Short and Sweet

by Kris Pearson

  Antony dropped a kiss on her hair. “I wondered why she had that tray loaded with four of everything before you even arrived. You reckon they cooked it up together?”

  “Nooooooo……” Emma said, turning her smiling face up to his for another kiss.

  ***

  SAPPHIRE AND SILVER

  Saffy sighed, very softly, as she slid the needle down beside another of Mrs Bonnie O’Halloran’s rather wiry chin-hairs. She depressed the foot control and waited for the electric current to do its work, then neatly tweaked the offender away.

  Mrs Bonnie O’Halloran immediately attempted further conversation, which meant Saffy had to wait until she could annihilate the next whisker.

  “We’re having the party on Saturday for the newly engaged couple,” Mrs O’Halloran gushed. “Starting with a nice family dinner—I’m getting caterers in for that—and then the younger ones have lots of friends arriving for what they call ‘a rave’.” She wrinkled her nose at the prospect.

  “Lovely,” Saffy agreed, diving in with the needle to halt the flow of chat. She wished she had an engagement ring to flaunt, or a fiancee to introduce to her friends—even the prospect of a boyfriend would do. But for the past couple of years desirable men had been thin on the ground.

  She was thirty-six. She’d missed out on the first crop of available men. The ones who were in circulation now were the bachelors who’d not attracted women in the first place, or the confirmed playboys who had no intention of settling down, or the bitter divorcees who’d been disposed of by wives who’d found them not up to scratch.

  ‘What a choice,’ she thought, tweaking another hair free and getting the needle in again very fast so Mrs O’Halloran had to remain mostly silent.

  Behind her, the super-soothing music with real birdsong floated from the speakers. It was designed to relax the clients of The Beauty Box, and Saffy was heartily sick of it.

  Ah well—she had her little house which she was enjoying decorating. And she had an adorable new kitten. She loved her job nearly all of the time. And she was healthy... four things to be thankful for anyway.

  She glanced at her watch. The session was almost up. She’d just finished soothing Mrs O’Halloran’s pink chin with the special little roller when her client burst into speech again.

  “I thought we’d have five courses for dinner, but each a rather delicate portion. Really nice food. Scallops. Salmon—”

  There was a monumental metallic smash.

  Saffy jumped. Mrs O’Halloran almost back-flipped off the couch.

  “What was that!?” they gasped in unison.

  The Beauty Box sat in a busy suburban shopping centre; minor traffic accidents were not uncommon. Saffy grabbed her broom and followed Mrs O’Halloran’s generous bottom to the front door. Her heart rose into her throat when she saw whose car had been hit—and he was inside it, slumped over the wheel.

  Forgetting the small matter of her client’s payment, she dashed to the driver’s door and wrenched it open. “Wake up, wake up!” she pleaded. “Be all right, please!”

  He raised his face and opened an eye. “I’m alive and well,” he grated. “Which is more than I’d wish for the fool who just hit me.”

  Saffy glanced briefly at the woman who’d imbedded her SUV’s large chrome bumper into the wheel of the sleek Mercedes convertible, then returned her attention to the tall dark man she’d only ever seen from a distance. “You’re bleeding a bit,” she said, peering at his left eyebrow. “Come into The Beauty Box and phone the cops while I clean you up.”

  She held her breath. What had given her the courage to make such an offer?

  He grimaced as the pain of his cut face started to throb. “I’ll use my mobile,” he said. A trickle of blood slid down his cheek. He gave it a wipe, stared at his fingers, and then at Saffy. “Thanks,” he added, levering himself out and taking her proffered hand.

  She fizzed with concern and embarrassment and delight as she led him inside. Many times she’d seen the black Mercedes slide into the park outside the classy Deli/Cafe his family owned. She’d watched him stride through its door and disappear. And she’d woven little fantasies, but nothing like this.

  They left the knot of shoppers clustered around the damaged vehicles. Saffy led him to her treatment cubicle and patted the waist high couch. The soothing music wafted on.

  “Lie down and I’ll clean the blood off, or do you want to phone first?”

