“It’s my favourite meal,” he laughed, sitting down again. “With red wine, of course.”
“No problem,” Allie said, getting up to turn on the oven.
Picking up his fork, Paul Richmond allowed himself another glance at Allie. Once he was certain she wasn’t looking. He was fascinated by the way the evening sunlight played on her thick, wavy hair, turning the blonde to spun gold. The smooth skin of her arms positively glowed and he fought a sudden urge to reach out and touch her. Abruptly, he focused on his half eaten pizza again. What was he thinking? He couldn’t get involved with anyone. Not while Caroline was still a warm, vital memory. He wasn’t ready for another woman. Not to mention the fact that Allie was the mother of two of his pupils, it was his first week at the school, and he had only just met her. Some things just weren’t ‘done’, as the British would say.
“Mr. Richmond?”
He looked up into Allie’s questioning, light blue gaze. Her eyes seemed to be looking into him rather than at him. Focusing swiftly on her mouth, he took a sip of wine before answering. Gradually, the Spanish red began to warm his chest, giving him another sensation to concentrate on.
“I’m sorry. I was miles away,” he said, studying the contours of her lips. Damn. This old tactic wasn’t working. Every part of her was demanding his attention. “Please, call me Paul.” He put down his wine glass. “Except when the kids are in earshot, that is,” he added, drawn to her eyes again.
“Sorry…. Paul.” Even the way she said his name was sexy. Something to do with the English vowel sounds, no doubt, he told himself hastily. Or the wine. Nothing more. He had to focus on what she was saying, rather than her voice. Otherwise, he was doomed.
“Yes, Mrs. Johnson,” he managed, eventually. She smiled and shook her head slowly. Chasing away the rather worrying idea that she might be able to read his mind, he continued. “Sorry. Allie. I’m all ears.”
“So I see,” she laughed. “I was just wondering whether you’d like some more salad.”
“More salad.” Repeating the words helped him direct his thoughts. “Yes.” He pulled the bowl towards his plate. “Thanks.”
As he helped himself, Allie got up to refill the water jug. Paul found his eyes drawn to her legs: smooth, tanned and shapely under her cotton skirt. Much more interesting to look at than salad tongs and lettuce.
Her voice cut into his musings. “So how long are you planning on staying in England?”
He took a deep breath. “I’m not sure really. I’ll see how it goes. At least one school year. For the kids’ sake.”
She poured him a glass of water and sat down.
“And what brought you here? I mean, from Canada to London….. Why would anyone want to do that?” Her eyes were twinkling now. “It doesn’t sound logical to me. Canada’s a beautiful country. Or seems to be. On the telly, I mean. I’ve never been there.”
He felt himself smile. “London has its fair share of beauty.” He grimaced inwardly. Where were these lines coming from? “It’s…quaint. Old fashioned. Er, cute. It has soul.”
She giggled. “Now you’re beginning to sound like an American tourist.”
“I sound nothing like an American.” He raised his eyebrows in mock outrage. “There is a world of difference between that accent and mine. Mine, if you’ll notice, is much softer.” His smile became broader. “Much nicer.”
He noticed her expression darken fleetingly.
“So Melanie tells me.” She looked away for a moment. When she looked back, the darkness was gone. “Billy’s mum,” she added softly.
“Yes. I know Mel…. Mrs. Hampton.” He checked his voice, injecting just the right amount of casualness. Or so he hoped. “Billy’s a great kid. So happy. And he’s adjusted really well to me being his new teacher. Considering how hard it is for children like him to accept change of any kind…”
And he steered the conversation in a new direction, as they began to talk about children with special needs, their inclusion into mainstream schools and the differences between Canada and the UK. An objective debate, he thought. Safe subjects. And nothing at all to do with Melanie Hampton.
“Would you like more coffee?” Allie knew she would pay for the espresso-induced buzz at 8pm with a sudden awakening at 3am, but she no longer cared. She was enjoying talking to Paul so much that she didn’t want him to leave. If caffeine was what it took to keep him in her house, then so be it.
