type with his manicured hands and cut-glass accent … But appearances could be so deceptive.

After another broken night, turning over and over in her bed, unable to get comfortable, unable to switch off the ‘Cam and Gwen’ show in her mind, Gwen was half-mad with exhaustion. She put on her headphones and turned the music up to wake herself up, but clashing guitars just reminded her of Cam. She pressed shuffle on her iPod until an acoustic track came on, but that was worse. A song that she’d avoided for the last decade because it reminded her of Cam started playing, as if to taunt her. Dave Grohl’s gravelly voice over a driving chord pattern. He breathed directly into Gwen’s ears, wondering if ‘
anything could feel this real forever’
. She tried to work on her shadow boxes, but made mistake after mistake until the frustration became unbearable.

At six o’clock, she trailed into the kitchen, but was too jumpy to cook. At seven o’clock, she realised she felt achingly empty, so she ate a bowl of cereal and two slices of cake. It didn’t help.

At eight o’clock, she gave in. She called Cam and said, ‘Okay.’

‘Okay?’

Instantly, her nerve fled. ‘Forget it. I’ll see you—’

‘No. Give me five minutes.’

His urgency made Gwen smile. The wild feeling was back. One night with Cam. She shivered.

The next ten minutes passed in a whirlwind of activity. Gwen sprayed perfume on her wrists and neck, threw stray clothes into the laundry basket and lit candles in the bedroom. She closed the curtains and surveyed the effect. It looked nice. Seductive. Terror clenched her insides. This was crazy. She blew out the candles.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Gwen ran downstairs, then paused to comb her hair away from her face with her fingers, and opened the door.

‘I drove as fast as was legal.’

Gwen was breathless. ‘I was just … I don’t know. I was just thinking about you. About us. And that thing you said.’

Cam smiled his crooked smile and stepped towards her.

The jolt of recognition as his lips touched hers threw Gwen hurtling back in time. He smelled the same, tasted the same, and his arms around her felt the same. She leaned into the kiss, her lust going from nought-to-sixty in an instant.

‘Upstairs?’ Cam broke the kiss to ask. Gwen squashed the tiny feeling of disappointment. Thirteen years ago, he would’ve had her naked on the hall floor. Then he kissed her again and all other feelings fled. It was Cam.

Gwen took his hand and led the way upstairs, feeling wild and excited and powerful. As soon as they got to the bedroom, though, everything changed. Gwen kicked off her slippers, feeling suddenly nervous. Now that they weren’t actually kissing, the whole thing seemed a little ridiculous. What was the saying?
You can never go back.

Cam paused. A strange expression ghosted across his face. ‘I don’t know about this.’

‘Oh for Christ’s sake,’ Gwen said. It was one thing for her to feel unsure, but it was insulting for him to have second thoughts. She was a definite thing, for goodness’ sake. Weren’t men supposed to be driven by lust alone? ‘Are you always this indecisive? Must really impress them in court.’

He was still looking at her with that weird expression. ‘It’s you, but it’s not you.’

What on earth did he expect? ‘It’s been thirteen years. I’ve grown up.’

Cam shook his head, studying her like she was a piece of algebra. ‘This isn’t maturity. What are you so afraid of?’

Well, she wasn’t answering that.

He put his head on one side. ‘This is so weird. I always thought you were going to do something amazing.’

‘Sorry to disappoint you.’ Gwen felt like she’d been slapped.

‘I’m not disappointed. But you seem to be. I think that’s why you’re so angry with me.’

‘I thought we’d established that you were the angry one?’

‘See?’ He looked maddeningly smug. ‘Uptight.’

‘You can talk. You’re the one in a suit.’

‘It’s just clothes.’ Cam reached up and pulled the neck of his buttoned shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor.

Gwen took a sharp breath in. His chest was wider, his shape altogether more solid, but it was also unmistakably the same body. The muscles in his arms and chest still looked more like a man who spent his time playing in a rock band rather than pushing paper and, as Cam came towards her, she focused on the black tattoo on his right bicep and took an instinctive step backwards. ‘What are you doing?’

He grinned. Lust had clearly won the internal struggle. The wide grin, slightly lopsided and very sexy. She remembered that all right. And what came afterwards. She swallowed. ‘I thought we were going to discuss this a bit more.’

‘Done talking,’ Cam said. He took another step, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

Gwen held her breath. Inside her head, the argument was just getting going. Yes, it might give her closure. On the other hand, she might lose her mind and fall back into complete obsession. The kind of obsession that could break her heart. Getting over Cameron Laing had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. Was she really about to jump into bed with him again?

