And then there was George’s declaration last night. And she had no idea how to label that. Because … Oh God, she wanted it to be heaven. She wanted it to be heaven so much. Well, at least her body did. No it was more than that. Her body and soul did. In fact all of her did, except her head.
Her head kept telling her it all made no sense. He couldn’t possibly be attracted to her. That he couldn’t be feeling it too. And anyway … George Silbury was danger.
She knew why her head saw him as such. There was no question, Susie realised on a shaky exhale of breath: George Silbury had the capacity to destroy her. Her head was just making sure she didn’t forget it.
‘Miss Morris?’
‘It’s okay, Ronald. I just sighed.’
She sighed again. Every time she used her head she was right back there in hell: confusion, turmoil, fear and that was forgetting the questions over her sanity. Although … if he felt it too? Jeez, if he felt it too, then she wasn’t dangerous, was she? It would mean it was mutual. God, she couldn’t get her head around this.
Perhaps she shouldn’t use her head? What would happen if …? Her head kindly resorted to high pitched shrieking alarm calls.
But when she didn’t allow herself to think and surrendered to what she instinctively seemed to need … then it was so heavenly she wanted to cry.
But how could she dismiss her head? That was like asking her to be a bundle of mindless cells. In her case, from the erogenous zones and they’d have to be complete with nerve endings …
She cleared her throat. ‘I’m fine, Ronald,’ she said, pre-empting what she knew would come.
But she wasn’t being fair here. How George Silbury made her feel went way beyond her erogenous zones. He reached parts of her she’d never known existed. Made her feel … If she let herself feel it, there was everything there anyone could ever desire. Attraction, so much attraction, yet comfort and peace, too. It felt so right. No wonder her head was protesting so strongly.
Susie needed a middle ground though. Not, ‘to think or not to think’. But was there a middle ground where George Silbury was concerned? It appeared to be extreme all the way. Like roller coasters and she’d always hated them. And she could really have done without the reminder of sick here.
She opened her eyes. Was it safe to move the bucket away? Probably not. She heard the driver speak. Glancing out of the window she saw they were nearly there.
‘Ten minutes or so,’ he said.
She groaned. They appeared to be closer and she’d got her hopes up.
‘I know you want off here as soon as possible, love. I reckon you’re thinking of changing jobs. Join the club. I’ve got the window open, but you’d never know for the effect it’s having on things in here. I’ll get us there as soon as I can, but they’ve closed off some roads for something or other. I can’t use the usual drop off on Saint George’s Lane.’
Saint George’s Lane?! Saint George’s Lane?! Her life was one big joke at the moment. On her. There was bound to be a horn in there somewhere, a hunt with herself as the prey and a price on her head.
The driver continued and she paid keen attention to prevent herself thinking anymore of Saint George and how he had sooo not been a saint. He’d been … That was the point she started listening keenly.
‘I’m going to have to take you to the coach park. It’ll be another ten minutes or so walk from there along the river. I’m sorry, love.’
She channelled back into her thoughts, refusing to focus on how the day was panning out. But she couldn’t make head nor tail of them. She knew one thing though.
She was going to have to call George Silbury.
Being on location today was not what George needed. He took the phone out of his pocket and checked again to see if there were any missed calls.
Susie hadn’t called. It was only 10.00 a.m., the day after the night he’d bared his soul in front of millions … but she hadn’t called.
Had she seen the show?
If she hadn’t, she’d have seen the papers, the TV, or the internet. The fact was, if she didn’t call then … He couldn’t let himself go there. He was completely out of options. It was only ten, he told himself firmly. There was time yet.
He was sure she’d felt it too … Cassie had even hinted at it. She was in communication with Rachael Jones, who had suggested this wasn’t one way. That Susie was no longer seeing the accountant, but that she had ‘issues to resolve’. Despite his urging, Cassie had categorically refused to elaborate.
