‘Yes.’
I swallow and force my eyes to hold his. ‘Well, what about we give this a shot? Try the odd date? I have a charity ball tomorrow night. You could come. It might be fun.’
I’m losing him. I can see it in the crease between his brows, the shutter falling over his expression. And those bloody tears are returning. Now that he’s opened the floodgates, it appears there’s no stopping them.
I drop my head to his chest, my ear coming to rest over his heart, and I listen to it race beneath me. ‘It’s okay. I’m more trouble than I’m worth.’
His hand upon my shoulder tightens. ‘Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.’
That passion is back in his voice—so why the shutter, why the rejection that he has yet to put into words?
‘It’s just... It’s just in my line of work, I need to keep out of the public eye—you know, under the radar. No one’s going to hire a PI whose face is recognisable to the masses. It’ll ruin my business.’
I close my eyes and breathe through the pain. He makes a fair point. I know he does. And he’s not rejecting me—not really.
He’s not promising you anything more either. In fact, he’s telling you it can never be.
But I only have myself to blame for wanting more, for lowering my guard and letting him in. I only have myself to blame for tearing my heart in two.
‘We can have this, though, can’t we?’ I say softly. ‘At least for a little while?’
He lifts my chin and looks down into my eyes. The passion I could hear in his voice now flares in his depths.
‘For as long as we want it.’
He seals his words with a kiss and I close my eyes. A solitary tear escapes to trail down my cheek but I kiss him harder. I kiss him to block out the sadness. I kiss him to forget the pain. I kiss him to make the present matter more.
I kiss him until he’s making love to me and we are as close as two people can be.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I WAKE TO the realisation that I’m not alone—to the realisation that I am more at home in my bed than I have ever been. And I know it’s because she’s here, her naked body wrapped around mine.
She’s snoring softly, fast asleep, and I lie still, not wanting to wake her. Not wanting this moment to end. Even though I know it has to.
A woman like her has a schedule that doesn’t stop for the weekend, no matter how much I wish it could. How much I wish reality could be different. How much I wish we lived in a world where she and I stand a chance. But I’m no fool.
The second she learns of my contract with her brother, it will all come to a swift and crushing end.
Won’t it?
It has to end—that’s a given. But maybe it would be better all round if my involvement with her brother never came to light. If I can see him off with nothing and keep her reputation intact we can just go our separate ways. No harm, no foul.
My chest tightens, my hold around her with it, and I force myself to relax. It’s the only way it can end. Any other possibility leads to her being hurt, and that far outweighs my own concerns.
I ease out from beneath her and set her down on my pillow. She mumbles in her sleep and for a second I fear she’ll wake. I stay stock-still. I can’t face her yet. Not with the war of emotions so clearly written on my face. Instead she pulls my pillow further down beneath her head and breathes deeply, her body relaxing, her face blissfully at peace once again. And I’m so lost in that look, her beauty, everything she has come to mean.
You need to move. Now.
I slip from the bed and quietly move around the room, pulling on some workout gear and heading downstairs to my gym. I need to work this out of me, focus on pounding the treadmill, the punchbag—anything but the chaos inside.
Not that it works. I’m just as messed-up over an hour later, having showered, donned some tracksuit bottoms and sorted breakfast: freshly brewed coffee and an array of whatever I could muster on a tray before me.
But as I walk through my bedroom door, I find my feet rooted. She’s awake and stretching, her beautiful body naked from the waist up. She freezes when she spies me, her eyes widening, her arms still in mid-air, and then slowly she brings them down.
‘What?’ she says, clearly spying something in my expression—not to mention the fact that I haven’t moved or said a word.
Way to go in freaking her out and failing to hide it. And you’re supposed to be an experienced PI, for fuck’s sake.
I walk towards her and plaster on a smile. ‘I’m just struggling with the realisation that there’s a beautiful woman in my bed.’
She rolls her eyes and wrinkles her nose in that cute little rabbit move which has my gut flip-flopping—
Your gut? Who are you kidding? Your heart, more like.
‘Please don’t tell me you’re one of those.’
My eyes narrow. ‘One of those...?’
‘Yeah—one of those men with a woman-free bed.’ She goes all dramatic and flutters her hands. ‘“Yeah, I’m gonna shag you until you walk like John Wayne, but I won’t let you into my bed unless you are the one.” That kind of man.’
She waggles her brow and laughs as she says it, and the move cracks me up too.
‘No, I’m not one of those.’
Her laughter dies from her eyes and I see what my admission has cost her. Shit. I recall what she asked of me last night about wanting more. Did she want to be the one? Did I want her to be?
Stupid, dangerous question.
But I can give her my honesty. About this at least.
‘Truth is I’m not averse to bringing women home...’ I see her swallow, her cheeks pale a little, and I push on. ‘I just haven’t had the inclination in a long time. In fact, if you must know, I can’t even remember the last time I got laid.’
I laugh on the last. It’s awkward, but it’s honest, and her smile, the warmth reigniting in her cheeks, makes it worth it.
‘Well, in that case, I’m honoured.’
