The Near & Far Series

by Serena Clarke

  She suddenly realised that he must be able to smell it on her. She decided not to admit that she was moderately whisky-tipsy already.

  “Alcohol increases swelling. And increases the risk of falling over again,” he added, unsmiling. She could only nod obediently as the nurse came in to bandage her up, and he left to deal with some real emergency.

  By now it was getting late. They found a Boots with a late-night pharmacy, and then stopped for pizza. She waited in the back of the car, her leg up and her head heavy against the seat back. With an empty stomach, and only the whisky to wash down the codeine, she’d had to wait for her first dose of painkillers. It felt like a very long wait indeed. Finally Ryan came back with the pizza and a can of Sprite, and she thankfully downed two tablets. She went to put the lid back on the little bottle, then paused. Her ankle was pounding in its bandage, the smallest movement still excruciating. There wouldn’t be any harm, surely… She shook out one more tablet and popped it in her mouth, then lay back again. Prescription or otherwise, she was grateful for any helpful substance tonight.

  * * *

  By the time they made it back to Fleet’s house, she was completely used up. They settled into the kitchen to eat, Livi back in her rocking chair. But before long, they realised that Fleet was still entertaining his (possibly illegal) houseguests in the room next door. The unmistakable, rhythmic sound of mattress springs in action was punctuated by squeals and giggles.

  Oh, no. She tried not to look at Ryan, but when she caught his eye they both had to laugh.

  She held her hands over her ears. “Is his bedroom next door?”

  “Yeah. He said he likes being close to the fridge.”

  The giggles were now replaced by theatrical moans and gasps. Livi was torn between embarrassment at overhearing, and wonder at the ostentatious sound effects. “How many girls does he have in there?”

  Ryan grinned. “More than enough. Do you want to sit somewhere else?”

  She closed the lid on her pizza box. “No, I don’t think I can eat any more anyway. I’m so tired.”

  “Come on then.” He helped her up again and put his arm around her. In her worn-out state, she leaned gratefully into him. Now, with the lusty chorus coming from next door, she was acutely aware of his hard body under the soft flannel shirt. They made their slow and careful way along to Fleet’s room, and he banged on the door. “Fleet! Where can Livi sleep?”

  The theatrics stopped suddenly, but the giggles returned. After some time, a reply came. “You’ve got a bed, put her in there.”

  They looked at each other for a moment. The possibility hung in the air, along with Cass’s exclamation marks. Then Ryan called back through the door. “No, she needs a proper rest, with her ankle.”

  There was a chorus of giggles and shrieks from within. He sighed, and banged on the door again. Finally Fleet’s voice could be heard.

  “Sorry mate, try upstairs, at the other end of the house. My mum’s room, when she visits…”

  They started to go, but then the door suddenly opened. As they both turned to look, Fleet stepped out, buck naked. Livi’s first instinct was to close her eyes. When she came to her senses a millisecond later and reopened them—she’d never have another chance to see that, after all—a bed-haired girl peeked out from behind his bony shoulder, curious. Livi recognised her from the gate.

  “Hang on mate, I’ve saved something for you. Just a second.”

  He disappeared back into the room, leaving the girl lounging against the door frame. One long, smooth leg had escaped from the sheet she was wrapped in. She stared boldly at Ryan, unbothered by Livi’s presence, clearly liking what she saw. Livi, on the other hand, was surprised to find that she felt quite bothered. In fact, she felt a strong desire to shove the tantalisingly dishevelled girl back through the doorway.

  Fortunately, at that moment Fleet reappeared—not with another girl he’d saved for Ryan, as Livi had half expected, but with a small plastic bag. “This is too good not to share,” he said, pressing it into Ryan’s hand.

  He started to decline, but Fleet insisted. “Go on. Least I can do.”

  So he took it. “Thanks mate, that’s very generous.”

  Then Fleet and the girl disappeared back into the bedroom, the girl giving Ryan one last provocative look before she shut the door.

  Livi looked at the little bag. “Is that…?”

