by Lulu Taylor
Coco felt a stab of apprehension. ‘Yes. I got a new phone. What does he want?’
‘I don’t know. But he’s quite keen to find you. Here, take his number in case you’ve lost it.’ Sheridan reached into her bag and pulled out a scrap of paper and a pen. She scrawled a number and handed it to Coco. ‘He’d love to see you.’ She stood up. ‘Listen, I’ve got to go. But good luck, OK?’
Coco looked at the paper, then squinted up at the other girl. ‘Yeah, thanks. You too.’
Then Sheridan was gone, heading across the square and off to wherever she was going.
Coco stared at Roberto’s number. Why on earth would he want to contact her? She was instantly back in the club, back in her old life and everything it meant. She felt her heart start pounding, and her eyes stung as though she was on the point of weeping. She realised that she was afraid to ring Roberto in case he was somehow going to demand she return to the club, to the dingy flat, to everything she was trying to escape. ‘I’m not going back to that,’ she said to herself through clenched teeth, digging her nails into her palms. ‘I can’t!’
34
ALAN WAS IN the most almighty sulk for the first couple of weeks after Daisy’s promotion but he couldn’t sustain it for long. He was essentially a good man and part of him must have guessed she had actually saved his job. Before long they were working together well and the hotel was running smoothly. Daisy had more time now to think about something other than work, and one of the first things she did with her pay rise was to move out of her bedsit and into a one-bedroomed flat. She also hired a cleaner, relieved to rid herself of the business of household chores, which she’d never really taken to despite her best efforts.
Nathan had been very depressed to see her go, but had still helped her move, loading up the little second-hand Fiat, which she had recently bought (pushing thoughts of her pink BMW firmly from her mind), with her crates and boxes to make the short journey to the new place, an airy apartment on the first floor of an elegant Regency townhouse in a smart part of Bristol. For the first time in years Daisy was reminded of her old way of life. The area was full of chichi shops, expensive delis and coffee houses. Wealthy girls, students probably, dressed in expensive jeans, deceptively simple tops, boots and sunglasses, were wandering about, racking up credit-card bills in the boutiques or zooming around in sports cars with good-looking men.
That would have been me, Daisy thought, almost with surprise, as she passed them in the street at the weekends. Carefree. Nothing to do but enjoy myself. No idea of the lives going on all around me. It seemed almost unbelievable to her now. There was so much to do. When she wasn’t in the office, she was working at home. She was concentrating now on the long-term strategy of the Excalibur, and increasing its revenue. The hotel had some excellent facilities that weren’t being taken advantage of, and every possible avenue had to be explored and exploited. She had also taken on the entire human resources aspect, managing the payroll, staffing levels and internal disputes. People had quickly grown used to going to her instead of Alan with their problems, forgetting Daisy’s relative youth and relieved to find that she had a quick grasp of what they told her and common-sense ways of finding resolutions.
When she wasn’t working, Daisy went running (cheaper than a gym membership), occasionally went shopping – although these days she found she preferred vintage and flea-market finds – or went off to the movies on her own. That was when she wasn’t poring over business books, reading the Financial Times or accessing the foreign newspapers online. Thank goodness she had fluent French, some basic German and Italian, and a decent grasp of Mandarin. Her expensive education was something not even Daddy could take away from her.
The phone on her desk rang and she picked up the receiver with a brisk: ‘Hello, Daphne Fraser.’
‘Daphne … Christophe.’
Her heart sped up and her stomach did a pleasantly lazy flip. ‘Hi … hi, Christophe.’ He was often in contact with her, though it was most often by email, and it was obvious that they were closer than they should be considering that they were business colleagues – and he was her boss. But they were both helpless to resist the attraction between them that grew stronger and stronger every time they met. The atmosphere between them was tense with the suppressed electricity.
‘How are you?’ he asked.
‘Fine … and you?’
‘I’m well, thanks … actually, that’s not true. I’m not so good.’
