by Lucy Gordon
‘Certainly not. Another moment and I’d have tossed him off the balcony, so you might say you spoilt my fun.’
‘My apologies.’
The feel of Vanlen’s mouth was still on hers, filling her with disgust and making her rub her mouth hard with tissues.
‘Yuck!’ she said.
‘It’s a pity he affects you like that. You could have been queen of London.’
‘Don’t you start. Did you hear what he said about you?’
‘Investigation? Sure. We each know enough to confront the other. Pippa, are you all right?’
She was still rubbing her mouth, and he caught himself up at once.
‘No, of course you’re not all right. Stupid of me. Don’t go at it so hard, you’ll hurt yourself.’
‘I can’t help it. He’s disgusting.’
‘Here, let me.’ Taking a clean handkerchief from his pocket, he began to rub gently.
‘It’s no use,’ she sighed. ‘I can still feel him. Perhaps another glass of champagne would wipe him away.’
‘I know something better,’ he said softly and laid his mouth against hers.
It was over in a second. His lips touched hers for a brief moment, just long enough to obliterate Vanlen, then they were gone.
Through the dim light, he saw the wild astonishment in her eyes and could just make out her lips shaping his name.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said stiffly. ‘I thought it might help.’
‘I-’
‘Come on.’ Taking her hand firmly, he led her back to where the crowd was beginning to disperse.
David was there, looking around, brightening when he saw her. ‘Ready to go?’ he asked cheerfully. ‘Yes…yes…’
‘I think she’s tired,’ Roscoe said. ‘The sooner she goes home, the better. Excuse me.’
He was gone.
In the car home Pippa pretended to be asleep so that she could avoid talking. But later, when she got into bed, she lay awake all night, staring into the darkness, trying to see what could not be seen and understand what could not be understood.
The following evening she went to have a family dinner at her beloved grandparents’ house on Crimea Street, and where she herself had lived for the last two years of their lives. These days Frank, his wife and children, lived there, with her other brother, Brian, just down the street. Now they returned her car with an air of triumph at having made it usable again.
Pippa hadn’t been back to the old home much recently, and for a while she could enjoy the company of her parents, nephews and nieces, most of whom lived no more than two streets away.
With so many children, it was inevitable that the Christmas decorations should go up early.
‘I keep telling them that it’s still too soon,’ Brian’s wife, Ruth, said in laughing despair. ‘But you might as well talk to the moon. As far as they’re concerned, it’s Christmas already. Hold that paper chain, would you?’
Pippa smiled mechanically. It was true, as David had suggested, that she had her own reasons for shying away from Christmas-for her, it had been a time of heartbreak. But this was no time to inflict her feelings on her family, so she spent a conventional evening climbing a stepladder and hanging up tinsel.
There was a moment of excitement when a box was brought down from the attic. Dust rose as it was unpacked, but the contents were disappointing.
‘A couple of tatty scarves,’ Ruth said disparagingly. ‘Gloves. Some old books. Let’s throw them out.’
‘No, give them to me,’ Pippa said quickly. She’d recognised the gloves as a pair Dee had worn, and it would be nice to keep them as a memento.
She wandered through the house, glancing into the bedroom where they had slept together until the end. Pippa’s mother Lilian crept in behind her and surveyed the double bed, which was still the same one where the old people had embraced each other as they’d drifted contentedly to the end of the road.
‘They were very happy together,’ she sighed. ‘And yet I can never see this room without feeling sad.’
‘I came in one morning to find that Gran had died in the night,’ Pippa remembered, ‘and Grandma was holding him. It wasn’t very long after they took that trip to Brighton, the honeymoon they never had.’
‘And they wouldn’t have had even that if you hadn’t taken them,’ Lilian recalled. ‘They told me it was the last thing that made everything perfect. Afterwards, they just slipped away.’
‘And that was what they both wanted,’ Pippa said. ‘Even missing them terribly, I couldn’t be unhappy for them. All they cared about was being together, and now they always will be.’
‘And one day that’s what you’ll have,’ Lilian said, regarding her tenderly. ‘Just be patient.’
‘Honestly, Mum, I don’t think like that any more. You start off telling yourself, “Never mind, there’s always next time”. But there isn’t really. There won’t be a next time for me, and it’s better if I face that now.’
‘Oh, darling, don’t say that,’ Lilian protested, almost tearful. ‘You can’t live your life without love.’
‘Why not? I have a great time, a successful job, a good social life-’
‘Oh, yes, every man falls at your feet in the first ten minutes,’ Lilian said with motherly disapproval.
‘Not quite every man,’ Pippa murmured.
‘Good. I’m glad some of them make you think.’
‘Mum, please stop. I did my thinking years ago when a certain person did his vanishing act. That’s it. The man who can change my mind hasn’t been born.’
‘You’re only talking like this because you’re always depressed at Christmas, but I just know that one day someone will make your heart beat faster.’
‘You mean like Dad does with you?’ Pippa asked mischievously.
‘I admit your father’s no romantic hero, but he’s a decent man with a sweet temper. If he’d only stop breeding ferrets I’d have no complaints.’