  “Yeah.” Then he had a thought. “Is that what?”

  “Um...” Hello again, country mouse. She wasn’t completely unworldly—but there was obviously plenty she didn’t know. “Never mind.”

  “Okay,” he said, tucking it into his shirt pocket. Then he looked at her. “I try not to turn anyone down. If they think you’re on the same page, everything flows more smoothly.”

  “Oh, right. Yeah.” She was none the wiser, but she wasn’t going to draw attention to how un-streetwise she was. “Let’s go up and find this bedroom, leave them to it.”

  They came to the bottom of the stairs, and her heart sank—they seemed to stretch a mile high. He saw her face. “No problem,” he said. And before she knew it, he picked her up and set off.

  “Oh no, I’m too heavy,” she protested.

  “You’re kidding, right?” He went steadily up the stairs. “You’re no more than a doll.”

  Along the passage, they were surprised to find a beautifully furnished, tidy room. He gently put her down inside. The curtains matched the floral canopy over the bed, and there was a little en-suite bathroom with a vintage bathtub under the window. While he went back down for her abandoned shoes and the equipment case (luckily full of hair and makeup products she could use in the morning), she used the toilet as quickly as she could, and splashed her face with water. There was toothpaste and a newish-looking toothbrush in a tumbler. After some consideration, she rinsed the toothbrush in scalding hot water and used it. Needs must.

  When she hobbled back out, she saw that he’d pushed the window open. A small lamp glowed on the bedside table, and the warm evening air brought in the scent of climbing flowers. She took off her shirt, avoiding his eye, and got into bed wearing her leggings and silky cami top, leaving her bandaged foot uncovered. With her head on the pillow, she could see out into the long garden where she’d embarrassed herself that day. Now the grass swayed silvery and inviting in the moonlight. The only sounds were crickets in the garden, and the regular punctuation of a frog somewhere in the distance.

  He sat on the bed alongside her. Another mad day, another strange bed. She felt herself begin to drift in and out of an unreal half-sleep. In the dim light, he was a broad-shouldered silhouette. He didn’t seem in any hurry to get to his room. As her eyes fought to close, she wondered if Cam was sitting on someone else’s bed right now…Sasha Fernsby’s bed, to be exact. In her mind, the sound of crickets merged with the sound of clapping at the Eiffel Tower lights...

  * * *

  She awoke suddenly to find Ryan lying next to her, on top of the blankets. He smiled lazily as she struggled to wake up.

  “How long was I asleep?” She felt completely disoriented.

  “Not very long.”

  She had no idea if that was true. But the little lamp was still on, and he didn’t look like he’d been asleep too. “Sorry…I couldn’t stay awake. Maybe it’s the tablets.”

  “You just need to sleep.”

  She did. She felt decidedly off-kilter. But although her body was heavy with tiredness, and her brain was fuddled, his nearness focused her attention. This close, she could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and the way his scar tapered around under his jaw. Her finger itched to trace along it, down the side of his neck and beyond.

  A random thought popped out before she could stop it. “How do you always keep that same stubble? Do you have some special shaver?”

  He laughed. “No, I just usually shave every couple of days, before bed.”

  The temptation was too great. She reached out and lay a tentative finger on his jaw, where
the scar interrupted the dark shadow. “Oh, right. Five o’clock shadow in the morning. Very rock ’n’ roll.”

  “Ha, yeah, that’s me.” He made the ‘rock on’ sign, then let his two raised fingers fall on the bare skin at her collarbone. He trailed them softly down to the edge of her camisole, then paused. Her drowsy body was now awake and humming, waiting for where his touch would travel next. But he stopped, and propped himself up on his elbow.

  “So, are you coming?”

  She worked to gather herself. “Coming where?”

  “Back home with me.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “I am. I have to go—you should come too.” He made it sound so simple.

  “I do have a life, you know. For starters, there’s my job. I can’t just up and leave.”

  “You did last time,” he pointed out, daring her.

