The Bridesmaid's Secret

by Sophie Weston

  ‘Wheeling and dealing is tomorrow. Tonight I want to release some major adrenaline.’

  Paco was enthusiastic. ‘Right on. Have a meal, then boogie. The food’s Brazilian tonight. Chef does a mean feijouada.’

  ‘Great,’ said Gil, getting to his feet.

  ‘We got a great couple of DJs tonight. Real enthusiasts, know what I mean? We’ve got the PR crowd, too. Some of those kids can really move.’ He punched Gil lightly on the shoulder. ‘You want to channel aggression, you’re in the right place. Let’s party!’

  They ate the spicy food, talking about old friends and new businesses. It was just like being back in college, Gil thought. The same jokes, the same heady sense they could do anything they wanted if they put their minds to it. All the time, the noise from the dance floor rose steadily.

  Eventually Paco pushed back his chair. ‘Time I showed myself. Time you hit the floor. Let’s prowl.’

  On the floor of the club Paco was different, Gil saw with amusement. The homely beer was gone. Instead he strolled around holding a glass of colourless liquid awash with chunks of lime and some anonymous leaves. Gil knew that the leaves were basil and the liquid was mineral water but it looked dangerous.

  ‘Mountebank,’ he said affectionately.

  ‘That’s what the punters expect,’ said Paco. He struck a fencer’s attack attitude.

  They said in unison, ‘Renegade, you will die at the bite of good Corsican steel,’ and made a couple of imaginary passes in the air, ending with a high five. Paco looked momentarily startled.

  Gil laughed. It seemed like the first time for weeks. He took off his jacket and tossed it behind the bar.

  ‘Enjoy,’ said Paco and went to talk to the barman.

  Gil strolled round the floor. Paco was right, the dancing was good. The nightclub pulsed with Latin beat. Unbelievably rapid maracas warred with a rock base as physical as a hand closing round the heart. He danced with a dark woman, lithe as a jaguar; then a girl who looked as if she’d just come from the office; a glamorous redhead; a laughing Cuban girl who knew the steps so well she did not have to concentrate and even tried to talk to him a little; another office girl.

  And then he saw her. She did not look Latin. She was blonde. Golden hair, luminous skin in the club’s hectic lighting. Not tall. Not at all one of the athletic semi-professionals that crowded the floor. But the way she moved—

  Gil stopped dead. Something caught in his throat as he watched.

  She was dancing alone, quite unselfconscious. Her concentration was total. She moved like a mettlesome horse, graceful yet powerful, and just on the edge of danger. She even stamped like a horse pawing the ground. Gil felt himself break out in a cold sweat.

  She was unaware of anyone looking at her. She gave her whole body to the music. Her shoulder-length hair swung from shoulder to naked shoulder. But she did not have the overt sexuality of most of the dancers. Her dancing was spiky, even savage. Was she angry with someone? Maybe herself?

  Gil took rapid stock. Paco should know. It was his club. If he was half as good a businessman as he had promised to be, he would know his clientele in depth. Gil eased round the dance floor to the bar where Paco was watching the floor.

  ‘Who is she?’ Gil said with an urgent undertone.

  Paco did not have to ask. Gil could not take his eyes off her. Neither could plenty of other men. Which, in a lively New York club, was unheard of.

  She was light as thistledown. Elusive as quicksilver. Fierce as fire. And oblivious to the hungry stares.

  Gil was not oblivious. He saw the stares, recognised the hunger and it infuriated him. More than that, it filled him with a desire to shake the girl awake and make her see what she was doing. So much concentration, so much passion was dangerous. Why couldn’t she see that?

  Paco looked across at the blonde and pursed his lips.

  ‘She comes with the fashion crowd. New. Been around since Christmas. Don’t know her name. Could be a dancer.’

  Gil was still watching the vital figure. She was never still, not for a moment.

  ‘She looks like it.’ There was a husky note in his voice. The abandoned blonde was magnetic.

  Paco raised his eyebrows. ‘Want me to ask around?’

  Gil smiled. Paco could not quite keep the surprise out of his voice. Gil knew why. Paco knew him very well. He knew that Gil was not into instant lust.