He pushed his plate away and smiled. “Yes please.”
“Shall we sit in the garden? It’s warm enough.”
He nodded, got up and began to rinse out the cups.
“You’re very domesticated,” she said, taking her place beside him to dry up.
“Canadian men are. It’s how our women like us.”
How our women like us. Our women. Beautiful, tall Canadian women. Like Melanie, Allie mused, putting the cups onto a tray.
There was a short silence as he leaned back against the dresser to watch her make the coffee. She no longer felt uncomfortable, just puzzled. If he liked Melanie, then why was he staying? And why did he keep looking at her? She noticed he seemed momentarily lost in his own thoughts, and decided small talk was the remedy.
“Do you use these in Canada?”
“Use what?” He laughed. “Cups?”
“No, cafetieres.” She liked his sense of fun.
“Sometimes,” he said, switching his gaze to the window. “You have a beautiful garden. Very colourful. Are you the gardener?”
“There’s only me here,” she reminded him.
She placed the cafetiere carefully onto the tray and walked towards the door. As he leaned over to open it for her, she caught the smell of something earthy. A delicious combination of his body, soap and aftershave, which excited her senses and made her want to breathe him in. She thought she could feel his eyes on her back as they went out into the warm night air. But then again, maybe she was imagining it.
She was justifiably proud of her garden. It contained pots, baskets, window boxes and all manner of containers filled with bright red geraniums, and had long borders full of night-scented stock, forget-me-nots, roses and lobelia. She always felt calm when she was in the garden. Sitting on her patio with the sun on her skin was her idea of paradise. If she ever got to Heaven (and, to be honest, there was some doubt in light of her recent thoughts about the lovely Melanie) her garden would have to go with her.
“I like this. Now this is nice,” Paul said, sitting down at the wooden table and turning his gaze to the lawn. The fading sunlight caught his face, emphasising his handsome profile. “It reminds me of our family garden back in Canada.” He paused, taking in the profusion of flowers around him, and the row of leafy trees that screened them from the rest of the world. “Except it’s totally different,” he added, smiling at her suddenly. His eyes were twinkling.
“The same, yet totally different, I see.” She laughed. “You’ll have to explain that one, I’m afraid. You’ve lost me there.”
“Yeah. When I try to wax lyrical, it soon descends into nonsense. Sorry Allie.” He sat back and stretched. It was a luxurious, sexy movement. Allie tried not to stare and turned her attention to pouring out the coffee. He continued. “I suppose I mean it has a good feel to it. It’s a place you want to be. Especially after a hard day. Is this where you unwind?”
She nodded, handing him a cup. Their conversation flowed easily, punctuated by the sounds of a lazy suburban summer evening: children’s laughter in the distance, the drone of a lawnmower, birds coming home to roost. The spicy smell of a distant barbeque drifted across. As they talked, it gradually grew dark. Eventually Allie lit a candle and drew her knees up in front of her on her chair.
“So, do you have a garden where you live now?” she asked.
“No, it’s an apartment. I have a balcony. But you couldn’t swing a cat.” He put down his cup. “Not that I’d ever want to do that. I wonder where that saying came from? I bet it’s nautical. They usually are.”
>
Just as she was about to hazard a guess, his mobile phone rang, cutting through the still night air. Paul flicked it open.
“Hello? Hi.” He grinned sheepishly at Allie. “No. What’s wrong?” There was a pause. As he listened, she noticed concern appear on his face. He focused on a bush by the fence, looking intently at it, but not seeing. He sighed before continuing. “What – you mean now? No, no, it’s OK. Don’t worry. I’ll be there in five minutes.” Allie felt her heart sink. “No, no problem. Just hold on.” And he flipped the phone shut. Switching his gaze to Allie, he smiled. “I’m sorry, Allie, I have to go.” He stood up abruptly, offering no explanation.
