by Georgia Hill
In the distance was the faint sound of music. Something Christmassy. As they rounded a corner, past a veil of whitened trees, they came upon a bandstand. It was lit with brilliantly white lights and, standing around a Christmas tree set up at its centre, was a group of musicians and a singer. A few hardy souls in the audience sat at benches, wrapped snugly in coats and hats. There were even a few couples dancing, their bodies made endearingly bulky by their winter clothes.
“Are we dreaming?” Lucy blinked and then looked again. No, the bandstand, with its tree, was still there. As were the dancers. There were streams of white lights stretched across from the bandstand to the winter-bare tree branches beyond, making a magical kind of canopy. Everyone was lit in an arctic white light and, underneath, the dancers drifted slowly across the snow in time to the music.
“Oh, it’s so beautiful,” breathed Lucy. “So completely beautiful.”
Max looked at the band and then back to Lucy. “Shall we?” he asked, with a smile, his voice husky.
“Yes please!”
They made their way nearer. Max stowed their bags against one of the benches and stood expectantly, his arms in a waltz position.
With a happy sigh, Lucy fitted close against him and they joined the gentle sway of the dancers.
The singer crooned something sentimental and Christmassy, something about having a merry little Christmas.
From his position above Lucy, Max had never felt such contentment, such a sense of being completed by another. He lowered his head, so that it rested on the top of hers and inhaled. Lucy smelled deliciously of strawberry shampoo and her hair lay soft and springy under his chin. Her body, where it touched his, warmed him to his very core.
Max closed his eyes and went with the moment.
But it couldn’t last. Max lost all track of time but the band eventually stopped playing. There was applause, the clapping muffled by woolly gloves and people began to collect their things and drift off.
Max held Lucy close, unwilling to give up the magic, refusing to break contact, to let go of the heat coursing through him. He gazed into the distance, through the silhouetted trees and tried to imprint the feeling of her body into his memory.
The band started packing up. The instrument cases made a scraping noise, as they were dragged across the floor. There was a burst of laughter and chatter. It shattered the stillness.
“I suppose we ought to get going, Max,” Lucy whispered.
He shifted slightly and looked down into her eyes. They were deep and unfathomable. He had no idea what she was thinking.
“Yes, I suppose we better had,” and he broke the hold with the utmost reluctance.
Once at the hotel, as Lucy had predicted, there were no other rooms available. They rejected the services of a porter and wandered in the direction of upstairs. As they stood in the lift she was filled with a weird mixture of happy anticipation at the thought of spending time with her friend and the nagging disappointment this always brought her. From the corner of her eye she watched Max. He still held their two bags high on his shoulder, apparently not noticing their weight. He seemed lost in thought, staring at the panel of buttons, watching as the lights rose up to the top. She loved it when she caught him in this contemplative mood. His brows lowered over the grey eyes darkening them and his mouth pursed, as if on the verge of saying something vitally important. The action hollowed his already thin cheeks and made him look even more the Adonis the press had nicknamed him.
He was so beautiful she thought for the nth time. It was the only epithet which came to mind when describing him. He was beautiful, on the outside certainly but, far more importantly, on the inside too. It was just such a shame he was gay. She let out a sigh.
He smiled down at her. “You okay, Lucy?”
“Tired.”
Max nodded. “Been a long day. And another one tomorrow. Show day.”
“It’s relentless, all this, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
Lucy thought of how she’d scraped through her samba last week. The judges had again said she was technically competent but lacked interpretation. She had no idea what that really meant.
“Well, you lurch from one thing to the other,” she began, “and as soon as one dance is over and you have a nano second of relief and pleasure at getting through, you have to pick yourself up and begin all over again the next day.”
Max rubbed a hand over his shorn hair in a weary gesture. “Thank God it’s another ballroom dance tomorrow. Although it’s a rumba next week.”
“I’m dreading that one.” Lucy shuddered. She wasn’t looking forward to the rumba. It was a dance which demanded interpretation.