She’s suddenly gone all shy and, God help me, I’m falling so quickly and deeply that my heart pulses in my chest and tells me exactly what I’m feeling for her. It doesn’t matter how impossible it all is—it’s there. My absolute love and affection for a woman who’s been in my life for weeks but doesn’t know me from Adam.
I return her smile—although mine is more of a grin—to hide the chaos within, and slide the tray onto the bedside table.
It can’t be love—not yet, it can’t.
‘So, my lady, we have options: coffee, juice, granola, toast and eggs—oh, and fruit. So what’s your poison?’
‘You.’
My heart leaps and I don’t look at her straight away. I know if I do she’ll see too much. Christ, she probably already has.
‘But you’d best make it quick as I have a brunch date with Granny and she doesn’t take kindly to tardiness.’
Ah, fuck it—breakfast can wait.
My heart, though... That’s another matter. But I’ll deal with that when she’s safe from her brother.
And from me.
* * *
I let myself into the house and my well-practised mask falls into place.
Our housekeeper gives me the look as she bustles into the hallway—the one that says, Out all night again?—but I simply beam at her. ‘Morning.’
She shakes her head, but her face softens a little as she smiles back. ‘I’ll bring brunch up shortly.’
‘Thanks, Sue.’
I take to the stairs, my mood a weird mix of light and dark. On the one hand I’ve had the best sex of my life—no, the best night of my life. On the other hand I can’t keep having it for ever and at some point it has to end.
But that point isn’t now, and maybe that’s why the lightness is winning out.
I walk along the galleried landing and down the east
wing of the house to Granny’s room. I can hear voices. It’s Philip. Great. He won’t waste any time before remarking on my night out.
‘She hasn’t come home again,’ he’s saying.
‘She’s a grown woman. I don’t expect her to always be here.’
‘It’s not the fact that she’s out all night—it’s what she’s doing that has me—’
I push open the door and he stops abruptly, turning in my direction.
‘You were saying, Philip...?’ I say smoothly.
‘Ah, so good of you to return, Coco.’
He turns back to Granny, who’s sitting ramrod straight in bed, the mountain of cushions at her back helping to keep her there. Her eyes narrow on me, sharp as ever, and then return to Philip as he bends to kiss her forehead.
‘I’ll call in later to check on you.’
‘I have cards with Grace at three,’ she returns shortly, sounding like she’s delivering an admonishment rather than stating a simple fact.
It’s just how she is. Cards is code for treatment. She does both in tandem. Another Lauren seeking distraction.
‘Make sure you don’t interrupt then.’
He nods and then walks towards me. ‘Where have you been this time?’
He leans in to peck my cheek as I offer it to him on autopilot.
‘None of your business.’ My response is tight, delivered under my breath, and even though Granny is now staring out of the large balcony window, I know her ears are attuned to us.
I don’t give him time to rebuke me. I stride past him and drop a kiss to her paper-thin cheek, my hand gentle on her shoulder, feeling only bone.
‘Morning—how are you feeling?’
The door closes behind me, signalling Philip’s departure, and I feel my chest ease just a little.
‘Old,’ she quips, and then she turns to look at me and frowns. ‘So, come on—where were you?’
‘Out with a friend.’
She thumbs the newspapers strewn across her bed. She already has one open at a page portraying me in an article about one of the charities I front, making preparations for tonight’s ball.
She traces the picture with her forefinger. ‘Just a friend?’
I lower myself to perch on the edge of her bed. ‘Just a friend.’
She looks back at me and I see her jaw is working. Something is bothering her, and her weight loss is making any sign of tension more pronounced.
‘That “friend” put this colour in your cheeks?’
She waves a frail finger at my face, her eyes sparkling as she says it, and I can’t help but smile, my guilt shining through.
She makes a low humming sound in her throat and folds her hands on her lap. ‘You need to be careful, though, child. You have the weight of the world looking on. And the name of Lauren to protect.’
I have heard this speech a thousand times, and I practically say the words along with her.
‘You’ll never be far from scandal. Not with a mother like yours. And I need you to be. I need you to be above reproach. And, heaven help him, your brother needs it too.’
Adrenaline spikes in my blood and I have to work hard to keep my face neutral. It doesn’t matter how many times they throw my mother at me; it still hurts. My mother loved my father; he loved her back. Whatever she did before then I don’t care about. But Granny does. And he chose badly, according to her.
‘Philip can look after himself.’ I focus on the bit I feel comfortable arguing with.
Her frown deepens, her eyes sad. ‘Not when he’s led around by that mother of his—and don’t get me started on his spendthrift wife. That Clara won’t be happy until she has them penniless, and the estate doesn’t come cheap. It will need to be maintained, looked after, invested in when I’m gone and—’ She breaks off and winces, the breath shuddering through her.
‘Please stop worrying. The doctor says you—’
She waves a hand at me, her head shaking as she coughs. ‘Dr Know-It-All can zip it. I’ll stop when I’m six feet under.’
‘Jesus, Granny.’
