by Jenny Harper
‘Not necessary, darling. I promise. I’ll be great.’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘Sweetheart, listen, if I get this part I’ll be back in London before you can blink. And I’ll give you a night to remember, I promise you.’
‘Really?’
‘Scout’s honour.’ Stupid expression. Tom, never having been a Boy Scout, had no idea what it meant, but Angela seemed to appreciate it.
‘I’ll hold you to that. Come to think of it, I’d hold you to anything.’
He laughed indulgently.
‘Call me after.’
‘I will.’
Call me after. Maybe he would. Call her after a celebratory night with D.A. Delight, the delectable Caroline Edwards. Carrie Delight. He hadn’t contacted her for a week, but now the time was not only right, it was necessary – he needed someone to pay for his room in Glasgow.
Jake had gone to work. Marta was out. Tom walked into Jake’s study, booted up the computer and logged on to the bed-buddies.net site.
He thought she might not reply, or that he might have to wait till she got home from work – Carrie wouldn’t be so stupid as to use her work computer for this site. But the answer popped up right away.
He laughed out loud.
There was a pause. He had backed off deliberately, to throw her, but it was a calculated risk. After three minutes, Tom stared out of the window and watched a magpie pecking at something on the lawn, its black and white plumage resplendent in the sun. Nothing. Had he miscalculated? Four minutes passed. The magpie had hopped out of sight. One for sorrow. Damn.
Ping. He twisted back to the computer.
Result!
It had worked. An audition for a television part, a free hotel room for the night and some fantastic sex thrown in. What could be better? Tom smoothed back his hair and winked at himself in the mirror behind Jake’s computer. Star Turn had come up trumps again.
Humming softly, he opened Jake’s desk drawer to find a pen and paper to jot down details of the hotel. He rummaged inside and dislodged a notebook. Beneath it, partially hidden by a pile of bills and bank statements, was a bundle of bank notes.
Handy. Thanks mate, many thanks indeed.
He left half a dozen notes, folded the rest and stuffed them in his pocket. With any luck Jake would forget how much he’d put in the drawer, stupid sod.
Chapter Fifteen
Carrie eased her car through the evening traffic on the motorway, her mood darkening with every mile. She should never have agreed to this. In the days since she’d exchanged emails with Tom, she’d been on the point of calling off at least a dozen times, but each time lust had countermanded common sense. She had turned down three invitations from Bed Buddy regulars – and for what? A romp with an old flame – never a good idea, because there was always the risk that old emotions might be smouldering rather than cold.
Look after Tom for me.
Jane’s words. The words that had sparked the whole affair. And no matter how much Carrie had rationalised things, she’d felt guilty from the beginning. What sort of friend had she been? A criminally poor one, whichever way you looked at it.
In front of her, the traffic ground to a halt again. Carrie hit the brakes and stopped so suddenly that her body swayed forwards, then back, hitting the seat with some force. Damnation. She should concentrate more or she’d never even get to the hotel. If she did decide to go – even at this late stage she could easily pull off at the next exit from the motorway, turn around and head for home.
Sight, touch, sound, smell, taste.
She knew in her heart she wouldn’t cancel. She was weak willed and self-indulgent and she despised herself – but this would be the last time, the very last. It was too dangerous. Tom was gorgeous, but totally untrustworthy. If he said something to Jane, all her careful efforts to sustain their friendship would count for nothing.
The traffic eased. Three times before her turn off she was offered choices. Left here, instead of right? Down the first road, not the second? Round the roundabout and head back to Edinburgh? Yet ten minutes later, she was easing her car into a space in the car park under the hotel – because this was going to be the last time.
Truly.
There was an edge to illicit sex that was a sure-fire turn-on.
‘Tom, we shouldn’t – this is a big mistake—’ her words were stopped by Tom’s lips and tongue, hot on her own, working feverishly on and in her mouth as his hands tugged at her clothes.
It was hopeless. Talking was impossible. From the second she opened the door to Tom’s knock, their bodies were drawn together with a force she couldn’t resist.
‘Stop,’ Carrie moaned as he bit on her breast. He had tugged open her blouse and pushed her bra up roughly so that she was exposed, but the roughness of it only added to her state of deep arousal. His hands were everywhere, pulling, stroking, rubbing, he was walking her towards the bed even as they were entwined. She heard the door to the corridor click shut as they fell together onto the mattress, and then sensation overtook thought completely, as he pulled her knickers down forcefully and entered her.
‘Aaah...’ It wasn’t a cry of pain, but of ecstasy. They climaxed together in an explosion of lust. Carrie lay under him, panting, a sheen of sweat on her face, her thighs wet with their mingled body fluids.
Tom lifted his head and grinned down at her. ‘You little minx, Carrie, you just can’t keep your hands off me, can you?’
‘You cheeky bastard!’ Despite herself, the impudence of it amused her and she laughed.
He rolled off, picked up her knickers and used them to dry himself. ‘Well, what shall we do now? We’ve got all night.’
‘We could talk.’
‘Talk? Now there’s a novel idea.’