“Me too. Think it could be my ticket out.”
“Don’t say that, Max. Remember what Daniel always says: ‘Keep positive and remember, we are all sexually charged animals!’” Lucy managed a laugh.
Max shrugged moodily. At this precise moment he’d much rather forget he was a sexually charged animal. Tonight, he would be caged in a small hotel room with someone for whom his feelings were threatening to spiral out of control. It was going to be a trial, far greater than any of his Olympic swimming ones. He stood back and let Lucy lead the way, trying not to notice how her bottom wiggled so appealingly.
Lucy let them both into the penthouse with the key card and stood back to enjoy Max’s reaction.
He put the bags down and stood, hands on hips, for a long minute. After his silence he turned to her. “Oh yes, this is a real dump.” He pointed to the TV screen taking up most of one wall. “I mean, how could you put up with that paltry little thing?” He moved to the sofas and ran his hand over the upholstery. “And these, why they’re positively shabby.” He looked at the two doors leading off the main room. “Bedroom and bathroom I suppose?”
Lucy grinned. “Only a jumbo sized bed and a jacuzzi though, I’m afraid.”
“Shocking.” Max shook his head and adopted Kevin’s lisping campness. “How have you managed to put up with all this squalor, darling?”
Lucy clasped her hands to her bosom and fluttered her eyelashes. “I really don’t know how I’ve coped.” She put a hand to her head and executed a mock swoon.
Max couldn’t resist any longer. Taking her in his arms again, he led her in a swift waltz around the vast coffee table and then lowered her back into a dip. “Fantastic place to rehearse,” he murmured. He pulled her back upright but held her in place and, for a moment, they stared into one another’s eyes. His sensual mouth hovered above hers for a tantalising second.
Lucy panicked. On top of the all-encompassing romance of their strange interlude in the park, it was too much to cope with. He was doing things to her insides that no man ought to, let alone one who had no intention of following through. “F-food?” She pushed at him and he released her immediately.
Max got the message and regretted putting her in a position where she was forced to reject him. “Food,” he agreed and tried to recover his composure. Being so close to her had shaken him.
“Room service?” Lucy passed over a menu.
Max smiled thinly. “Room service I think. Why bother with the dining room when we have all this?”
Lucy nodded relieved, she still wasn’t happy about eating in public. “Have a look and see what you want. I’m going to, um, to have a bath.”
She fled into the bedroom. Closing the door, she laid her hot face against the cool beech wood door. Was she going to be able to get through this? After a while and feeling a little more composed, she scuttled back out, went through to the bathroom and began to swish scented oil into hot water. That might relax her, that and getting into her M&S men’s pyjamas.
They decided to slum it. Ignoring the six-seater dining table nestling against the balcony door, they commandeered a sofa each and ate off trays. Both wore the matching snowy white bathrobes provided.
Lucy just wished she thought Max had something on underneath his. To take her mind off the distracting sight
of his attractively tanned legs she concentrated on her food.
“Y-you know usually I hate eating in front of people but I don’t mind with you,” she gabbled and took a slug of wine.
Max nodded, his mouth full.
“I always feel relaxed with you, Max.” It was mostly a lie but sometimes Lucy did feel relaxed with Max. That was, when he wasn’t settled on a sofa opposite her, with his long legs stretched out from under the white robe and the certain knowledge she had that he was wearing only skin underneath.
“Good.” Max reached for his glass of wine and took a sip. He’d been very hungry and thirsty and the food was slaking one type of hunger, at least. The other would just have to remain unsatisfied tonight.
It was no good, now Lucy couldn’t take her eyes off his naked feet; they were very large with long narrow toes, which for some reason, she found very sexy. “Is y-your, um, is your steak good?”
“Very. What about your salmon?”
Lucy looked down at her plate. So that’s what she’d been eating. “It’s fine.” She shrugged. “I don’t think about food much, I suppose it’s just fuel.” She trailed off as she saw the look of amazement on Max’s face.
