True Colours (5 page)

‘
I’ll see you later though...?’

The restaurant was already almost empty, the last of its clientele of predominantly dark-suited businessmen pulling out their own phones to turn them on and check their messages as they headed back to their offices, drowning the oriental music playing softly in the background with incoming text message bleeps and ring tones.

Sebastian kissed her lightly on the lips, his eyes already on the door. ‘I’ll have to see how it goes, I might be working late.’ Then, focusing back on her for a moment, ‘have we got everything worked out now for the wedding then?’

‘
I knew you weren’t listening to Sylvia! There’s a still load to do...’

Sebastian interrupted her. ‘Can you handle it darling? Look, I’ve really got to get back.’ Finally registering her disgruntled look, he smiled apologetically but Caroline could see he still wasn’t focusing properly. ‘Will you be okay getting a cab? What are you doing this afternoon?’

‘
Well, I had thought I was spending it with you, but I suppose I’ll find something to do.’ Her affronted tone still didn’t register. Caroline shook her head, tossing her hair over her shoulder like a horse flicking away a fly. Sometimes Sebastian was the absolute END...

‘
Good, good,’ he kissed her again, ‘I’ll call you.’

And a moment later he was gone.

Well honestly...Caroline could have kicked the table...she had the whole day planned out, and now he’d abandoned her, it just wasn’t on...

Outside the restaurant, on her own, Caroline paused for a moment, annoyance bubbling inside her like a geyser about to blow. What was she going to do NOW? Her plan had been to steer Sebastian into The Designer Rooms in Brown Thomas, to pick up a few bits for their honeymoon, but it was hardly worth the trek to Grafton Street now. Caroline pulled her black moleskin coat around her, glad of her leather gloves as a stiff breeze barrelled along the quays, bringing with it a blast of drizzle. The morning mist had lifted but it was still miserable and cold. And she wasn’t in the mood for shopping now...

Searching the traffic crawling along the quays, Caroline looked for a cab, was about to raise her hand when a deep voice from behind her made her start.

‘
Here, let me.’

Before she quite knew what was happening a mountain of a man in a pinstripe suit stepped past her on the footpath and flagged down the next cab, its indicator blinking as it pulled up beside them.

What on earth...did she look totally helpless?

‘
Thank you so much, but really there’s no...’ Caroline stopped herself as the man turned towards her and she got a proper look at him. Over six feet tall and almost as broad, his face was rugged, lived in, eyes laser blue. He was the spitting image of that really gorgeous James Bond...what was his name? Daniel Craig...that was it...even had that same thick blonde hair cropped short at the back that made you want to put your fingers in it... Backtracking, she smiled warmly. ‘But really so very kind of you.’

‘
No problem, where are you going?’ The man hardly acknowledged her. He was already bending down exchanging banter with the driver. Caroline paused for a moment, waiting for him to turn back to her, to notice her and say something else. She wasn’t sure what, but...something. She wasn’t used to being ignored.

But he didn’t acknowledge her, continued to chat to the driver.

Well there was chivalry and there was...well...Caroline opened her eyes wide and put on her sweetest smile. ‘No really, you are very kind, you take it. I’m sure you need to get somewhere.’

He turned, pausing as if he was looking at her properly for the first time, ran a slow and appraising look at her from the toes of her Chanel suede boots to the top of her glossy head. An appraising look that was hot and just a little indecent.

The one thing Caroline enjoyed more than anything else in the world was being admired.

‘
Ballsbridge. The British Embassy,‘ he said, ‘but I can get the next one. I’m not in a hurry.’

‘
The Embassy?’ Feeling her cheeks colour, Caroline recalculated rapidly. She shouldn’t...but...but... her curiosity was most definitely piqued, and she might be engaged to be married, but her so-called fiancé had just marched off and left her all alone on a freezing afternoon. Where was the harm in a bit of window shopping? ‘Well what a coincidence, I’m going to the Four Seasons. It’s just a few doors down the road...why don’t we share?’

