“OK,” Poppy said.
“Thanks for dropping by,” he said, dismissing her.
Poppy said, “Thank you, Mr. Stein,” again, and walked out. She felt slightly let down. She’d expected him to put the tape in instantly, be wowed, and offer her a job on the spot. Ninety percent of everything is crap. Well, at least that was upfront. But it didn’t make her feel any better. She felt down when she got home. It was a mad scheme, he was never going to go for it.
“Hi, honey.” Her mother gave her a kiss.
“Hi, Mom.”
“You’re on your own for dinner tonight, your father and I are out at the opera house benefit.”
“No problem,” Poppy said.
“Conchita dropped off your dry cleaning.”
“Great.” She really felt down about it. The phone wasn’t ringing. She thought she’d have a hot bath, then call Kate and tell her she couldn’t do anything for her. Damn it.
“Oh, and a Mr. Joel Stein called. He left a number.”
“Is that a joke?”
“Why would it be?”
“When did he call?”
“Ten minutes ago. Here’s the number—”
Her mother looked at her daughter in amazement as Poppy snatched the piece of paper and rushed out to the phone. Teenagers. Oh well, she suspected it was love.
Twenty
It started out as a perfectly ordinary Oxford day. Daisy came back from the library with some books on Monet, put the kettle on, and hit the red light on her blinking phone; the message didn’t sound important.
“Daisy, darling, it’s Mummy.”
Sally Markham’s voice was distant and tinny. It usually was, as though she hadn’t quite come to terms with something as new-fangled as the telephone. Much less the answering machine.
“Can you call home? Daddy and I want to talk to you.”
Daisy punched in her parents’ number, guiltily. She’d been having too much fun, hanging out with Brad, enjoying college. She hadn’t called her parents for weeks.
“Mum, it’s me.”
“Oh, hello, darling. Let me just go and take the cakes out of the oven, or they’ll burn.”
She heard her mother clattering about in the kitchen and felt a sharp pang of homesickness. Mum always made cakes on Sunday afternoon. Daisy thought she could do with a little hot cake and a cup of Earl Grey with two sugars right now. Diet or no diet. Sod fruit. There were only so many Granny Smiths you could eat.
“Darling, it’s Daisy … hold on, Daddy wants a word.”
Quentin Markham came on the other end of the line.
“Darling, I’ve got a bit of bad news for you.”
Daisy’s heart sped up instantly. Oh God. Had Granny died? Oh God.
“It’s all right, nobody’s dead.” Her father read her mind. “But we’ve had a bit of bad luck financially.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Lloyd’s of London has crashed.”
“Hmm, yes.” Daisy thought about it. “I saw something about it on the news. Edward Powers told me about it. All the poor Names.”
“Darling.” She could hear the strain in her father’s voice. “I was a Name. Am, still.”
The bottom dropped out of Daisy’s stomach. “Oh, Daddy. Did you lose a lot of money?”
Her parents had only started investing five years ago. It was too awful, to think that once her father had finally got a little nest egg to invest it was wiped out.
“We lost everything.”
“Oh, no. Everything you invested?”
“No, darling, you don’t understand.” Her father’s voice was patient, almost soothing, as Daisy’s heart started to pound. “Names are partners. They have open-ended liability. We don’t just lose what we invested, which was about fifteen thousand. They call us for more money. We have to give them everything we own.”
She blinked, trying to get her head around it.
“But Daddy, it’s a bad investment. Why would you put more money into it? Tell them they can’t have anymore.”
He chuckled. “I wish I could. They have the right to take it. They have to pay back the people they insured…”
“That can’t be right.” She pressed a soft finger to her temple. “No way. You invest fifteen thousand, how can you lose more than that? What can they take … You don’t have all that much else.”
“The house, the car.”
“The house? But you just paid off the mortgage.”
“It’s an asset, darling. They may settle, leave each Name with a little something. But I’m afraid we are looking for a place to rent. And we’ll have to give up your lease.”