She felt a furry of fear. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing life-threatening, but I’ve given my ankle an exceptionally bad twist and I can’t drive – or walk very well, come to that. It was a stupid accident while I was at Nant-y-Pren and I’ve been stuck here ever since. My neighbour got me to the hospital and back, but I can’t drive for another week or so. I’m working at home. The thing is – we’re due to have a meeting this week.’
‘Oh, yes, we are,’ she said, unable to hide the disappointment in her voice. She would probably have to meet John Montgomery instead, and miss Christophe for another month. How depressing. In that moment, she realised that her meetings with him were the only bright spots in her life, the only thing she had to look forward to and the only contact with another human that meant anything to her. She felt as though she could cry.
‘So I had an idea.’ He hesitated. ‘Now, feel free to shoot this down if you want to but … I wondered if you’d like to come up to Nant-y-Pren and have the meeting here? It’s beautiful, I’d love you to see it. You might enjoy the change of scene and …’ He stopped there, leaving whatever else he was thinking of tantalisingly unspoken.
‘That sounds wonderful,’ said Daisy, delighted. He’d often spoken of his home in North Wales and it sounded idyllic. ‘But … when were you thinking?’
‘It’s a long way to come for an afternoon,’ he said, his tone happy. ‘Our meeting was scheduled for Friday. Why don’t you come up then and stay over till Saturday – or even Sunday if you want to. I’d be glad of the company.’
There was a long pause. Thoughts whirled around Daisy’s brain. I ought to say no. I ought to – I know where this will go, it’s bound to but … I don’t think I can resist … The idea of a weekend with him, just the two of them together, far from where they could be spied on or made the subject of gossip, was too much.
‘Yes,’ she said in a voice so low it was almost a whisper.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’ll email you the directions. See you on Friday.’
The little Fiat bumped and jerked along the driveway to Nant-y-Pren House. It’s not made for this kind of terrain, Daisy thought, glad that the drive was no steeper and that it had not been raining. As the little car made its way around the curve of the road, she saw the house appear. It was very pretty, a two-storey farmhouse with a pitched roof and scallop-edged gables, old brick chimneys leaning slightly off kilter. Its render was painted a soft greeny blue that made it seem to melt into the hills beyond, and it was surrounded by gently decrepit old grey stone walls, overgrown lawns and an orchard with lichen-speckled trees.
It’s beautiful, she thought as she drove closer and pulled the car to a halt by the house. Instantly a golden lolloping dog came bounding out, barking. Daisy got out of the car and the dog was beside her, wagging its tail furiously, panting and barking. She stroked it and fondled its soft ears. ‘Good girl, you must be Sasha. Hello, Sasha.’
‘Hi!’
She looked up to see Christophe come hobbling out of the house towards her, supporting his bandaged ankle with the help of a walking stick.
‘Hello, how are you?’
He lifted his stick. ‘Still one of the walking wounded, I’m afraid. I see you’ve met Sasha.’
‘Yes, she’s lovely.’ Daisy stroked the dog’s head again.
‘She likes you.’ Christophe came level with her and leaned over to kiss her cheek, which tingled under the touch of his lips. He looked different here, she thought. Younger and less serious. Happier. ‘How was your jou
rney? Give me your bag – no, it’s fine, I can carry it, don’t worry – come on, come inside.’
He grabbed her overnight bag, hoisting it easily on his shoulder, and they walked together back to the house, Daisy telling him about the journey. She felt instantly at ease and relaxed, as though a lovely serenity had descended on her. The farmhouse was very isolated – there was not another dwelling to be seen, just a few broken-down outhouses and old farm buildings – and surrounded by the rolling Welsh hills. Inside, it was distinctly shabby.
‘I need to spend a few months doing the place up,’ he said apologetically as they went into the hall. ‘But there never seems to be the time, and there’s no one here but me.’