  He swung his long legs up, produced his cellphone, and reported the accident while she fetched the first-aid kit.

  “Troy Silver,” he said, lying back as she moved behind him.

  “Saffy Davidson,” she replied, swabbing his face with a cotton ball. He closed his eyes and she inspected him as she worked. Smartly cut dark wavy hair. Well-cared-for golden skin, and the beginning of a five o’clock shadow. Wonderful long lashes most of her clients would give their eyeteeth for. And he smelled delicious.

  She gazed with concern at his eyebrow. “It’s split where you hit it. I really think you’ll need a couple of stitches, or at least those cunning little steri-strips,” she murmured. “I can drop you at the after-hours medical centre. It’s not far from where I live. Your car doesn’t look driveable.”

  “Stitches? Surely not...”

  She produced the magnifying mirror that so successfully persuaded her ladies they had clogged pores needing treatment. He closed his hand over hers to steady it, and she tingled all through.

  He grimaced. “Bit of a mess,” he conceded.

  Saffy nodded. “I’ll try and stop it bleeding, anyway.” She did her best with gauze and plasters, but the result wasn’t great.

  When he got to his feet, he inspected the array of expensive lotions and creams on her shelves. “Do they work?” he asked, raising his eyebrows and then flinching.

  “Well, they’re all for different things. Some are for cleansing, some are for toning, and some are for moisturizing. Some are for balancing different areas of skin. Some are for eyes. Some are for lips....”

  She caught the gleam of amusement in his eyes and pressed on. “This one,” she said, removing a small green bottle, “is the most amazing new lip gel.” Finding some daring from heaven-knew-where she removed the top, tipped a drop onto her palm, dipped her finger in it, and reached up. She smoothed along his full bottom lip and around the corner of his mouth to the sharply cut bow at the top. Her fingers glided over his skin until the gel was absorbed. He stood absolutely still while she caressed him.

  Trembling, Saffy turned away to tidy up her work station. What had made her touch him like that?

  “Thank you,” he said. “That would be very kind, if you don’t mind a passenger.”

  Heavens to Betsy—he’d accepted her offer!

  “I’ve just a few things to do here before I can close up,” she stammered. “If you want to go and see about the car...?”

  He left. She sat quite quickly on the velvet ottoman where clients put their handbags and shopping. When she rose again to inspect herself in the mirror, her eyes looked startled—wide and wary. Her cheeks were flushed a delicate pink.

  She freshened her lipstick to calm herself, and found it so easy to imagine the sensation of his mouth exploring hers as she slid the smooth stick across her lips. ‘Oh stop it!’ she snapped.

  Minutes later Troy Silver folded his long body into her compact blue Toyota.

  “Nothing else you want to do at the deli?” she asked.

  “Finished. Just about to leave. That’s why I didn’t have the seat belt done up and copped this,” he said, raising a hand to his face. “That stupid woman ploughed into me because she dropped a DVD she was returning to the video place and couldn’t push her brake pedal down properly.”

  Saffy nodded as she started the engine and pulled into the busy road. “At least the tow-truck was fast.”

  He scowled. “They’re always fast. Very keen for business. My mother had a minor accident before she became too ill to drive. Two of the
towies actually fought in the street about who was doing the job. Unbelievable.”

  “Really?” she asked. “So was your mother okay?”

  “Pretty good. She’s not too well these days though. I have a housekeeper who helps, and takes care of my daughter, too. Which reminds me—” He pulled out his cellphone, tapped out a number, and informed someone he’d be a little later home than expected.

  His wife, Saffy presumed. He had a daughter, so there had to be a wife. No doubt she’d be as gorgeous as him, with beautiful clothes and a huge house and an actual housekeeper.

  She sat while he registered at the medical centre’s front desk. The reception nurse looked very receptive indeed. Saffy watched from her little distance as hair was flipped and eyelashes were fluttered. Women must react to him like that all the time. But he was tall and impressive, confident without being brash, and so very handsome.

  Knowing she’d never meet another man as desirable, she drew a deep breath for bravery and decided to make the most of him while she had him. After all, she’d nothing better on her agenda.