In the back seat of the cab, Caroline self-consciously smoothed her skirt and looked sideways at the man from under her eyelashes. He was having problems getting the back seatbelt buckled across the width of his chest, was pulling extra webbing from behind him over his shoulder, his shirt straining as he twisted. A picture of him without the shirt shot into her mind like a TV advert cutting into a movie with the sound way too loud.

Mon Dieu.

Caroline tried to shake the picture out of her head but it wasn’t easy. There was something about him that was magnetic, and just so naughty. She could feel a flush exploding on her cheeks. Good God, she’d got into a cab with a complete stranger; she needed to keep her wits about her, focus, to try to get in control and on top of things. On top of things? Another picture flashed through her head, made her catch her breath.

‘
Do you usually get into cabs with strange men?’

‘
Me? Never.’ Caroline tried to calm her heart rate, pounding like hooves on the gallops. ‘But there’s a first time for everything.’ Jesus, did she just say that?

He finally clicked his seatbelt into place, and turned to look at her, his face twisted in a wry smile. ‘That’s for sure.’

It was loaded with innuendo.

Oh my God. Caroline could feel herself blushing again. This shouldn’t be happening. She was engaged to Sebastian Wingfield, was going to be Lady Kilfenora, (that sounded so good every time she said it to herself) – this so shouldn’t be happening. He put out his hand to shake hers. ‘My friends call me Peter.’

His friends? Conscious of her manners, Caroline put out her own hand, dwarfed by his. His handshake was firm. Very firm. And now that she could hear him properly without the hubbub of traffic, she realised his accent was British, a hint of an Irish lilt buried deep.

‘
I’m Caroline. Just Peter?’

He coloured slightly. ‘Peter Pan actually, it’s a sort of a nickname. Bloody Marines are devils for nicknames.’

He was so unlike her image of Peter Pan she had to laugh. ‘Marines?’ Caroline raised her eyebrows.

‘
Royal Navy.’

‘
Goodness, are you a sailor?’ Caroline knew how stupid that sounded as soon as it was out of her mouth. She cringed, but he didn’t seem to notice.

‘
Pilot, Harriers; then a Green Beret. Was, I should say.’

An image of Tom Cruise in a fighter jet roaring down a canyon shot into her head, swiftly followed by Tom Cruise in a lift in not much more than a towel...Take my Breath Away...

MON DIEU, what was going on inside her head?

Caroline willed him to continue, to tell her more, but he didn’t; something in his face had closed. She felt an overpowering urge to ask why, but he deftly moved the conversation on.

‘
What about you? You don’t sound Irish.’

‘
Half-French.’

‘
Paris?’

‘
Bordeaux but I was at University in Paris.’

‘
The Sorbonne?’

‘
Yes, but how...?’

‘
Guessed. One of my favourite places.’

‘
The Sorbonne?’ This conversation was moving way too fast, he was losing her. How much wine had she had with lunch?

Peter shook his head, smiling. ‘Paris.’

‘
Oh, of course...’

Embarrassed, Caroline busied herself with the collar of her coat, glanced out the window. The traffic was bumper to bumper, snarled like knitting at every junction. The driver had the radio tuned to the news, but Caroline wasn’t listening, was desperately trying to think of something else to say. Peter offered her a lifeline:

‘
Nice city though, Bordeaux. Did some training down there.’

He obviously wasn’t going to elaborate any more. Goodness this was hard work. Her move...

‘
So how long have you been in the Navy?’

‘
Ten years. I’ve been out a few years.’

Well one thing was for sure – he really was the master of understatement.

Through the glow of the wine Caroline tried desperately to think of something she knew about the Royal Navy, about the Royal Air Force...about anything... She couldn’t sit in the back of a cab for what could be twenty minutes in this traffic with an utterly gorgeous man who looked like James Bond, (and from what he wasn’t saying about his naval career probably was James Bond), and let the conversation die. So what could they talk about? She could talk forever about herself, but right now she was in the throes of planning a wedding, and for some reason that wasn’t something she wanted to mention...so...