Daisy looked around her gorgeous little flat. “That’s no problem,” she said numbly, “that doesn’t matter at all.”
Sally Markham came back on the phone. Daisy could hear the tears behind the brightness of her voice.
“Don’t worry, darling. Your father and I have been fine all this time, and we’ll be fine now.”
“But renting a house,” Daisy said.
“Just think of all the maintenance bills somebody else will have to pay! And anyway, I wanted a change,” she said firmly.
Mummy loved their house. Daisy remembered the celebration dinner they’d had when the mortgage had finally been paid off. Shepherd’s pie and champagne.
“Well, we’re all OK. And that’s all that counts,” Daisy said, blinking back tears. The lump in her throat was swelling up, and she did not want to start crying in front of her parents.
“That’s right, Daisy.”
“Talk to you guys soon,” Daisy said, hanging up.
She sat there and stared into space. She wanted to believe it was all a bad dream, but it wasn’t. Daisy walked out to her little balcony and sat there, gazing out toward the river.
She had to do something.
Mummy and Daddy would be devastated. No matter what kind of a stiff upper lip they presented to the world right now, they had just been wiped out. Her father had always tried to do the gentlemanly thing, and he’d been proud to become a Name at Lloyd’s.
Unlimited liability. What a fucking disaster. She would never, ever go into anything open-ended like that, Daisy thought. When she was an investor …
Mechanically she walked back into her room and started to pull the sheets off the bed. It was 21 November. She could pack up and be out of here in a day. Of course, everybody else in Oxford already had rooms. Finding new accommodation would be a nightmare.
Daisy lifted the phone by her bed and punched in the landlord’s number.
“Foxworth’s Realty,” a woman’s voice said.
“Hello, Diane. This is Daisy Markham.”
“Hi, there. Getting on OK, are we?” said her letting agent in that shrill, fake-smile voice she always used.
“Actually, I’m quitting the flat. I’m giving you a week’s notice.”
The woman sucked in her breath annoyingly. Melodramatic cow, Daisy thought.
“You can’t do that. Your lease is for a year—”
“Yes I can. You have to re-advertise. You can deduct the cost of the advertisement, but that’s it.”
“That’s not what your lease says.”
“I know the law. If you don’t try to find another renter, you’re breaking it. And don’t think I won’t take you to court, because I will.”
There was a pause at the end of the line.
“Send the keys back,” the woman said, and hung up.
Daisy got up and spent the next two hours packing up her room. The furniture had come with the place; most of her stuff fitted into the suitcases she’d arrived with. Then she went to the bank and canceled her standing order to Foxworth’s. It made her feel slightly more in control. Then she called on Brad.
He opened the door slightly.
“Can I come in?”
“Sure.” Brad let the door open a little wider. “As it’s you. Just let me go and put some clothes on, OK?”
He had just got out of
the shower. There was a towel wrapped around his waist. Daisy stepped inside his hallway, trying not to stare.
Damn. He could talk. Daisy felt weakened by the rush of heat to her belly. Brad’s body was just incredible. Tanned, even in winter, thickly muscled, his chest and shoulders huge, his biceps … chiseled wasn’t the word for it. And he had a dark, lush trail of hair, gathering down from his chest and matting just above the towel. Little droplets of water had been trickling all over his body. She was distracted. Daisy went into Brad’s living room and sat down on the sofa, twisting her fingers.
“So.” He came back in and sat opposite her. He’d just pulled on a pair of blue jeans and a white T-shirt, and he looked incredible. “What’s up, babe?”
“I need a place to live. Can’t stay in my apartment anymore.”
“That’s a great little space.”
“I know, but—”
She paused. She didn’t want Brad to know about her parents. His family were rich, and Daisy was suddenly embarrassed.
“I had a fight with the owners. I don’t really want to go into it.”
“You picked a real bad time to start looking. Accommodation’s a nightmare in this town.”
Daisy looked around. Brad had a four-bedroom place just to himself, now he’d moved out of Edward’s rooms.