And he wasn’t meant to be thinking of Susie! He and Graham, one of the cameramen, had escaped for a cigarette break. But, as if he needed a reminder, even having a cigarette led to thoughts of failed hypnosis attempts to quit and then the hypnosis eleven days ago …
He would have been better off never having met her. But that wasn’t true. Those moments in her arms were the most incredible of his thirty-seven years. The only time he’d ever felt truly fulfilled. Not that he’d been sexually fulfilled …
He should never have started these thoughts. He shifted uncomfortably. But the fulfilment had been far, far deeper than that. Without her, he felt …
Enough! He stubbed out the cigarette against the wall and popped it in the bin. He turned to Graham. He’d evidently been talking and George had heard not a word. ‘Sorry,’ he said.
‘It’s all right mate. A girl’s involved so I understand. They’re having to re-jig things big time for the next scene, so I reckon we’ve got at least an hour. I’d murder for a proper cup of tea and not out of them paper cups. And the bitch is on the warpath so …’
That was enough for George. The very mention of Porsche was enough to make his blood boil. He was barely in control around her, hence his making sure he was only ever in her presence in front of the camera. That way he was less likely to lose it. Darcy, being a repressed character with all that simmering nearing combustion stuff going on under the surface, was allowing him to act the part pretty much instinctively.
Even the aftermath of Elizabeth’s rejection had seen him thinking of Susie and … More than enough!
George refocused on Graham. ‘Right. A decent café. Let’s start the hunt!’
‘You know, you’ve caused me a right headache,’ Graham moaned, as they sauntered along one of the roads cleared of traffic for filming. They headed towards the business-as-usual one up ahead. ‘If you’d warned me about last night, I’d have made sure Jeannie didn’t watch the show.’
George shot him a surprised glance. He really liked Graham’s wife, Jeannie. She was one of the few women who didn’t go all giggly on him.
‘You had her in tears, mate. Sobbing away she was. And then she just turned rabid on me. Demanding when I last did anything romantic for her. The long and the short of it, she decided I’d never done anything romantic in our nine and three-quarters years together and stomped off to bed, wittering away about how me and the kids view her as domestic staff and didn’t she deserve some respite romance!’
If his actions had to be labelled George would have used desperate, rather than romantic. He glanced at Graham as they started across the road. ‘When did you last do something romantic?’
‘Don’t you bloody start!’
‘She’s worth—’
George’s words died on his lips as he and Graham were forced to sprint across the last few metres of road as a coach, evidently desperate to reach its destination, revved its snarling engine and headed straight for them.
George turned to stare at it as it passed. It was full of school children and … it made him think of Susie. He followed it with his eyes, scanning the rear-end writing. It was a London coach firm … and his body was buzzing.
He took a deep breath. Doing what he was thinking of doing was crazed.
‘This way,’ he muttered to Graham. And started to jog.
‘Keep up!’ George shouted, putting on another sprint. He was fit, he had to be in his line of work, but this was one mean coach. It hurtled through orange lights and weaved in and out of traffic as if possessed. But he refused to lose sight of it.
‘What do I look like?’ he asked himself, having spared a glance behind him. Graham was trailing miserably. But it was all the people stopping from going about their business to stare after him that raised the question. He was out in public in Darcy’s costume again. Yes, he had his winter coat on, but it was undone and flapping behind him … George groaned … like Batman’s cape.
He was Batman. He was set to film the sequel next year.
And then there was that little matter of running after a coach like a madman. The only saving grace was that this was Canterbury. In London he’d have a pack of paparazzi in pursuit and helicopters scrambled.
Hurling himself around a corner so he could pick up sight of the coach again, he looked skywards in thanks. It was pulling into a coach park.
Chapter Fifteen
As the coach finally parked, Susie experienced the overwhelming urge to run down the steps, take a huge breath of fresh air and kiss the tarmac. The journey from hell was finally over. But then she remembered she had the journey home. She couldn’t think about it. She’d think about … the ten-minute walk along a river bank with twenty-nine eight year olds!