‘
Traffic’s terrible here isn’t it? I don’t think Dublin was built for cars.’ Traffic, now that was scraping the barrel; but it did the trick. On something impersonal, Peter seemed to relax. Phew.

‘
It’s amazing what’s happened to this city. I travel a lot – you expect it in London or New York, but here?’ Peter shrugged. It was a very French shrug, his intonation flipping up at the end in question. Encouraged, Caroline dived in.

‘
I used to know a chap who had this postcard of O’Connell Street taken in about 1957. His father had this amazing wooden car – an American shooting-brake I think it was – and it was right in the middle of the photograph, parked outside the GPO, and it was the only car in the shot, can you imagine?’

Did that sound stupid, was she gabbling?

Peter smiled, nodding at her like she was a child. ‘The city’s certainly changed a lot.’

‘
It’s just so busy, constant gridlock, really it’s so difficult to get into town these days. Although at least there are more cabs – it used to be a nightmare getting a cab...’ Caroline stopped suddenly – she was talking too much, no question, and making a total fool of herself. She smoothed the back of her gloves. Why was she worried? She didn’t even know him...

Seeming to sense her embarrassment, Peter filled the growing silence.

‘
So, how close are you to the Four Seasons?’

Caroline jumped on the question, relieved to be on safer ground, something practical...

‘
I’m in it actually. My apartment’s on the fifth floor.’

Peter nodded slowly, shifted slightly in the seat, closing the gap between them. She could almost feel the heat from his body radiating through his crisp white cotton shirt, through his suit and overcoat; she suddenly became overwhelmingly conscious of the scent of his aftershave, musky, masculine. Very masculine. OMG. Realising that he was speaking, she tried to focus on what he was saying.

‘
Do you have maid service?’

Immediately she could see he was joking, there was a tiny tick at the corner of his mouth as if he was trying to suppress a smile; maybe he was human after all. Relieved, she tried to sound prim.

‘
I do actually. Residents have access to all the hotel’s services.’

Peter laughed, shaking his head, like the world had gone mad, but with his laughter the atmosphere changed, relaxed, like a barrier had come down.

‘
Do you live nearby?’ Caroline said it innocently, like she was making conversation, like she wasn’t dying to know.

Peter turned to look at her, his blue eyes locking with hers, ‘Ever heard that song, “Wherever I lay my hat, that’s my home?”’

Caroline nodded, knew what was coming next, could feel it like the first tremor of an earthquake. And if she was right, his answer made him rootless, probably unreliable, dangerous even, and the last person she should be sitting in a cab with, ON HER OWN, but...but...Caroline drew in a breath, a red hot surge tingling through her like she was about to erupt herself, to crack open in a cataclysmic seismic shift – it made him incredibly exciting. And one thing was for sure – she’d never had this kind of reaction to Sebastian. Peter’s voice cut into her thoughts, ‘That’s me. No fixed abode.’

OMG, he was James Bond. He might have said he wasn’t in the navy, THE MARINES, anymore, but it was like he’d stepped out of a movie into her life.

‘
You must live somewhere...’ It came out coy, flirty.

‘
Why?’

Well that was a good question.

‘
I don’t know, everyone lives somewhere.’ Now she sounded like she was about five years old.

Peter laughed again, the sound deep like the slow whup-whup of a helicopter rotor just before take-off.

‘
I’m not here often, but I stay at the Shelbourne when I’m in Dublin.’

It was like he was telling her where she could find him.

The cab swung right, tipping her towards him. She reached out and grabbed the armrest just in time. ‘The Four Seasons, Miss.’

‘
Oh goodness, are we here already?’ Flustered at almost ending up in his lap, she daren’t even begin to think about that, Caroline reached for her bag. Peter put his hand out to stop her, his touch hot through her coat,

‘
I’ll get this.’