“But it’s one of life’s great pleasures,” he exclaimed, “along with—”
“Along with what?” Lucy looked at him innocently.
Max thought fast, why did his brain keep doing a fast-loop back to sex? It wouldn’t do. “Wine,” he answered and set his empty plate on the floor. “I like to cook, Sarah my eldest sister taught me. It’s a big part of my life. I have to eat carefully when I’m in training.”
“I should imagine you do. I forget to eat at all sometimes, if I’m in the middle of writing.”
Max shook his head; it was impossible to understand Lucy sometimes. He was a big man with an appetite to match. When he was in full training, he needed to eat every few hours or he just keeled over. She needed someone to look after her, he thought, as he watched her pick at her fish. And, he realised, he wanted to be the person who did it.
“I’d like to cook for you one day,” he said. “I’ll do my best to convert you to the delights that good food can offer.”
“That would be really lovely. Perhaps we can ask Dan too?”
“Yeah, okay,” Max said, puzzled. The three of them sharing a meal hadn’t quite been his intention. It was no good; he really didn’t understand what made this woman tick.
‘Meet me in St. Louis’ flickered on the TV as they made their way through the rest of the bottle of wine. Judy Garland began to sing the same song they had danced to in the park. They fell silent for a moment, listening to the yearning emotion. The memory of the feel of Max’s strong body against her own hit Lucy with a punch. She felt empty inside, only filled with an aching need that would never be met. Not by him. “Tell me something about yourself,” she insisted, in an attempt to dispel the mood.
So Max told her about the happy childhood home he’d shared with his three sisters. About Will. Of how close-knit the family was. Of his nomadic lifestyle entering swimming events all over the world. It had been lonely at times, he admitted, it made making any lasting friendships or relationships difficult. “Not that I’ve been a monk of course.”
Lucy looked at him, at the strong tanned neck and broad shoulders. “No I’m sure you haven’t been a monk. We’ve led very different lives haven’t we? You and I, we’re polar opposites.”
Max shrugged. “In a way I suppose. But we both like to disappear, don’t we?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you hole up and write your books.”
“And where do you go to hide?”
Max grinned. “The water of course. I hide in the water.”
“So you are part fish.”
Max laughed. “Very probably, it’s certainly where I feel most at home.” He yawned and stretched and uncrossed his legs. Lucy tried not to focus on where the robe threatened to gape. It just wouldn’t do to think like that about this man. He was out of bounds.
Sadly.
She put her glass down. “Y-yes, we ought to go to bed, it’s getting late.”
“I suppose I’m on the sofa?”
Lucy looked doubtfully at the cream settees. Although they were huge it was unlikely someone as tall as Max would get any sleep on one. She shook her head. “You won’t be able to stretch out on one of those. You take the bed and I’ll kip out here.”
“Oh Lucy, I can’t let you do that, it’s your hotel room. I’ll take the sofa.”
“Well, that’s madness. I’m much shorter, we’ve both got a long day in front of us tomorrow and we need our sleep.”
Max frowned. “No, I’m not going to let you do that.”
“But what’s the alternative?” Lucy shrugged and spoke before thinking, “that we share the bed?”
“You did say it was a big one.”
“It’s enormous. It’s one of those waterbeds, you know, like sleeping on a massive Lilo but more comfortable I’d imagine. I haven’t ever slept on a Lilo, y-you understand.” Nerves were making her prattle as always. “It’s a fantastic bed,” she added lamely.
“Shall we try that then?” Max paused, suddenly uncomfortable. “Lucy, you do know you’re safe with me, don’t you? I won’t try anything. I promise.”
Lucy managed a smile. “No, I know I’m safe with you. I trust you completely Max. It’s not like that between us, is it?”
“Erm, no. No, it’s certainly not like that between us.” He tried to keep the regret from his voice.