‘Language!’ she admonishes. ‘I need to know I can trust you—that you will take care of things. Philip, or rather those women, won’t be able to do anything with regards to the private estate without your say-so. Look out for him, guide him as much as you can, keep him on the straight and narrow and above all uphold our good name, I’m counting on you, Coco.’
She looks to the newspaper page again, rearranges it, then rearranges it some more.
I want to say, It’s just a name—what does it matter? Surely happiness should come first. But the last time I tried that argument I was sixteen and she refused to speak to me for weeks, persuaded my father to cut off my allowance and vetted anyone who came within a six-foot radius just in case they were corrupting me.
No, I’ve been brought up to project perfection. To be everything Granny believes my mother wasn’t. How different would my life have been if my mother hadn’t been killed in a car accident when I was just a baby? Would she have brought Granny around eventually?
Not for the first time I wonder about giving Granny my mother’s diary. Would it make her see my mother as I do, as Daddy must have? I only have to read it to see all the good in her. She had a naughty streak, for sure—her diary makes that clear too—but she was a good person. A person worthy of my father’s love...a love that never waned.
But it’s private—something my father entrusted to me and me alone.
‘Can I ask you something, Granny?’
She looks back at me. ‘Of course, child.’
‘Why did you dislike my mother so much?’
She’s so still and for a second I don’t think she’s heard me, or she’s blanked out, her meds doing something weird, but then she blinks and looks towards the window.
‘It wasn’t that I disliked her. She just wasn’t right for your father—for the Laurens. She was too wild, too young. She was eighteen when Robert brought her home after they eloped.’ She shakes her head. ‘He knew we’d never accept her—not with her...her occupation—so he ran away. He figured we’d have no choice but to accept then, that we’d rather not have a divorce on our hands. The press had already had a field day over us—imagine adding a divorce to it.’
‘But they were in love,’ I say. ‘What did it matter that she was a stripper?’
Granny’s eyes dart to mine.
‘What?’ I say, seeing the horror in her gaze. ‘It’s what she was.’
‘Do you have to say it?’ Her tone is hushed, as though we’re in a public room with a judgemental audience listening in. ‘How can you ask me that? You’re twenty-four—you’ve been brought up to be a Lauren through and through. You of all people should know that it’s not acceptable.’
I shake my head, sadness overwhelming me. ‘It doesn’t mean that she wasn’t a good person, or that she loved Daddy any less.’
I’m a good person and I attend the very kind of clubs you abhor, dear Granny, but it doesn’t mean I love you any less.
‘Love is for fools,’ she quips. ‘Look at your brother and the way Clara takes advantage of his love.’
‘But at least my parents were happy; you can’t say the same for Daddy’s second marriage.’
She balks at my mention of it, such is our shared dislike of my stepmother, but I’m not giving in.
‘If we go by your standards, that marriage should have been perfect. She had her own money, her own status, and look how unhappy they were.’
Granny’s eyes cloud over, and I know some of my words are sinking in.
‘And you know why, don’t you?’ I push on.
She looks back to the window, like it will save her from where I’m heading.
‘Granny...?’
She waves a hand at me to stop and it trembles. She looks so weak, so frail, the stre
ngth she’s mustered to sit up straight seeping from her body as she starts to hunch. I know my father’s death weighs heavily on her, that she has always struggled to come to terms with outliving her only child. And I know that talk of his misery in later years will make that pain more acute, but I can’t stop. I need to say it.
‘Because he never got over my mother—just like you never got over Grandpapa.’
She blinks rapidly and I know she’s fighting back the weakness of tears—that even in front of me she doesn’t feel able to show that level of humanity. It frustrates the hell out of me, and my own emotions are bubbling so close to the surface that I want to scream them free.
‘Yes. And the pain of loving someone,’ she says quietly, ‘only to lose them, is a burden I wouldn’t wish on anyone.’
‘Really, Granny?’ I can’t hide my impassioned disbelief. ‘You’d really rather never have known that happiness with someone than go through the pain?’
She doesn’t answer. She’s still focusing trance-like on the window.
‘You were so lucky to find what you did with Grandpapa,’ I say. ‘And Daddy was so lucky to find it with my mother. I’d give anything for that.’
She looks back at me, shaking her head, her eyes bittersweet. ‘For ever the romantic, aren’t you? I’ve always worried it will get you in trouble.’
She reaches out to cup my cheek, her bony hand cold against the heat of my skin.
‘You have such a big heart...but you have your mother’s wild streak in you too.’
‘Is that such a bad thing?’ I ask softly.
There’s a rap at the door that saves her from answering and I push off the bed to open it, knowing it will be Sue with brunch. There’s no use fighting this out with Granny. I don’t even know what I’m fighting for. To clear my mother’s name? To lift the shackles of the Lauren name? I mean, Christ, it’s the twenty-first century—who gives a toss about family reputations any more?
I look back at Granny as I pull open the door for Sue. Above Granny’s bed is a painting of my great-great-great-grandmother, all prim and perfect. I can see myself in her, I can see Granny in her and I realise that this is what it’s about. A legacy that exists long after we’re gone, a part of us that travels through the generations.
Getting Dirty Page 9