“I guess I thought I could stay here?”
His gorgeous brow furrowed. “I dunno. I don’t think that’d be cool. You know, having a girl here. But I’ll keep an eye out for you. Want a drink?”
“It’s ten A.M.” And he wasn’t much of a drinker, was he?
Brad got up and walked into his kitchen, returning with an opened bottle of Pouilly Fuissé.
“I know. It’s great, being at college, isn’t it?”
Daisy accepted a glass of wine. She felt like she needed it. Disappointment mingled with longing in the pit of her stomach. There was plenty of room in this house. Yeah, she had to respect Brad’s space, but …
A tiny part of her thought he should have been there for her. She suppressed it.
“Thanks.”
He sat across from her, and his eyes traveled lazily over her body. She was wearing a heavy black skirt, ankle boots, a push-up bra and a low-cut black camisole under a cardigan. She’d dressed nicely this morning, working on the assumption that she might see Brad today. Of course, that was before the phone call.
Lust had been driven out of her head.
Now it was back.
She took a large hit of the wine, which calmed her.
“You really do look great. You’ve lost a ton of weight.”
“Have I?” Daisy said absently. “I suppose my clothes are a bit loose.”
“Not everywhere,” Brad said. His gaze lingered on the slopes of her cleavage, swelling up from her bra, soft and sexy. She really had great tits, he thought.
“Hey.” Daisy had wanted him to notice her in this way for so long, but now she was at a loss. “Cut that out, dude.”
“Dude?” He grinned. “That’s cute. Very American. And why should I cut it out? You look hot.”
“Me?” Daisy said, stunned. She blushed.
“I’ll show you. Get up.” When Daisy just sat there, he got up and pulled her to her feet. His strong hand was firm. She could feel all his strength. Brad shut the living room door and showed her her reflection in the full-length mirror.
“So what?” Daisy scoffed.
Brad stood behind her, his height towering over her. Her shoulder blades pressed against his chest, her hair hung loose against his neck. He put his arms around her body, holding her. His grip was iron.
“You don’t see it? Take a look. Almond eyes, that white-blue. Your face is so beautiful, sugar.” His voice was low, his breath hot on her neck. “You got cheekbones. And a waist.” His left hand splayed against her rib cage, caressing it with his fingertips. Daisy started to squirm, but his arms held her locked in place. The hot feeling in her belly was starting up with a vengeance. Her breath shortened.
“Brad—”
“And these,” he said, stroking a finger across the tops of her breasts. It was like a line of fire trailing over her skin. Daisy bit down on her tongue to stop from panting.
“You’re teasing me,” she said, gritting her teeth. “Cut it out.”
“Who says?”
He spun her around and tilted up her head to face him. Daisy’s eyes were moist, her lips parted. Brad thought idly that it wasn’t bullshit; she was turning into a pretty girl.
He was getting turned on by her heat. She was brimming with desire. Brad lowered his head to her full lips and crushed them in a kiss.
*
“Man.”
Daisy lay snuggled against Brad, her soft, out-of-shape body against his unyielding muscle. He was as gorgeous now as ever. She thought, detachedly, that he should be lighting up a cigarette now. But of course Brad was a healthy American and he never smoked.
Thoughts like this helped her not to cry.
She’d wanted Brad. Longed for him. But the sex had been painful, teeth-gritting stuff, and he’d acted all shocked when he’d discovered she was a virgin, and Daisy had buried her face in the pillow so that he wouldn’t see that she was crying.
It was nothing like she’d read in her books. It hurt. And it felt all wrong.
But she loved Brad, didn’t she?
“Wow, honey, that was great.” He looked down at her with what she could only describe as a friendly smile. Which ripped her heart out. “I can’t believe it was your first time.”
“I went to an all-girls’ school,” Daisy said, shortly.
“I never popped anybody’s cherry before.” He looked as proud as a rooster.
Daisy blanched. Suddenly she imagined him laughing, telling this story to the boat club. “Look, Brad. This is between us.”