“Never mind,” she said, keeping her voice light. As she got to her feet, she realised just how much wine she had drunk. All of a sudden, the world seemed a little unsteady. “I’ll see you to the door,” she continued, turning to lead the way inside. His arm shot out to support her as she stumbled against the wheels of Harry’s bike, which was lying in wait for her against the kitchen wall. He held her for a second longer than was necessary, and she could feel herself blushing in the darkness. Slowly, he released his grip.
“Bloody bike,” she said.
“Bloody wine,” he laughed.
“No, definitely, bloody bike.”
“Bloody bike it is then.” He paused. “Look. I’m sorry I have to go. Really. I am.” He moved a little closer. “It’s been really good. Honest. It’s just….. Well. There’s someone who needs my help.” He put his hand on her arm. “And I have to go.”
Strangely, Allie felt reassured by his words. As she looked up at him, she was drawn to the strong contours of his features, thrown into soft relief by the kitchen light. She felt an overwhelming urge to kiss him. He hadn’t removed his hand. Just as she thought the moment had come, she felt him draw back suddenly. She opened her half-closed eyes and focused on him. His face was sad, his eyes suddenly wistful.
“I’m sorry,” she said, quickly.
“No. No, I’m the one who should be sorry.” He relinquished his touch and moved back slightly, running his fingers through his hair as he continued to gaze at her awkwardly. It was as though he had suddenly realised something. That he likes Melanie and not me, thought Allie, stepping carefully past him into the muted light of the kitchen.
“I’ll show you out,” she said in as matter-of-fact a tone as she could muster.
His gaze suddenly grew more intense, bringing with it an onrush of intimacy she felt she had no right to. She looked down in confusion. Her newly-painted toenails stood out against the black and white floor tiles.
“Your feet are tiny,” he said, breaking the silence at last.
“Anyone’s would be, compared to yours.” She looked up, met his eye, and laughed out loud. “I’m so sorry, Paul. What have I said? That sounded awful.”
“That’s OK,” he chuckled. “I suppose I would look a bit stupid with size fives, or whatever yours are.”
“Four and a half.”
“Good grief. How on earth do you manage to stand up without falling over?”
She laughed again. “They get me round.”
There was a moment when she felt she should reach out to him, ask him to stay. Then it passed and she was left looking up at him, not knowing what to say next.
“I’d better go,” he said eventually. “Thanks for a really nice evening. Great pizza.”
“No problem. Anytime you want to ….. I mean, anytime you feel like….. well….”
“Oh, I will. Anytime I feel I want to, I will. You can be sure of that.” His eyes seemed to sparkle mischief at her.
Noting his seeming inability to move, she decided it was time for decisive action. With a supreme effort of will, she turned and headed purposefully for the door, unlocking it and opening it all in one movement. He walked past her out onto the front step, then turned back.
“So…. Thanks again, Allie. I really enjoyed that. I….” His voice tailed off.
“Like I said. Anytime.” All of a sudden, she heard coldness in her voice.
For a while, neither of them moved. Then he turned away and began to walk slowly down the path. She felt she had to delay him somehow.
“Did you bring your car?”
He turned back and Allie saw him smile. His hair shone gold in the orange London streetlights.
“No. I’m on foot.”
“What, all the way to the town centre?”
“Remember, I’m from a big country. We think nothing of hiking to work, past the grizzlies and all that. On horseback, if need be. Escorted by Mounties, of course. To see off the wolves.” His smile grew broader. “Not to mention the polar bears.”
“OK. I get the picture.”
An owl hooted in the distance. She could sense him hesitate before speaking. “Bye, Allie. Sorry I have to go. I’ll phone.” And he turned away again and strode off, reaching the end of the road in a matter of seconds. The next time she looked, he had been swallowed up by the darkness of the alley.
“Bye.” Her soft voice echoed faintly around the deserted street.
As she closed the door, she felt a vague sense of disappointment. A sense that something should have happened, but failed to. It was almost as though Paul Richmond had wanted to be with her, to arrange to meet her again, but had thought better of it. What was he up to?