She regarded her soiled underwear with a sudden surge of distaste. What was she doing here? Just dragging an unnecessary and absolutely unwanted complication back into her life.
She eased herself away from Tom, leant over to rescue her Max Mara shift dress and slipped it over her head.
‘Take it off.’
She stood up and turned to look down at him. ‘No, Tom. This was a mistake. I’d like you to leave. Now.’
‘Leave? No chance. I’m enjoying myself.’
She couldn’t help noticing that his lean body was still in magnificent shape, despite the fact that he was forty now.
‘And don’t tell me you’re not because, darling Carrie, your orgasm spoke for you, I believe.’
‘I mean it Tom. I’m sorry I came here. It’s time for this to stop. Jane—’
There was a sudden movement and a whirl of arms and then the room was spinning and next thing Carrie knew was that she was on the floor and there were flashing lights in front of her eyes and a scalding pain in her head.
‘What the—?’
He was standing above her, his hair across his eyes, the muscles in his body tense.
He’d hit her! Her hand shaking, Carrie lifted it to her head and felt a trickle of blood down her temple. It was throbbing. She could feel the pain pulsing in rhythm with her heart.
Not good.
Talk.
Nicely.
Get him to move. Calm him.
Through the haze, voices of logic and reason counselled her.
‘I seem to be bleeding. Will you help me, Tom?’
It took all her bravery to raise her hand
to him, but some deep-seated instinct was dictating to her, telling her not to oppose him. It might have been counter-intuitive but it paid off. She saw him hesitate, then the tension eased and he held out his hand to help her up.
‘Thanks. I’ll just wash this. Are you all right? I’m not sure what happened.’
She was lying, talking smoothly, placidly, making her voice even, lowering the tone, using every trick she knew to try to relax him. She needed to defuse his sense of power, because she guessed that domination was a turn-on for him, as it was for most bullies.
She took a tentative step towards the bathroom, terrified that he would stop her, try to follow her, attack her again.
‘I must have fallen. Thanks.’ A wobbly smile. ‘I need a towel. Wait there. I’ll just be a moment.’
The carpet under her feet was rough. Through the pain she felt the texture change to smooth coldness as she entered the bathroom. It took all her willpower not to shut herself in, bolt the door, protect herself from the man’s wildness – but there’d be no point. Her mobile phone was in her handbag in the bedroom, she could hardly stay there until the maid came in the morning. She would simply have to deal with the situation.
Think, Carrie.
She had always known that when she used Bed Buddies there could be a danger of something like this happening – she had just never thought that it might be someone she knew who would do it.
Stay calm. Keep talking.
‘So, Tom,’ she called as she ran the water, stared at her white face in the mirror and examined the cut. Her hands were shaking and she was scared, but thinking fast. How to get out? What was the next move? What caused the violence? The rational intelligence that had always been her gift kicked in through the fear.
Jane. She’d mentioned Jane. Had that been it – or the fact that she’d told him it had to end?
‘So, Tom, you haven’t told me why you’re in Glasgow?’
She took the white flannel, soaked it in cool water, dabbed it against her head. This would look nasty in the morning, but it wasn’t fatal and it wouldn’t need stitches.
‘I had an audition.’
Carrie jumped. He was right next to her, staring at her, the grey of his eyes steely. Christ, this was scary.
‘Yeah? Did it go well?’
Could he see her shaking? She tried to still her hands.
‘Here. Let me help.’
He was beside her, taking the flannel. Jesus. She closed her eyes and sent up a prayer.
‘It was for a part in a soap.’
His touch was surprisingly tender.
‘It went well. I thought we could celebrate.’
‘Fine. That’s good. Great. What was the soap?’
‘Thing called Emergency Admissions. Heard of it?’
‘EA? Of course. I’m addicted,’ she lied. She had watched the hospital drama a few times, but though it was well written and the core characters believable, it wasn’t really her kind of thing. ‘Wow, it would be brilliant if you got the part. What are your chances, do you think?’ The bleeding had abated, though her head was still thumping.
‘If they have any sense they’ll offer it to me. Hey, Carrie, come to bed. Lie down. Come.’ His voice was gentle, but every sinew in her body screamed at her to resist and she tensed, clutching the basin. ‘No more talk about leaving, hey? You and me, Carrie, we’re good together.’ The tone was back to normal, rich and deep, though what once sounded to her ears like sexual allure was now repulsive. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, Carr. You upset me.’
Carrie forced herself to relinquish the steadying feel of the porcelain. ‘I know,’ she said softly, ‘I know, Tom. Sorry.’
How could she get out of there? She couldn’t get back into bed with him, she really couldn’t.
‘I don’t like to think about Janie. I don’t like to think about how upset she would be if she knew about what you’d done to her. Sleeping with me while I was still living with her. That wasn’t a very loyal thing to do, was it, Carrie?’
The red haze in front of Carrie’s eyes deepened and intensified. She heard his words with disbelief.
‘Not really something a friend would do. Hey?’
‘No. You’re right.’
‘Because if you don’t behave yourself, my D.A. Delight, I might just have to tell our Janie about just how much you valued her friendship back then. How the way you seduced me destroyed my relationship with her. She knows about Bed Buddies, I take it?’
