What She Wants (60 page)

‘How did the interview go?’ Darius asked later, when they’d got a minute alone after the triumphant dinner with the European Titus people. They all adored Nicole and thought she had a fabulous career ahead of her, promising European appearances left, right and centre.

Nicole grinned. ‘Wait till I tell you,’ she said wickedly.

It was nearly two in the morning when Darius escorted her to her room. Nicole was exhausted after a long day, her voice was hoarse from talking and performing and her feet were tired, yet she still felt as if she could dance all night if only Darius asked.

He stopped outside her door and took her small hand in his big one. He was so gentle, Nicole thought. The kindest, politest man she’d ever met. What did he want with a tough little cookie like her? ‘Well … goodnight,’ stammered Darius, the boy who’d won debating contests at his public school and who’d never been at a loss for words before. He was speechless now. Nicole did that to him. Just one scorching look from those tigerish eyes and he was struck dumb. ‘Yes … goodnight,’ said Nicole, looking at her hand in his grasp. She couldn’t talk. What was the matter with her? She wanted Darius to kiss her, she wanted more than kisses, but she’d made the first move once, she couldn’t do it again. Not with someone like Darius. He was so upright and respectable, his voice made her think of the Queen’s garden parties and regattas on the telly. His parents would probably drop dead with shock if he turned up at home with this half-Indian, half-Cockney brat… ‘What are we like?’ Darius suddenly took action. ‘Where’s your key?’ Dumbly, Nicole handed it over. He opened the door and dragged her inside. Then, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her until she thought she’d faint with lack of oxygen. ‘Sorry,’ he said, as she gasped for air. ‘Sorry?’ laughed Nicole. ‘What for?’ And she pulled his head down to hers again. ‘You’ll be sorry if you stop.’ Much later, they sat on the sofa, Nicole curled up on his lap, his big body cradling hers protectively. ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ she said, not able to look him in the eye. ‘You can tell me anything,’ said Darius, his voice suffused with love. ‘I’m … that is …’ Nicole said haltingly. How was she ever going to do this? ‘Tell me.’ When Darius looked at her with that honest, blue gaze, she knew she could tell him anything.

‘I’m a virgin. I’ve never … done it before.’ She bit her lip anxiously. ‘Everyone thinks I have. I mean, you can’t say you’re a virgin nowadays, can you?’ ‘Why not?’ Darius said softly, tracing the outline of her lips with one finger. ‘You’re beautiful, Nicole. I’m crazy about you. I love you.’ ‘Me too,’ she said quickly, ‘that’s why I wanted to tell you. It has to be special, you see or …’ she paused. ‘Or it can screw up your life.’ She wanted to say more and Darius knew it. ‘Tell me?’ he asked. ‘It wasn’t my mum, you see,’ Nicole said. ‘It was Gran. Ever since I was a kid, she was always going on about mum getting pregnant when she was a teenager and how it ruined everything. I felt guilty, I was responsible.’ Nicole’s eyes glistened. ‘You weren’t, you were the innocent one,’ protested Darius. ‘Mum was innocent too,’ Nicole said. ‘You’ve met her. She’s just the kindest person and she can’t say no to anyone. She shouldn’t be allowed out on her own, Gran always says. I love Gran, honest I do, but I love Mum more. I never wanted anyone to label my mum as some reckless mother with kids by different fathers. I hate that.’ Nicole was vehement. ‘That’s why I tried so hard to keep things together at home.’ ‘Your mum is lovely,’ said Darius truthfully. He knew exactly what Nicole meant about her mother, who was as naive and trusting as the day is long. ‘Mum expects the best out of life and people,’ Nicole said simply. ‘There isn’t a bad bone in her body. She’s just a bit innocent, if that makes sense. She’s always done her best for us but she was the sort of person who needed someone strong to lean on. I tried to be that person, and all the time, Gran was telling me that sex was bad and look what it had done to Mum.’ ‘Sex isn’t bad.’ Darius stroked Nicole’s cheek softly. ‘That’s