She wandered back into the kitchen and put the kettle on, glancing at the pile of assignments. The fleeting desire for a stress-free job descended upon her. A job where she wouldn’t have to bring her work home. Where she could clock on and work, then clock off, come home and live. She opened a drawer and pulled out a battered packet of menthol cigarettes. Now was the time for her weekly treat. She deserved it. Turning off the kettle, she picked up a lighter and went back out into the garden.
Paul Richmond glanced at his watch as he strode along the tree-lined pavement. Melanie would have to choose her times a bit more carefully, he mused. If he was to have any kind of private life at all, that was. As he reached her house, a few streets away from Allie’s, he found himself taking a deep breath. How much longer could they continue to pretend they didn’t know each other? Someone was bound to find out, and then…. Well. Even though it was nobody’s business really, he didn’t want to think about the consequences: for him, for her, for Billy.
He approached the gabled porch and waited for a moment, listening. Hearing a distant, moaning sound, he knocked softly on the heavy, oak door. Melanie opened it, hair dishevelled, face red, eyes swollen and wild.
“Paul. Thank God. I’m so sorry. I am. I just can’t…. oh God….. I…” and she fell into his arms.
He held her tenderly, in a strong, comforting embrace. She was shaking, weeping noiselessly. He could feel her tears, warm and damp on his shirt.
“It’s OK, Mel. Come on now.” He kissed the top of her head. “Let’s go in, shall we?” He guided her gently back into the hall and continued to hug her while she tried to stop crying. “Billy? Are you OK?” His deep voice filled the house as he pushed the door shut behind him.
Allie looked up at the clock: two am. She was sitting in the kitchen, writing. She had passed the point of wanting to sleep, and was now possessed by inspiration. She usually scribbled relentlessly whenever the mood took her: whenever she could. As a result, she was now halfway through her first novel. Having reached that magical point where the characters had taken on a life of their own, she only had to close her eyes and they would appear. It was as though she was watching a film, and simply noting down what she saw happening on the screen. However, tonight, each time she tried to conjure up the face of her hero, a tall, dark-haired Eastern European, the features that she saw were those of Paul Richmond.
“Bugger!” She cursed under her breath as the phone rang. At this time of night, it could only be something serious. An emergency. Chasing away the alarming vision of Harry gasping for breath, she shot out of her seat and over to the phone in one frantic movement.
“Hello?” She waited
, but heard nothing. “Hello? James, is that you?” Still no sound. “Harry? George?” She sat down wearily. “Who is this?”
When the voice came, it was faint, a whisper. She couldn’t tell whether it was a man or a woman. All she could hear was menace.
“Leave him alone. Or you’ll be sorry.”
“I beg your pardon?” She shivered, despite the warmth of the kitchen. “Who is this?”
“Just leave him alone.”
“Hold on a minute….” Her voice tailed off lamely as she realised the caller had hung up. Shaking, she replaced the receiver and sat down again. What was going on?
Chapter Two
It was far too hot, Allie thought. A few years ago, a south-facing garden was a selling point. Now, with summer temperatures soaring, it was a liability. Liz and Jeremiah had got round the intense heat by planting a few fast-growing trees and investing in a huge gazebo for their outdoor dining area. Despite these measures, the accumulated warmth at the end of a June day still felt as though it could melt rubber. As she sat back in their porch swing, sipping Jeremiah’s iced tea, Allie smiled to herself. It was Saturday night, she was with good friends, she had done her marking, and all was right with the world. Well, almost. The only thing marring the perfection was the fact that Paul hadn’t phoned. Yet. She glanced at her mobile, glowing luminous green next to the house keys she had tossed onto Liz’s patio bench. No, looking at it wouldn’t make it ring any sooner. She had to be patient.
“Kebabs! Get your hot kebabs!” Jeremiah’s deep voice rang out as he strolled over from the cast iron barbeque at the bottom of the garden. “Liz? Where’s that salad?”
“Coming!” Liz appeared at the kitchen door, flushed, carrying an enormous tray of salad, wine and French bread. Allie jumped up to clear a space on the table. “No, sit down!” Liz balanced the tray on the edge of the table and wiped her forehead, pushing back short locks of dark hair. “Relax.”
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