‘Is someone talking about me?’ came a voice from the stairs as Pippa’s plump, balding father appeared.
In the laughter that followed, the subject was allowed to die and she was able to escape.
They all think it’s so easy, she mused. Find a man who makes your heart beat faster and that’s it. But suppose you don’t like him because he’s hard and cynical, and he looks down on you even while he’s looking you over. Suppose he infuriates you because you can’t stop thinking about him when you don’t want to, so that you just get angrier and angrier. Suppose he’s the wrong man in every possible way but that doesn’t seem to help because when he looks at you it makes you think of things you’d rather not think of. And then he does something-the last thing you expected-and it makes you want…it makes you want…oh, to hell with it! And him!
Charlie called her the next day and they arranged to meet for dinner the following evening.
‘And don’t worry about Roscoe turning up because he’s gone to Los Angeles,’ Charlie added.
‘Los Angeles?’ she murmured, recalling the words she’d overheard in his office. ‘But he was so definite about not going, said it was a waste of time.’
‘I know, and then suddenly he changed his mind, which is something he never does.’
‘Everybody does sometimes,’ she said mechanically, trying to ignore certain thoughts that clamoured for entrance to her mind.
They were astounding thoughts. They said he’d gone away to escape her after their two encounters, so confusingly different. He seemed to fight with her and kiss her, just as easily.
No, she corrected herself quickly. It hadn’t been a kiss, just a kindly gesture; almost medical in intent. But it had misfired. Meaning only to obliterate the memory of Vanlen’s lips, he’d replaced it with his own. Which surely hadn’t been his intention.
She remembered how quickly he’d backed off, clearly shocked. By himself, or by her? What had he read in her eyes that had sent him flying to the far side of the world?
The memories and questions rag
ed inside her, warning her that the time was coming when she would have to face the truth. And the truth scared her.
At her insistence, Charlie took her to a sedate, conventional restaurant, where he was on his best behaviour. And, without Roscoe there, Pippa could raise the suspicion that had been nagging at her since the office meeting.
‘Now tell me the truth,’ she said. ‘You never did go into that shop, but Ginevra did, probably dressed in jeans with her hair covered. In the near darkness she looked like a man, so when she escaped and the owner caught up with you-well, it was her, wasn’t it?’
Charlie set his chin stubbornly. ‘You’re just imagining things.’
‘You gave the game away when Roscoe said people thought all lads were the same and you had that coughing fit. I suddenly saw what had happened. You were mistaken for her, and she just ran off and left you to suffer.’
‘Look-we were good together once and I can’t just drop her in it.’
Nothing would budge him from this position. Pippa seethed with frustration and ended the evening early.
Before going to bed, she sent an email to Roscoe. For some reason it wouldn’t come right and she had to reword it three times, eventually settling on:
Mr Havering,
I’ve just had a worrying talk with your brother. He didn’t break into the shop. It was Ginevra and three others. Mr Fletcher caught them but they ran off and by the time he caught up she’d vanished, and he assumed Charlie was the fourth.
Charlie’s having an attack of daft chivalry. I’ve tried to make him see sense, but he’s deaf to reason.
I’m afraid the ‘charms’ for which you hired me are drawing a blank, and it seemed only right to inform you of my failure.
I await your further instructions.
Yours sincerely,
Philippa Jenson
She read it through repeatedly, finally losing patience with herself for shilly-shallying and hitting the ‘send’ button violently. Then she threw herself into bed and pulled the covers over her head.
Next morning, she checked for a reply. But there was nothing.
Too soon. Think of the time difference. He must be asleep.
At work she accessed her home computer every hour, sure that this time there would be a response. Nothing.
Her email would have gone to his London office, she reasoned, and perhaps he wouldn’t see it until he returned. No way! An efficient man like Roscoe would link up from Los Angeles. He was ignoring her.
Her disappointment was severe-and irrational, she knew. This didn’t fit with her mental picture of him as a better man inside than he was on the outside. She felt personally let down.
She worked late that night, finally reaching home with relief.
Then she stopped, astounded, at the incredible sight that met her eyes. Roscoe was in the hall, seated on an ornate wooden bench. His head leaned back against the wall, his eyes were closed and his breathing suggested that he was asleep. He looked almost at the point of collapse.
CHAPTER EIGHT
PIPPA touched him gently on the shoulder and his eyes opened slowly.
‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Roscoe, what on earth-? Come upstairs.’
He retrieved the two suitcases near his feet and followed her into the elevator, where he closed his eyes again until they arrived and she led him out, along the corridor and into her apartment.
‘Sit down,’ she said, pointing to a comfortable sofa.
‘You must be thinking-’
‘Tea first, explanations later,’ she said.
‘Thank you.’
She was smiling to herself as she filled the kettle. Her email had brought him home. The world was good again.
He drank the tea thankfully, but didn’t seem much more awake.
‘When did you last sleep?’ she asked.
‘I can’t remember. I was unlucky in catching a flight. I reached the airport just in time to miss one plane and I had to grab the next one. Only it went to Paris, so I had to get a connecting flight to London.’