  “This is different.” How, she couldn’t exactly say. His warm proximity wasn’t making clear thought any easier.

  “I don’t see why.”

  She sighed, knowing what any sensible person would say. “I have no idea who you are. I mean…I don’t want to end up on the side of a milk carton.”

  “Don’t worry about offending me or anything,” he said. “Anyway, you’d probably be stuck on a lamp post.”

  She thought back to Steve’s words. She hadn’t seen him chew gum so far, he obviously wasn’t an evangelist, and there didn’t seem to be any wives. And who knew whether gun-toting was commonplace back in Silver Lake.

  “I’ll have to google you. There are no real secrets any more, apparently.”

  “You won’t find much.”

  “Why not? Don’t you advertise to the rich and famous?”

  “No. The opposite. They like it better if you’re hard to pin down. If you’re elusive, they feel like they’re getting something exclusive.”

  “But how do I know you’re not, I don’t know…an exclusive, elusive axe-murderer?”

  “Take the chance.”

  His face was teasing, challenging her. She took in the curved mouth, the all-American teeth, and the complexion that would put Enrique Iglesias to shame. All just a breath away. Sensible was in danger of losing the fight. Cling film and tea bags stood no chance against this. Probably not a good idea, she knew, but…

  He leaned down, and she closed her eyes as his lips met hers. For all the stubble, his kiss was surprisingly tender, and she gave herself up to the heady pleasure of what she’d imagined so many times since that night on the tube. Then he took her face in his hands and kissed her harder, parting her lips, delving deeper, and any thought of sensible behaviour melted away in the reckless heat of her body’s response to his confident, seeking mouth.

  “Live dangerously,” she murmured, as he pulled back for a moment to look at her.

  “Exactly.” He gathered her in, pulling her hard up against him, and went to kiss her again. But with the sudden movement, pain flared in her ankle, making her cry out.

  He stopped. “Sorry,” he said, letting her lie back on the pillow. “Hurts, huh?”

  “Yes.” She gritted her teeth, waiting for it to ease.

  “This is no good. I’d better let you sleep.” As he got up, she wanted to weep with both frustration and pain. He let out a long breath and ran his fingers through his hair. “Don’t know how much sleep I’ll be getting though.”

  He bent down and kissed her gently on her passion-bruised lips, his eyes still heavy with the heat of their encounter. Then he turned off the little lamp and went out, leaving her flustered and fidgety, wondering what, oh what, she’d just missed out on.

  Thirty-Two

  She woke the next morning feeling less than rested. Everything was quiet in the house, so she limped into the bathroom. There was no shower, and she couldn’t begin to imagine getting in and out of the old high-sided bath. So she did the best she could with her own little makeup bag and the contents of Mia’s case, and took another couple of painkillers. She’d have to find some breakfast. It seemed unlikely that Fleet would be well-stocked with groceries—maybe leftover pizza would have to do.

  By the time she went carefully out into the passage, Ryan was waiting at the top of the stairs. They smiled at each other, and she was suddenly self-conscious, remembering the heat of the night before, feeling the warmth of a blush in her cheeks.

  “How’s the patient this morning?” he asked. His voice was concerned, but his smile held a knowing tease, and she knew he could read her thoughts.

  “Okay thanks,” she said, putting down her bag and Mia’s case, and holding onto the railing. “A bit sore.”

  “I bet. I hope you got some sleep, after…”

  He left the rest unsaid, but she felt the blush intensify anyway. Despite that, she kept her voice steady when she answered. “Some. What about you?”

  “Yeah, some,” he echoed. “I had something on my mind.”

  “You and me both.”

  Under his steady gaze, heavy with implication, she was acutely aware of the open door to the bedroom only a few steps—or hops, in her case—behind them. She couldn’t help looking over her shoulder, tempted. But as she moved, she let her weight fall on her sprained ankle, and the pain made her suck in her breath.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Shouldn’t leave you standing here.” And he sprang into action, taking her things and helping her back downstairs, the moment over for now.