your gran’s religious upbringing. You’ve got to understand that.’ ‘I know that,’ Nicole smiled as if talking to a child. ‘But I still wanted to wait for the right person.’ Darius couldn’t speak. ‘That’s you, silly,’ she said. ‘You’re the right person. But not here.’ She knew where she’d like to make love to him: in her own home, where she felt happy and independent, her own flat. ‘I’d love to have my own place,’ she said suddenly, ‘but I can’t,’ she added. ‘Why not?’ asked Darius reasonably. She stared at him. ‘I can’t leave Mum and Pammy, you know that.’ Darius was serious: ‘You’ll have to leave sometime, Nicole.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Hi Sam, How are you feeling? I hope you’re not working too hard. It’s a glorious day in Redlion with summer peeking round the corner. Toby and Millie are at my feet playing cards. Matt sent them this pack of animal cards from Bath and they spend hours playing snap. I was never so grateful to anyone in my life as I am to those cardmakers although Millie can get a bit stroppy when she loses. She’s really Daddy’s girl, I have to say. In the two weeks since Matt went back to Bath she’s been so naughty and when I give out to her, she cries at the top of her voice and says she wants her Daddy! But she’s happy today because a new babysitter is coming tonight and Millie can’t wait to get rid of me! I imagine she’s hoping to get up to all sorts of tricks with a babysitter who doesn’t know the rules. I’m going out to this big charity do which was set up by the woman who owns the local pub, which is the hotbed of all sorts of excitement. Apparently it’s amazing, everybody in the area comes. Tonight, we’re raising money for guide dogs for the blind. Matt says that knowing the people who frequent the pub, it’ll be guide dogs for the blind drunk. I have been roped in to sell raffle tickets. It should be fun. As you know, I haven’t been out much since Matt went back to Bath because both kids have had colds. Will tell you how it went tomorrow, Love Hope.

Geraldine, a nineteen-year-old Arts student whose parents ‘] ran the organic butchers, wasn’t in the least bothered by missing the charity night to babysit.

‘It’ll all be old wrinklies tonight,’ she told Hope dismissively. ‘No talent whatsoever, just the usual clutch of ould fellas trying to drag me up to dance because they buy meat from my dad’s shop, I’d hate it. It’ll be like every charity night they’ve ever had in the town. Boring as hell.’

‘Will all the ould fellows try and drag me up to dance?’ inquired Hope, grinning.

Geraldine shook her head. ‘No, they don’t know you well enough. In my case, you see, they all look mistily into their pints and tell me they remember when I was a baby and all the times they changed my nappy. That’s their grounds for hauling me round the dance floor. But they can’t do that with you. You’re still a visitor and you’re safe. Besides,’ she smiled in an awestruck way, ‘they know you’ve got a gorgeous husband, so what would be the point.’

‘My babysitter tells me the place will be full of old men desperate to drag young women up to dance,’ Hope whispered to Delphine as they left their coats at the cloakroom.

‘She’s got that right,’ Delphine whispered back. ‘But there’s bound to be a few nice ones too. I promise I’ll rescue you if I see you being molested by anyone unsuitable.’

Hope had never been in the village hall before. On the outside, it was a barren looking breeze block building with zero charm that no amount of climbing ivy could hide. On the inside, however, Belle Maguire’s group of charity ladies had transformed it with yellow crepe paper, plenty of trailing plants and a long table covered with a delicious looking buffet.

All the tables were covered in yellow table cloths and decorated with yellow roses, while the lights were all dim bulbs flattering to all ages and nicely atmospheric. It was obvious that a huge amount of effort had gone into everything.

By half seven, people started to arrive, the usual combination of people who were dressed to kill, along with people who’d come straight from work and hadn’t had a chance to change out of suits and ties. Hope and Delphine were asked to roam the tables once people had piled their plates from the buffet. Hope, who hadn’t had anything to eat since lunch, began to look longingly at the buffet with its beautifully laid out cold meats and the dressed salmon. By eight the place was full and the party raged on, with a few people not bothering with the buffet at all but getting stuck into the first hour of free drink.

‘Do you think having a free bar for an hour is a good idea?’ Hope asked Belle, when the queue to the bar was at least six deep with no sign of abating.

Belle smiled enigmatically. ‘Wait till the auction,’ she said. ‘They’re much more generous when they’re plastered. When it’s all balanced out, we’ll have made a fortune.’

She was right. By ten, Hope had sold most of her tickets and the floor was heaving with happy partygoers dancing to a band playing disco music. Hope had been whirled around the floor several times and not with any of Geraldine’s so called ould fellas either. Eugene had brought along some friends, who been only too delighted to whisk off the pretty Mrs Parker who looked so sweetly sexy in a long flowered chiffon dress.