  Troy seemed surprised to find her still there when he returned to sit. “Sounds like it won’t be too long. I’ll get a taxi once I’m done.”

  Saffy shook her head. “I’ll drive you home to make sure you’re safe. That was quite a bump.”

  He grinned suddenly—white teeth flashing against his olive skin. “I’ll feed you then.”

  She glanced down in dismay at her beautician’s smock. Hardly suitable for a restaurant.

  “No,” he said, understanding immediately. “A picnic at home. I’m in the food business after all. You can sample our latest treats.”

  She smiled, enchanted by his unexpected offer. “How long have you had the deli?”

  “That one? Six years. There are nine, each with different decor and a different name to make them sound exclusive. We didn’t want them looking like a big chain.”

  Nine! No wonder he has the beautiful car.

  “That must be a lot of work.”

  “I have a manager for each. Sourcing and importing stock is what interests me most.”

  “Food?”

  “Food, beverages, bulk herbs and spices… cookware. It’s a great excuse for travelling. I went to South America a few weeks ago. Wait until you taste the new olives from Chile.”

  Saffy wrinkled her nose.

  “Don’t tell me! Not an olive fan?”

  “Welllll...” she said, “perhaps they’ll grow on me. Maybe yours are very nice.”

  He exploded with laughter. “Mine are absolutely superb,” he assured her.

  *

  Twenty-five minutes later Troy had been sealed up with medical superglue and given back to her. Saffy followed the directions to his home—a huge old house with extensive grounds. A tall stone fence and trees screened it from the road. The dusk made it difficult to see as much as she’d have liked.

  He unlocked the impressive front door and stood aside. As she passed close to him, his enticing scent wafted across to her again. Dark. Dangerous. Sinfully tempting.

  One dim wall sconce lit the entrance hall. Old-fashioned flocked wallpaper soared up to a great height, and a grand timber staircase turned a corner and disappeared. A chandelier glinted above them in the darkness.

  Troy led the way through to a complete contrast—a gigantic, brightly lit kitchen with an incredible quantity of food on display. Shelves groaned with jars of pickles and sauces, jams and jellies. Salamis hung from hooks. The spice rack was so large that Saffy felt it must really be a bookcase. Pots of fresh herbs clustered along the window ledge. A rope of plaited garlic hung, unraveling, beside the pantry. And dancing over all the other exotic aromas—the fresh yeasty warmth of newly baked bread. She sniffed with appreciation.

  “Marianna makes a loaf every afternoon,” he said. “If I’m home late, it’s sometimes all I bother with.”

  Marianna? The wife or the housekeeper?

  He pulled out one of the chairs for her, and she sat while he fetched a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

  “To being alive,” he toasted.

  Saffy remembered him slumped over the steering wheel and nodded her agreement.

  “Right,” he said briskly, sliding breadboard, knife and loaf in front of her. “You slice the bread; I’ll get the goodies.” He started to load the big table with plates and dishes, pickles and cheeses, cold meats and sauces. Saffy sawed away at the crusty loaf, overwhelmed by the selection that kept appearing. At last he sat too, surveying the bounty with apparent satisfaction.

  She cut a slice off a block of holey cheese and set it on her bread.

  Troy eyed her choice. “That needs to warm up a little so you can really taste it. The Camembert’s too cold as well, but there’s a trick you can do with that.” He cut a small wedge, gave it a few seconds in the nearby microwave oven, and retrieved it. The creamy middle sagged. He held it to her lips. She wasn’t quick enough—a big drip landed on her chin.

  Troy bent over, wiped it off with his thumb, and held it so she was obliged to lick it. “Too good to waste,” he said huskily as her lips ran over his skin.

  Saffy’s mouth sang with the sweet tangy delicacy, and the taste of Troy. She chewed and swallowed, then realized what she’d done. She had no business licking Troy Silver!

  But he sat again and their exotic ‘picnic’ continued. She tried the queen olives from Chile... sampled strong pickled ginger... found she enjoyed the super-spicy salami—and absolutely refused to taste the Gorgonzola.

  “I’ve never liked blue cheese,” she said. “Well, I’ve never really eaten it. I can’t get past the smell...” She rolled her eyes.

