Another careless step and Caspar lost his footing. He hung from one hand pressed into the rock and scrambled with his toes until he managed to secure his feet. His heart pounded. He was an idiot for attempting this climb with his mind in a mess.
Concentrate.
Ally didn’t fancy Sean MacAlister. She’d told him that. She was allowed to laugh with other people, for fuck’s sake. Christ, I’m an idiot. He wished he hadn’t started the climb, but it was much easier and safer to go up than back down. And Caspar didn’t want to die. He had for a while after Jemima died, but he’d foolishly thought once he was free of prison, he could rebuild his life.
As month after month brought more and more rejection, Caspar found his only respite in sex. Very few women said no. He’d didn’t bother with those who didn’t look willing. He’d already tired of the emotionless fucking before Ally arrived. She’d made him see he could have a different life. He needed to go back and tell her that.
Caspar looked up at the last few feet, the hardest part of the climb where he’d be at his most vulnerable. The holds were difficult and he needed to swing out to get his foot on the ledge on his right.
Once he’d pulled himself to safety, Caspar released a shaky laugh. He stood and looked east to dark skies then west to a falling sun, watching as it slid in and out of the clouds. The lights of Wyndale twinkled a mile or so away. He could see his parents’ house, his place and the roof of Stone Cottage. He’d find another rose and he’d go and apologize.
Oh, and give Ally the two hundred pounds he’d hidden on the top of the dresser. Then he’d ask her about Sean MacAlister.
* * * * *
Ally stared at the seven bags on the bed in Sal’s room.
“Kerry gets first pick,” Sal said.
Kerry grabbed the bag in the middle, peeked inside and grinned. “Nurse and stethoscope. Steve is going to really love me in this.”
Emma took the next bag and tipped out the contents. “Cave woman. Oh, and I get a huge club.” She laughed.
Sal was Catwoman with a whip. Jen, a devil with a plastic pitchfork, and Bryony pulled out a police uniform and pink furry handcuffs. Delia was a cheerleader with pompoms and Ally was a schoolgirl with a ruler. She needed to lose that before she was asked to measure something below a guy’s waist.
“You do realize we’re going to freeze to death,” Ally said.
“All in a good cause. The costumes stay on at all times unless we’re doing the adventure activities,” Sal said. “After we’ve eaten, we’re off to the pub and we’ll each have a challenge to do.”
“Oh God,” came the collective groan.
Ally thought about the handful of guys who’d been in the pub the night she arrived and smiled. “We have to be ready to leave here at eight in the morning,” she said.
A chorus of louder groans followed that announcement.
“What are we doing?” Sal asked.
“Surprise.” Ally pretended to zip her lip.
Sal looked at her watch. “Right, go and get changed and we’ll meet downstairs in thirty minutes.”
Ally walked along the corridor to her room. She tipped the contents of the bag onto the bed and winced. She really would freeze. Thigh high, white holdups, a very short, zip-fronted, low-cut black dress with a school badge on the top left…right…left, a Velcro collar with a little blue-and-pink-striped tie attached and a straw boater. A tart’s school uniform. Ally sniggered. She changed her underwear to red lace and put on a pair of black high heels. By the time the thirty minutes were up, Ally was dressed, made up and ready to party physically if not mentally.
She wouldn’t let thoughts of Caspar spoil tonight. Sal had gone to a lot of trouble to organize this, and Ally refused to let her friends down. When she’d paid the money to Sal, Ally had assumed everything would happen in London, so it was more than kind of them to come up to Wyndale.
When she walked downstairs carrying her coat and the ruler, she emerged into an empty reception. Tom pushed open a door opposite and his jaw dropped.
“Oh my God. I’ve wasted seven years trying to persuade corporate wankers to play nice and my skilled hands could have been on scantily clad females who I don’t want to play nice.”
Ally laughed. As the others joined her, Tom’s eyes opened wider and wider. Emma tapped him on the head with her club and Delia fluttered her pompoms up and down his chest.
“Good God,” he blurted.
“Coming to the pub later?” Sal asked.