  And he wasn’t. Not even now, though his pulses were pounding. The girl, writhing and punching the air, was much more than a lust object. She looked difficult. And demanding. A conundrum and a challenge and—

  Mine, thought Gil.

  He felt exultant yet oddly calm.

  ‘I can find out about her,’ offered Paco.

  Gil did not take his eyes off the dancer but he reached behind him along the bar and picked up a small bottle of water by touch.

  ‘I think it’s time I did that,’ he said amused, intent.

  He did not even look at Paco before heading out onto the seething dance floor.

  Bella was having a wonderful time. She always had a wonderful time. That’s what she was known for. The original party girl, ready for anything. She was always laughing. She made everyone else laugh, too. You knew you were going to have a great time when you went out in a group with Bella Carew. Under her lively magic, gloom and despondency turned into stardust.

  Tonight the Japanese fashion editorial team, slowly unbuttoning to the Cuban beat, would have endorsed that enthusiastically. They let their long day of meetings dissolve in the rhythm. Seeing that they were happy, Bella allowed herself to relax. She let the stomping beat take over.

  The music changed. One of the boys she had danced with before, caught her by the hand. Matching her steps to his, Bella went into a near perfect copy of the singer’s videoed routine. Her partner laughed in delight. She laughed back at him.

  I am enjoying myself. That’s what I do best.

  Except that these days it was getting harder and harder to enjoy herself. Oh, she could stay out late, dancing or talking with her friends. But eventually they wanted to go home. And when Bella got back to her rented loft apartment she was cold. The central heating system was American and efficient. But that had nothing to do with it. This was the cold of loneliness and it bit to the bone. And it was going to be worse tonight, with the prospect of that discussion with Annis tomorrow.

  Still, no need to think about that yet. No need to think about that for hours. She slid both hands into her hair and swung it, letting her shoulders keep the rhythm as she turned her back to her partner, dancing round him provocatively.

  Only to find that someone else responded to the provocation.

  The first thing she was aware of was a warm hard hand on the bare skin of her midriff. Bella was so startled she almost missed her step. She looked back over her shoulder at the intruder, indignant.

  ‘Hi,’ he said.

  Or she supposed that was what he said. It was too loud to hear him and nearly too dark to read his lips. But she could see them with odd vividness in the flickering shadows. Sculpted, sensually full and yet with a tension to them that spoke of deliberate control. A man of passions, then, but passions carefully mastered.

  Bella could have laughed aloud at her fantasy. Especially as his mouth was almost all she could see of him.

  In the strobe lighting though she could make out that he was tall and thin as a rake. She was aware of deep, intense eyes that seemed to burn into her. And there was a wicked rhythm to his dancing. Behind him, Bella saw her former partner fling up a hand in rueful farewell and move on to one of the other girls without missing a beat.

  Which left her hard up against a body that seemed made of steel.

  Pliant steel. She gasped, as he flung her away from him, brought her back. While she was still reeling, he clasped her to him in some routine that he was completely master of. Bella did not know it. Between surprise and lack of familiarity with the steps she floundered. For the first time in years she miss
ed her footing several times.

  The stranger bent forward, pushing her head back and said in her ear, ‘Let me lead.’

  It went against the grain because Bella was an excellent dancer, but she did. At once, she seemed to know what he was going to do before he did it. The steel body moulded hers, signed to her what she was to do, and she responded. They were perfect together.

  When the track ended, she turned to face him, out of breath and exhilarated.

  ‘Who are you?’ they said in unison.

  He shook his head. ‘You first.’

  He offered her the bottle of water. She drank deeply, then tipped some over her hot forehead. The water dripped down her cheekbones, her throat…She saw him watch a tear-drop slide between her breasts under her scoop-cut top.

  He masked it at once but she saw the effect it had on him. It made up a little for being hijacked on the dance floor. She smiled brilliantly at him.

  ‘Tonight I’m Tina the Tango Dancer. You?’

  ‘Tonight?’

  She shook her head, so that her hair swung wildly. ‘This is New York. You can’t expect me to give out my name to anyone who walks up and grabs me.’