‘I think it’s lovely as it is,’ she said, not seeing the chipped paintwork or the cobwebs in the high corners, but rather the homeliness of the vintage Welsh rug on the flagstones and the coats and boots piled haphazardly beside an old dresser.
‘Come through, let’s have a cup of tea.’ He hobbled ahead of her, leading the way down a corridor and through a door that opened into a large light kitchen. A shiny black range gave out a welcoming warmth and a plate of scones sat on the large farmhouse table that dominated the room. ‘Sit down.’
He put a copper kettle on the range to heat up.
‘It’s wonderful here,’ Daisy said, her face bright. The whole house seemed overflowing with comfortable calmness and peace.
‘I’m glad you like it,’ he said with a smile. ‘I just wish I didn’t have this blasted stick, then we could go for a proper walk.’
‘How did you do it?’
‘I was down on the old railway line. We’ve got some abandoned track in the grounds from when the railway came across the land years ago. It’s quite a nature reserve down there, and very pretty. Anyway, I tripped on a bit of old track hidden in the undergrowth and wrenched my ankle. It took me hours to get back to the house.’ He grimaced. ‘One of the hazards of living alone in a place like this.’
‘Thank goodness you managed to get back. You might have died all on your own like that …’
‘Yes, well, I didn’t. So it’s all right.’ Christophe smiled over at her. He was looking quite different from his usual businesslike self, in jeans and a thick dark grey jumper, faded shirt collar poking out from underneath. He looked gorgeous, in fact. She wondered what it would be like to rest her cheek on that jumper and run her hands over him, and inhale his scent, perhaps reach up and nuzzle his neck with her lips …
She flushed at her own thoughts and felt suddenly awkward. ‘Um … right, well, I’ve brought my report if you want to get started.’
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘That’s dedicated. Shall we have our tea first? And I don’t know about you, but I rather fancy one of those scones with jam. I got them delivered by the postman this morning – he often drops off my supplies.’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Daisy said, feeling more disconcerted than ever. ‘Let’s do that. Absolutely.’
He laughed and turned back to the kettle just as it was coming to a whistling boil.
They had tea and the delicious scones while they talked, Christophe telling her how he and his sister had inherited the house from their parents, but that his sister now lived in France and came over only once a year or so with her children to visit the old place. Then he took her outside and they walked slowly around the orchard, Christophe limping as little as he could, and he pointed out the places where he used to play as a boy, and where the roof was slipping a little and needed replacing. Daisy was enchanted by everything. The dilapidation added to the beauty as far as she was concerned. Growing up, she had only lived in houses that were kept immaculate, according to Daddy’s high standards. Every flower border, every blade of grass, had been perfect. Anything chipped or broken had been thrown away immediately. There had been no sense of history or the gentle passage of time. Daisy couldn’t help but find Nant-Y-Pren charming.
‘If this were mine,’ she said fervently, ‘I would never leave it.’
He looked at her intently. ‘You really like it?’
‘I love it.’
Daisy gazed up at him, smiling. Then, in that instant, the mood changed and she caught her breath. A breeze stirred a strand of her hair and blew it over her face. Christophe leaned over and brushed it away, and she was staring straight into his eyes, which were burning with a strange intensity.
‘Daphne,’ he said, his voice low.
She couldn’t say anything. She could hardly breathe and her throat felt dry. All she could think was that it was here, the moment, it was about to happen whether she wanted it or not … but I do want it, I do.
Then the most delicious feeling she had ever known swept over her as his lips touched hers. They were cool and dry and soft. Her eyes closed and she instinctively put her head back, returning his kiss, unable to do anything but lose herself in the unbearable sweetness. Her mouth opened under his and then they were tasting each other, as Christophe’s arm slid around her back, pulling her close to him. He leaned against the orchard wall so that he could embrace her fully, and she found she was standing on tiptoe, snaking her arms round his neck to make the kiss even deeper. Everything inside her was whirling and she felt amazingly, beautifully alive.