Tom grinned. “Not sure anything could stop me.”
* * * * *
After they’d eaten, they retrieved their coats and staggered arm in arm in threes and twos through the village. Ally lost her hat with the first gust of wind and it disappeared into someone’s garden. She was behind on alcohol intake, but two glasses of wine with the meal had mellowed her mood. One thing she mustn’t do was think about Caspar.
I wonder where he is?
Shit.
Before they went into The Wyndale Arms, Sal handed them each an envelope with their challenge. Ally wondered if some poor schmuck was going to be the victim of all of them. But when they walked in, the pub was heaving, barely recognizable from the quiet place Ally had expected. Loads of men and women in their twenties and thirties—but where had they all come from?
Ally looked for Caspar, wondering what she’d do, what she’d say, but he didn’t appear to be there. The arrival of seven females turned a number of heads. The removal of their coats to reveal their scanty costumes turned the rest and brought a chorus of whistles.
“Two bottles of champagne on me for this evening’s entertainment,” a guy shouted, and Kerry and Emma whooped with glee.
Ally wondered what they’d say when they discovered Sean MacAlister had bought the alcohol. Ally realized most of these people were connected with the filming. When Sean carried over two bottles of bubbly and another man brought the glasses, Kerry looked as though she was about to faint.
“Oh. My. God,” Kerry said. “I can’t believe you guys did this. How did you do it? A Sean MacAlister lookalike? He’s just like him.”
“That’s because he is Sean MacAlister, you nitwit,” Ally said.
Sean roared with laughter.
“You’re joking.” Kerry looked on the verge of tears.
“It’s really me,” Sean said, and proved it with his mega-watt grin.
“I’m going to faint,” Kerry said. “This is going to be the best night of my life.”
Emma hit her over the head with her club. “Until your wedding day.”
Sean poured the champagne in glasses held by a tall, dark-haired guy. “This is Vince. He’s playing St. John Rivers.”
“Hi,” Vince said, openly eyeing up Delia.
“They’re filming Jane Eyre,” Ally said when she saw the blank looks on the faces of her friends.
“Quick, do your challenge,” Bryony told Kerry.
Kerry opened her envelope. “I don’t care what it says. I have to do it with Sean.”
Ally chuckled at the look of terror on his face.
“Oh God,” Kerry groaned, and looked straight at him. “Do you have a condom?”
Sean raised his eyebrows. “Does this challenge require me to put it on?”
“No.” Kerry pouted.
He took out his wallet and Kerry lifted the foil packet from his fingers. “I don’t want to tear this. Sean MacAlister touched it.” But she ripped it open and began to blow up the condom.
Everyone shouted encouragement and the latex grew larger and larger. Kerry pulled back to take a breath and the condom flew out of her hand and whizzed across the room to land in someone’s pint.
“I’ll buy you another,” Sean shouted against the wail of annoyance. He sidled away from Emma over to Ally and put his mouth to her ear. “What have you got to do?”
“Me next,” said Emma. She pulled the card from the envelope. “Kiss someone old, someone new, someone borrowed and someone blue.” She licked her lips a
nd said, “I’ll save the best ’til last.”
The chants and cheers grew louder as Emma kissed a guy in his sixties and slapped his hand off her bum when he tried to pull her closer.
“Old,” she yelled. She moved to a middle-aged man who sat with a sour-faced woman and perched on his knee to kiss him. “Borrowed,” Emma shouted.
A guy in a blue sweater got a kiss and then she turned to Sean. Ally felt him quiver.
“Save me,” he whispered.
“You’ve no chance and no choice,” Ally said.
Emma launched herself at Sean, pressed her lips to his and wrapped her arms around him. When she pulled away, her eyes were glazed. “Oh God, I kissed Sean MacAlister. Did you take a photo, Sal?”
“Yep.”
“Damn, now I don’t have an excuse to do it again,” Emma said.
“I’m going to be part of all these challenges, aren’t I?” Sean muttered in Ally’s ear. “The other men will hate me.”