His chiseled face looked hurt. “I wouldn’t tell. You’re my friend, OK?”
She was, yeah. But, she noted, not his “girlfriend.”
All she wanted was to take a shower. “I have to run, can I use your bathroom to freshen up?”
“Absolutely,” Brad said. He beamed at her, with his white, healthy teeth.
Daisy got up, clutching her clothes to her self-consciously. Brad regarded her still too-plump bottom with fondness. She was the perfect woman, he thought. He liked her, and she’d jumped right into bed, and now she wanted to leave … no “cuddling,” none of that bullshit. She couldn’t wait to get out of there. Daisy’s just like a guy, he thought, approvingly.
She shut the bathroom door and ran the water, stepping into his shower and scrubbing the spots of blood from her leg. Daisy helped herself liberally to his shower gel, some pine-fresh manly thing. Washing the smell and the sweat of Brad from her, and trying not to feel dirty.
She wasn’t a virgin anymore. Daisy wanted to cry, but forced it back. Years of public school came into their own.
You can’t waste time with this, she thought.
She turned the water off, briskly toweled herself down, and pulled her clothes on.
“Hey.”
Brad was still lying there as she reemerged into the bedroom. “It’ll be better next time. Won’t hurt.” He winked at her. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“Yeah, sure. See you,” Daisy said, with a forced brightness.
She half ran down the stairs and back out into the street.
It was still daylight. She glanced at her watch. She hadn’t been in there more than an hour and a half.
Daisy took a deep breath, and headed for Edward’s rooms.
Twenty-One
“But why would you want to move?”
Edward sat across from her in the armchair in his rooms. Now that Brad had moved out, he had the place to himself. Daisy saw evidence of his taste everywhere: oil paintings on the walls, rush matting on the floors. Even though these were cramped undergraduate quarters, he made it look like a reading room in some upper-class London club.
Daisy looked at him. Edward
actually cared.
“My parents were Lloyd’s Names.”
He grasped the situation instantly. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
“I have to give up the flat,” Daisy said. “I already broke my lease.” She twisted her hands in her lap and bit down inside her mouth, trying not to cry.
Edward sensed her mood. “The situation,” he said gravely, “calls for a cup of tea. Earl Grey or Lapsang?”
“Either is fine.” Daisy looked at his back gratefully as he got up and went over to his kettle, giving her time to compose herself.
“I have somewhere for you. We have a flat on Walton Street. Two bedrooms, rather nice.”
“What’s the rent? I can’t afford very much.”
“Two hundred,” Edward said, “but if that’s too much we can come to some arrangement.”
Two hundred a month. She knew right away that he had named a desultory sum so that she wouldn’t feel it was charity. The lump in her throat rose up again.
“Thank you,” she said, and she couldn’t keep her voice from breaking.
“Oh, come on, now, old bean. Everything will be fine. You just have a job to do.”
“What are you talking about?” Daisy said, miserably.
Edward passed her the tea, black, no sugar. “We all have to look after our aged parents. Your time for doing that has just arrived a little earlier. You aren’t as helpless as you like to think, Daisy. You just need to work out what your talents are, and act on that. Focus on something else. It will help.”
Daisy smiled weakly. “Give me an illusion of control, you mean.”
She took a sip of the tea. Edward was great; he knew exactly how to settle her.
“Can I be frank?”
She laughed. “Why the hell not. Give it to me straight.”
“You’ve been coasting. I know you’re too intelligent to be at Rackham. And History of Art?” Edward’s thin, patrician features creased in disdain. “What on earth is that? Why not the history of pottery?”
“Philistine.”
“It’s hardly a real subject, Daisy. It’s what nice girls pick to read when they can’t be bothered to work, and are only planning on looking for a husband. And you aren’t dull enough to be one of those girls. Now,” he methodically added three level spoonfuls of sugar to his tea with a precise motion of the wrist, “you’ve received something of a shock, which only means you have to stop messing about, and do something.”
Devil You Know Page 17