This time there was nothing Carrie could do to stop the trembling.
No. Christ no. Please.
‘She doesn’t? No, I suppose dear Janie, who has neatly protected herself behind her sanctimonious husband, her dear, sweet old mother and her nicely brought up little children, might be a little bit shocked about that. Maybe she should know. Hey? What do you think? Maybe she should have a little glimpse into how her very dear friend chooses to spend her nights off?’
He had her wrist in his hand. He was leading her towards the bed.
Think, Carrie, think.
She shook her head. ‘I think maybe that’s best between us, Tom.’
‘What? I didn’t hear?’
‘Best between us.’ She tried to keep it level, firm but warm. She even tried a smile.
‘You may be right.’ He appeared to consider this. ‘Yes, perhaps you may be right. Little secrets can be fun, can’t they? But I’d like to hear your views, Caroline darling, on my performance.’
‘Performance? The audition? I—’
‘Not that.’ He pulled her closer, so that her face was up against his naked chest and she could smell the sweat on him. How had she ever thought he was desirable? Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Control. You can do this.
‘In bed, my little Bed Buddy.’
‘Magnificent.’
‘A stallion in full splendour.’
‘Exactly.’
‘You’ve never known a better lover.’
‘I was just going to tell you that. You’re great. You know you are.’
She was trapped. Flatter him and he’d want to repeat the experience. Criticise him and he’d get violent. Panic invaded her every sense. He’s going to make me do it again. Her head was whirling, with possibilities, with anxiety, trying to weigh the options, take a view on a course of action.
It’s just sex, Carrie. Just do it. Don’t provoke him. He’s dangerous. Something in her had always known that, tonight had proved it. Best to play along with it, grit her teeth, do what he wanted.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and tried to ignore the pounding of her head.
Just. Do. What. He. Wants.
Afterwards, he slept. She lay next to him, stiff and fearful, every minute like an hour, every hour a day. By three o’clock, she could bear it no longer. He seemed to be in a deep sleep. She got up, dressed hurriedly, went into the bathroom and, using the tiny flashlight on her key ring, scrawled him a note.
‘Dear Tom. Sorry, had to go – I know it’s Saturday but I have an early meeting at the office. Thanks for everything. Room is paid for. C.’
She thought for a minute before signing off, but couldn’t bear to put ‘Love, Carrie’. That was a lie too far. She put a vague squiggle under the initial, something that might be a kiss or merely a flourish, and propped it on the tap. She opened the bathroom door a crack and listened fearfully. His breathing was still steady. She sped through the door to the corridor before he could wake. Even if he tried to follow her now, surely she could get away.
The hotel was silent, its transient occupants slumbering, each in the square box designed to accommodate this most basic of human needs.
He wouldn’t come now, she was safe. For the moment.
Chapter Sixteen
At three o’clock, in Edinburgh – or at least, in its seaside suburb of Portobello – a young girl was running along the pavement, her shoes in her hand, her long hair streaming out behind her, a look of sheer panic on her face. At one street corner, a drunk lurched to
wards her, well-meant concern masked by a face contorted by an effort at concentration.
‘Y’all right, hen? Y’all right by yoursel’? Oot sae late.’
The girl twisted away from the figure frantically, sped on. He turned, loose-limbed and shambling, steadied himself against a wall and muttered, ‘S’no right. Should be in her bed, the wee lassie.’
A hundred yards further and a police car slowed down, watched her progress, then lowered a window. The girl, glancing frenziedly over her shoulder, clicked open a gate, ran along the path and pushed at the bell. Once. Twice. A third time. The police car hovered, watchfully, by the kerb. A light came on in an upper window of the small white cottage, then the front door opened. The girl turned, waved a vague hand at the patrol car, as if to say, ‘I’m fine,’ then disappeared into the cottage. The car moved away. There were other problems to deal with, more challenging demands on time and expertise. This situation, at least, appeared under control.
‘Emily?’ Marta, hazy with sleep, assessed the pale apparition and groped for alertness. ‘What are you doing here? What’s the time? Are you on your own? Has something happened?’
The girl was shuddering, her breath coming in sobs. Mascara had run down her face, leaving dark streaks and the absurd platinum and purple hair was tangled. Marta’s gaze travelled downwards – her feet were completely bare. Concern bit through sleepiness. Now she was fully awake.
‘Come in for heaven’s sake, come into the kitchen.’
She took Emily’s hand and led her towards the darkness of an open doorway and the reassuring hum of the refrigerator. She flicked on the light as the noise gurgled and died. Marta liked the hum of the machinery in her home. She liked the dishwasher doing its work, rinsing, cleaning, drying. She loved the washing machine, filling, emptying, spinning. The tumble dryer was best of all because it tossed its contents lazily to and fro, to and fro, before delivering soft, warm, comforting clothes, ready to be neatly folded and stowed in drawers. Her appliances spoke to her. This is our home too, they reminded her, we like to keep it nice for you. Even now, even through her concern for Emily, they carried on doing their work of calming and soothing.