  He was amused. ‘But you look like a girl who likes to live on the edge.’

  She winced. That was what everyone thought. Even her family thought Bella could cope with anything. Love them and leave them, that was Bella. Light-hearted. Adventurous. Never, ever, vulnerable.

  And she wasn’t. She wasn’t.

  That was why she was in this wonderful town alone, putting her life together and telling herself the loneliness would pass as long as she did not let anyone see it.

  The disc jockey was talking, promoting his latest mix. Bella tuned it out.

  She said airily, ‘There are edges and edges.’ She passed the bottle back to him. ‘You’re not telling me your name, I notice.’

  ‘Gil.’

  ‘Just Gil?’

  In spite of his amusement, the dark eyes rested on her bare shoulders as if he was hungry. She saw it. A small curl of awareness thrilled through her.

  But he answered coolly enough. ‘If you’re Tina the Tango Dancer, I’m just Gil.’

  She liked the hunger. It made her feel alive. Just as the music and the strobe lights and the cold midnight streets outside made her feel alive. As she had forgotten how to feel when she was on her own.

  ‘Fine,’ she said, preparing to enjoy herself.

  The jockey stopped talking. The unforgiving beat started again. At once Bella was moving: hips, shoulders, feet, all talking back to the music.

  Gil, whoever he was, began to dance too. But he made it very clear he was not letting her go. Every time she spun and jumped, his hand was there to guide her back to his side.

  Exciting, decided Bella.

  She grew bolder, challenging him, trusting him not to let her go. His hands were like iron as she bent away from him, her hair brushing the floor. She straightened, laughing delightedly.

  At the end of the set, she was hot and breathless. Gil looked down at her, his eyes glinting. He was not even breathing hard.

  He must be very fit.

  One of the Japanese visitors came up. Even without his tie, he was still impressively courteous. He made a little breathless bow.

  ‘You have been most kind. We thank you.’

  Bella read the signs. ‘You’re ready to go?’

  Mr Ito was regretful. But there was an early plane to catch.

  ‘No problem,’ said Bella, detaching herself from Gil and dismissing him from her mind. ‘I’ll get my coat.’

  She was piqued that Gil did not try to stop her. After all that possessive machismo on the dance floor she would have expected him at least to ask for her phone number.

  She would not have given it to him. Of course she would not. But he should have asked. But when she looked round the tall thin figure was nowhere to be seen.

  She shrugged, trying to laugh it off.

  In the cloakroom, Rosa, one of the other club regulars, was fluffing out her hair.

  ‘Who’s the hunk?’ she asked Bella in the mirror.

  Bella shrugged again. ‘Who knows?’

  ‘Thought you were going for the big one there.’

  ‘Big one?’

  ‘Don’t be so prim and English! I thought you were going to let him have a date. For once.’

  ‘You know me. Easy come, easy go.’

  ‘You danced so well together.’

  Bella gave her an ironic look. She knew quite well what Rosa was talking about. ‘It doesn’t always follow.’

  Rosa laughed.

  Bella retrieved her outdoor things. Her coat was a thick wool mix and ankle length. Her scarf was cashmere and her gloves were lined with mink. New York in February was not kind to bare flesh. She even slipped her strappy sandals into her bag and pulled on fur-lined boots.

  Since she was in charge of tonight’s official entertainment, she had a limousine on stand-by. She fished her tiny phone out of her recovered shoulder bag and dialled the chauffeur.

  ‘Ready to go Arnie. Back to the hotel. Can you drop me off after? Great.’

  Rosa was reapplying lip-gloss.

  ‘Going to see him again?

  ‘He didn’t ask.’

  ‘So?’ Rosa lowered the lip-gloss and met her eyes in the mirror. ‘What’s wrong with asking yourself? This is the twenty-first century you know.’

  Bella flinched.

  ‘Yeah, so they say. But I’ve been there, done that and it didn’t work.’

  ‘Can’t have done it right,’ said Rosa with conviction.

  Oh, I did it right. He just didn’t want me. He wanted my sister.

  She said aloud, ‘Yes, that must be it.’ Her voice was colourless.