He was right about the first, but everyone found it hysterical that Sean had to do everything. When Ally opened her envelope, she groaned.
“Okay, what now?” Sean sighed.
“I’m not asking you.” She tucked the card away.
* * * * *
Mark followed his sultry-voiced sat nav all the way to Wyndale. He hoped Ally appreciated how far he’d driven. He’d sacrificed his Sunday morning football and turned down an invite from Belinda. Even worse because he wasn’t at his mother’s, he’d have to sacrifice another weekend and actually go. Mark had done a lot of thinking during the drive. Asking Ally to marry him was a great idea. He’d hinted in the note with the flowers, so he’d have some idea of what she thought before he actually asked her. Just in case.
But in Mark’s view, it was a win-win situation. She’d be thrilled. Frank would be happy and move Mark up a peg or two on his “guys I like” board. Mark’s mother would be ecstatic. Mark would have someone to cook for him and iron his shirts, and Ally wouldn’t need to look for a job. And if he was careful, he could still have Belinda. He hadn’t yet tired of her breasts.
He turned into the drive and spotted Stone Cottage on the end. Hopefully Ally would cook him something. He’d bought a bottle of champagne so they could celebrate. Mark spotted the flowers on the doorstep as he approached and read the card before he knocked on the door. He wasn’t surprised to see they were from Frank, but he wondered why they were outside. He hoped his had arrived.
When a gorgeous woman in a dressing gown opened the door, words failed Mark.
“Ally,” he forced out.
“Doesn’t live here.” The door closed in his face.
Mark’s mouth fell open. He banged on the door again.
“What?” the woman snapped.
“She must live here. These flowers—”
“Are outside because she’s moved out. No, I don’t know where.”
The door closed again. The face rang a bell. An actress?
Mark kicked his way back to his car. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t drive all the way back to London tonight. He needed to find a place to stay. He drove back into the village, passed the pub and wondered if they let out rooms.
* * * * *
Jack now knew how long it took to get from the south to the north of England before they’d built motorways. Fucking hours. He’d avoided the fast route because he knew they’d have cameras, and while he still vacillated between openly or covertly going to see Ally, he knew if he could achieve the latter, he’d prefer it, if only to keep his wife silent.
He’d completely nixed the idea of telling Ally he was attracted to her. It hadn’t worked the first time, why would it work now? She’d understand that his life was a mess and the kiss had been an aberration. Jack had decided to be partially honest, tell her he wanted to start the business up again and needed to get as much information from her as she could remember or perhaps held on her laptop.
That way he’d know the worst or the best. He’d knock on her door tonight, ask his questions and then drive home. Mission accomplished. Only not if she asked anything awkward. If she knew what he’d done, what was he supposed to do then? Maybe only the complete truth would work.
The sat nav took him to the little cul-de-sac and he spotted Stone Cottage at the end of the row of houses. Not too hard to track her brother’s address. Jack strode to the front door. A huge bouquet sat by the mat and he bent to look at the card. He’d never heard Ally mention a Frank. She’d been going out with a guy called Mark, though Jack thought that was over. Why were the flowers outside?
He knocked.
A beauty in a slinky red dress opened the door. An actress. He struggled for her name. Lina Moon.
“Yes?” she snapped.
“I was looking for Ally.”
“She doesn’t live here.”
When she tried to shut the door, Jack thrust out his hand to stop it closing. “She did. Where is she?”
“I have no idea.”
Jack moved his hand and the door slammed. What the fuck was he supposed to do now?
* * * * *
Caspar had rehearsed what he wanted to say to Ally. He’d apologize for telling her to go without letting her explain about the medal. Then she’d tell him she was sorry and she’d explain what she was doing in a tent with Sean MacAlister. Even if she didn’t, the moment he saw her, he’d know whether or not he’d blown it.
When he walked up to the door of Stone Cottage, holding his single rose, stolen from his father’s garden, he saw yet another bunch of flowers sitting on the doorstep. White roses and lilies. Not the same bouquet. Caspar bent to read the card. Very happy to hear you survived your encounter with the train. Hope these flowers go some way toward cheering you up. With best wishes, Frank.
