The Pleasures of Winter (19 page)

Hah. See how you like that.

He was really pushing this. He wasn’t going to let her get away with anything.

He had to be joking. Had he listened to a single thing she had told him all evening?

The cursor blinked steadily at her for almost a minute before she could type again. He was right. She hadn’t been able to get Jack out of her head, and meeting him tonight had only made matters worse.

With him? D wanted to spank her? Her blood raced as if she had just downed a dozen espressos. They were actually going to meet up. She would have to speak to Paloma. She couldn’t just meet some stranger and let him spank her.

She sometimes went with Kit to a salon, but she wasn’t a Brazilian kind of girl. She didn’t wear the type of clothes that necessitated it and that type of girly maintenance while on the road, or in a war zone, simply wasn’t possible.

Abbie watched the words dance across the screen.

Disciplinarian is typing
.

He wanted her to submit to him. Physically as well as mentally. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest as she waited for his response.

Disciplinarian is typing
.

Abbie shut down the laptop. It was late, and she didn’t know how she was going to sleep after this. Too much was happening all at once. Meeting Jack, talking to D. It was as if someone had taken the calm, logical Abbie Marshall and locked her up. The person left behind was a simmering crock-pot of confusion.

When she was alone, she wanted Jack. When she was with him, he acted like an ass and she wanted to kiss him and slap him all at the same time. If she was completely honest, she wanted to try the spanking thing again.
Oh Abbie, you are in so much trouble.

As soon as Abbie had signed off, Jack rang Kev. He wanted to rip his throat out for poaching his woman. The fact that Kev often moved in on his old girlfriends, offering tissues and sympathy, was beside the point. Abbie wasn’t an ex. Kev had no right to lay a finger on her.

Kev wasn’t answering his phone so Jack was left stewing overnight. At 6am he headed for the gym. He badly needed to kick the shit out of someone. It was busy and he warmed up by jumping rope until he was sweating, then thrashed the hell out of a defenceless punch bag. Sweat dripped down his back, his knuckles were raw and his feet hurt, but he was nowhere near ready to stop. The energy generated by his jealous fury refused to abate.

He grabbed a set of heavy chains, draped them around his neck and alternated giant sets of press-ups and pull-ups. He was vaguely aware that some of the other gym rats has stopped training to watch him and were placing bets on how many he could do before he collapsed. He didn’t care. The thought of Abbie eating with Kev, maybe kissing Kev, drove him on. When he finally hit muscle failure and had to release the bar, he collapsed, shaking and sweating and fighting the urge to puke. There was a general round of congratulations from the spectators and half a dozen of them helped him lift the chains off his shoulders.

‘Way to go, bro. That was spectacular.’ Kev slapped him on the shoulder.

Jack forced himself to his feet. ‘Keep your damn hands off Abbie.’ It wasn’t what he had intended to say, but it was too late to be polite.

Kev smirked at him, unrepentant. ‘Too late. You had your chance.’

Jack charged at Kev. His initial charge seemed to take Kev by surprise, knocking him to the ground. But Kev recovered fast, leaping up in time to defend himself against another attack.

‘What the hell’s got into you?’ he asked.

Jack swung again. ‘I said: keep your damn hands off Abbie.’

This time Kev was prepared and danced out of the way. ‘Are you mad?’ He snapped out a side kick which caught Jack hard enough to knock him back.

Jack recovered enough to step in with a hammer fist and front push kick. Both were hard enough to hurt. Kev retaliated with a superman punch and the fight was on. For five exhilarating minutes Jack got to beat Kev up. It felt good.

Kev was no slouch, and he wasn’t knackered from doing a stupid number of chain pull-ups, so it was an even match. But Jack was not prepared to back down and kept coming. Finally, Kev got in a lucky throw and Jack found himself falling backwards into the ice bath.

He hit the surface with a shout and went under. For a couple of seconds, the heat of his own sweat and rage kept him warm, then the icy water shocked him senseless.
He came up, cursing and splashing cold water and chunks of ice over all the spectators nearby. He tossed a handful of icy water at Kev and started to laugh.

No doubt about it, he could make a fool of himself in grand style.

He struggled out of the ice bath before the security staff got there. Bathing with your sparring shoes on was not permitted.

Kev gave him a hand and supported him to the changing room. ‘Feeling better now?’ he asked.

Jack considered. ‘Yes. But I meant it. Keep your hands off Abbie.’

Kit was waiting outside Journelle when Abbie climbed out of the cab. ‘Am I late?’ she asked anxiously.

‘No, I’ve just got here. So, what got your panties in a bunch that you had to meet me today?’

Despite the chill in the air, Abbie could feel her face flushing. ‘It’s him, D. He’s sent me lingerie shopping and you know I hate places like this. The last time you brought me on one of your splurges I spent two hundred dollars on a bra that ended up as a sling.’

Kit clamped her lips together, trying not to laugh. Her eyes flashed with mirth. ‘Oh, Abbie.’

She pushed the door open and the doorbell rang, announcing their arrival. Abbie stared at the white oak floors and purple silk curtains. One part of the store had been set up to look like a library.
As if anyone is going to try on lingerie in a bookstore.

‘Ladies.’ An effusive assistant came to greet them. ‘What can we do for you today? Have you something special in mind? A wedding perhaps?’

Abbie shook her head. ‘No. No wedding. I need to replace all of my stuff. It got lost. On a flight,’ she added lamely.

The assistant smiled. ‘That’s no problem. We have dressing rooms down the back with robes for you to change into. But first, perhaps you could give me an idea of styles that you like.’