‘We’ll get the kids off the coach while you get yourself cleaned up,’ one of her teaching assistants came over to murmur in her ear. Susie smiled wanly and nodded. She must have been tightly clutching the bucket on her lap because she felt her fingers being loosened and the thing removed, to be replaced by a pack of baby wipes.
Susie sat motionless in her seat as the kids piled off the coach. She needed these few moments. She was at work. She couldn’t let any of this get to her. She would get through the day. Blindly pulling out a baby wipe, she started scrubbing at her hands and then eased herself out of her now revolting coat, which she rolled in on itself and stuffed into one of the empty carrier bags she always carried with her. She tied its handles into a tight double knot.
Looking down at herself, she realised she was going to freeze. Although she was wearing a long-sleeved top, it was only thin because she’d expected her coat to do all the hard work.
As if seeing the perfect opportunity to get away with it, her body started warming up. Why did it keep doing this? But this time its timing wasn’t half bad. She would be outside in freezing temperatures, so getting all hot and steamy might stop hypothermia setting in.
She would have preferred the tingling not to have started, she reflected, as she used more baby wipes to scrub at her face and her neck, in fact any exposed skin she could find. She knew Ronald Wittering hadn’t reached behind her ears, but it was psychological. She needed the memory erased. If only the troubles in her personal life could be so easily scrubbed away.
Surprisingly though, she realised she didn’t mean that. The idea of not seeing George again … loss … The last week had been agonising. If there was a chance …? How she’d felt with him had been incredible. How she felt without him was … hell. There was no two ways about that. Her head started screaming at her again. Why was nothing simple?
On a sigh, Susie popped the used baby wipes in another carrier bag and threw her handbag strap over her shoulder. It contained all the details she needed for their entry into the cathedral. She walked up and down the coach aisle, checking that the kids had taken all their belongings and then, on a deep breath, prepared to descend the steps.
She gulped. White noise. Lots and lots of white noise. She clutched the handrail for support.
‘Hi.’
She was staring. She could feel herself doing it. And her body was responding which meant he really was there before her and this was not her head playing sick games with her. And his eyes, his eyes were doing that thing and … She found herself letting them. She needed to feel that myriad of sensations they induced. In this moment, it was comfort, so much comfort and the promise of so much more that she felt. It was what her body currently craved. And that connection of his provided it. She was in so much trouble here.
But how could George Silbury be in front of her? It made no sense that he was … Oh God! Seeing her like this! And her body dared to feel comforted? Okay, she’d cleaned herself up, but she’d just been covered in Ronald Wittering’s sick! And no, no, no – she so hadn’t dressed for George Silbury. She was in her practical work gear and had just scrubbed away any make-up she’d been wearing … No! She didn’t have any on! She’d not bothered with it this morning after tossing and turning all night. And her hair was hanging in rat-tails because of the baby wipes she’d used on her neck and hairline.
And look at him. Standing there, so beautiful. With his dark hair and gorgeous deep brown eyes with those incredible long lashes – and the body of a god. He truly was beautiful, and that wasn’t just her verdict. He’d been voted the most gorgeous man on the planet countless times.
No wonder he was frowning.
‘I was … just passing.’
She’d known last night that he’d been out of his senses, his eyes metaphorically closed. Well it appeared he’d just opened them. He was going to walk away. And who could blame him? What must she look like? And she hadn’t returned any of his calls even after all those lovely unfathomable things he’d said on the television.
I was just passing? George couldn’t believe he’d just said that. He had been aiming for casual as he braced himself in the doorway of the coach, battling the urge to enfold her in his arms and never let go. He hadn’t seen her in a week and it had been the longest week of his life. She was so damned beautiful, it was …
Susie dropped herself down to sit on the top step and lowered her head to her hands.