  “You’re missing a piece of paradise, then,” he said, severing a sliver and balancing it on his forefinger. With his other hand he reached over and squeezed her nostrils together. Saffy opened her mouth to protest, and quick as a wink he laid the cheese on her tongue, and held her mouth shut with his big warm hand. The flavour exploded, and her eyes opened wide. He grinned with delight at her reaction.

  “Unfair!” she exclaimed, fighting loose from him, smiling despite herself.

  “You’ll love it for life now,” he said.

  *

  They sat on over coffees. The door swung open. “Poppa!” A small dark-haired child in a pink nightdress raced in and flung herself against him. He pushed his chair away from the table and made room on his lap, then glanced across to Saffy. “This is my daughter,” he began.

  “Isabella Maria Esther Silver,” the child recited.

  Saffy smiled. “That’s a lovely name. I’m Saffy Frances Charlotte Davidson.”

  The little girl regarded her solemnly.

  “Named after both my grannies,” Saffy added.

  Troy cleared his throat. “We share that then,” he said. “I’m named for my grandfathers. Francesco and Carlo. You’re Frances and Charlotte. The same.”

  Saffy gazed at him. “What are the chances?” she whispered. “How strange.”

  “Saffron?” he asked.

  She shook her head, embarrassed. “Sapphire, I’m afraid.”

  Troy regarded her keenly. “For your eyes? It suits you.”

  She ducked her head, amazed he’d noticed. “Old-fashioned,” she murmured.

  Isabella kneeled up to examine her father’s eyebrow.

  “Just a little cut,” he said. “Gone in a few days.”

  The magic of being alone with him had faded. Saffy sighed and rose. “Thank you for the lovely dinner.”

  “Thank you for looking after me.” He lifted the child off his knee. “Back to bed now Isabella, and I’ll be there soon for a story.”

  He walked Saffy to the door.

  “It’s an amazing house,” she said to fill the sudden silence.

  “My parents’ taste; not really mine. It’s years since it was updated, but my mother is too ill to worry about it.”

  “And your wife’s not interested in decorating this lovely place?”
<
br />   “My wife is no longer here.”

  The silence became worse. Saffy nodded, avoiding his eyes. She hurried to her car, cursing herself for being so nosy. He’d sounded very guarded. Was he divorced or widowed?

  *

  On Monday a huge bouquet arrived at the Beauty Box. Long stems of deep blue delphiniums contrasted perfectly with white roses and shiny velvet-backed magnolia leaves.

  Troy’s business card was stapled onto the wrapping. Someone had written ‘thank you’.

  Saffy’s heart galloped as she ran a bucket of water to keep the extravagant flowers fresh until she could take them home. She pictured Troy instructing a secretary to send them. Probably it was the secretary who had written ‘thank you.’ She shrugged a little sadly. He had the money to afford these things. It was nothing but a polite gesture.

  *

  Two days later a beautiful basket full of jars and packages arrived. Olives and coffee beans. Belgian chocolates. Nuts and pate. Strawberry jelly from France. The card had a message with a phone number and ‘Call me. You’re not answering’.

  Was he serious? He’d been ringing her? She checked The Beauty Box’s answering machine. Among the regular clients’ requests for facials and seaweed wraps and manicures were several beeps indicating someone had hung up without leaving a message.

  Well, it was very flattering, and a nice little thrill, but Saffy was a realist. She and gorgeous Mr Silver lived on different planets.

  *

  Friday came. When she closed up for the night, she discovered a triangular package beside the appointment book. The attached card simply said ‘Please?’

  The silver bow was tied by hand—easy to tug undone. Her trembling fingers peeled the paper open, and she reared back at the pungent smell of the wedge of Gorgonzola.

  Then she saw Troy watching through the window as she giggled and held her nose.

  He pushed the door open and flourished a packet of English water-crackers and a bottle of wine. “Blue cheese for my blue-eyed Sapphire?” he suggested. “As a starter?” Then his expression became more serious. “I’m hoping you’ll let me take you out for a proper dinner this time.”