Abbie stepped on to one of the sheepskin rugs that dotted the floor and selected a pair of plain black seamless panties.

Kit shook her head. ‘He said lingerie, remember?’

She put the hanger back on the stand. Kit was right. Anything flesh-coloured or black was out.

‘If you’d like some items for casual wear, we have some lovely Fleur’t LuLu boyshorts and of course we have matching T-shirt bras to go with them.’

Abbie looked at the price tag. $35 for a pair of panties? She ignored Kit’s smirk. It was better to get this over with in one trip. She knew that D would probably hate the comfy stuff. ‘Fine, I’ll try a set in size 36C, but I need something more feminine.’

She looked around the display. Egyptian cotton pyjamas vied with Swarovski-crystal-adorned chemises with a four-figure price tag. Definitely not her. She would feel like a Christmas tree. It was time to put herself in the hands of a professional. ‘I need some silky, lacy stuff. The kind that guys like. Nothing scratchy, nothing that has beads on it and absolutely no thongs.’

The assistant gave her a speculative look that made Abbie feel like she was auditioning for the lead role in
Pretty Woman
. ‘You say that you’ve lost all of your lingerie?’

Abbie nodded. ‘Everything. Consider me completely panty-less.’

‘Lovely. Fitting room three, then. You’ll find a robe inside to change into. I’ll bring you everything you need.’

The private dressing room was spacious. The lighting didn’t make her feel too uncomfortable and they had placed a dish of Italian white chocolates next to the fluffy white robe. The assistant appeared frequently and whisked away any item she agreed to. It was almost enjoyable.

Two hours later Abbie’s purchases were elegantly boxed and wrapped with a bow. They were the last customers to leave the store. ‘I can’t believe I just spent twelve hundred dollars on lingerie.’

Kit laughed. ‘Think of it as an investment. What do you want to do now? Go for a drink?’

Abbie glanced at her watch. She had finally persuaded someone from the State Department to talk to her about the Tabora story and they had promised to call her at eight. ‘I’d love to, Kit, but I have to work tonight. How about a rain check?’

‘No problem, but I want a full report on how you get on with the lingerie.’

‘You wish.’ Abbie giggled.

She was still smiling when she reached the next junction and stood at the street corner waiting to cross the street. Food was probably a good idea. Maybe she could grab something at the deli on her way home. A couple of hours’ work and then she would get to speak to D.

Just as the lights changed Abbie felt a sharp blow between her shoulder blades and she careened forward on to the street. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Her hands hitting the asphalt, the sound of a woman screaming, the boxes from Journelle scattering on the street, the front wheels of a cab approaching with frightening speed. Frozen to the spot, she shut her eyes, waiting for the impact.

Brakes screeched. When she opened her eyes again, the chrome bumper of the cab was inches from her face. The blue-turbaned driver was shouting at her, words that she couldn’t understand. She was still alive. It took a few moments for the knowledge to sink in, and then she started to shake.

A pair of tourists wearing
I Love
NY
sweatshirts collected her fallen shopping and helped her to her feet. They sounded like Jack and Kevin and the lilt of their voices brought her to the verge of tears.

‘I’m fine, honestly,’ she said, as they insisted on checking her scraped hands and knees for damage. Her teeth chattered but she got the words out.

The middle-aged woman handed her a tissue from her pocket. ‘That was an awful fall. You just take it easy for a minute. Do you need to go to a hospital?’

Abbie shook her head. ‘No, I’ll take a cab. I just want to go home.’ She needed to be alone. No, she needed Jack. The Jack who had tended to her so gently at the pool. But since she couldn’t have him, she wanted to be alone.

The grey-haired man hailed a cab and they helped her into it with her shopping. Only when the car pulled away did Abbie realize that she hadn’t even asked their names.
The shock was beginning to wear off and cold reality set in, bringing with it something she didn’t want to face. She hadn’t fallen. Someone had pushed her into the street, straight into the path of the cab.

If it hadn’t been for the driver’s skill, she would have been under the wheels, another pedestrian jaywalker who didn’t quite make it. She felt the tears coming and she reached into her pocket for a tissue. Her fingers came in contact with something waxy and she drew it out carefully.

The orchid was bruised and damaged. A strange thing to find in the pocket of a road-traffic victim, but otherwise unremarkable. Nothing that a coroner would pay heed to. It would just be noted as an odd coincidence, that someone who had recently returned from Honduras carried its national flower.

Abbie paid the cab driver and hurried across the lobby, desperate for the silence and safety of her apartment. She locked the door and put on the deadbolt. Only then did she allow herself to cry.

After a while, she stripped off and climbed into the shower. As the warm water washed over her, stinging her bruised knees and hands, she thought about her story. Was this connected? When she got out, she wrapped herself in a robe and went looking for some sticking plasters.

The red flashing light on the answering machine caught her attention and she pressed the play button.

‘Ms Marshall, this is Tom Breslin from the State Department. Sorry I missed you. I won’t be able to give you that interview after all, I’m being transferred.’

She couldn’t stop her hands from shaking. Was that her story gone?

One thing that journalism had taught her was that there was no such thing as coincidence. She would have to go through all her files again and that would mean spending the next day at her desk in the newsroom. She wouldn’t be able to meet Kevin for lunch. It would have to be dinner instead.

He couldn’t leave it alone. Jack had managed to control himself all through another boring work lunch, knowing that Abbie was with Kev, wearing a pair of pink silk panties trimmed with black lace. Like a good sub, she had sent him a report on her underwear that morning. He had nearly choked on his espresso when he read it.