In fact, the gathering was pretty glamorous all round. Lots of gorgeous teenage girls drifted around affecting to look bored at being at a do with their parents, but secretly trying to attract the attention of one of the local rock stars, who’d turned up with his wife, an ex-Vogue model who was watching the teenage lovelies with a wary eye. The Oscar winning actress who’d bought the crumbling Shanrock Castle was there with a party of guests from LA, one of whom was trying to Riverdance with the barmaid from the Widow’s. Delphine’s friends, a crowd of glamorous, French manicured young things who looked as if they’d spent all day in a beauty salon, were being ogled by the LA guests and

Eugene’s friends. Meanwhile, two of the handsome Danish artists who’d been renting a house near the artists’ centre since March had arrived on a Harley and were having a great time being indoctrinated into Irish cuisine by boutique owner Lucille, who felt they ought to try crubeens before they went back to Denmark.

‘What are crubeens?’ inquired the younger guy innocently, taking a big bite.

‘Pigs’ feet,’ Lucille announced pleasantly. ‘The back ones to be precise because there’s more meat on them. Anyone want some more?’

‘How are you doing?’ asked Belle, catching up with Hope in the ladies as she tried to tone down her flushed face.

‘Brilliantly,’ Hope said with delight. ‘We’re making a fortune.’

‘Good. It’s the auction next and I’ve a problem because one of my ladies has let me down.’

‘Can I help?’ Hope asked.

Belle smiled at her. ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’

Which was how Hope found herself standing nervously onstage beside seven other locals, all of whom had good humouredly offered themselves up for the auction. Danny, a landscape gardener, was offering a day’s work in someone’s garden. Shona, a talented decorator, promised a consultation to help revamp someone’s house, while Delphine was offering a home facial.

Hope wasn’t sure what she was supposed to offer.

‘Hen rearing skills,’ suggested Mary-Kate wickedly from the safety of the dance floor.

‘Why aren’t you up here?’ demanded Hope.

‘You’re prettier,’ said Mary-Kate.

‘No, it’s because she refused,’ Belle said. With her golden blonde hair piled on top of her head and wearing a very low cut pink suit out of which her magnificent bosom rose majestically, she looked like the madam of a successful brothel.

‘What am I up here for?’ Hope inquired. ‘I keep hearing what a wonderful organizer you are - Una Hutchinson never stops singing your praises. You can offer two hours of sorting out people’s business affairs.’ ‘I don’t really do that sort of thing …’ protested Hope. ‘Nonsense,’ said Belle. ‘Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a very capable woman, remember that.’ The bidding was slow to start but by the time Shona’s interior decoration services were up for grabs, the money was flowing. ‘Ł300, can you imagine that,’ said Shona delightedly as the bidding stopped. ‘Oh God,’ whispered Hope in embarrassment to Delphine. ‘Nobody’s going to bid for me. I’ll die. Why did I let myself in for this?’ Belle, the perfect mistress of ceremonies, invited Hope to stand beside her, outlined her skills, and asked for the bids to start. Hope smiled glazedly out at the audience, thinking that if only Matt were here, he’d bid for her, purely to save her from utter public humiliation. ‘One hundred pounds,’ cried Eugene loyally. Hope smiled at him. ‘One fifty,’ offered Mary-Kate. ‘One seventy-five,’ said Paddy Slattery who’d sold her the hens. Hope sighed. If Paddy won the bidding, he’d probably have her cleaning out his henhouse for him. ‘Two hundred,’ said Erwin, whose machinery hire company she’d worked for. Hope smiled at him. She’d already sorted Erwin out. ‘Two fifty,’ said a man in a wheelchair. Standing beside him, giving her a thumbs up signal, was Una Hutchinson. ‘Two seventy-five,’ said the butcher’s wife encouragingly. ‘Three hundred,’ said the rock star huskily, earning himself a fierce glare off his wife. ‘Three hundred,’ repeated Belle, gazing round at the audience.

There were no more bids and the only sounds in the hall were the noise of the CD player on low and the sound of glasses rattling down at the bar.

‘Any more bids?’ roared Belle.

‘Three twenty-five,’ said the butcher’s assistant, no doubt primed by his boss.

‘Three twenty-five it is,’ said Belle, judging it to be the end of the bidding, ‘going, going …’

‘Four hundred pounds,’ said a familiar voice.

There was a delighted roar from one of the charity ladies who was now semi-comatose from brandy. ‘Fantasthic!’ she slurred. ‘Pray ish not my husband who’s bidding.’

‘Who bid?’ whispered Shona, fascinated, peering down the back of the hall where the lights were dim and all the faces merged into one another.

Hope didn’t need to see who’d bid for her. She knew. She’d recognize that honeyed voice anywhere. Christy De Lacy.

Her face burned.