Who the fuck was Frank? Caspar banged on the door.
Lina opened it, yelled, “What the hell is it now?” and then smiled. “Sorry. Hi Caspar.” Her gaze dropped to the rose in his hand and she beamed. “For me?”
Caspar yanked it away. “Where’s Ally?”
Lina glared. “Christ, again? She moved out. The BBC rented all these cottages for us. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Those flowers came for her, but I don’t know where she’s gone.”
Caspar thought he could guess. A tent.
“Will you take me down to the pub?” Lina asked. “I’m not staying in while the world and his dog call for Ally. I don’t want to walk there on my own.”
“Okay.”
“Come in. I’ll just be a minute.”
“I’ll wait out here.” Caspar wandered across the drive and climbed the bank to the tent. “Ally?”
When there was no answer, he checked inside. Empty sleeping bag. Caspar zipped the tent up and went to wait for Lina. Maybe Ally was at the pub.
Lina emerged in a pure-white coat with a turned-up collar. She locked the door and grabbed Caspar’s arm. “I am so tired. The director made us go over one scene thirty-three times. Bloody Sean kept laughing and got sent back so I had to do the scenes with the kid instead. Talk about precocious. So what have you been up to?”
“Nothing much.”
“Your parents invited me for dinner.” She squeezed his arm. “Your father’s so sweet. He really made me laugh.”
She must have the wrong man, Caspar thought.
Chapter Seventeen
Ally tightened her grip on the envelope that detailed her hen party challenge.
“Tell me what it says,” Sean said in her ear, and Ally inched away from him.
“Let me do mine while Ally’s getting her courage up,” said Delia.
Sean’s gaze burned into Ally’s back as the attention shifted to Delia.
“Ask the sexiest guy in the room his three top tips for seducing a woman.” Delia looked around the group of preening men and twirled her pompoms.
Ally felt Sean move from behind her, but it was Vince who Delia captured with her gaze.
“I’m not the sexiest guy in the roo
m?” Sean whispered to Ally, and then turned to Vince. “Share your words of wisdom and then prove them, buddy.”
Vince’s eyes narrowed before he turned back to Delia and smiled.
“First, you listen to the woman and don’t bore her senseless with crap about yourself or sport. Make her feel she’s the most important person in the world to you.” Vince kept staring at a wide-eyed Delia. “Second, you make sure she sees the man you are—confident, interesting and sexy. Third, you give her the best kiss she’s ever had in her life.”
When Vince pulled Delia into his arms and kissed her, the bar erupted in a cacophony of hoots and whistles.
“What’s your challenge?” Sean had an edge of desperation in his voice.
Ally chuckled. Strange how a hen party had turned into a game of macho one-upmanship. She made her way to the bar and begged a pen. With almost everyone in the room now staring at her, she faced Sean and said, “Drop your pants.”
The smile fell off his face. “What?”
“Only your pants, not your boxers.” Ally groaned. “Oh God, please tell me you’re wearing boxers.”
“What are you going to do?” Sean’s unease was clear on his face.
“I have to write on your backside and then you have to write on mine.” She mumbled the second part.
He grinned. “I can write on yours?”
His pants fell to his ankles and he stood there in black silk boxers. The noise from women cheering and men jeering grew louder. Sean turned round. Ally gingerly lifted one leg of the boxers to expose his butt. Oh God, a very nice butt. She wrote on it with the black marker pen and let the material fall. Before her legs raced her out of the pub, Ally handed Sean the pen and bent over.
He flipped up the edge of the black dress and groaned. “You little devil.”
When his fingers brushed the lace, Ally pretended to growl. “Write, don’t touch.”
Sean laughed. “I’m not going to write Don’t Touch.”
Ally shivered as she felt the pen move on her skin. The deliberate brush of his fingers made her flinch.
“What’s she written on me?” Sean tried to look over his shoulder.
Vince chuckled. “Kick here.”
Kiss a Falling Star Page 19