‘You walked out on your conference?’ she breathed.
He shrugged. ‘After your email, what did you expect me to do?’
‘Email me. Text me. Call me.’
‘No, I had to talk to you properly.’
And for that he’d walked out on business.
Of course he’d done it for Charlie and his mother, Pippa reminded herself.
But common sense spoke with a feeble voice, defeated by the surge of awareness of Roscoe as a man. A man who’d tried to escape her and been defeated.
What was happening between them alarmed him because it threatened the life he’d achieved with such a struggle. But he’d seized an excuse to come back to her and now he was here, laying his gesture at her feet, waiting to know what she would do with it.
She was silenced for a moment. She’d misjudged him so badly.
‘The flight to Los Angeles is eleven hours,’ she said at last, ‘and then you came straight back-’
‘And I don’t even like flying,’ he ground out. ‘In fact, I hate it.’
‘I hate it too,’ she admitted. ‘It’s boring, you’re trapped, and I’m always sure we’re going to crash at any moment.’
He gave her a faint grin of understanding.
‘No wonder you’re exhausted,’ she said. ‘But why did you wait downstairs? There’s a sofa in the hall outside my front door where you could have been more comfortable.’
‘Yes, but I wasn’t sure if you’d be coming home alone, and if your companion had seen me lolling by your door…well…’
‘Am I understanding you properly?’ she asked, regarding him with her head on one side.
‘I just didn’t want to embarrass you.’
‘You’ve got a nerve,’ she breathed, feeling a return of the annoyance he could inflame so easily in her.
‘I’m only suggesting that you might have company tonight. What’s wrong with that?’
Pippa drew a deep breath, but instantly checked herself.
‘No-no!’ She held up her hands with the air of someone backing off. ‘Let’s leave it for now. I’ll say it later, when you’re back in the land of the living.’
‘Thank you for that mercy,’ he said. ‘So when “later” comes I can expect to be knocked sideways, beaten to a pulp-’
‘Walked over with hobnailed boots,’ she agreed. ‘But first I’ll make you some supper.’
‘Just a little, thank you. I’ll probably fall asleep over it.’
‘Then I shall wake you and make you eat something anyway.’
Roscoe gave her a look of appreciation. Then he followed her into the kitchen and tried to help, but finished up sitting on a stool, watching her out of bleary eyes.
‘It’s not just tiredness,’ he said. ‘It’s jet lag, which always hits me like a rock. I don’t know why I get it worse than most people. Everyone else seems to brush it off, but not me. And it’s not just the flight home. I’m still lagged from the flight out there, so I’m-’ he made a helpless gesture ‘-not at my best.’
‘That’s what comes of dashing off to conferences at the last minute,’ she suggested gently.
‘Yes, well…things happen. You can’t always plan for…’ again the gesture ‘…well, anyway…’
‘Did you hear anything useful while you were there?’ she asked in a neutral voice.
‘I couldn’t tell you,’ he said with a humorous sigh. ‘I can’t remember a thing.’
‘Is this Roscoe Havering talking?’ she asked lightly. ‘The man who makes the financial world tremble, whose tough decisions can shake the market-?’
‘Oh, shut up!’ he begged.
She laughed. ‘Sorry.’
‘You’re not.’
‘Hey, you’re right. I’m not.’
She made a light meal of scrambled eggs on toast, and he pleased her by eating every last crumb.
‘That was delicious. Do you want some help with the washing up?’
‘That’s what I like. A woman who understands.’
He wandered away with the air of a man who had arrived in heaven.
When she joined him a few minutes later he said, ‘Do you really think Charlie’s protecting Ginevra?’
‘Oh, yes. But I can’t prove it without his help. I guess I’m just not doing my job properly. I haven’t beguiled him very well if he’s defending her against me.’
‘Charlie’s loyal. If he had feelings for her once, he wouldn’t drop her in it now.’
‘That’s nice of him but don’t you see what it means?’
‘It means my brother’s an idiot, but we knew that.’
‘It means I’ve failed. He was supposed to be so much under my spell that he’d do anything I said. Hah! Some spell! I’m useless.’
‘That’s enough. You’re not useless. It’s only been a few days.’
‘But you thought he’d take one look at me and become my willing slave,’ she said wryly. ‘Or something like that. This isn’t what you expected when you hired me. Perhaps you should get someone else.’
‘Someone else?’ he echoed. ‘Someone else with your eyes, your laughter, your charm? Is there anyone else? Pippa, you knocked Charlie sideways in the first moment.’
‘You’re just being kind.’
‘I’m not known for my kindness,’ he said drily. ‘And once you’d have been the first to say so. I knew from the start that you were exactly what I wanted-for Charlie, I mean. And you’re doing well. Look how you found out about this. I had no idea.’
‘But I’m failing.’
‘Why are you so hard on yourself? It’s not like you.’
Now she was all at sea, taken by surprise by his understanding.
‘You don’t know what’s like me,’ she muttered.
‘Don’t I? Well, perhaps I’m learning, and perhaps the things I’m learning are surprising me.’
She tried to be sensible, but it was hard with Roscoe’s gentle eyes on her.