Lucy stood up with sudden decision and smoothed down her bathrobe. “B-better go to bed then, it’s past midnight.”
“Better had. You go first.”
Max watched as she left the room and wondered how he was going to get any sleep. He was sure she thought she looked as sexless as possible in her grey flannelette pyjamas and tightly belted robe but she was wrong. As wrong as she could possibly be. He dropped his head into his hands. He kept getting conflicting signals from her. They got on so well. Lately he’d felt as relaxed with her as she claimed she did with him, but then she would get all nervy and edgy and would back off like a frightened fawn. He simply couldn’t read her at times. “Too long swimming with the fishes, Max my boy,” he muttered to himself. “Perhaps this is what it’s like in the real world? Lots of game playing.” But, as he rose and busied himself by putting their dirty dishes back onto the room service trolley, he realised that Lucy wasn’t like that. For too long he hadn’t been part of the real world, but for even longer, Lucy hadn’t been either. She was no game player. As a delaying tactic, he plumped up the cushions and tidied the sitting room. Living with three nagging sisters had left him with an ingrained sense of how to leave a room. It made him an unusually tidy man. With a last glance around, he snapped off the lights with the remote and went into the bedroom.
The bed was, as promised by Lucy, blissfully comfortable and so vast even he had plenty of legroom, even if he did have to lie at a slight diagonal. Exploring the cool sheets and enjoying the sensual movement of the water mattress he accidentally touched toes with Lucy. They both snatched their feet apart as if burned.
“G-goodnight Max,” Lucy whispered.
“Night Lucy,” Max answered and rolled as far away from her as possible. He wasn’t sure if he could trust himself. But if he thought he would lie awake puzzling further over Lucy’s erratic behaviour he was wrong. He fell asleep in an instant.
The wake up call roused him with a start.
Lucy awakened, bleary and a bit hung-over. She was hot and threw the duvet off and then tugged open the neck of her pyjamas, squirming as she did so.
“Don’t do that!” said a masculine voice in her ear.
She froze. She had no idea how they had moved together in the night but now Max was on his side close behind her, his length curled protectively around her like a long comma. Her bottom was tucked securely into his groin.
“Why not?” It came out as a strangled whispe
r.
“Oh Lucy, don’t you know?”
Lucy stopped fidgeting immediately. She’d had no idea that gay men found the bodies of women quite so repulsive. “S-sorry. So sorry. Shower? B-breakfast?” She was gabbling yet again.
Max let out a great sigh. “You go first. I’ll order us something to eat.” He watched covertly as she scurried out of the room pulling her robe round her. He tried hard to ignore the arousal pulsating through him. She was impossible. A peculiar mixture of the provocative and naïve. And he knew he was falling in love with her.
As Lucy waited for Max to finish up in the bathroom she couldn’t help but notice how impeccably tidy the sitting room was. He’d cleared everything away so that the room service staff could simply collect the trolley and replace it with one containing their breakfast. She blew out a breath and her fringe shot upwards. It was one consolation she supposed, of sleeping with a gay man. He most definitely didn’t leave the place looking a mess.
***
The show day sped past. Both Lucy and Max got through with their dances; for Lucy an American smooth and Max a fox-trot. Although Max garnered the fewest votes and was at the bottom of the leader board again, by some miracle the public rallied and kept him in. It was a close call though and Lucy could see it affected his confidence. He seemed newly defeated somehow. The dance off was between Angie, a star of musical theatre and Lenny Warrington, the rugby international. Lenny looked devastated to be sent home and a flash of guilt stabbed at Lucy at being able to stay in.
Step Six.
On Monday, Bob Dandry the producer, called a meeting in the main studio. After last year’s twist, when the celebrities had to dance with one another in the Christmas special (Lucy had loved hearing Julia’s account of how it had forced she and Harri together), the assembled gathering knew something was afoot.
“Just hope it’s not dancing on roller blades,” whispered Daniel in Lucy’s ear making her giggle.