‘Susie? Are you okay?’ he asked, immediately concerned.
‘I’m fine,’ she whispered. ‘I’m fine. It was … good to see you.’
No! She wanted him to go? ‘I shouldn’t have … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to … Look, I’ll go if that’s what you want. I get it now, okay, so I’ll …’
Her head shot up and she looked at him in apparent confusion before holding his gaze. God, that connection. How could she not feel it? How could she possibly turn her back on this? She … she was shaking her head. ‘I … I … don’t want … Oh, I’m so confused. I’ve just had the coach journey from hell and you’ve … surprised me and … I was going to call you, but haven’t had a chance yet and I didn’t sleep a wink last night and I’m at work and have got to get the kids to the cathedral and we are already running so late and Ronald Wittering was sick all over my coat and now I’m going to freeze to death and I’ve no idea why I’m telling you all this. I’m sorry. I was going to call, I promise.’
George gingerly lowered himself onto the step below hers, forcing himself not to sit too close or he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from providing the physical support his body was screaming out to give. She was going to call him? ‘Hey,’ he said gently. ‘It’s okay. I’m sorry you’re having such a bad day. I won’t delay you any further, but can I do anything to help? I don’t know what I can do, but name it. I’m good with kids. I’ve got nephews and nieces and …’ His voice petered out as she looked at him … astounded? ‘Silly, sorry. You need to be approved these days to be in the company of children so …’
She was shaking her head again and seemed to be struggling to get her words out. Finally she said, ‘Thank you.’
‘What for?’
‘Offering. You’re right, you can’t, but it was incredibly kind—’ She shook her head hard. ‘Why are you here? I’m sorry. This is Canterbury and … this is the last place I’d have expected to … encounter you.’
George looked pointedly down at his attire
‘You’re filming! Oh, I’m sorry. You’ve e
nough on your plate and …’ She looked around frantically before asking quietly, ‘Where’s Porsche Sutter-Blythe?’
‘She’s back on set.’ A gust of icy wind swept up the coach steps and he frowned as he absorbed what she was wearing and what she’d said earlier. He could make himself useful.
Standing up, he started to remove his coat. That thin top Susie was wearing at another time and place would be inducing far different thoughts. He gulped. Another time and place. This was not remotely appropriate. He had to focus.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m giving you my coat.’ And he really liked the idea of this. There was something primal about her wearing his clothes. ‘You can’t go about Canterbury dressed like that in these temperatures. You’ll catch pneumonia.’ And that was an awful thought. ‘In fact, you’d better have my shirt, too. It’s thick and long … look.’ He pulled the tails out of his waistband to demonstrate. ‘You can wear it like a long jumper and—’
‘Stop!’ she cried.
His hands stilled at a shirt button as she hurtled down the steps. She came to a full stop on the tarmac before him. There she raised her hands in a stilling gesture. Her gaze was frantic. She glanced over his shoulder, and then returned that gaze to him.
‘Please stop. I’m absolutely fine. I don’t need your clothes. You will freeze.’
He shook his head. ‘There are clothes back in wardrobe I can have. You absolutely cannot walk around Canterbury like that and …’ He was undoing the next button, but paused on a frown as she started to frantically wave her hands up and down.
‘Please,’ she begged.
Susie could not have George undressing. Not only because of what the idea of that was doing to her … and jeez, what that idea was doing to her! She could recall how it felt to be in his arms, the firm contours of his chest under her hands, his scent, his … clearly her body no longer craved comfort! And she was at work!
But that wasn’t the only reason. George had not gone unnoticed by the women supervising the kids. She got that. Of course she did. Who could help but notice George Silbury? But now he was proposing to remove his shirt! She gulped, then dared a glance in their general direction again. Yeah, they’d all morphed out of mummy-mode and were now staring at him goggle-eyed. Every last one of them! She couldn’t have them seeing him like that. Definitely not!
Romancing the Soul Page 14