  It was quiet in Fleet’s room as they passed. “No more athletics this morning,” he commented.

  They went into the kitchen in search of breakfast. On the worktop were the pizza boxes (empty) and the familiar leather satchel—and the little plastic bag, with only a smudge of white dust left in the bottom.

  Fleet came in right behind them. “Let’s go,” he said.

  “You’re up early,” Ryan said. “Thought you’d be sleeping in.”

  “Sleep?” He waved the suggestion away. “I’m keeping going while the going’s good. Sleep when you’re dead. Thanks for the pizza, by the way, great breakfast. Now come on, let’s go.” He jigged with impatience.

  Ryan and Livi looked at each other. Judging by the expression on his face, he was thinking the same thing she was—he didn’t want company for their trip back to London.

  “Aren’t you going with your security guys?” he said.

  “Nah, they didn’t get any more interesting while I was inside. I’ll come with you, and we can talk about this project.”

  So it was decided. Fleet was going to see his manager, so they’d drop Livi and the Saab at Peach, not far away. She sat propped up in the back again, the satchel on the floor next to Mia’s case, while Fleet talked on and on, sometimes about the documentary project, sometimes going off on long, rambling tangents. Ryan nodded and made all the right noises, while Livi snuck glances at him, wondering anew what she’d missed—and whether she should give herself the chance to find out.

  She texted Mia and Cass to say she was on her way, and ate one of the pastries Ryan bought from a bakery they passed. After a while, she felt herself getting sleepy again. She had no idea who had taken what, or not, or whether she even gave a damn. Who was she to talk, anyway, dosed up on codeine? She closed her eyes. She’d have to trust to fate that, between the two of them, they’d get her safely back to London.

  * * *

  At Peach, Cass came out to meet her, but she could see the others trying to watch through the window. She hoped there wouldn’t be any hair mishaps caused by distracted scissors. Fleet went straight from the Saab to his black Range Rover with tinted windows, pausing only to take a long appreciative look at Cass. “Hello, love,” he said—and with just those two words, she was lost. She blushed and giggled as he got into the Range Rover.

  On the pavement, Ryan gave Livi the car keys and kissed her one last, lingering time. “Let me know,” he said, and she could only nod as he followed Fleet into the Range Rover and closed the door.

  Between Fleet’s ogling and the sight of Ryan, with his
effortlessly hip good looks, Cass was overcome.

  “Wow,” she said, as they pulled away. “You’ve obviously had quite a time.”

  “Yes, I have.” She laughed, holding onto Cass’s arm as she balanced on one foot. “I really have.”

  “I’m totally jealous. Come on, I want to hear about it. One of the boys can move the car. And a package arrived for you this morning, we’re all dying to know what it is.”

  She got Livi inside and settled on the salon sofa.

  “Welcome back, wounded warrior,” said Aidan, taking the chance to come over between clients. “You were a bit obvious out there,” he added to Cass.

  “No, I wasn’t! I was very composed.”

  “You weren’t,” Livi said. “I think you actually fluttered your eyelashes.”

  “I did not! I don’t even know how to flutter my eyelashes.” She demonstrated with mad spasmodic blinking. “See?”

  Livi laughed. “It must have been involuntary eyelash fluttering.”

  “It could have been,” she conceded. “But you can’t blame me. I was completely unprepared. I never fancied Fleet Donnelly before, but seeing him in person…and your American is dangerously attractive.”

  “Oh, I know,” said Livi. “But it’s the amount of dangerous versus attractive that I’m not sure about.”

  She looked at the large, square parcel that Cass pulled out from behind the sofa. “What is this?”

  “That’s what we want to know,” Cass said.

  Livi tore off the brown paper wrapping, and then used the scissors Cass offered to cut away several layers of bubble wrap. “Oh!”

  It was Saint Cecilia, beautifully mounted and framed in heavy antique gold. And it could only have come from one person.

  “It’s gorgeous!” Cass exclaimed.

  Aidan nodded, impressed. “That’s classy.”