At last, he pulled away and stared into her eyes, looking astonished but happy.
‘Oh, dear,’ he said ruefully, ‘that wasn’t supposed to happen. Not here anyway. I had a big seduction routine planned for this evening. Dinner … candles … soft music …’
Daisy laughed. ‘But the spontaneous moments are best of all, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, they certainly are.’ Then he kissed her again, slowly and deliciously. He tasted sweet and honeyish and his skin smelled wonderful. When they pulled apart again, he murmured, ‘I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to wait.’
‘Let’s not wait,’ she breathed. Her insides were so liquid with longing, she wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to stand if she weren’t able to lean on Christophe.
‘Then let’s go inside.’
If it hadn’t been so romantic, it might have been a little ridiculous, Christophe hobbling with his stick and his bad ankle, the pair of them stopping every few moments to kiss again. It must have taken twenty minutes to get inside and another ten to climb the stairs to Christophe’s room, but Daisy didn’t mind. As far as she was concerned, it simply heightened the delicious anticipation and the fizzing excitement that was coursing through her body. It was so long since she’d done anything like this, and she was half afraid of it, but the desire overcame everything else and she surrendered to it entirely.
By the time they reached his room, things had grown more intense and serious. They’d stopped giggling and started gasping with pleasure as they became more aware of one another’s body and their mutual desire. In the bedroom, they fell together on the large mahogany sleigh bed and immediately Christophe’s ankle was forgotten. Now they could concentrate properly and begin to enjoy each other. She helped him pull his jumper over his head and slipped her hands inside his shirt to feel his hard muscular chest, while he caressed her arms and back, and delicately brushed her breasts.
She couldn’t think of anything but the delight of being close to him and the wonderful sensation of feeling his warm solid flesh against hers. The sun had moved round the house and the shadows were growing long. Christophe’s shoulders were touched with gold and his dark hair glinted when the last rays of sunshine caught it. He moaned softly when Daisy’s shirt was unbuttoned, revealing her white silk bra and the soft mounds of her breasts rising from it. He touched them reverently, telling her how beautiful she was. Within a few moments, lying on the rough Welsh blanket, they were both naked in the diminishing afternoon light.
She wanted nothing more than to feel him inside her and when at last he entered her, she was more than ready, pulling him to her with an elemental hunger. It felt perfect, as though he was made for her and she for him.
‘Don’t st
op,’ she begged him. There couldn’t be anything better than this, their bodies joined together and moving in harmony, knowing how much pleasure they were giving each other, reading in one another’s eyes the astonished wonder and happiness at how right it felt.
Daisy had never known that it could feel like this: she was utterly relaxed with him. He was confident and sure, but alert to every movement and the things that made her sigh with pleasure. She lost all sense of selfconsciousness and abandoned herself joyfully to the sensations he was giving her: the rush of bliss she felt when he moved very deep within her, and the excitement that grew greater along with their need for each other.
She almost didn’t want the climax that built up inexorably for both of them, it would mean an end to this heavenly moment, but eventually she couldn’t resist any longer, and when it came, lifting her up and whirling inside her like a tornado of pleasure, she dug her fingers into his back and surrendered to it with a cry, just as he tensed and came with her.
Afterwards, they lay languidly in each other’s arms, enjoying the satisfied pleasure of being together. He was so beautiful, Daisy thought. More beautiful without his clothes than she could have guessed before she’d seen him. How was she going to manage at work now, knowing exactly what lay beneath his suit? And that reminded her …
‘I suppose I’ll have to give you my report later,’ she said, her voice replete with fulfilment.
Christophe laughed and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. ‘No one can fault your dedication, darling. But how about we wait until we’re dressed before you take me through the figures?’
35
‘YES, YES, YES, yes … ooooh! Oooooh, right there, babe, yes, keep going … please!’ Coco began to whimper and shriek. It was quite an effort. ‘Yeah, yeah!’