  ‘So why not go for the tall guy?’

  Because I’m never doing that again, ever.

  ‘Maybe I will. But not tonight. I’ve got to get the honoured visitors home.’

  Rosa accepted that. She was serious about her career too.

  ‘Shame.’ She put away her make-up and gave a last encouraging lift to her big hair. ‘See you Saturday?’

  Saturday was the club’s big night. Bella had been a regular ever since she’d arrived in New York.

  ‘Count on it,’ she said, throwing off the glooms.

  The guests were effusive in their thanks. She stood outside the gleaming modern hotel shaking hands and bowing until she thought her face would freeze. But eventually they went inside and she got thankfully back into the limo.

  The driver was looking in his rear mirror.

  ‘Who’s the guy?’

  ‘What?’

  He jerked his head. ‘Just got out of a yellow cab. He’s coming over.’

  Bella turned to look. A cab pulled away. In its wake it left a figure, just out of the hotel’s neon, solitary in the deserted street.

  He looks cold, Bella thought, then, involuntarily, He looks lonely. As lonely as me?

  The man was tall as a tree, a black figure in the blue dark. His shoes were polished, though. She could see the reflection of the hotel’s starburst sign skimming across his toes as he moved. It made him look as if he was walking through water.

  Like a ghost, or one of the ancient gods, temporarily lost on earth. It was oddly powerful. Bella shivered.

  ‘Don’t know him,’ she said positively.

  But he came over, his heels clipping on the icy pavement. He bent down by her door.

  Arnie did not lower the window. He shifted on the seat bracing himself unobtrusively. ‘Trouble?’ he asked.

  Bella was realising that she did recognise the dark figure after all. It was the man who had not asked for her phone number.

  ‘Trouble? I don’t think so. He was at the club.’

  Gil rapped on the window. Arnie looked across and flicked an experienced eye over him.

  ‘Well, he may be a nut but he’s not a bum. That’s a thousand-dollar coat. Want to talk to him?’

  That da
nce had been exciting. It had made her feel alive. For those hectic minutes in his arms she had even forgotten the soul-killing loneliness.

  ‘Yes,’ said Bella.

  She got out.

  Arnie sat back watchfully. He did not turn off the engine.

  Bella huddled her coat around her. She was a New York babe now, meeting sexy strangers with a watchful humour. She gathered her sophistication round her as tightly as the coat.

  ‘This isn’t coincidence, right?’ Bella said to the tall dark shadow.

  Gil nodded. ‘Sorry.’ He didn’t sound it. ‘I’m leaving tomorrow.’

  ‘And that’s your excuse for following me?’

  ‘Reason. Not excuse.’

  ‘Word games,’ said Bella dismissively. She pulled her coat tighter. ‘There are laws on stalking you know.’ But she sounded more curious than threatening and she knew it.

  For a moment he looked completely blank. Then he gave a great shout of laughter.

  ‘I didn’t think of that. God, this town is paranoid.’

  ‘It’s got nothing to do with this town. I’d say the same in London or Paris.’

  ‘If you think I’m a stalker, why did you get out of the car?’ he countered.

  It was unanswerable. She stamped her feet, not entirely against the cold, though early morning ice was frosting the kerb. The hotel would send someone out to clear the ice soon, Bella knew.

  She said, ‘I got out of the car because I didn’t want you to make a scene.’

  He was unimpressed. ‘Why should you care if I make a fool of myself?’

  ‘I care if you make a fool of me. I’ve just delivered some influential people here. I don’t want them thinking I’m—’ She stopped, realising too late where it was taking her.

  ‘The sort of girl who gets out a car to talk to strangers at two in the morning,’ he supplied helpfully.

  Bella glared.

  He was all innocence. ‘What?’

  She gave up. ‘All right. What do you want?’

  ‘To talk.’

  ‘We talked.’

  ‘No, we didn’t,’ he said calmly. ‘We exchanged pheromones. Very rewarding but now I’d like to go somewhere warm and talk.’

  She thought of Rosa’s tolerant comments in the cloakroom. Did this man think that they’d danced together so well she would let him take her to bed?