He paused. Looked at her with calm intensity that stopped her breath. ‘You want me to go, say so right now.’

She managed to shake her head.

With that, he turned and kicked the door shut and crossed to her. ‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. We used to be so good together.’

Gwen tried not to feel the cut of his words. The past tense that was like a knife.

‘I want you to remember.’ He took her wrist delicately, with his thumb resting on the underside like he was taking her pulse. She almost gasped at the electricity running in a current from the warmth of his fingers. She wanted those fingers, those hands, everywhere. He was crazy if he thought she’d forgotten him, but she was more than happy to pretend total amnesia if it meant he would touch her.

He didn’t pull her forwards, but that was how it felt. An invisible force yanked her forwards and he caught her. His hands were on her, exactly as they should be, and the relief was immense. His hands were on her waist, her neck, her face. She closed her eyes, tipped her head back and waited for the kiss, to feel him like the old days. One moment of pleasure, one trip down memory lane. She deserved some fun. It had been a long time; one moment of fun and she’d be able to get her concentration back.

He kissed her and it was that strange mix of familiar and new. Her mouth, her tongue, her whole body said,
Hello again
. It was exciting and passionate and safe all at the same time.
Stop thinking
, she told herself. The words,
You can never go back,
popped into her mind.
Shut up. Stop thinking. Stupid brain.

Cam pulled back and flipped open his belt buckle. Gwen smiled. This was more like it. This was the Cam she remembered. Wham bam. Fast and exciting. Not always entirely successful from her point of view, but always sexy, always fun. Sometimes, after he’d dropped her at home, she’d touch herself, reliving the evening in slow motion until she finished.

He walked her backwards until her legs bumped against the bed, then tipped her back onto it. He slid his belt from its loops and her eyes widened. That was new. What if he’d developed a kinky streak in the last decade? She wouldn’t be surprised. Boy most likely to turn into deviant pervert. She opened her mouth to make a joke. ‘No spanking’ or ‘steady on’. But he was there, kissing her deeply and she momentarily lost her mind. He was above her and she reached her arms up to pull his head closer, to keep his mouth on hers. After a moment he caught her hands and pulled them over her head, winding the belt around her wrists and then cinching it.

Her eyes flew open and she struggled to sit up. ‘Cam.’ The leather was smooth but unyielding. She pulled one arm and felt it dig into her wrists.

He pushed her back down and ran a hand up her leg, under her long skirt.

She wriggled further up the bed. ‘I don’t—’

‘Yes you do.’ Cam pushed her skirt up so that it bunched around her middle; the air felt unbearably cool and delicious on her legs.

‘Cam—’ she tried again.

‘Busy.’ He stopped kissing her inner thigh and grinned at her. ‘Talk later, yeah?’

Gwen let her head fall back on the mattress. A moment later, she said, ‘Oh my God.’ And a few moments after that she realised that the person making the most obscene noises was her. Another minute and she wasn’t cognisant of anything else at all.

‘Oh my God.’ Gwen felt as if every bone and muscle and sinew in her body had turned to liquid.

‘You said that.’ Cam appeared in front of her and she arched upwards to kiss him. Her arms physically ached from the need to touch him. She pulled at the belt, words no longer required.

She wrapped her arms around him, kissing him, pulling him closer. The weight of his body against her felt fantastic and started a low throbbing back in a place that had barely stopped shuddering.

‘Oh God,’ she said again, aware that she had lost her mind. She ran her hands over his chest and stomach, wanting him to be as incoherent as she was. He’d earned it after all.

He raised himself up, supporting his weight on his arms, kissing her jaw, her neck, dipping back to take her mouth. Gwen wrapped her legs around his body, pulling him close. ‘Now…’ she said against his mouth.

Cam rolled away, the suddenly cold air goosepimpling her skin, and she heard the rip of the condom packet. Then he was back and the heat Gwen thought would take ages to build again flared the instant he touched her. Her nerve endings remembered him, that was for sure.

He kneeled above her, looking at her with such naked longing that she forget to be self-conscious that her stomach and breasts were thirteen years older than the last time he’d seen them.

And then he was inside her, moving until the pressure built and she exploded all over again. She was shuddering, her insides contracting, her muscles quivering and Cam fell onto her, groaning as he let go.

Gwen buried her head in his neck, breathing deeply. ‘Oh, fuck,’ she thought. Then realised she’d said it out loud.